by Jana DeLeon
Joe stared at Stella, a bit stunned at her comment. What in the world was going on here? Joe looked back out at the driver, still leaned against his truck smoking a second cigarette. "What's he waiting on?"
"I got some boxes in the storeroom that need to be loaded, returns and recycling and such. He said loading wasn't part of his job, but he'd get to it in a minute."
Joe glanced back outside at the driver. He showed no signs of moving anytime soon. "I don't suppose you'd mind if I took a look in a few of those boxes."
Stella threw her hands in the air in surrender, apparently deciding he had lost his mind. "Of course, you can look in the boxes, but when all is said and done, Joe Miller, you're going to owe me one hell of an explanation."
"Yes, ma'am," Joe said and followed her back into the storeroom.
Dorie sat rigid in the boat, unable to speak. Her mind was whirling with the information Richard had given her. At first, she hadn't wanted to believe it, but his story filled in too many missing elements in her past. The mother that no one spoke of, the difference in appearance between her and her dad and his silence all those years when she was a little girl and wanted to know about her past.
How could he? How could he have done this to me? And knowing all the time that she was chasing Roland-the man who had fathered her and most likely killed her mother?
"What I don't understand," she finally said, "is your excuse for not telling me the truth." She focused directly on Richard.
He looked at her for only a moment before averting his eyes. "I promised your dad I wouldn't. I was giving him the opportunity to tell you himself. He was supposed to do it soon. How was I supposed to know that he was going to disappear and get himself shot?"
She narrowed her eyes. "You weren't, but after he disappeared and I told you about his past with Roland, you could have told me then. I told you my secret and at no small expense, I might add. What was stopping you?"
He shrugged but didn't look at her. "I don't know. I guess I didn't want to tell you any more than your dad did. It wasn't a pretty story." He finally turned his gaze to her. "You have to understand, Dorie, that I never intended things to get this out of control. I didn't want people hurt, especially you and your father. I've spent all these years tracking Roland to try to prevent people from being hurt. Or at least that's what I've told myself. Maybe it was all just a convenient lie in order for me to justify my revenge."
She sucked in a breath, never having considered it that way, and wondered how she would feel if the situation was reversed. Would she have used everyone around her at any expense to avenge a loved one? She tried to imagine it, but her emotions were already too clogged to process anything else. And why had Richard been so reluctant to tell her the truth-regardless of how sordid it was? Was it possible that he cared for her more than he let on? Was his concern for her more than it would have been for anyone else in the same situation? Her chest constricted at the thought. She wasn't ready for this. Not now. Too much in her life was unsettled.
And that was a gross understatement.
She looked at him again and took in his miserable expression, the apprehension in his eyes when he looked at her. He's not sure either. All these secrets had probably put an end to something before it had ever really gotten started.
And maybe it was best that way. Richard was going to keep trying to catch Roland. He'd be far from Gator Bait, maybe even as soon as tomorrow. Despite her offer to help him apprehend Roland if he left Gator Bait, she knew he wouldn't or couldn't take her up on it. The DEA would close up shop before they allowed any assistance from the biological daughter of the man they were after.
"I'm sorry, Dorie," he said. "I didn't want to hurt you any more than you already have been, but there's still the possibility we might face Roland before this is over. I couldn't allow you to do that without knowing the truth."
She nodded. "I understand. But the truth doesn't change what I have to do."
"Maybe not, but it might change how you do it."
She gazed down the bayou for a moment and considered his words. Did knowing that Roland had fathered her make a difference in how she would handle a confrontation? Instinct told her it didn't, but how could she be sure? Realizing there was only one way to find out, she started the boat, and hoped that Roland was still around.
The truck driver opened a cell phone and dialed. "We might have a problem," he said. "'That deputy was at Stella's and Pete's asking questions."
He paused for a minute waiting for instructions.
"No, not the woman. This was the guy. I haven't seen the woman or that DEA agent anywhere. Maybe they're still at the hospital. So do we move now or what?"
The driver listened for a moment, then closed the phone. It was time to get this over with, collect his money, and disappear. This deal had obviously gone sour and although he had no real aversion to killing a man-or woman, for that matter-it wasn't really something he wanted following him around when the job was done and he was all set to relax.
"Dorie, come in." Joe radioed out from the sheriff’s office.
"Go ahead, Joe." The reply came quickly.
"I think I've found our transport, and it's leaving town today."
"What have you got?"
Joe told her about the truck driver and Stella's and Pete's comments. "It looks like someone set the driver up to play off each of them, both thinking the other had made the initial contact. And to have done that, we're right back to someone from Gator Bait. Someone very clever."
"But Stella and Pete were clean?"
"As far as I can tell. Stella was a little ticked that I had her open her return and recycle boxes, but they were clear. She'll get over it as soon as all this is said and done. Pete didn't have any returns at all, so Stella was the only one sending anything back with the driver."
There was silence for a couple of seconds, then Dorie said, "Can you watch him and see where he goes without him catching on?"
He considered this for a minute. "I could probably track him within fifteen miles or so from the top of the motel. The guy's already noticed me asking questions, so I'm sure he'd catch a tail."
"Do that, then. Try the top of the motel and see if you can find where he lands. Call in backup from Lake Charles. Do not try to arrest this guy alone. Do you understand me, Joe?"
"Yeah, I understand," he said, although he didn't like it. "I'll call Lake Charles right away and get to the top of the motel as soon as he leaves."
"Call if you get a fix on him."
"Yep," he said and placed the radio on the table. Call Lake Charles. Damn it, he didn't want backup. Dorie ran around risking her life all the time without backup, and he wasn't even counting on Richard. A big help he had been so far. He looked at the phone on the desk and sighed.
"Shit," he said as he picked up the phone and dialed.
Dorie and Richard were a couple hundred yards from the preserve when she cut the throttle on the boat, pulled out a pair of binoculars and scanned the preserve.
"Anything?" Richard asked.
She shook her head. "Not that I can see. Of course, the grass is pretty high in the breeding ground. It would be easy to hide in a small boat."
"So what do you think?"
Pulling her gun from the holster, she checked it one last time. "I think it's time to end this."
He drew his firearm, gave her a nod, and took a deep breath as she approached the breeding grounds. They were only fifty yards or so from the location on the map when he saw the alligators. Joe was right. They were everywhere.
A head or tail stuck out of every piece of brush and the water surrounding the boat was filled with them-not a spare foot or two between them. He looked down just as a big one, probably fifteen feet or so, drew alongside the boat.
They were definitely outnumbered. Not in his wildest nightmares did he think pursuing Roland would ever come down to this. He looked around again. Maybe Roland was losing it. There had to be easier ways to do business than hiding thing
s here.
He was just about to tell Dorie to turn around and call in the National Guard when she pointed to the right of the boat. Looking out over the bow, he saw a stretch of dirt rising up out of the marsh. Smack in the middle of that stretch was a stack of duffle bags.
"Unless some of the gators are planning a vacation," she said, "I think we've found the drugs."
He nodded. "Yeah, but how do we get to them? And don't tell me you're walking up there."
She shook her head. "I'll pull the boat as far up the bank as we can go. I have a supply of flares in the equipment box. The gators hate them, and I should have enough to create a path to the drugs. We'll have to hurry, though."
The understatement of the decade.
"Yeah, we'll hurry," he said, looking once more at the hundreds of alligators surrounding that small spot of land and wondering whether there was a world record for the fifty-yard dash while carrying heroin.
It had taken a bit of explaining, but Joe was finally perched on the rooftop of the motel with a set of binoculars pinned on the delivery truck. The driver had left Gator Bait just ten minutes earlier, and Joe had waited until he turned the corner off Main Street, then hustled across the street and convinced Stella to let him sit on the roof of the motel. At first, she'd thought he was crazy and insisted on him sitting inside in the air-conditioning and having a glass of water.
Joe had explained the situation in a rush only for Stella to yell at him and ask him what the hell he was waiting for. He hustled to the roof, found a spot to sit, and waited for the driver to stop. Lake Charles was sending two backup units, but it would take them at least an hour to get there. He had already decided, orders or no orders, if he thought he could take this guy down, that's just what he was going to do. Dorie would have to get over it. After all, he'd been putting up with her dangerous stunts his entire life. He was due one of his own.
The truck made a right turn off the highway and Joe scanned the area for something familiar. "Damn," he said out loud. The driver was traveling down the road in front of Maylene's house. No wonder Maylene had been complaining about noise lately. Between the plane and someone scouting the road for a getaway, her quiet little world had probably been very busy. If she hadn't been such a drunk, they might have caught on a little sooner.
But it was too late now for wishing. There was only one way out of that road by vehicle and Joe could easily have that way blocked. He waited until the truck reached the end of the road and parked, then grabbed his portable radio and called Dorie.
The screech from the radio made Dorie and Richard jump. "Shit," Richard said.
Dorie reached for the radio. "You got something, Joe?"
"Yeah, the truck stopped down the road from Maylene's. That must be the pickup. You find the drugs yet?"
Dorie looked at the stacks of duffle bags surrounded by hundreds of gators. "Oh, we found them all right. Smack in the middle of the breeding ground. There must be a hundred gators on that patch of land."
Immediately, Joe started protesting. "Damn it, Dorie! You're not thinking of setting foot on that piece of dirt, are you?"
"No other way to get the drugs off. I have a bunch of flares. We're going to create a pathway and get the stuff into the boat as fast as possible. Then we're getting the hell out of here."
There was a moment of silence, and she knew Joe was trying to contain himself.
"You do realize," he said, "that if the driver is in position, then someone else is going to be coming after those drugs? What do you want me to do about the truck?"
"Hold tight and wait for Lake Charles to back you up. If he moves before Lake Charles gets there, then try to follow. But don't be obvious. This guy might be able to lead us to Roland if we don't get the opportunity to meet out here. I want that driver alive and talking."
"Fine. But do me a favor. Duct tape the radio open. If you two get into any trouble, you might not be able to make it back to the radio in time. I'll take the portable with me. If you get in a bind, just holler, and I'll head that way."
"You got it," Dorie said and nodded at Richard who passed her the duct tape.
"That's really not a bad idea," Richard said. "At least if things get hairy, we'll know backup is on the way."
She stared at him. "Dick, if things get hairy, we're not even going to have time to yell."
He shook his head and sighed. "You know, it's so comforting working with you."
Grinning, Dorie lit the first flare and tossed it out of the boat about three feet in front of them and to the right. The gators immediately retreated from the burning object, hissing their disapproval. She motioned to Richard, and he tossed a flare a few feet from the boat on the other side. Again, the gators scattered, but remained within looking distance, their tails flicking back and forth in anger.
Dorie drew her gun and stepped over the side of the boat, a second flare in her hand. "If you see one of them rise up on his legs, shoot him. They're ungodly fast, even with all that length behind them."
Richard nodded, a grim expression on his face, and pulled out his own firearm. Gun in one hand and flares in the other, he followed her out of the boat and into certain hell.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Joe strained to hear Dorie and Richard, but finally decided that the signal was coming through fine. They had just stopped talking. He was sure he knew what had created the lull in conversation and was equally as sure he didn't like-it.
He turned the radio up all the way, placed it on the ledge next to him, then picked up his binoculars for another check on the driver. He scanned the road in front of Maylene's house. The truck was still parked at the end in the same spot as before, but the driver was now out of the vehicle, talking on a cell phone.
Maybe things are about to happen. He checked his watch. The Lake Charles police were at least twenty minutes away. If Dorie and Richard ran into problems out there, they were going to be cutting it real close.
He looked through the binoculars again. The driver had finished his call and leaned back against the truck smoking a cigarette. A good sign. He was there for the duration. Or a bad sign. That meant someone is definitely going after the drugs.
For a moment, he considered calling Dorie but then remembered he couldn't. The radio was taped open on her end and the cell phones never picked up that far into the preserve.
"Damn it," he said, mad at himself for not realizing the limitation he'd put on communication. "I should have thought of that earlier." He took one final look at the truck before climbing down from his perch. He needed to verify the location of the Lake Charles police, just in case things went bad. He could only hope Dorie and Richard got the drugs and got the hell out of there before Roland, or his mystery partner, showed up to collect their merchandise.
Dorie stepped carefully into the middle of the cleared path, lit another flare, and threw it a couple of feet in front of her. Richard did the same on the other side. They were almost to the bags, and so far, the flares had kept the alligators at bay.
She lit the last flare and threw it ahead of her. As soon as Richard's matching flare hit the ground, she walked steadily to the pile and hoisted two bags onto her shoulders. Richard managed four-the show-off-and they hurried back to the boat, careful not to further aggravate the alligators.
Their first trip over, they tossed the bags into the bow of the boat, and began back down the narrow path. "We ought to be able to get it all this time," Dorie said, keeping her voice low.
Richard nodded, his eyes flashing from left to right, watching the alligators. "You know this is insane?"
"I know," she agreed. "Someone must have screwed up big time. There's no way anyone local would consider this a good place to hide something."
"Oh, it's a grand place to hide something," Richard said as he lifted the last of the bags from the ground, "just not if you're planning on wanting it back."
They were halfway back to the boat when the shot rang out. Dorie spun around as Richard stumbled to the ground, b
lood already seeping from a hole in his pants. Dropping immediately to the hard dirt, she searched the brush looking for the shooter. "Get to the boat," she said. "I'll cover you."
He started to move and the second shot rang out, grazing his right arm and causing him to drop the bags. Only a couple of feet away from him, the gators began to stir, the scent of blood making them restless. As they started to move toward him, Richard looked up at Dorie, the fright etched clearly across his face.
"Run," she said as she dropped the bags and ran for the boat. They were almost there when the airboat exploded, showering them with a thick cloud of white powder.
Joe grabbed the radio at the first sound of gunshots. He strained to hear anything, but could only make out the rustling of marsh grass and the water hitting the side of the boat. He tucked the radio under his arm, hustled down the ladder and ran toward the dock. The sound of the second shot brought him up short, and he strained again to hear any sign of life out of Dorie or Richard.
"What the hell was that?" Pete asked as he rushed out of the bar and over to Joe, followed a mere second later by Stella, firing off the same question.
"Dorie's in trouble," Joe replied. "Pete, do you still have that barge trailered behind the bar?"
"Yeah," Pete said, confusion written all over his face, "but that thing hasn't run in years."
"I don't need it to run," Joe said as he checked his gun for bullets. "I need you to hitch it to your truck and park it across the entrance of the road to Maylene Thibodeaux's. Make sure a vehicle can't get around it. Then head up the highway and intercept the Lake Charles police. Show them where to turn and don't let that hotshot driver get away."
Pete nodded and rushed off behind the bar, obviously not about to question Joe's instructions after hearing the noise from the radio.
