“Now be a good lad and put the gun down,” she murmured.
Jack caught a motion out of the corner of his eye, just as Isaac tackled him hard and knocked the gun out of his hand. The attack cleared his mind, breaking Henrietta’s spell. Isaac straddled him, raising his fist and landing the first blow. He broke the ridge of Jack’s nose; pain shot through his head, and blood flowed down his shirt. He somehow blocked the second blow with his right arm and tried to twist from under him, but Isaac was wiry and strong.
He tried to land another punch; this time Jack let him throw, except he rolled to the side. Isaac’s fist glanced off the side of his head, hitting the ground and throwing him off balance. Jack rolled with him, breaking his attacker’s hold. As he rolled, he ended up lying on top of his gun. He fumbled for a moment, but was able to grab the weapon. He rolled back towards Isaac, who scrambled to his feet and looked down at Jack who was now pointing the weapon at him. Their eyes locked on each other and Jack could see Isaac’s fear. He pulled the trigger. The bullet ripped a hole in the center of Isaac’s throat. His head flopped backwards grotesquely, his lifeless body dropped to the ground, legs quivering. Jack scrambled to his feet and ran back around the house in the same direction from which he had come, not bothering to be careful.
****
Jimmy dropped the senator off his shoulder onto the mortician’s table. Hunter was drugged and would not put up a fuss. “Time’s up, Mr. Senator.” Jimmy walked over to the box of remotes and clicked on each individual television in the shop. He picked up a large blade with wooden handles on each end. “This’ll pop that head of yours off in just a few seconds.” He placed the blade over the middle of Hunter’s throat, but stopped, realizing he hadn’t covered the workspace with plastic. “Lucky bugger, you get to live for a few more minutes.”
He heard a gunshot, and within seconds his hunting rifle was in his hands. He patted the senator’s leg. “You wait here.” Jimmy never walked in a straight line, he shuffled from side to side, the gait of a practiced hunter, his eyes darting back and forth. He slipped out the side door, carefully moving to the shadows. There was no use running hell-bent into danger. He stood motionless, watching, waiting.
****
Janie also heard the report of the weapon. Damn. She didn’t have much time to think. Who was shooting the gun, and at whom? If it involved Jack, he needed her help. She had to move, the place was giving her the creeps; she had a sinking feeling that the owner of her resting place might show at any time. She moved back into the water at the edge of the tall reeds lining the bank. She saw a man run from the boathouse toward the driveway.
She paused for a moment. Do I dare go back in the water? Not with that damned shark. She needed to draw the animal back. She splashed the water with the stick, holding her gun in the other. Nothing. She kept doing it, only with more force. A gator moved off the bank ten feet to her right, aroused by the noise. Then a large form surfaced a dozen feet in front of her.
“Damn.”
It was a shark. She swore that the thing rolled on its side and had a look at her, its light green eye lifeless and cold. It disappeared for a minute, only to resurface a little closer. The gator kept its distance from the larger creature. It resurfaced again, within five feet of her. She took a step into the water, raised her gun and fired, aiming at the eye. She didn’t miss by much, blowing a small hole in the side of its head. The shark went into a wild flurry of spasmodic twists and turns, gradually sinking into the water, a trail of blood following it into the depths. The large gator took off after the dying animal, and she thought she saw a few more of the beasts moving in for the feast. She crept down the shore, as far away from the now churning water as she could get, and slipped into the river quietly. She stuffed the gun into her belt and dove under the murky water, swimming as calmly as she could toward the other side.
****
Jack turned the corner of the house and stopped for a moment checking to see if there was anyone in the front yard and driveway. Things looked clear. He didn’t waste another moment and headed towards the boathouse. Just as he reached the large side door, he heard the crack of a twig under someone’s shoe. He turned and was greeted by the barrel of a high-powered hunting rifle.
“You’re a dead man, Jack Walker.” Jimmy moved out from the shadows. “Drop the weapon.”
Jack didn’t think it wise to try a hero move with Jimmy’s gun pointed directly in the middle of his chest. He let the gun drop to the ground, feeling a stab of panic rising in his throat. Jimmy nudged him with the gun and pushed him into the workshop. He walked slowly backwards, watching over his shoulder that he didn’t bump into anything. He saw Hunter’s form on the table as he reached the middle of the room.
“Sit down.” Jimmy pointed at the couch in the middle of the floor.
****
Henrietta made her way down the stairs off the large sweeping porch. Mason followed. They both stopped, Mason putting his hand up demanding silence. They both watched as Jimmy McFadden marched Walker into the boathouse.
Mason addressed the matriarch. “It is time that we left this place. The spirit Satan has told me so. He has never been wrong.”
“Fine.” Henrietta hesitated as if listening to something. “Get the car running. I won’t be long. We cannot leave that half-wit Jimmy McFadden to his own devices. He must be given guidance.”
“Be careful, ma chère”. Mason left her and walked briskly towards the stolen SUV.
Henrietta walked deliberately towards the boathouse. She could hear the sound of the televisions blaring from inside. If she entered, she would not have the benefit of the spirits to guide her. She felt a slight twinge of panic rise in her throat.
Henrietta stepped into the doorway, both men turned their heads to look at her, but only for the briefest of seconds before they reverted their attention back to each other.
“Shoot him now, Jimmy McFadden.” Henrietta yelled over the buzz of the televisions.
Jack surprised himself with how calm he felt. “You shoot me, Jimmy, you don’t get to hang me on the hooks, let the gators eat me feet first. Remember, an eye for an eye?”
Jimmy hesitated, seeing the reason behind Jack’s comment. “He’s right, old woman, we need retribution for Eric. Shootin’ him in the head just ain’t good enough for the bugger.”
“Jimmy McFadden, listen to me and put a hole in his goddamned head now!”
A voice rang out from the back of the shop. “Lower your weapon.”
Janie’s voice was shaky as she stood soaking wet, the light from the dock forming her in silhouette.
“Who in blazes are you? Henrietta exclaimed.
Jack didn’t move. Did Janie have the nerve to shoot?
“I said, lower your weapon.” Janie’s voice was a little louder, urgent.
With the calmness of an expert, Jimmy moved his aim from Jack to Janie and fired, the bullet hitting her square in the shoulder. She was able to squeeze off a shot, but it flew harmlessly high of her target. She fell to the ground, the Glock sliding along the floor towards the old woman. Henrietta moved to pick up the weapon.
Jack heaved himself upwards with all of the strength left in his muscular legs, feeling the burn of the old stab wound. He brought his shoulder up under Jimmy’s rifle and drove his other shoulder into his solar plexus. He was surprised at how sturdy the man was, as he didn’t budge much and seemed unfazed by the attack, his limited brain process allowing him to remain controlled. Jack could smell the man’s foul breath.
Jimmy grabbed the other end of the rifle and hit the back of Jack’s head. Jack continued to drive his legs, his head screaming from the pounding he was taking. He reached lower and wrapped his arms around the back of Jimmy’s legs. With a spinning motion, he knocked the ugly man off balance and continued to drive. He was able to lift Jimmy and once again drove forward with his legs. The two men flew over the front of the couch, knocking it over onto its back.
They rolled next to the mortician’s
table near the edge of the water, and Jack grabbed for anything he could find, his hand closing on a long, thin, sharp-ended tube about a quarter of an inch wide. He swung his arm in a big arc, ramming it home into Jimmy’s stomach. The pucker faced man howled in pain, sounding like a wounded animal.
Jimmy scrambled on all fours towards Jack, eyes wide, growling, grabbing Jack’s arm and sinking his teeth into him. “Motherfucker!” Jack yelled.
Henrietta fired a shot, the bullet tearing a hole in the wood floor between the men. She fired again, missing wide.
Jack stabbed the thick needle into the side of Jimmy’s neck as he lunged forward. Blood shot out of the other end of the tube. Jack rolled away as Jimmy grasped desperately at the tube protruding from him. As Jack scrambled to his feet, Jimmy pulled the tube out. Jack kicked him with all his force in the nose.
Jimmy rolled to the side and Jack pounced, driving the heel of his foot into his mouth; he felt bone breaking. He stomped again and then planted his foot on his chest and pushed him over the edge into the water. It wouldn’t be long before the gators had him.
“Die, asshole.”
Jack felt the muzzle of the gun on the back of his head. Henrietta’s words were ethereal, almost reassuring. “If he isn’t already dead, he will be soon enough, Mr. Walker.” He turned to face Henrietta, her eyes darker, almost black, her breath no longer sweet but foul. “You have made a mess for me, Jackson, but I will get over it. The devil has his way of rewarding good disciples, and I have been his best.”
Over the corner of her shoulder, Jack saw three men in black combat armor silently enter the shed, their assault rifles honed on the gun-wielding woman. He could see the red lines from the laser scopes aiming for her head.
“I disagree. You sold your soul, Henrietta, and isn’t the saying ‘the devil shall get his due?’”
“Silly boy. I gladly gave my soul and have led an enlightened life. Do you remember our agreement, Jackson? I am the Devil’s disciple. I follow his wishes implicitly and your name is in his book.” She smiled a tight smile, showing her stained teeth.
“Lower your weapon!” The voice of the SWAT team captain resonated over the blare of the televisions, and Jack dove to the right.
Henrietta raised the gun towards her jaw, but before she could pull the trigger she was riddled with bullets. Jack watched in shock as the projectiles exited the matriarch’s back. He didn’t feel an ounce of pity for the woman. She fell to the ground, her eyes scanning the room vacantly until her lifeblood slowed its exodus from her thin body. A look of utter shock remained etched on her dead face.
The tracers were now on his head, and he raised his hands in the air.
“Face down on the ground, hands behind your head!”
For all these men knew, he was still the bad guy. He looked over at Janie and was relieved to see that she was still moving. As he put his hands behind his head, Jack shouted, “We have a woman down over by the door. She’s been shot. The senator is on the table—for God’s sake, someone help him.”
Jack was cuffed with a plastic tie and led outside.
****
The property was mobbed with police, ambulances and the press. A man in a pinstriped suit was escorted through the throng of people to the shed, where he was detained by two police officers, one on each elbow. “Jack,” said the man. “Peter Robertson. I am glad that you’re still with us. Unfortunately, you’re going to have to spend some time in jail until we can sort this mess out. Where is Janie?”
“I think she is okay. She saved my life back there.”
“She’s one tough woman. I’ll be in to see you tomorrow, Jack. We’ll get the senator to make a statement once he is feeling better. Hopefully we can get you out on bail. Your aunt is willing to pay the bond.” Peter patted Jack on the shoulder.
Jack turned as he heard the familiar voice of his grandfather. “You have done well, Jack, but we have lost some of our own. We must mourn their deaths. You can’t fight the devil and expect to be unscathed. Be careful, as you have made a dire enemy. Rest now and your fancy lawyer will hopefully get you out on bail.”
Jack hugged the old man, then put his hands on his shoulders. “Grandfather. I owe you an apology, I owe our family an apology.”
“Stop. There is no need. You needed to be where you were. Remember that I said there are no coincidences in life. You came back when you were needed, just as fate would have it. This has been a painful time, but I am proud of you.”
The police officers ushered Jack away from Gramps and the throng of activity and placed him into a detainment van. The door was shut with a loud clank, the locking mechanism engaged.
Sitting across from him was Mason, his hands bound like Jack’s. Their eyes met.
“Jackson Walker,” said the man in his thick French accent. His eyes were black, and like lasers they seared into the back of his skull. Jack’s throat was instantly dry. A wry smile formed on the man’s lips. “You have proven very resourceful.” His eyes were unrelenting. “You made a deal with the devil, Mr. Walker, a week back. I know you remember.”
“The devil? Stop with the bullshit, you Satanic fuck. I made no such deal with any Devil, Satan or whatever else you want to call him!”
“Ahh. Perhaps you thought it was with Henrietta. We both serve a higher being, as agents per se. Mr. Walker. It’s time to pay up . . . one way or another. You see, the beauty of being a Devil worshiper is that it’s expected of you be dastardly, I take great pleasure in it.”
His eyes narrowed and he whispered through pursed lips. “We know where your family lives, we will watch your every move . . . be it as a free man or in a prison cell. This isn’t finished.”
Acknowledgments
WRITING YOUR FIRST NOVEL is a daunting task, it’s a leap of faith into the unknown. Devil in the Grass, thankfully, dragged me along for the ride. If I had been left to my own devices, it would have remained as 2.5 MB on my old laptop’s hard drive, thought about every now and then, and eventually forgotten. I met many people along the two year journey and took advantage of their expertise, knowledge and gentle, sometimes not so gentle, prods. I am blessed to have many friends and family who praised my work. If I have learned one thing, your book can never be good enough and I say this with self -deprecation, but you have to stop somewhere. Here it rests.
I would like to thank: the state of Florida, my second home, which inspired me to write my story. Most visitors merely scratch the surface. There is another world there if you look for it.
My wife, Carmen, for her constant love, patience and daily sounding board.
Lori Handelman of Clear Voice Editing, who found some sense in my ramblings and encouraged me to publish the story. Devil in the Grass would not exist without her.
My Publisher, Koehler Books; its president, John Koehler; Executive Editor Joe Coccaro; Acquisitions Editor Nora Firestone; Copy Editor T Campbell; and the excellent graphic design staff who gave the book a cool and wonderful face. Thank you for making the process a welcoming and fun experience.
Leticia Gomez, Literary agent, Savvy Literary Agency.
Caughill Legal Services
My readers, friends and family, who encouraged me and gave valuable feedback: Carmen Bowron, Audrey Wright, John Wright, Tamara Schaaf, Kyle Tashjian, Sally Huang, Perry Johnson, Jen Caughill, Bruce Caughill, Phil Bowron, Jim Hunter, Karen Berti, Vicki Bolduc, Bonnie Grimm, Sarah Gleddie, Jewell Betts, Viviane Elltoft, Molly Bowron, Lew Lipsit, Steve Lock, Steve Furley and Graham Heyes.
My Florida fishing brethren.
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Devil in the Grass Page 27