Blood Appeal

by Lyle O'Connor

  Kuhl shrugged, “Suit yourself.”

  The weather was uncooperative from my perspective. It had the makings of a warm and sunny evening. I preferred the dark of night or stormy skies to work my magic but with only a few clouds on the horizon, we’d have flat light conditions of dusk and dawn.

  The small creek at the base of the Valley ran down alongside the compound’s property and acted as an impassable border. In some areas where the stream widened out, the flow was shallow enough to cross. However, we’d be exposed to the openness for longer periods of time. Kuhl and I went over the steep embankment and hoofed it down the hill. Within minutes, we were hidden from open view of the road. At the bottom of the ravine, we walked under the bridge and then moved quickly into the brush a hundred yards from the training camp.

  “I’m going to work my way up the creek to the back door.”

  “Roger that,” Kuhl said, “I’ll work up the hillside into the thick brush and cover the front door. We can use the radios to coordinate.”

  We bumped fists and moved in separate directions. Having recovered my physical abilities since the beating, I was able to cover the territory with ease along the creek bottom. I knew I would be in position before Kuhl traversed the brush-laden hillside. From where I stood, the rooftops were clearly visible. Utilizing the creek bank, I squatted and waited to hear from Kuhl.

  The unmistakable blast from a rapid-fire weapon echoed throughout the valley. One burst—then silence. What had gone wrong? A misfire or maybe worse—they got Kuhl? I crept up the ridge from the creek toward the building. As I closed in on the back door, I saw a man running with a long gun in his hands. It was Duke, and he’d fled into the artificial town made of plywood and two-by-fours. I took cover at the corner of the building and took a quick glance around its edge. Squatted next to the red Jeep was Kuhl.

  “What happened?” I radioed.

  “You’re clear, come on over.”

  When I reached the front corner of the building, I bent low and moved quickly to the Jeep. Duke was out there somewhere with a long gun. I wasn’t taking the chance.

  Next to Kuhl, Flattop lay curled up in a fetal position bleeding from a shoulder wound. “What happened? What went wrong?”

  “They were in their vehicle and backing out. I made a decision to engage and keep the battle here.”

  “I saw Duke running into the mock-up buildings.”

  Kuhl nodded, “He’s got a rifle with him. He grabbed it out of the vehicle and ran.”

  I turned my attention to Flattop and pulled him up to a sitting position. He acted as if the pain was killing him.

  “Shut up, for once in your life act like a man.”

  Flattop whined and moaned.

  “You can play all the kid games you want, but you’re going to take responsibility for what you’ve done.”

  He groaned, “What?”

  “I know all about the little games played for Snuth. Why’d you kill the girl?”

  Jake shook his head as he drooped forward.

  “You don’t know who it was, or you’re not saying?”

  His words stammered as he pushed them out with gasps of air. “Duke.”

  “Duke killed her?” I asked.

  Jake shook his head. “You have to ask Duke, I don’t know. I think his old lady went crazy or something.”

  “Are you saying Minnie killed the girl?”

  Again he shook his head, “Duke said that it was her fault.”

  “Duke’s a liar. Minnie didn’t rape and abuse that girl, and she sure doesn’t have the strength to strangle her. Here’s my guess, you and Duke killed her.”

  “I swear it wasn’t me. Duke dumped her body at an old drunk guys place.”

  I’d noticed in the Jeep an unopened case of plastic water bottles. I tore open the covering, pulled three bottles out. I handed one to Kuhl and opened one for Jake. His left side had taken the brunt of the shotgun blast, but his right arm was uninjured. I handed him the bottle.

  Flattop had sipped two or three times before I resumed my questioning. “What’s your part in this Alliance?”

  “We’re just trying to make a buck. Duke said it was a money maker for him to have a gun range and the survivalists meeting at the same place. We had plenty of room here to do the same thing.”

  “You’re an inside guy. In the know and all that. You handled some of the business dealings for your crew. What’s Snuth have to do with it?”

  “He’s just a source.”

  “For what?”

  “He leases the land we’re on. Hundreds of acres up this valley and further. It’s all his property.”

  “What’s he get out of it?”

  “We contract with his company for loss prevention and assets protection.”

  “Snuth gets his hands on the land to mine for minerals and has a pack of thugs to protect his assets. Did you kidnap Dawn for Snuth?”

  “Yeah, we were helping him secure his assets.”

  “Here’s what bothers me, these crimes you committed are behaviors, not security functions. Do you get where I’m coming from?”

  His fixed gaze and lack of an answer spoke volumes. The Alliance was nothing but a criminal organization of pawns and cannon fodder. Snuth needed fall guys for his corrupt dealings, so he made them a cheap deal.”

  I stood to my feet and said, “I’m going after Duke.”

  “What about Snuth?” Kuhl asked.

  “No question he’s complicit. Through him and his money, these thugs had spread their torturous brand of evil.” Anna had been right. Greed was the driving force behind their evil and once conceived, evil beget evil to form a union. Each one trapped by their own doing.

  “Want me to take care of business with Snuth?”

  “We will,” I said. I took two bottles of water from the case and fit them into my tactical vest and walked from behind the Jeep.

  I overheard Jake say, “I need a doctor.”

  I stopped momentarily to press-check my P99. I looked toward Kuhl, “Can you take care of Flattop’s request?”

  “Roger that.”

  As I walked toward the training maze, the sound of Kuhl’s shotgun roared to life again. Flattop’s last request had been granted— vigilante style.

  Chapter 17

  “The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire.”

  — Ferdinand Foch

  Ipenetrated the training maze looking in, under, on top and behind every partial wall, room and structure in this make-believe town. Duke was a formidable opponent in such a setting. He had a tactical mindset, owned a gun range and taught survival courses. He was physically fit and had in his possession a long gun. I, on the other hand, was a hardened killer and a .40-caliber auto for weaponry.

  My search was painstakingly slow. It was far too easy to ambush a guy in the mock-up. When I’d completed my sweep, I concluded that Duke’s cowardice had forced him to run as fast and far as his adrenaline would take him.

  Duke and I had been dealt a level playing field when it came to our knowledge of the local terrain. Neither of us knew the Copper River Delta. Of that, I was sure. How we each handled the challenges encountered might make a difference how the game ended.

  “You there?” The radio crackled.

  I adjusted the radio and keyed the microphone, “Go.”

  “Bugging out.”

  “Roger that.”

  “I’ll continue to monitor the compound from the van in case our friend circles back. I’ve trashed the Jeep. Our two-way communications will likely fail at some point.”

  “Copy.”

  “After you tie off the loose end, transmit your position when you reach the compound. I’ll be here for you brother.”

  “Thanks, see you soon.”

  At the northwest end of the maze, I focused my attention on the trails leading out of the training area. Duke had escaped. I trusted my tracking instincts to close the gap between us. It posed an interesting challenge to my naturally devel
oped abilities versus Duke’s trained survival skills. The Cascade foothills didn’t differ much from the forested areas of the Copper River Delta. Duke would not be able to compare terrain in the same way to the Mark Twain National Forest.

  Duke was a big guy with a bigger ego. He loved to wear cowboy boots because they added to his six-foot-three-inch frame and allowed him to tower over people. Those same boots made deep and distinct impressions into the soil and it wasn’t difficult to see the heel strike on the soft wet trail that lead north into the wilderness.

  A man with a long gun had ample opportunity to stage an ambush in open terrain. The wooded river bottom with dense underbrush cut into Duke’s advantage. I’d traveled close to two hundred yards upstream from the maze and noted Duke’s strides had become shorter. As long as he was running, he wasn’t setting up any surprises for anyone following him. Another fifty yards upstream and the footprints had flattened out on the soft ground surface. A clear sign he’d slowed his pace. A short distance farther he’d come to a halt. His boot prints had turned sideways on the trail. An indicator he’d either stopped to watch the pathway behind or looked to leave the trail and enter the brush for safety. I stood where he had stood and looked in the direction he’d looked. I concluded it could only have been to see if he was being followed.

  Duke’s lead time was perhaps half an hour. There was no need to rush or make up the time. He wasn’t going anywhere his footprints didn’t go. He had two choices, go deeper into the wilderness or setup an ambush. It didn’t matter to me, either way he was mine. I was close enough for the time being.

  I kept an eye out for movement on the trail ahead. If Duke caught a glimpse of me at any point along the way I had no doubt, he’d attempt an ambush. I would. The path Duke followed had separated as the valley walls increased in their steepness. Duke had taken the lower trail. Why the lower trail? The long gun gave him the advantage in the more open and sometimes barren hillsides higher up. The lower path was well-worn and likely frequented by hikers and fishermen whereas the upper path was used by animals to traverse the hillside. It was natural for Duke to take the road that required the tiniest amount of effort. A lot like electricity; he followed the path of least resistance.

  Additional footpaths broke off the main branch of the trail. Duke didn’t alter his course or make any attempt to disguise the direction of his movement. I was confident he was unaware of my presence as he continued his walk in a straight line to nowhere. He had no plan, no provisions, and no way to escape. He was heading away from civilization and what lay before him was extreme wilderness. He bore the earmarks of a man running scared.

  It was a rough estimate, but I guessed we’d traveled the better part of two miles into the valley when dusk set upon us. The rising hills coupled with a heavily forested basin restricted the evening twilight to near dark conditions. The shadowy blackness was my friend. I continued to move along the barely visible path. Any hope of tracking was lost.

  I rounded a bend in the creek and squatted low. No further than fifty yards in front of me I’d seen a flickering light. I closed my right eye and kept it closed as I remained as motionless as any predator would that had closed in for a kill.

  The flickering flames of a campfire became apparent. Having chosen my avenue of approach. I moved off the path and inched my way forward. The snapping of a twig underfoot or the noise from the friction of clothing against branches of a tree or brush would give my position away.

  Holding my Walther with my right hand, and using my left hand to move the slide slightly over a half-inch, I reached up and touched the brass with my gloved middle finger. Locked and loaded and ready to rock ‘n’ roll. I crept closer. Slowly. Silently.

  Looking in the direction of the flames with my left eye, I moved within fifteen yards, Duke sat cross-legged by the fire. In the event things went haywire and Duke ran off into the darkness, I would open my right eye and cause my vision to rapidly orient to the darkness. I squatted and allowed my excitement to settle.

  I had to admit Duke deserved recognition for utilizing his Boy Scout survival skills to build a fire. Besides the warmth, he’d used green, moist bows to create smoke and ward off the mosquitoes. If the breeze had drifted in my direction, I would’ve smelled the smoke a mile downstream. He had the wind in his favor. It was a dumb idea for a guy on the lam but indicated his relaxed state. If he’d been concerned for his safety in the slightest, he would’ve dealt with the chilly night differently and suffered his choice of huddling at the bottom of a gorge beside a stream where the temperature was a good eight to ten degrees lower than it was on the upper reaches of the area he’d chosen to facilitate his escape. Duke leaned back and zipped his lightweight windbreaker to the neck.

  As I watched, Duke’s head occasionally moved from side to side, giving the appearance he was looking into the dark. His actions didn’t faze me at all. He was vulnerable and at a disadvantage. The flames essentially blinded him and made him a sitting duck. I had a shooting scenario in mind, but first I had questions. Dawn had died at Duke’s hands, but I wanted him to say it and accept responsibility for his actions.

  Duke faced toward the trail with the campfire directly in front of him. I crouched low and stepped closer, followed by another step, then another. I’d purposely waited between each movement to ensure he’d not heard a sound. My P99 had risen, ready to engage the fight. I continued my advance until I had closed to within ten feet. My hands had grown sweaty inside my black leather gloves and the adrenaline had risen to a crescendo.

  From my position, I could see Duke’s long gun leaned against a small sapling that barely held the weight of the weapon. For Duke to arm himself, he’d have to cross the distance without sustaining a case of .40-caliber lead poisoning. His long gun was the only visible weapon. It didn’t mean it was his only weapon. Duke liked to shoot handguns and had many to choose from in Missouri. It was unlikely he’d be without a belly gun even if he had to borrow one from his crew.

  “Hello, Duke.”

  His reaction was instantaneous and chaotic. He yelled something indiscernible as he tried to stand then toppled onto his side. I moved a step closer. My eyes opened wide as I watched for Duke’s hands to produce a weapon. He rolled to his knees and up on one foot. The shine from a black leather holster from under his windbreaker caught my eye.

  Shuup… I unloaded my first round. He collapsed to the ground rolling and cursing.

  Duke shouted expletives. I think he was comforted by his vulgar vernacular. Me, I wasn’t affected by his behavior one way or the other. However, I wasn’t happy with my shot. I had intended to take out his left knee but ended up with a flesh wound five inches higher on his leg. Incapacitating injuries take the fight out of targets. When he’d ranted and hadn’t displayed a weapon, I asked, “Where are your weapons?”

  His multiple foul utterances interjected into his answer made him difficult to understand.

  “On you, right now, what weapons do you have?”

  “Nothin’.”

  I figured I’d caught him in his first lie of the evening. “Unzip that jacket and take it off. I want to see for myself.”

  Duke’s face flushed with redness. Yanking and pulling at the jacket until it was off and tossed on the ground next to him.

  “Where’s the gun that goes in the holster?”

  “I dropped it in the car.”

  “You panicked and dropped your gun. How stupid can you get?” It was a rhetorical question. Instead of answering, he cursed, ranted and threatened.

  “Hey,” I shouted, “There’s no one out here to intimidate or impress. It’s just you and me.”

  “What you want with me?”

  “We have business to finish.”

  “You a sore Loser? Is that it?”

  “Not really. I wanted you to know, Hayden is dead.”

  “Why? He never done nothin’ to you near that bad.”

  “I suppose you’re right but leaving me for dead isn’t much different than le
aving me dead. But, that’s not why I’m here.”

  I could see a folding knife attached by a belt clip on his right side. “Throw your knife on the other side of the fire.”

  Duke reached into his front pants pocket and pulled out a tactical folder much like the one Anna carried. He’d given it a toss without looking where it went.

  “The knife on your side.”

  He reached to his side and pulled the knife off his belt and tossed it on the opposite side of the fire.

  “Woolf is dead.” I gave it a moment to sink in. I wanted him cognizant. Too much good news too quickly and he might miss the reason we were here. “Boury is dead, too.” He looked dumbfounded and in disbelief. He shook his head from side to side and repeatedly uttered, “That ain’t right.”

  “Why did you kill the girl in Missouri?”

  Shocked to hear the death knell for those he’d formed relationships with he was subdued as he answered. “I told you before; you don’t knowed what you think you knowed. I didn’t kill her.”

  Duke no longer manifested his Jekyll and Hyde personality. He’d been stunned by reality. What I saw before me was the shell of a defeated man with one foot in the grave and mercy wasn’t a bargaining chip.

  “I don’t believe you, Duke. You have an honesty problem. If the truth doesn’t fit your ego, you have to lie.”

  “I didn’t kill her. I liked the girl.”

  “You mean you liked raping her.”

  “It was consensual.”

  “She was a kidnapped victim.”

  Duke collapsed into a sitting position and pressed down on his leg wound to slow the bleeding. I steered the interrogation away from the whodunit and temporarily avoided the inevitable showdown that was coming. I had other questions that I wanted answers to. “Tell me about Snuth.”

  “Never met him.”

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  “Sure.”

  “What have you heard?”