Curds and Whey Box Set

by G M Eppers

  I joined him, stepping forward of the forbidden white line that separated the body of the bus from the entryway. “Nonsense. You didn’t finish your training, that’s all. It takes time to get your field legs.” I watched our people spreading out, guns drawn but pointed down. “My first time out, I vomited on the guy who was about to shoot me. Pretty good tactic, as it turned out,” I admitted casually.

  Billings’ voice came over the walkie. “Fergie, investigate that sound and report.”

  “I saw the movie. Can we just work around that?”

  “Um, no. Sorry.”

  “You’re mean.”

  It was said in jest, and Billings let it go. “I’m going to try to see inside. The rest of you get to position and wait. Remember, no shooting. Do not engage without my orders.” Slowly, he approached the front porch.

  On the bus, I put the binoculars to my eyes and swept the area. Sylvia was already packing as much snow as she could grab into the tailpipe of the pickup. She kept stuffing and packing and stuffing and packing until it would hold no more. She really put her back into it, too. It was only snow, afterall. Unless it was packed solid, the engine heat would loosen the plug and shoot it out in seconds. Her breath came out in little white puffs. Then she reached into her HEP belt and pulled out a switchblade. I think she is the only one who carries a knife. After popping the six-inch blade out, she moved around to the far side of the car and bent down. She would probably shred all four tires before she was through, just in case the snow didn’t do the trick. And if they tried to ride out of here on rims, the tailpipe plug would prevent ignition at least long enough, in theory, for us to storm the truck. If she wanted extra insurance, she could crawl underneath and cut the fuel or brake lines, too, but she’d have to move quite a bit of snow out of the way first. It probably wasn’t worth the effort. The pickup wasn’t going anywhere soon.

  I told Knobby what I was seeing as I continued moving the binoculars. Next, I saw Billings, with Ban right behind him, creeping up the porch steps. With his gun in one hand and his other protectively across Ban’s torso, he backed up to the exterior wall to one side of the front window. Ban did likewise, the two of them filling the space between the front door and the picture window. He slowly moved his head to peer through the glass. His voice was low and calm. “I don’t see anyone in the house. The animal carrier is on the kitchen table, but I can’t see inside it. Do we have eyes on any of the Nonegan brothers?” Like Sylvia, his breath was visible in the cold air. One puff after another, like he was smoking an invisible cigarette.

  “Who the hell are you?” an unfamiliar voice asked in a harsh whisper.

  The sound of the motor continued. I could hear it like background noise on the speaker as the response of stunned silence cleared the line even of breathing sounds.

  Billings’ head spun around, but he stayed in his hiding place. “Who said that?”

  “Roxy Dubois, CURDS,” we heard as she responded to the stranger, also in a whisper. I couldn’t see Roxy. “We are here to rescue Clara the raccoon and take the Nonegan brothers into custody. Help us or get out of our way.”

  There was cursing of a variety I can’t repeat, mostly because at least part of it was French. The French part had what to my uneducated ears was a flawless accent, but then so did the English part. The unexpected visitor was clearly and fluently bilingual. “You came on the goddamned bus, didn’t you? A short bus. You have no idea how appropriate your choice of transportation is. Get on that thing and get out of here before you screw up our operation and these guys get away.” Only he didn’t say ‘guys.’ He said a word that implied they had an unhealthy relationship with their female parent.

  “Who do you think you are?” asked Roxy. She and her interrogator must have been standing around the far corner of the cabin from the bus, out of sight of almost everyone. I dropped the binoculars from my eyes. I was guessing whoever it was he was responsible for the black sedan.

  “Antoine Eyedeneaux,” he said. “FBI.” My ears picked up the little snap of a badge wallet being flipped open and closed, even over the drone of the still unidentified sound.

  Damn. The name struck a memory. “That’s ridiculous,” I told Knobby, but I began getting a bad feeling in my stomach. I remembered that Eyedeneaux was working the Herd crime family. I didn’t know what the Herds were up to these days, but kidnapping a raccoon didn’t really seem like their cup of tea. Of course, just because these were the Nonegan brothers and not the Herd family didn’t mean they weren’t connected to something bigger, it just didn’t seem very likely. Crime families don’t hire people who ask for a bazillion dollars. Agent Eyedeneaux had to be mistaken.

  All Billings said was a whispered, “Eyedeneaux.” I could hear his brow furrow as his brain made the same connections mine had.

  I heard Ban’s voice, sounding a little distant, being picked up by Billings’ walkie. “That’s the agent who was at the lab. He said he went to California to investigate some mutilated women.” I put the binoculars back up and trained them on Billings. He and Ban were still flat up against the wall on the porch.

  “Caledonia!” The word came back in an angry hiss. “Oh my God, you’re the people from the Mayo Clinic? What the hell are you doing way up here?”

  Ban grabbed the walkie talkie out of Billings’ hand. “They have Clara!” Ban shouted back over the drone of whatever machinery was running.

  “Was that the redhead?”

  Ban slapped the walkie into Billings’ chest, not even looking to see if he grabbed it, and ran off the porch. “Ban, no!” Billings shouted, but he couldn’t stop her.

  She ran easily through the snow, around the side of the house, meeting Eyedeneaux and Roxy on the way to the front. Eyedeneaux had Roxy’s walkie in his hand and she was following him trying to grab it back. Ban ran up to Eyedeneaux and punched his shoulder with her gloved hand. “I’m Doctor Banana Harris,” she yelled at him, not at all intimidated. “You will help us or I will personally see you drummed out of the FBI, you obnoxious little turd!”

  Billings, hearing the exchange on his walkie, looked up at the bus as if to catch my eye.

  “I made up the mutilated women because we had a lead on the Nonegans and I didn’t want to waste my time on a missing raccoon,” Eyedeneaux explained impatiently. He shoved her out of the way and walked toward the porch, but just to get into Billing’s field of vision. “I don’t have time to explain the criminal history of these two. Get your people back on that bus now and get out of here before somebody gets hurt.”

  I tracked Sylvia stepping away from the disabled pickup, a hand on her walkie. Even at this distance, I could see the disappointment on her face. “I think we have to do what he says, Billings,” I said.

  Then a more familiar voice came on the line. “Sorry to interrupt,” said Fergie. He’d been assigned to investigate the sound, and the bad feeling in my stomach began to churn. I waited tensely for his report of which body part was being ground up. “I thought everyone would like to know that our friend Gary is busy snow blowing. There’s no wood chipper back here at all. But I don’t see any sign of Ross, either.”

  “Keep an eye on him, Fergie.”

  “Will do.”

  I let out a sigh of relief, and wondered if Billings was going to give the order to retreat. Even if we didn’t understand what was going on, that was the official protocol if we ran into the FBI and Billings knew it. “Billings,” I said into the walkie, “we have to back off. Eyedeneaux, we just want the raccoon. You can have the collar, but we want the raccoon alive and well.”

  “The raccoon is expendable,” said Eyedeneaux chillingly. “These guys,” using the same word to describe them that he’d used before, “are wanted as accessories to a major crime syndicate.”

  “No!” Ban cried. “You can’t do that!”

  “Can we work together on this, Agent Eyedeneaux?” Suggested Billings.

  “No.”

  “We can’t leave unless you can assure us of C
lara’s safety.” Billings leaned his head back against the wall, looking up as if in prayer, or perhaps he was cursing his luck. Before Eyedeneaux could respond, Billings twisted once again to look through the window. This time, the rest of his body twisted with him, curling like a tightly wound spring. “Ross is sitting at the table now. It looks like he’s feeding Clara, I think. He’s alone, I don’t see any weapons. I’m going in.”

  “Stand down,” I told Billings quickly.

  “Stay out of the cabin!” Eyedeneaux yelled. Before his command ended, the snow blower motor ceased. His voice was loud and clear in the sudden silence.

  “Halt! Police!” We heard Fergie yell. “He’s going into the cabin! Repeat, Gary is going into the cabin! We’re made!”

  There was more cursing from Eyedeneaux, and then people were moving everywhere.

  “What’s happening?” asked Knobby from the driver’s seat.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “The word disaster comes to mind.”

  Billings had not given any order and no one was running toward the bus. They were converging on the cabin, focused on capturing Clara. I didn’t see Fergie. He’d probably volunteered to cover the back. “Hold your fire!” Billings shouted. I put the binoculars on Billings again, who was just turning back after looking in the window again. “Gary’s got his gun, looks like a .38 Special, probably stolen from a cop somewhere. He’s got the handle of the carrier in his other hand and he’s pointing the gun at Clara.” After the confrontation with Eyedeneaux, Ban had returned to Billings’ side on the porch. I saw her grab Billings’ free hand with both of hers. He let her hold him for a moment, then shook it off. He put his hands together on the handle of his pistol. Like the rest of us, he had a standard CURDS issue Glock 33, a subcompact .357 caliber pistol that fit easily into our HEP belts without weighing it down. It was deceptively small, but still used a .38 cartridge. He nudged Ban to the other side of the door. He went with her, so when the door opened, he, or his Glock, would be the first thing Gary saw.

  Eyedeneaux glared murderously at Billings up on the porch. He was dressed in a black suit and quilted black jacket, with a Flak jacket over that and a black fur-lined hat that was designed to snap under his chin. The snap hung loose, flopping against his neck. He also had a semi-automatic pistol held with both hands, at the moment pointed down and away, and the barrel on his gun was twice as long as ours. “I’ll see CURDS disbanded over this. Back off!” He finally tossed the stolen walkie into the air and spoke into his shoulder. I couldn’t hear what he said. His shoulder mike was on a different wavelength. There was no way he was alone. His partner had to be here somewhere too, but wasn’t announcing himself. Or herself, come to think of it. For all I knew, he had ordered his partner to take out Billings. I was imagining a bloodbath and my heart was racing.

  The front door of the cabin burst open and the Nonegan brothers came out at a run, down the steps before Billings could do anything. He aimed his Glock, but held back. Gary was lugging the carrier and the firepower and Ross was staying close. Gary turned back toward the cabin, his gun waving back and forth, hugging the carrier against his torso, walking backwards. “Anyone tries something, I kill this raccoon!” he yelled. Backing away, one step at a time, they moved toward the pickup. I was the only one that had a clear shot, to his back, and here I was with no gun. I couldn’t stop him.

  I saw Eyedeneaux talk to his shoulder, but no one on my team was near enough for his words to get picked up by a walkie talkie. The little flap containing the chin snap jiggled back and forth against his jaw as he spoke.

  Gary’s shout had come through to us on the bus because Gary was only about twenty feet away, but I didn’t think anything else the Nonegans said would, and I didn’t want to miss anything. He wouldn’t necessarily shout everything. I told Knobby to open the door, so we could hear. Again, cold air enveloped us, but I didn’t even shiver. Adrenaline also seemed to have thermal properties. Go figure.

  When they were close to the truck, Ross, turning his head to watch his step as Gary led him backwards through the snow, noticed the damage. “Gary, the tires are flat.”

  Gary took a second to turn his head and check for himself, but only a second. I thought someone might take the opportunity to fire, but everyone was afraid of hitting Clara. I wondered what Clara was doing inside the carrier. Was she, in fact, in withdrawal? Was she frightened or confused, or had she been in the carrier so long she had acclimated to it? In the silences between shouts, I tried to hear any animal sounds that might come from the carrier, but I heard nothing.

  There was no missing the bus. With the engine still running and the door open, it was the only option for Gary. “Close the door!” I shouted at Knobby, as Gary changed direction. He pulled Ross with him as he walked awkwardly through the snow, not hitting my team’s footprints at all until he was right at the bottom step.

  Knobby pulled the lever and the door shut just as Gary reached it. Gary kept watching all the armed people slowly gathering in front of the cabin, panic in his eyes. Six pistols were trained on him, and one hateful angry glare from Ban. As we watched, someone else came out of the cabin brandishing a long barrel pistol just like Eyedeneaux’s, dressed in black just like Eyedeneaux, but unlike Eyedeneaux was not wearing a hat. She had enough tightly curled blond hair to insulate an ice cube in the middle of a volcano, looking like lengths of rotini sprouting from her head. She was of average height, but was all legs, standing with her high heel black boots shoulder width apart. I thought she would aim at Billings, and threaten him to get us to back away, but she joined the rest of them, leveling her long barrel at Gary standing at the bus door. Now with seven weapons aimed at him, Gary pounded on the door of the bus with his elbow, crooking his arm to aim the gun at the carrier. Ross looked lost. “No, Gary!” he cried. “Don’t hurt Clara! You promised!”

  “Shut up, Ross!” Despite the cold, Gary was sweating.

  Without turning around, Gary pounded again with his elbow. “Open up!” His muffled shout seeped through the weather stripping like ominous blood under a locked bathroom door. Keeping his eyes on the threatening group in front of him, he cocked the gun. I couldn’t hear it through the door, but I could see the familiar adjustment in his grip as his thumb worked the mechanism.

  My mouth went dry. I had no choice. I backed away down the aisle to give them room. “Let them in, Knobby.”

  He looked at me, defeated, swallowed his Adam’s apple, and pulled the lever.

  Gary pushed Ross up into the bus ahead of him. Ross climbed in, looking around the interior with delight on his face. “Gary! This is my bus! I remember!” He said giddily. “Excuse me,” he said, going past me. He pointed to one of the seat backs. “Charlie Wooten wrote that one,” he said, pointing to an indecipherable black scribble. “Oooo! Oooo! There’s mine!” He sat in the last seat in front of the back bench and touched his legacy, the heart with the initials in it. G.N. + A.W. it said. His face grew sad suddenly, and he got quiet. I wondered who A.W. was.

  “Ross, get up here,” said Gary. Ross didn’t move at first, so he repeated himself, “Ross!”

  Ross looked up, then down at the heart again before getting up and moving past me as his brother requested. He took the first open seat, behind Knobby. Gary stood with the carrier just in front of the white line, where I’d been standing just moments earlier. The barrel of the gun moved from the carrier to Knobby’s head. “Close the door and drive, old man,” Gary said.

  Knobby is not old. He keeps his blond hair cut very short, and does have his share of lines on his face, but he is close to my age, actually a bit younger. He aged a lot after his accident that shattered his kneecaps and forced him to settle for the caretaker job. Even though he was sitting, he did have an air of age to him, a way of movement that developed after nearly a decade of favoring his knees. As much as I understood Gary’s misconception, I still resented him for saying it. It’s not like I expected him to address Knobby with particular respect, of course, but I
would have preferred the standard “bus driver” reference, or even just “hey you.”

  “Which way am I going?” asked Knobby nervously.

  “North,” replied Gary with a wave of the gun.

  Knobby did as instructed, though he drove as slowly as he possibly could. As the bus moved backward into a Y-turn, Gary turned and saw me for the first time. He smiled. It was not a friendly smile and it left me ambiguously uncomfortable. It was the kind of smile Dr. Mengele would have had if he’d met the Nicely twins. For a moment, I was frozen in his gaze like a deer in headlights. With his elbow, he pushed me back far enough so he could put the carrier on Ross’s lap, then used the palm of his hand to shove me harder toward the back of the bus. “Sit.”

  His shove threw me back two rows, my movement stopped as I involuntarily folded over the back of a seat. It felt like my ribs were breaking all over again, though I neither heard nor felt anything snap. The Extra Strength Tylenol and the adrenaline were both overpowered by simple, blinding pain and I gasped in surprise. I panted and winced.

  Seeing me being assaulted in his rearview mirror, Knobby slammed on the brakes, and I fell on my butt in the aisle, holding on to the side of the seat to avoid bending my ribcage any further.

  Immediately, Gary brought his gun around in a wide arc, his arm straight, and fired a round into the unused dispatch radio unit. I think there was a knob left afterward, which fell onto the floor and rolled toward the doorway. “I said drive!” The bus moved forward again, still slowly.

  Gary turned back to me, watching me analytically. “You hurt?”

  There was no point in lying. He was going to do what he was going to do no matter what. Maybe if he thought I was helpless he’d give me an opening. On the other hand, I was actually feeling close to helpless. “Ribs.”

  He gave a dismissive laugh. “They don’t need your ribs.”

  I didn’t know who they were, but I was glad they didn’t need my ribs. And whatever other part of my body they might want, I was determined not to let them have it. I suddenly developed fear goosebumps on top of my cold goosebumps.