by Jana DeLeon
The color rose in her face and she stared at the floor, a rare occurrence. Obviously, he'd struck a nerve.
The realization of what had happened came over him in a flash. It was the only explanation for her silence and embarrassment. Dorie didn't talk about weakness, especially in herself, and she would definitely consider getting involved with Richard a weakness.
He placed his hand gently on her arm. "Hey, are you really afraid I would think less of you?"
She brought her head up and met his eyes. "No, I guess not. But it doesn't stop me from thinking less of me."
"Jesus Christ, Dorie" Joe stood and hugged her. "You gotta stop being so hard on yourself. You're human, you know." He released her and smiled. "At least most of the time."
Dorie gave him a small smile and a kiss on the check. "'Thanks, Joe. I should have known you'd understand. Although I don't know why, since I still don't. All I could think about was my dad."
Joe gave a moment of thought to Sheriff Berenger having the same inkling of knowledge that he did, however slim, and whistled. "No, that wouldn't be pretty. He won't be hearing anything from me. That's a promise. You tell him whatever you see fit, but don't be surprised if he sees right through you."
"Yeah," she said with a big sigh. "Maybe I’ll just try to avoid him until this is all over. It might be safer."
“Probably so," he agreed and turned to leave just as Richard walked through the front door. The concern on Richard's face as he looked at Dorie was all it took for Joe to know that this was far from over. At least on Big City's side. Joe nodded his head at Richard and left the office, eager to be done with his interviews.
The question was, was it over for Dorie?
"You all right?" Richard asked, as the door dosed behind Joe.
"Yeah," she said. "I'm excellent, considering the morning we had." And considering the job she was about to have to do. She gave him a small smile. "Can you eat?"
He thought for a moment and gave her a somewhat surprised look. "You know, I think I'm actually hungry. Guess that means we're recovering."
She laughed. "'That's what Dad always used to say when I hauled home some wounded animal or reptile. If it's eating, it's probably all right."
He pushed the front door open and waved his hand. "Then let's eat. I hate asking questions on an empty stomach."
The cafe was busy for a weekday, so they hurried through their lunch and left immediately to talk to Buster. It was a short walk from the cafe to the shrimp house, and Dorie never uttered a word the entire time. Too many thoughts rolled through her head. What if Buster was in on this? What in the world would she tell her father?
Richard opened the door to the shrimp house offices and they stepped inside. A woman behind the counter looked up as they approached and smiled at Dorie. She gave Richard a quick look up and down and frowned. Dorie tried not to smile. Richard had made quite a name for himself in such a short time. It must be some kind of record.
The woman turned back to Dorie. "What brings you here, Dorie? You need to see Buster?"
"Yeah. Is he in?"
"Sure. He was just finishing up a sandwich. Let me tell him you're here." She picked up a phone and gave a quick message to the man on the other end. “He says to give him a minute, then head on up."
“That's fine," Dorie said and waved one hand at Richard. "Have you met Richard Starke yet?"
The woman sniffed. “No, and I'm not likely to want to. You give my best to your father the next time you see him." She rose from her desk and walked off into a room to her left. The smile Dorie held in broke through. She couldn't help it. The look of dismay on Richard's face was too comical.
"You're making friends fast, Dick."
He sighed. "I've never even met that woman. God, I'd hate to be on trial in this town."
Dorie laughed. "No chance of that. There's probably not enough people in Gator Bait who can read and write well enough to fill an entire jury panel." She looked up at the clock on the wall and a feeling of dread began to settle over her. "Guess we might as well get this over with."
They walked out a side door and up a set of narrow steps. At the top of the stairs, Dorie knocked on a door with the words "Owner/Operator" stenciled on it.
"C'mon in," a voice yelled.
She pushed the door open and they stepped inside. Buster sat behind a large oak desk, but rose as they entered and walked around to give Dorie a hug. "How are you, honey?" he asked, then turned his stout frame and stared at Richard.
"I'm fine," she replied. "Buster, this is Richard Starke. He's with the DEA out of Washington. Richard, this is Buster Comeaux."
Richard extended his hand. Buster hesitated a moment before shaking it and used the time to size Richard up. "Not sure it's a pleasure to meet you," Buster said. "Folks here don't appreciate the kind of trouble you've chased into our town. Especially when it gives Maylene Thibodeaux more to run her mouth about than usual."
Richard drew his hand back in surprise. "I didn't chase him here. I didn't know where he was until Dorie ran that print. And to be quite honest, this is one of the last places I would have thought he'd be."
Buster studied him a minute more then nodded. "Maybe that's why he gets away."
Richard shrugged, dearly not wanting to get into a discussion about Roland or investigative procedure. "Perhaps."
"We have a couple of questions for you, if you don't mind," Dorie said, attempting to cut in on the testosterone festival before it got ugly.
"Hell, no," Buster replied and waved them to the chairs in front of the desk. They all sat down and Dorie looked over at Richard, who nodded. She gave a mental sigh of relief. He was going to let her run this. Thank God. Maybe Richard wasn't as ignorant on this small-town thing as she thought.
"What can I help you with?" Buster asked.
"First of all," she began, "I need to know if you've loaned your camp to anyone."
Buster gave her a surprised look. "No. Neither one of my boys has been here in six months or so. I haven't even been down there myself in over a month, even though I should go mow the grass."
"Well, someone's been there, and it was probably that someone who took a couple of shots at Richard and I today."
Buster paled and looked her up and down as well as he could over the desk, obviously searching for any sign of injury. "Are you all right? He didn't get you anywhere?"
She waved one hand in the air. "No, no. We're both fine. He missed, but neither one of us is much interested in a repeat event. The marsh is wide open, and regardless of the situation, I still have a job that requires me to be out in those bayous. I prefer to be there with fishermen and shrimpers only, if you see what I'm getting at."
"Sure, sure," Buster said, nodding his head rapidly. "But why were you at my camp? Was there a problem?"
"A couple of days ago, we checked out everyone's camp just in case the guy we're looking for was using one as a hiding place. We found signs of an occupant at your camp, although the occupant himself was nowhere to be found. We went back today to see if there had been any change."
"And that's when someone shot at you?"
Dorie nodded."We're certain he's not staying there any longer. We figure he realized someone had been there and was just waiting around to see who came back."
She leaned forward in her chair and looked Buster directly in the eyes. "The place wasn't broken into. Whoever stayed there had a key"
Buster stared back at her, never blinking, but not avoiding her look either. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath. "That could be damn near anyone then. I've got keys to that camp everywhere. Here, home, in my boats, in my truck. It wouldn't take much effort to come across one if you were looking."
"You're probably right, but the thing is, he'd have to know what he was looking for."
Buster scrunched his forehead in obvious confusion. "What do you mean?"
"He'd have to know who owned that isolated camp far back in the bayou before he could know who to stea
l a key from. It's not like you painted your name, address and phone number on the pier."
Buster stared at her, his eyes wavering a little as he realized what she had said. "You're saying someone in Gator Bait is helping him?" He shook his head slowly. "I just can't believe it. Why would anyone in Gator Bait get involved with anything like that, especially these days? You see that shit on the television all the time. Those drug dealers don't mess around."
"I know. It's about the quickest way to an early retirement in a pine box that I know of, but that doesn't change the facts. Someone had to know the camp was yours in order to steal the right key."
Buster shook his head again. "I can't believe it. I don't know anyone who would do something that foolish. People here are simple, but not stupid."
"Someone here is. You haven't had any boats missing, have you?"
"No. My nephews borrowed my bass boat last Saturday for a fishing tournament, but that's the only time one of them has been off the dock."
She stared at the wall behind Buster for a moment before speaking again. "Do me a favor and stay away from your camp for a while. At least until we catch this guy or we know for sure he's gone or dead. I don't want any other incidents like today."
Buster nodded. "No problem. I'll just borrow Curtis's goats if the grass gets too tall for the lawn mower."
The phone rang and Buster scowled. He yanked the receiver from the desk and bellowed into it, "I said no interruptions. This better be important."
As Buster listened, the smile vanished and a disgusted look appeared. "I thought you fixed everything," he said, his voice getting louder. There was another pause, then he said, "Fixed means it doesn't happen again. What part of that do you not understand?"
He slammed the phone down and rose from his desk. "I'm sorry, Dorie, but we got a problem with the traps again. The guys swore to me that they repaired them all. For the life of me, I can't figure out what's going on"
"How many?" Dorie asked, rising from her chair.
"Just one," Buster said as he walked toward the door. "But he's a big one. The guys already called Curtis. He should be here any minute." Buster walked out the door and hurried down the steps, Dorie and Richard following behind.
"What's going on?" Richard asked as they rushed down the steps and through the front office.
"An alligator got through one of the traps and is in the shrimp house. Remember me talking about them finding an easy meal? The traps angle from the shrimp house into the bayou to run off water and ice, but if the grate on the end is removed, a persistent alligator can climb right up the trap and into the shrimp house."
Richard's jaw dropped slightly in obvious disbelief."Does this happen often?"
"More than you want to know, and with everything in this town tied to this shrimp house, no one can afford this kind of problem," she replied.
"So I guess our interview with Buster is over?"
Dorie nodded. "Yeah, but I was out of questions anyway, and still didn't have a feel on it. What about you?"
"I can't think of anything we missed, and unfortunately, don't know the man well enough to pass judgment on his honesty. Do you think he lied about anything?"
"I don't know," she said, pushing open the door to the warehouse. "Something doesn't feel right, but I can't put my finger on it. Let me make sure this gets handled, and then we'll get back to our business. I'll think a bit on our conversation with Buster and maybe something will hit me later."
Richard nodded and they stepped into the warehouse to witness Gator Bait's most dangerous problem firsthand.
CHAPTER TEN
The smell of fresh shrimp and fish assaulted Richard's nose as they followed a crowd of people through the warehouse doors. Suddenly, everyone in front of him stopped, and he dug in his heels to keep from running into someone. Peering over Dorie's shoulder, he tried to determine what the holdup was and got an immediate answer.
A couple of feet in front of them was the alligator, and he was huge, every bit fifteen feet. Perched in the middle of a giant pile of shrimp, with a good portion of the pile hanging out of his mouth, he seemed to glare at everyone, almost daring them to make him give up his supper. Every time someone moved, he swung his head in their direction, rose up on his giant claws, and all crowd movement ceased.
A door at the far end of the warehouse opened with a bang against the metal wall, and Richard saw people scrambling to move to the side. It looked like Moses parting a sea of people, and he couldn't help but wonder what in the world was coming now. He stretched up on his toes, trying to see over the crowd of people, but all he could make out was a mop of brown hair moving slowly through the warehouse. When the hair got to the crowd in front of the alligator, everyone shifted again, and a man stepped through.
"That's Curtis," Dorie whispered. "Wildlife and Fisheries keeps him on retainer for this sort of thing. He's fantastic."
Richard gave her comment a lot of weight, considering the source, and strained to get a better look at the man Dorie called fantastic, hoping he didn't have competition he couldn't compare with. When the crowd parted just enough so he could see, he was more confused than ever. Curtis was small, maybe five-foot-four and a hundred twenty pounds with clothes and shoes and if he stood in a monsoon.
"Fantastic at what?" Richard asked. "Being bait?"
Dorie gave him a grin. "That's another good one, Dick. Your true colors are coming through." She nodded toward Curtis, who now stood directly in front of the alligator. "You've heard of a horse whisperer?"
"Yes, I saw the movie," he replied. "How did we get off on horses?"
"Curtis is sort of an alligator whisperer," Dorie continued. "He's had write-ups in all the wildlife magazines."
He stared at her, certain she was pulling his leg, but she looked back at him, a completely serious expression on her face. He gave Curtis another good look and turned back to Dorie. "That man only has three fingers on his right hand."
Dorie shrugged. "That gator was blind. It was a fluke."
"A fluke? The man lost his fingers to a fluke?" He shook his head in disbelief and as the crowd grew quiet, he turned back to watch the clinically insane Curtis.
Curtis took a step closer to the alligator, who rose immediately on his enormous claws and looked directly at the man, obviously ready to strike. Curtis held his left hand out in front of him, palm up. Then he turned the palm to face the alligator, making a stop gesture, his eyes never leaving the alligator's.
They held in that pattern for about thirty seconds, then the alligator slowly began to lower. When the alligator lay down again, Curtis walked right up to his nose and squatted in front of him. He moved his hand in a circular pattern, then began to speak, but Richard was too far away to hear the words.
Curtis reached over and stroked the alligator on the nose, still speaking in a low voice. The alligator's eyes began to close as if sinking into a deep sleep. When his eyes shut completely, Curtis motioned to the crowd and someone passed him a duffle bag. He unzipped the bag, never disturbing the sleeping alligator, and removed a metal clamp, which he placed around the alligator's mouth. Then he reached inside the bag again and drew out what looked like plastic booties.
He placed the plastic booties around each claw on the alligator and clamped them at the top. When the last foot was done, Richard heard a collective sigh of relief, then a quiet cheer went up in the room. Realizing he had been holding his breath along with everyone else, he let out a whoosh of air.
The double doors behind them opened and a man on a small crane drove into the warehouse. Curtis rolled the alligator from one side to another and placed some belts around the creature. When the belts were attached to the crane, he motioned to the operator, who lifted the alligator off the floor and began to proceed out of the warehouse.
"What about the clamps?" Richard asked as the crane moved toward the water.
"Curtis will remove the clamp on his mouth before releasing him. The gator will work the plastic ones off in a matter of
minutes. It's just a safety precaution. One of those claws could slit a man from end to end."
He nodded, still not quite believing what he'd just seen. "Why isn't Curtis in Hollywood? He could make a fortune hosting one of those silly wildlife shows."
Dorie shook her head. "He tried once to talk to an alligator in Florida. It doesn't work the same."
"Different dialect?"
Dorie smiled. "Maybe. Either way, Curtis is kept plenty busy right here. Besides, he makes sixty, maybe seventy thousand every year during alligator season. He doesn't really have to work but a couple of months out of the year. Spends the rest of it drinking beer and playing poker at the casino in Lake Charles"
"Sixty or seventy thousand?" Richard said, amazed. "Unbelievable"
"Not if you know where to find them and how to kill them without them killing you. Since Curtis doesn't use guns, there's no damage to the hides or the skulls. He gets top dollar for his catch."
"So how does he kill them?"
"He slits their throats."
He was taken aback for a moment at both the directness and the content of her answer. "And that's all right with you? I mean, I thought you were all about animal rights and such."
Dorie thought for a moment and shook her head. "It's not like that exactly. I run the game preserve. In the preserve, different rules apply. Besides, you can't let alligators populate under protection forever or you'd have ten times more of them than people in a couple of years' time. Our goal in the preserve is to keep the alligator from becoming extinct and provide them a safe place to exist, not help them take over the world."
He nodded, trying to comprehend the delicate balance Dorie must have in her mind to be able to support both preserving and hunting the same animal. "What's next?" he asked. “The boat store?"
Dorie looked up at the sky. "Yeah. We better get a move on. It took longer here than it should have. We'll be running late meeting Joe unless we hurry."
