Wilson crept forward—on high alert. “Silence that thing, would you?”
Parker turned off the ringer. They picked their way another thirty yards through dense thickets and suddenly found themselves staring at the grill of a rusting Ford pickup. Late sixties, maybe. Hood dented. Cab crushed. Tinges of green showed through the rust. Parker wasn’t sure if that was the original color or if it was just some swamp slime that had taken over. The floor was completely gone in the bed—and trees grew right through it.
There was no path. Not even a trail. To find this in an open field would make sense. But in the dense jungle? “How’d this even get out here,” Parker said, “with all the trees and brush?”
“There must have been a road—or the area was clear once.” Wilson looked back over his shoulder toward the water. “But the jungle keeps coming back. Taking over.”
Parker stepped closer to the pickup.
“Easy,” Wilson said. “The thing’s probably filled with snakes.”
He backed away immediately. “Good call.”
In the next few minutes they ran across the metal hulks of another six clunkers. Cars mostly. A couple of pickups. All of them totally shrouded in vines and rust. Windshields, what could be seen of them, fogged over in grime. Tires dry-rotted and flat—or riding on the rims. Doors open and vines twisting out of them. The headlights missing—and staring at them like the empty eye sockets of a skull.
“It’s like a graveyard—for cars,” Parker said. “Unreal.”
Wilson cut a wide path around them like it was a burial ground—and sacred somehow. “Makes me wonder what else Crawley dumped out here.”
Parker was thinking the same thing. “Trespassers?”
“Just keep your eyes open,” Wilson said. “We should be getting close now.”
Parker had hoped they would have seen Crawley’s place long before this. “As long as we stay at least a hundred yards away.” But with the dense, jungle-like growth around them, how far away could they stay and still see the place? But somehow he would. Right. And maybe if he told himself enough times he’d actually believe he could stay a hundred yards away.
As spooky as this was, it still beat coming in from the road where they could be spotted.
They reached a clearing—and an ancient Plymouth sat dead center in the middle of it. Late forties, maybe. Early fifties. It looked like the old four-door had been parked there generations ago. As if somebody had pulled into the meadow for a picnic—and never left.
Parker stepped into the clearing and moved in for a closer look. It was amazing that the car hadn’t completely disintegrated after all these years, but they used a lot thicker gauge steel in those days. The Plymouth’s skin showed definite age spots of rust, along with dull patches of the original black paint.
Wilson stopped a good ten feet away from the car. “Oh, that’s sick.”
Definitely sick. And Parker was getting a sick feeling in his gut, too. Inside were two mannequins—a man behind the wheel, and a redheaded woman in the passenger seat. A bullet hole sat smack dab in the middle of the lady’s forehead.
Her eyes were wide, frozen in an eternal look of surprise—or horror. She stared directly at them in that spooky way where it totally looked like she was watching their every move . . . following them with her eyes.
Another metal No Trespassing sign was screwed to the outside of her door.
“Okay—this is really getting creepy now,” Wilson whispered.
Parker felt it too. Like they really shouldn’t be there. For an instant he heard his dad’s voice replaying in his mind. I don’t want you within a hundred yards of that place. So how did he get here—on the private property of a guy who shot trespassers? But Parker knew exactly how he got himself into this. One little step—no—make that one little compromise at a time.
Parker inched closer to the Plymouth. Peered inside. The driver wore a latex mask of a former United States president—and there was a hole between his eyes, too. “Doesn’t look like Crawley is a big fan of government.” A human skeleton leaned up from the back seat, its boney arms covered in mold and draped over the front bench seat.
“Either the guy in the back seat had three eyes, or that’s a bullet hole,” Parker said. “Think that skeleton is real?”
“I don’t want to know,” Wilson said. “But it sure looks like it.”
Parker stepped around the car—and stopped dead. Not more than one hundred feet away sat a trailer home. So much for the hundred yards plan.
“That’s it,” Wilson said. He crouched low in the brush.
Parker dropped on one knee beside him. The trailer home hunkered down in the shadow of a massive cedar with strangler vines hugging the trunk. Just beyond the trailer home, Crawley’s pickup was parked on the crushed shell driveway. Night Crawler was strapped down on the trailer behind it. “He’s here.”
Wilson groaned. “Lets do some quick recon and get out.”
Exactly Parker’s thoughts. He swung the binoculars to his eyes and focused on the trailer. He listened for Maria’s voice. And he couldn’t stop staring at the trailer. Some kind of black mold grew over every surface of it, giving the whole thing a deathly gray look. At first Parker thought the windows had been painted over. But it was the mold—and grime. Parker refocused the binoculars on the glass, but couldn’t see a thing through them.
“Parker.” Wilson pointed to the hair on his arms, doing that Miccosukee warning thing. “We gotta get out of here.”
Wilson . . . wanting to turn tail and run? Parker reached inside his collar and pulled out the gator-tooth necklace Wilson had given him that day at Gator Hook Trail. “You want this back?”
Wilson gave a quick scan around him. “The evil here is too big. Let’s get back to Typhoon. Now.”
In his gut, Parker couldn’t wait to get out of there, but something kept him welded in place—with his eyes locked on the trailer. “But what if she’s in there?”
“Stay right where you is, boys.”
Parker spun toward the direction of the man’s voice.
“Who you be thinking I done got in there?” Crawley stepped out from behind a cypress—pump-action shotgun pointing right toward them. At this range he couldn’t miss. Sagging jeans. Faded black T-shirt with a Harley logo. The beard . . . long, but not thick enough to cover deep pockmark scarring. One cheek bulged out with chewing tobacco. He advanced slowly. “Lookee here. A couple of tourists. Missed the trespassing signs, did ya?”
Instinctively Parker raised his hands. Wilson did, too.
“I done asked you a question, boy.” His voice had a hoarseness to it. Like a forced whisper.
He’d compromised on what he knew was right. And now he was in a mess. “We don’t want any trouble,” Parker said.
One corner of Crawley’s lip twitched into a snarly smile. “Too late for that, fellers.” Brown spittle trickled out one side of his mouth. “Trouble done found you.”
CHAPTER 65
ANGELICA FIRED OFF ANOTHER TEXT and waited. Were they deliberately ignoring her?
But somehow she had the sense that Parker wouldn’t do that to her. He’d already admitted to being at Crawley’s. There was nothing to hide.
They were out of range. That was all. Probably in a dead spot.
Immediately she cringed. Dead spot. Sometimes the Everglades was one massive dead spot. A place of death.
But what if they weren’t in a “no service” zone for the phone? What if something bad happened to them? She grabbed Parker’s backpack from the bottom of the boat. She rummaged through it a bit. Machete. Flashlight. Water. Granola bars. Insect repellant. Quick charger. She stared out over the water. “What were you thinking, Parker? Why didn’t you take your gear? You’re going to need this stuff.”
But she knew why. They’d deliberately tried to mislead her. They wanted to keep her from knowing their real plans until there was no chance for her to stop them. Swiping Parker’s transom plug last night had been risky, but she�
�d rolled the dice—and lost. She’d gone too far. They’d obviously figured her out.
Angelica shouldered Parker’s backpack. There was no way she was going to stay here to wait for them. She dialed for an Uber ride to take her to the dock where Typhoon was normally tied. And maybe by the time she got there she’d figure out exactly what to do next.
CHAPTER 66
“PLEASE—WE CAN EXPLAIN,” Parker said, careful to keep his hands in the air. His bad arm was already prickling. “There’s a girl. From Chokoloskee. She’s missing.”
“I seen the paper.” Crawley’s eyes narrowed. “You thinking I got her in there?” He nodded in the direction of the trailer.
What was he supposed to say? The answer was obvious.
“No,” Wilson blurted. “Just asking if people saw her.”
Crawley swung the shotgun toward Wilson. “Do I look stupid to you, boy?”
Do not answer that. “You’re right,” Parker said. “We came here to see if she was here.”
“And what makes you figure I got me this girl?”
Parker swallowed. His right arm felt heavy. Weak. “You were on the water that night. And earlier—you offered her sister a ride, but not me. On the causeway. Remember?”
His eyes were barely more than slits now. “I do.” He smiled real slow. Enough to show the tobacco-stained teeth. “She was put together real fine.” He circled around them—always keeping the shotgun aiming their way. “But I didn’t take no girl.”
Parker’s mind raced for a way out of this. If they rushed him, they’d both be dead before they got close. If they ran for Typhoon, they’d never get past the old car. He’d blast a hole through each of them the size of the Plymouth’s hubcaps.
“You want to have a look around my place?”
Wilson shook his head. “No sir. We’d like to leave.”
Crawley laughed in a wheezy, gaspy way. “I’ll just bet you do.” He eyed Parker. “How ’bout you, boy?”
His heart thudded in his chest like a caged animal trying to get free. He’d never seen Wilson spooked like this. But how could they leave without knowing? “I’d like to make sure she isn’t here. Yes, sir.”
Again, that laugh. “That ain’t gonna happen. It wouldn’t do you a lick of good anyways. If I had me that girl they’s plenty of places to hide her. I wouldn’t keep her in no trailer. But like I said,” he showed brown teeth, “I don’t got her.”
Wilson nodded. “Okay. We’re sorry for trespassing. We’ll just leave the way we came.”
“Get your foot off the gas, boy. You trespass on my land. You accuse me of taking some girl—and then figure you can fly away just as free as a jaybird?” Crawley circled them again. “It don’t work like that.”
If the guy let his guard down, Parker would rush him. What else could he do? But he felt weak. So incredibly weak.
He gave Parker a long, hard look. “You’re the ranger’s boy.”
Parker hesitated, then nodded. His phone vibrated in his pocket.
“I hate rangers.” Crawley spit. “They’s always nosing around, getting in the way.” He bobbed his head. “All high-and-mighty with their o-thority and all.” His eyes darted from one side of the clearing to the other as if he thought rangers were advancing at that very moment.
“My dad isn’t like that. He has to come down on poachers but—”
“Poachers?” He shook his head. “Poaching is taking what ain’t yours. But this land is ours. My grandpappy done took alligator skins from the Glades whenever he wanted. My pappy, too.” His face got darker, the pockmarks redder. “The way I sees it? They’s nobody who can stop me from taking gator skins—or anything else I want—in the Glades.”
Parker’s mauled arm was tingling so bad, he wasn’t sure he could hold it up much longer.
“The rangers don’t own the land. Never did,” Crawley said. “They just like ta zoom in with their fancy unee-forms and tell us folk what we can and can’t do on our own land.”
Crawley stepped to within two feet of Parker without lowering the shotgun. “That seem right to you, boy?”
He shook his head. Actually, it didn’t seem right at all. “I don’t make the rules.”
“But your pappy, he makes sure people follows ’em, don’t he.”
Parker nodded.
“A man has got to enforce the rules, yes sirree.” Crawley leaned in close. “And you boys done broke my rules when you walked right past my trespassing signs.”
The liquor on his breath—mixed with the tobacco—almost made Parker gag.
“Look, our friend knows we’re here. She’s a ranger’s kid too. I’ve been texting her.”
Crawley’s eyes narrowed. “You expect me to believe that?”
“My phone is right here.” Parker pointed at his pocket. “I can show you.”
Crawley nodded. “If you’re bamboozling me, boy, you’ll be soon a-wishing you done told me the gospel truth.” He jabbed the shotgun. “You’re going to show me the phone. You right-handed or a southpaw?”
“Right.”
“Alrighty. Left hand. Show me the texts. Nice and easy like.”
Parker did as he was told. He held out the phone so Crawley could see the screen.
The man glanced at it quickly, and nodded. “Put it away. You was telling the truth. Lucky thing for you both.”
Wilson looked relieved. If they ever got out of this, maybe Wilson wouldn’t be so quick to doubt the payoffs of integrity again. Then again, if Parker hadn’t compromised, they wouldn’t be in this position to begin with.
“I could feed your sorry hides to the gators. Won’t nobody ever find you.”
Parker had to keep Crawley talking. “You absolutely could. We trespassed. But Maria’s my friend. Everyone thinks she’s dead.”
“Exceptin’ you,” Crawley said.
Parker nodded.
“Smart kid.”
What did that mean? Did he know something? “People think she ran into some monster gator in Sunday Bay.”
“And they’s a big ’un out there.” Crawley nodded. “I seen him.”
Parker stared at him. “You saw the gator—I mean—”
“You said it yourself,” Crawley said. “I was out there Saturday night.”
Parker could hardly breathe. “Did you see Maria?”
“I seen that missing girl,” he said. “But she never saw me.”
“Did you see the alligator attack her?” Wilson said.
“Weren’t no gator attack,” Crawley said. The man seemed to be enjoying this. He took a step back—but kept the shotgun steady.
“Sir,” Parker said. “I can’t hold my arm up any longer. I’ve got to lower it. Please don’t shoot.”
Crawley squinted, like he was studying the scars. “Gator tats, looks like.”
Parker nodded.
“Bring it down real easy like.”
Parker lowered his arm. Slowly. He opened and closed his fist to get the circulation going. “You said Maria wasn’t attacked. If you know something, please—”
“I know plenty.” He stared at Parker for what seemed like a full minute. “Maybe nobody found that girl because she don’t want to be found.”
“What are you saying?”
“You got ears, don’t you?” Crawley laughed. He stepped closer and gave Parker’s forehead a two-fingered poke. “If you got any brains in that hat rack mounted ’tween your shoulders you’ll figure it out.”
“You mean she’s alive?” Parker glanced at Wilson. He wanted to be sure Wilson was hearing this. “She’s still out there?”
“’Course she’s not still in the Glades.” Crawley spit to one side without taking his eyes off them.
“Then—where is she?”
Again, Crawley laughed. “You’re a funny one, you is. Sneaking onto my land, thinking I took that girl. Now you want my help finding her?” Crawley took a step back. “You don’t need me. They’s eyes all over the Glades, if you know where to look. And they’s all the he
lp you need. One was there. Right there—and it saw plenty. I’m guessing those college-boy rangers done missed that. The answer was just a staring right back at them.”
Oh, yeah. Crawley definitely knew something. “Just steer us in the right direction.”
Crawley pointed his shotgun toward the trees. “The right direction is off my land. Right now.” He looked toward the brush and back at Parker. “You was honest with me, boy, from the get-go. And I respect that. So you done bought yourself and your friend here a chance. Sixty seconds. How’s that?”
“You mean,” Wilson said, “you’re going to let us free?”
Crawley shook his head. “Just giving you a head start. Then I’ma gonna follow—and make for certain you ain’t circling back for another look-see.”
“We’re leaving,” Parker said. “Promise.”
“By golly you better haul your sorry tails all the way back to your fancy-pants, rich-boy airboat. Yeah, I saw you boys come in.”
He was just putting a good scare into them, right? If he was going to shoot them, he’d have done it already, right?
“Iffen you haven’t fired up that swamp skimmer by the time I gets to the waterline, I just may put a hole in the hull and let you boys swim home. Are you gettin’ my meaning?”
Parker could do the fifty-yard dash in eight seconds flat. And a shotgun behind him was better than a stiff tailwind to better that time. But still—the jungle was thick. He wouldn’t be breaking any speed records once they got to the tree line.
“When you get in that swamp cruiser—you better by golly hightail it out of here. Don’t never come back. You hear?”
Wilson and Parker both nodded.
“Say it.”
“We won’t come back. Ever,” Parker said.
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