by Dan Arnold
Diondro and I started to stand up, but then I heard someone nearby yelling.
“Hoy! Venir aquí me. Fueron asi!”
“¿A dónde se fueron?”
Two heavily armed men burst through the reeds where the other man had come out. Both of them jumped into the bayou without looking around at all. They splashed across the bayou as if their tails were on fire.
“Yeah, way to go, Live Screw, only three left in the fight.” I thought.
As soon as they were out of sight, I started off downstream again, with Diondro stuck to me like glue. We only had a few hundred yards to go, as the crow flew, but it was by no means a straight or easy route. The bayou twisted and turned. Where it was narrow it was deeper and tree roots had been exposed. There was brush tangled here and there and we slipped and struggled over submerged limbs and other obstructions, constantly trying to move quietly. Twice, we flushed cottonmouth moccasins from their hiding places. I stepped on a big snapping turtle that lurched under my foot and gave me a scare.
We had only made it downstream about one hundred and fifty yards from our entry point, when we heard new gunfire, very close by. That would be the assassins meeting the guardians of the pot fields.
Another hundred yards farther along and I had hopes we would not be found. We were well hidden in the bayou and by now completely covered with mud, cobwebs, muck and debris. I stopped to rest. It was getting hot, and my pack had filled with water. I poured the warm, swampy water out and removed a bottle of water from the pack and handed it to Diondro. We shared the water. We were both too hot and miserable to talk.
We heard the sound of multiple sirens approaching the scene where we had escaped the shooting. Those would be the Sheriff’s deputies and other emergency services arriving on the scene.
I considered going back the way we had come and decided it would be both easier and quicker to stick to the plan and go on down to the extraction point at the bridge.
That decision saved our lives.
We got moving again into somewhat deeper water. I heard a noise behind us and was startled to see a man jump into the bayou only about ten feet beyond where we had stopped to rest. He swung toward us and his eyes lit up as he raised his rifle.
“Les tengo! Ven pronto, Juan.”
I shot him in the face with my Mossberg from no more than twenty five feet away. His head was destroyed before he could squeeze off a shot.
Right behind us there was the sound of an automatic rifle bolt being pulled, and then there was a crash in the brush beside us and another man appeared, blindly firing his AK assault rifle in our direction. Water erupted all around us. Diondro fell over backwards into the water, as I fired two aimed shots from the Mossberg. The gunman went down. I reached down into the bayou and fished around for Diondro. I felt him and grabbed a hold of Diondro’s T-shirts and pulled him up above the water.
“Where are you hit?”
Diondro was snorting and spitting out bayou water.
“I’m not. I don’t think I am. I got my feet tangled up in something and I fell.”
“OK, stay low and keep moving downstream.”
I thumbed fresh shells into the shotgun, as I scanned the bank and the woods, looking for the third man.
He was not to be seen.
Five minutes later we were approaching the spot where I had stopped the car and studied the bayou a couple of days before.
I had Diondro rest in a kind of bole at the base of a big Cypress tree, hidden behind a screen of cattail and low hanging Spanish moss, while I scouted the rest of the way.
I saw the bridge, but there was no sign of Buddy. I had stepped out into the open before I sensed I was being watched. I started to turn back toward Diondro, when I heard a rifle shot and felt the bullet whip close past my head. I was stuck out in the open, with no idea where the shot came from. Right in front of me, no more than ten yards away, a man holding an AK 47 fell forward, face first into the bayou. Part of his head had been blown away.
I turned back toward the bridge, looking for the shooter. I figured the indistinguishable lump I had barely noticed on the edge of the bridge was a man lying prone under some sort of camouflage cover, probably with a scoped rifle trained on me. It was nearly a hundred yards to the bridge and he was almost completely hidden and shielded by the edge of it. With my shotgun, I didn’t have any hope of a shot on him, but he could easily shoot me with his rifle. The lump moved a little and the radio crackled in my pocket.
I jumped, startled. I had figured the radio would be useless after having been submerged in the water, more than once.
“Are you OK, Old Mother?”
I pulled the radio out.
“Roger that, Live Screw. Show me a sign.”
The lump on the bridge rose up into a kneeling position and pointed his rifle barrel up. Live Screw, covered entirely in a ghillie suit, waved his radio above his head.
I waved back. Even without a spotter, Live Screw could shoot with amazing accuracy, out to about a thousand yards. In this heavily forested environment, he would never have opportunity or need, to shoot beyond a couple of hundred yards or so. At that range, with his specially modified rifle, he could easily shoot groups on an area smaller than the size of a dime, but the dime wouldn’t survive the first shot. Neither had the man now floating face down on the edge of the bayou, a halo of dark red blood slowly mixing with the chocolate colored water.
“Come on out Diondro. We’re safe now.”
Twelve
Buddy continued to provide cover as we waded out of the bayou and up to where he had parked his Tahoe. As he joined us at the vehicle, he was shedding the layers of his ghillie suit, which he dropped into the cargo space. He put his specially designed Remington Model 700 sniper rifle into its hard case.
“It got real hot laying up there in the sun, waiting for you. I was half afraid somebody would come driving along and run over me, thinking I was a pile of moss or something.”
“You could’ve waited in your truck with the air conditioning going.” I said.
“Not once I heard all that shooting. It sounded like a pretty good running gun battle.”
Diondro was staring at Buddy’s sweat stained Sheriff’s uniform. I realized it was time for introductions.
“Diondro, shake hands with the Sheriff of Columbia County, Sheriff Wilson Livesque. He just saved your life, and mine… again.” I said
“My friends call me, Buddy.” He said, shaking Diondro’s hand.
As we drove back toward the Carlisle/Taylor compound, I asked Buddy what all had happened, from his perspective.
“I’d just gotten into position at the turn off onto 3802 when this carload of heavily armed thugs drove by. They didn’t see me in my ghillie suit, but I got a good look at them. That’s when I called you on the radio. You were trapped down there at the end of the road and I couldn’t help. Plan B was you would cross the bayou and head out fast on the old logging road. I was supposed to pick you up there, at the end of it. I had run back to where the unit was parked when you called in Plan C. I hauled tail to get to the extraction point at the bridge.”
“Well then, who came down the road with their siren going and engaged the gunmen, while we bugged out?”
“It was Jermaine, in his unit. I had called him and told him what was going on. He was already on his way out here to confront his in-laws about the pot farming. He was pretty upset, and told me he and his wife had no idea anything like that was going on. They’ve only been married for two years, so they figured this pot thing must be something new.”
“Yeah, that’s true, Buddy. They just started growing it last year. A family member up in Detroit talked them into it. They’re complete amateurs, and real ignorant amateurs, at that. They have taken all the risks and only gotten an insignificant fraction of the profits. They haven’t made any real money. They will be real happy to be out of the dope business. Is Jermaine alright?”
Buddy looked over at me.
“I don�
��t know, John. I’ve been busy watching out for you. We’ll know more in a minute.”
The scene down at the end of CR 3802 was organized chaos. There were at least half a dozen police cars from various agencies with red and blue lights flashing. There were ambulances and fire trucks, all flashing their lights as well. We could see Jermaine’s patrol car where it sat, all shot up, with the tires flattened.
Buddy immediately took control of the scene and began gathering information and giving orders while we remained seated in his Tahoe.
After about ten minutes, he came back to us and filled us in.
“Jermaine is OK. When he heard shots had been fired, he felt like he had to try to protect his in-laws. The 911 dispatcher had gotten several calls, but Jermaine was way ahead of any other available units. I had just left to meet you. The gunmen were firing on the house when he came down the road. As soon as the shooters saw him, they lit up his cruiser. He got out with his AR and for a minute the gunmen were taking fire from both him and the house. Jermaine managed to get one of them. The other three fell back into the woods. Jermaine followed them as far as the edge of the woods, but he was out-gunned, so he went back to the house.”
“Is everybody alright?” Diondro asked.
“No, son, I’m sorry, there were three men in the house and they were all wounded or otherwise injured some. One of them was killed.”
“Who died?”
“I’m told the name of the deceased is Andrew Taylor.”
Diondro hung his head.
“We found the body of the guy Jermaine dropped. No ID. He looks Hispanic. There is no sign of the other three gunmen yet. Jermaine figures they went across the bayou. He and I both heard a lot of shooting over that way while I was waiting for you. I’ve sent deputies across to check it out.”
He looked at me.
“How about you, do you have any idea what happened to the other three gunmen? I figure I shot one of them.”
I nodded as I answered his question.
“Three of them crossed the bayou, and it sounded like they encountered the guys who were guarding the pot fields. I don’t know what happened in that fight. A few minutes later, two of them jumped us. I dropped both of them in the bayou. You’ll find the bodies floating about three hundred yards downstream from here. I’m pretty sure the man you shot was the fourth would-be assassin.”
Diondro buried his face in his hands.
“This is all because of me. At least five people are dead and others hurt because of me.” He said, miserably.
“No, son, you didn’t cause this. Life is hard and it isn’t fair. This is not your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Buddy said, looking Diondro in the eye.
“Y’all have risked your lives for me.”
“That’s what we do, Diondro, and it’s the same thing you did for Mrs. Sawyer.” I pointed out.
“How do you want to handle this, Buddy?”
“You and Diondro get in your car and head on back to Tyler. I’ll take care of this mess.”
“How, I mean what’s going to happen here?”
Buddy was thoughtful for a moment.
“It appears from my preliminary investigation, four armed men attacked a local family. It may have been drug related. At least three of the gunmen were killed, as was a local man. The gunmen appeared to be Mexican. How does that sound?”
“It’s a good start. The gunmen probably weren’t Mexican though. I think they were from farther south of the border. They had probably done some guerilla fighting somewhere. They could be from Nicaragua, Panama, maybe even Columbia.”
“How do you know?”
“The accent and the Spanish they spoke were not Mexican. They were familiar with their weapons, but not very well trained, and they were pretty comfortable in the bush.”
“Huh, well, either way it suggests this whole thing is drug related. Maybe even a cartel. I wouldn’t be surprised if my men don’t find some marijuana growing back in the woods.” Buddy winked.
“Y’all get out of here before the news people show up and start taking pictures and asking questions. I’ll walk you over to your car, better leave the Mossberg here in my Tahoe.”
“Thanks, Buddy. I knew I could count on you.”
Thirteen
We drove out past where the pickup trucks had blocked the road. One of them was still half parked in the road. The other truck had been backed up hurriedly and had smashed into the corner of the trailer house
At the head of the road, there was a Sheriff’s department road block. There were other cars parked out there and a couple of photographers were taking pictures of everything in sight. There really was nothing to see, but the road intersection, trees, and the roadblock. They would need helicopters to get pictures of the property where the shootings occurred. I was pretty sure by this time phone calls were being made to get that very thing into the works. This would be a big story for the evening news.”
I had Diondro duck down out of sight. I was still wearing my boonie hat and I put my sunglasses on, so if they did get pictures of me and the rental car, they would have some work to do, if they tried to figure out who I was.
Buddy had radioed ahead, and the deputies waved us on through the road block. We drove past the TV vans, just as they began arriving on the scene.
“OK, Diondro, you can sit up now.”
We drove along in silence for a while, as we headed south toward the Louisiana line.
After a time, I looked over at Diondro, where he sat chewing his lip.
“We’ll stop, get cleaned up and get some lunch in Shreveport or Bossier City, is that alright with you?
“Yes, sir.”
“You seem worried, Diondro. What are you thinking about?”
“When is the trial?”
“In about three weeks.”
“That’s a long time to be hiding.”
“Oh, I expect it will go by quickly enough.”
“Where will I be?”
“I have a friend who lives in a gated community outside of Tyler. We’ll keep you there most of the time and move you around when we need to. I’m going to give him a call now.”
I hit the speed dial on my cell phone.
“Hey, J, W., How’s it going?”
“Well, Tony, you’ll probably learn some of the details from the evening news. The simple answer is I have Diondro Taylor with me. We’re headed back to Tyler from Arkansas, and I’ll need to get him situated. We’ll be there in about four hours. We’ll be providing him with around the clock protection from now until after the trial.”
“What’s the plan?”
“I’d like for him to be able to stay with you at night and whenever I’m too busy to have him with me. I’ll bring him straight to you, now. I’ll keep him with me and/or Christine at the office, when we can. We’ll work out the details when we get there.”
“OK. We’ll keep him safe. Tell him I’m proud of him for having the courage to stand up for what’s right.”
“I’ll tell him. There’s something you should know. Evidently, the individual we talked about last night called someone and told them where to find Diondro. They took a run at us. I’ll fill in the details later, and you’ll probably see it on the news.”
As we drove up the on-ramp to I-20 headed west, I told Diondro what Tony had said about him.
“My friend Tony is impressed with your courage. So am I. I know you were pretty scared back there in the bayou. You were scared, but you did what had to be done. That’s the very definition of courage, Diondro.”
“Yeah? Maybe. I was plenty scared alright, but you were so calm, you seemed to know what you were doing. I had to trust you, I couldn’t think about anything else.”
“When we get into Shreveport, I’ll get a motel room so we can both get cleaned up and change out of these wet clothes.”
The motel clerk barely raised his eyebrows when he saw and smelled me. I had been driving for more than an hour, so at least I wasn’t actually d
ripping bayou water onto his polished floor, but I was tracking mud across it. He didn’t seem at all put off by my appearance. Even though I was standing there in soaking wet, mud and muck splattered, camo clothing, he just took my credit card and, after completing the registration, wished me a nice day.
Perhaps he thought I was someone leftover from the TV show “Duck Dynasty.”
After getting cleaned up and grabbing a fast food lunch, we were again headed west. As we approached the Louisiana/Texas border, I asked Diondro a question.
“Diondro, are you a believer?”
“What do you mean?”
“I was asking if you’re a Christian.”
“Oh, uh no, I’m not, not really. My Grandmother was a religious person, but I don’t have much use for it.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m not superstitious. I don’t believe in any of that mumbo jumbo.”
“Is that what you think religions are?”
Diondro nodded in agreement.
“I figure as long as there have been people, there have always been religions. Some of them have died out or been forbidden, or whatever, others came along and replaced them, so there are still a big bunch of religions. They’re all hooey. It all depends on where you come from. Now, my ancestors in Africa probably had different gods than we have here in America. I figure those old African gods weren’t real and neither are any of the more modern American gods. It’s all just mumbo jumbo. You’d have to be goofy to buy into any of that crap.”
“I see.”
“Yeah, you know, like those old Greek gods or the Roman gods, or the Viking gods. You know, Odin and Thor and all that. They were so important in their time and place, but they weren’t real. I guess people make up gods to try and explain why stuff happens. They’re just imaginary constructs, like Santa Clause or the Tooth Fairy. I guess they’re harmless enough, but sometimes people get crazy about their religions.”