Wildlife - A Dark Thriller

by Menapace, Jeff

  “So, you folks ready to see my babies?”

  Dan, seeing an opportunity to assert himself, said, “Actually, if it’s all the same to you, we’d rather wait for Sam. If you tell him we all said that, I’m sure he’d understand.”

  Harlon’s smile dropped a little. “But only you said that,” he said to Dan. “You want me to lie, do you?”

  “No, no—I just meant if you told Sam we’d prefer if he came down here to get us…”

  Harlon only stared back.

  Dan gave a nervous clear of his throat. “Is something wrong?”

  Harlon shrugged. “Just waiting for you to finish your sentence. Not much of a mind-reader, boy.”

  Dan waved both hands with an olive branch smile. “Haha, okay. All I meant was that we’ve been with Sam all morning, and—” What? Don’t trust a guy with blood on his shirt, who Sam told us was both mean and a little nutty? Yeah. Hell yeah. But how to say such a thing to said mean nut in a bloody shirt? “I’m just thinking we might all feel more comfortable if Sam came down here to bring us on up, that’s all. We didn’t mean any offense.” He looked at Russ, Vicky, and Liz, hoping for nods and murmurs of agreement. He got them, and felt relief—sort of.

  Harlon Roy sucked air between his teeth with a brief flash of disgust. “Didn’t mean any offense, huh?”

  Dan shook his head quickly. “No, not at all.”

  Harlon called over his shoulder while keeping his eyes locked on Dan. “Sam? Sam, you come down here a minute?”

  No answer.

  “Sammy?” Harlon called again.

  Nothing but the ambient sounds of the river around them.

  Harlon brought his stare back on Dan. “Doesn’t surprise me he can’t hear. He’s ’round back, fixin’ to get a hearty meal prepared for my babies—for what was gonna be your show.”

  Russ finally spoke. “You know, I think we got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Roy. We’re very grateful; talk to Sam and he’ll tell you. In no way whatsoever did we mean any disrespect, and if we offended you, please accept our apology now, sir.”

  Harlon smiled at Russ almost instantly. “Apology—and a damned good one—accepted, Mr. Russ Burk. Calling me sir, even.” He looked at Dan. “Could take a lesson or two from your old man, boy.”

  Dan was about to correct Harlon on the status between he and Russ, but correcting Harlon after the damage control Russ had just managed seemed anything but wise. He merely nodded and smiled at Harlon instead. Neither Liz, nor Vicky, nor Russ sought fit to make the correction either. In any other situation, the misunderstanding might have been cause for a brief moment of bashful smiles all around. Now it seemed as if everyone was on Dan’s page—a correction, no matter how minor, seemed akin to flicking the tiger’s nose once it’d finally dozed.

  “So,” Harlon said, eyes on Russ, and only Russ, something Dan felt was deliberate, a metaphorical castration for all to see. “Am I taking you nice folks up to see my babies get their lunch, or am I sending Sam back down to call it off?”

  The boat exchanged looks. Russ, his ego perhaps fed just enough to cloud judgment for calming the waters with a man who was the total antithesis of his country club chums, said: “Let’s head on up and watch your babies get their lunch, Mr. Roy.”

  ***

  Harlon did not lead them to the rear of the house. He led them to the far right, towards the hatch that opened into his gators below. Grabbing the thick rope in the center of the hatch, Harlon grunted as he pulled the trapdoor open and let it slam back onto the deck as he always did, a Pavlovian sound to his congregation: come and get it.

  Liz and Dan peered in first, saw the spiraling impatience of dark green bodies, their powerful tails slapping the water and each other, their mouths open wider than logic would suggest, the seemingly limitless rows of razor teeth stretching logic further still.

  Liz jumped back at first sight.

  Harlon laughed.

  “Wow, they’re aggressive,” Dan said.

  “Been around a lot of gator farms during feeding, have you, boy?” Harlon asked Dan.

  Dan stood upright and looked at Harlon. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Then what the fuck would you know about it?”

  Russ and Vicky had just started to peek down into the hatch when they heard Harlon’s comment to Dan. They stopped. All four faced Harlon now.

  “Where’s Sam, Harlon?” Russ said.

  “What happened to ‘sir’?”

  Russ took a deep breath and let it out slow. It was an exhale of fear, not frustration. “Sir, where’s Sam?”

  “Why’d you folks move that tree? Didn’t you think it was there for a reason?”

  Vicky inched close to Russ’ side, Liz to Dan’s.

  “I said that to Sam,” Dan said. “Those exact words, actually. He insisted we move it.”

  Harlon shook his head, looking almost disappointed. “Big dummy should have just let it be…I liked Sam, dammit.”

  Vicky was now tight to Russ’ arm as though trying to stay warm. Dan began inching Liz behind him.

  Harlon dropped his head and began muttering like a man bitching about his job. “Damn tree was there for a reason…should have just let it be…fucking Daigle boys to worry about—” Then, with a jolt, Harlon’s head shot up to full attention, eyes wild and angry. “And now I got YOU FOUR to consider! God DAMN if this isn’t a big old fucking mess!”

  “SAM!?” Russ suddenly yelled.

  Harlon blinked at Russ, all traces of anger suddenly gone.

  “SAM!?” Dan joined in.

  Now Harlon looked at Dan, his expression equally quizzical. Calmly, he asked: “What are you people doing?”

  “Where is he?” Russ asked. “Where’s Sam?”

  Harlon’s chin recoiled in disbelief. “He’s dead, dummy. What’d you think I was going on about?”

  Dan immediately spun and urged Liz, Russ, and Vicky towards the bridge. “Go, go, get to the boat and—”

  Harlon rolled his eyes, pulled his gun, and shot Dan in the back of the head. Blood hit Liz’s face. Dan crumbled to the deck, dead eyes open, one of them blinking involuntarily. His left leg twitched.

  Vicky dropped her camera and screamed, turned and burrowed into Russ’ chest like a child desperate to avert its eyes. Russ held her tight, his face a mask of fear.

  Liz stood frozen in shock, the blood of her dead boyfriend dripping down her face.

  “I’ll say the same thing to you folks as I said to Sam,” Harlon said. “It’s nothing personal; just the wrong place at the wrong time.” He glanced down at Dan’s body. “Though I gotta say, I didn’t care much for this one—got a smart mouth on him.” Harlon rolled Dan over to the open gator hatch with his foot, and then kicked him in.

  When he heard the thrashing below, and then the unmistakable sounds of eating, Russ let go of Vicky and vomited.

  Chapter 21

  Tucker Roy rowed his son home. The talk did not go as he’d expected.

  Tucker had no intentions of lying to his son. He’d planned to tell him that he did kill Adelyn Daigle, that Harlon did kill Ron Daigle. Their family had been horribly disrespected, and two of their own—Travis’ mama and his unborn brother or sister—had been taken from them. Something so terrible demanded retribution. They’d been in the right.

  But Tucker hadn’t been able to get to any of that. Instead, Travis had blurted something about orphans, going on about his fear of losing both his mama and his daddy.

  Tucker had been initially stumped on why the boy was conjuring such ideas, yet he’d soon settled on part of the grieving process. And why not? Lost your mama; worried about losing your daddy next. Made perfect sense. And then there were the Daigle boys. They were orphans now. Not some meaningless word to be slung with spite in the schoolyard, but the real thing— there, tied up in their home, both parents gone forever.

  So when the subject drifted into the territory of the as-yet-unknown future of the Daigle boys, Tucker believed he’d understood what his son h
ad been alluding to all along—he didn’t want to be as good as an orphan, with a mama in the ground and a daddy in prison. And it was now Tucker’s job to convince his son that no such thing would happen.

  When Travis softly said that the only way for no such thing to happen was to kill Ethan and Noah Daigle, Tucker stopped rowing.

  ***

  And so now, as Tucker Roy rowed his son and himself closer to home, he reflected on their talk, his son’s final pleas:

  “So you won’t let them take you away, Daddy?”

  “No, son. Nobody’s taking me away.”

  “You’re not going to jail?”

  “I’m not going to jail.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  His promise—what Tucker knew had to be done with the Daigle boys in order to keep it solemn—was spoken with sad conviction, but conviction nonetheless. He recalled his daddy’s words to him as a boy, right after his daddy testified against an innocent man in order to cover up a crime his uncle had committed:

  “There are things in life you just gotta do, boy. Don’t mean you gotta like ’em. This was family.”

  Tucker nodded at the memory, his conviction feeling sturdier. He forced himself to recall similar memories, where difficult decisions were made according to the Roy script, except Travis suddenly broke his daze.

  “Someone at the house, Daddy.”

  Tucker looked ahead. A fan boat was tied to their bridge. It was empty. He frowned. “What the hell?”

  Chapter 22

  Tucker and Travis inspected the fan boat tied to the short ladder of their bridge.

  “Whose is it, Daddy?”

  Inspecting as he spoke, Tucker said: “Commercial boat. Tours.”

  “They come to get a look at Harlon’s flock, maybe?”

  Tucker instantly stopped inspecting and looked at his son. His stone face twitched at the possibility. “I suppose that could be right.” Tucker had told Travis about Ron and Adelyn Daigle; what had to be done. What he hadn’t told his son was that Tucker and Harlon thought it best to dismember the couple and feed them to Harlon’s congregation, something Harlon had promised to do while he and Travis were fishing.

  Suppose someone happened along while Harlon was…busy?

  The screen door up ahead banged. Ida Roy appeared and hurried across the bridge to meet them. She didn’t look herself. Tucker couldn’t tell if it was anxiety or aggravation. His mother was not the easiest read.

  “Mama?” Tucker called up to her as she approached.

  Ida stopped by the ladder. She looked down at her son with folded arms. “Come to your senses then?” she asked.

  Tucker ignored the question. He gestured at the fan boat. “Mama, what is this?”

  Now it was Ida who ignored the question. “You come to your senses?”

  Tucker left the boat alone for a moment and gave Ida his full attention. “I suppose I have.” He turned to Travis. “Stay here, son.” He climbed the ladder and stood close enough to his mother so that Travis couldn’t hear. “I woulda come around on my own, Mama. Didn’t need you using Travis like that.”

  Ida poked her son in the chest. “You needed to be coming around sooner than later, boy. Couldn’t afford to wait for people to start sniffing around until you figured what was right.”

  Tucker looked away and gave a little nod. “Fair enough.” He looked back at his mother. “When it comes to this family, I’ll cut the throat of any man or woman. But them boys in there…” He gestured towards the house and then looked away again. “I suppose I was just hoping there was another way is all.”

  “Ain’t no other way,” Ida said.

  Tucker brought his eyes back on his mother, a shimmer of irritation in them. “Told you I come around, Mama. No need to keep going on.”

  “Daddy?”

  Tucker turned and glanced down at his son. Travis was standing on shore by the fan boat’s side, running a curious hand over it. “Did Meemaw tell you why it was here?”

  Tucker turned back to Ida. “Well?”

  Once again it seemed as if Ida chose to ignore the question. “So you come around on what needs to be done with them Daigle boys, huh?”

  Tucker sighed. “Yes, Mama.”

  “Cut any man or woman’s throat for this family?”

  “On Daddy’s name.”

  “Good.” Ida glanced down at Travis. “You stay put, Travis, you hear?”

  Travis nodded.

  Ida brought her gaze back on Tucker. “Follow me.”

  Harlon and Ida brought Tucker into Harlon’s room. When Tucker saw that Ethan and Noah had three new roommates, Ida turned to her son and said: “You come around on the Daigle boys, then you should have no problem with these three.”

  Chapter 23

  Harlon took a swig of whiskey from the bottle and handed it to Tucker. Tucker didn’t acknowledge the bottle.

  “Oh, what was I supposed to do, Tucker? Sam seen me cutting up Ron Daigle! I’m supposed to just let him get back in his boat with his group so they can hurry on back and report us?”

  Tucker looked out onto the river. “Goddamn if this ain’t the biggest fucking mess.”

  “Said the exact same thing, little brother.” He handed the bottle to Tucker. This time Tucker took it.

  “And there was a fourth one?” Tucker asked after taking a long pull from the bottle. “Another man?”

  Harlon nodded. “Trying to play hero is what he was doing. Forced my hand.”

  “He ’round back with Adelyn and Ron?”

  Harlon smirked and looked away.

  “I miss the joke?” Tucker said.

  Ida tapped her foot on the deck a few times.

  Tucker looked at his mother’s foot, frowned for a second, and then got it. “Cut him up and fed him to your congregation already? Told me you hadn’t even tossed in Ron and Adelyn yet.”

  Harlon reached for the bottle. “I haven’t.”

  Tucker pulled the bottle away. “You haven’t? Explain that.”

  Harlon reached for the bottle again, his gesture implying: no whiskey, no explanation.

  Tucker handed it to him.

  “Boy went swimming in one piece,” Harlon said.

  “Thought you said it’d be best if they were in pieces? Drop them in whole and it might take days. Your words.”

  Harlon swigged the whiskey, some of it dribbling onto his chin. “Was an accident, little brother. Had to shoot him by the open hatch. Fell right in after. I’m supposed to go in after him?”

  “And if they don’t finish their supper, your congregation? If this man’s remains find their way into the river?”

  Harlon frowned. “And just how the hell would that happen? My babies ain’t getting out, no way a dead man is.”

  “Their phones? IDs? Personal belongings?”

  “Taken care of. Got two nice cameras out of it all.”

  “Best get rid of them.”

  “Or sell ’em. Keep us in good whiskey for a spell.” Harlon grinned.

  “Or get rid of them,” Tucker said again, no trace of compromise on his stone face.

  “’Bout as much fun as a case o’ crabs, you are.”

  Tucker thought for a moment. “And if more folks come by? Folks like Sam, wanting to see your flock?”

  Harlon laughed. “How bout I just say no, little brother?”

  “Alright then,” Tucker said. “Suppose someone comes by, not wanting to see your flock, but fixin’ to find out what happened to Sam’s group?”

  Ida stepped in. “Then they’ll be fixin’ to find out what happened to Sam’s group. Got nothing to do with us. If anything, they’ll be pointing fingers Sam’s way. People start to notice those folks are missing, and the first place they’ll check is Sam’s rental spot. That’s assuming them folks told anyone where they were going this morning. That could be days from now.”

  Tucker reached for the bottle again. Harlon handed it to him. Tucker took three deep swigs, shaking his head
on the last one as though shaking off a good punch. “They’ll come looking for Sam first,” he eventually said. “The boat especially. His rental probably cares more about that boat than Sam.”

  Ida stepped forward and took the bottle from Tucker. She emptied the remains over the railing and into the river. Harlon objected, but Ida shot him a look that silenced him like a bullet.

  “You’ll be good for shit if you’re both piss drunk before right gets put right,” she said.

  Harlon chuckled.

  “And how are we putting it right?” Tucker asked.

  “Well, first thing you’ll be doing is dealing with Sam’s boat,” Ida said. “You leave it tied up by our bridge and it won’t take no genius to figure out we’re involved.”

  Tucker looked at Harlon. “What do you reckon?”

  Harlon shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too much of an issue. We can pull it to shore ’round back, cover it good. Be invisible from the river.”

  “Gotta get rid of it eventually,” Tucker said.

  “Eventually,” Ida said. “Right now, it needs moving.”

  “And when that’s done?” Tucker asked.

  Ida gave her son a cautious look. “Come ’round on killing them Daigle boys; you telling me you’ve got pause on them three strangers in there?”

  Tucker said nothing.

  “Cut a man or woman’s throat for this family, ain’t that right, Tucker Roy?” Ida said.

  “I know what I said, Mama.”

  “And yet you stand there looking like a little boy, unsure which hole to put his pecker in.”

  Harlon laughed.

  “Mama, you can stop. I’m gonna do what’s right,” Tucker said.

  Ida moved close to her son, looked up at him with an icy stare. “And what do you reckon ‘right’ is, boy?”

  “I reckon ‘right’ is we remove all traces to save this family.”

  Ida, dark gaze unyielding behind her thick lenses, said: “And how do you reckon we remove all traces?”

  The stone face Tucker wore for every occasion was fixed tight and equally unyielding as he stared down at his mother. “We kill ’em all and feed them to Harlon’s flock.”