CHAPTER 31
THE
boat inched from the private dock, slowly making its way through the dark water that surrounded Plantation Isle. Dressed in a black robe, the muscular figure tied a rope around the white man’s wrist, making sure that the knot was tight enough to pass inspection. He tested it twice just to be sure, and each time his handiwork held in place. Then, sliding toward the back of the boat, the black man repeated the process. After wrapping the thick cord around the next prisoner’s arms, he completed his knot with a series of quick jerks, pulling the extra slack from the restraint with a firm tug.
“Watch it! That hurts!”
Levon Greene sneered at Jones, then yanked the rope even harder. “We’re playing for keeps, D.J., and if that means you have to suffer a little bit, then so be it.”
“Yeah,” Payne seconded over the rumble of the boat’s motor. “You didn’t hear me complain when Levon tied me up, did you?”
“No,” Jones cracked, “but you’ve always liked that kinky stuff.”
After his comment, the joking stopped, giving everyone a chance to think about their duties. Since so much of the plan revolved around Blount, a simpleminded twenty-four-year-old, Payne was more concerned than usual. He turned to examine the eyes of the boat’s captain and could tell the dreadlocked servant was very uptight.
“Bennie,” Payne said, “we’ll only get one shot at a surprise attack, so we need
everything
to go perfectly. If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk about your plan one more time.”
“Yes, sir. That’s fine. I don’t wanna be doing nothin’ that gets no one hurt-especially me!”
“Don’t worry!” Greene said as he moved next to Blount. “This will go smoothly.”
Remarkably, as Payne stared at the pair, he suddenly realized that they were a study in contrasts. Even though both men were black, their appearances couldn’t have been more different. Greene was thick and defined, muscle stacked upon muscle, veins literally bulging through his skin. His head was shaved, his nose was broad, and his teeth were pearly white. If he were a tree, he’d be the biggest, baddest oak in all the land.
Blount, on the other hand, looked like a sapling gone bad. His limbs sprouted from a thin torso and appeared too feeble to support even the smallest amount of weight. His face, long and narrow, was topped with a haircut that resembled a rotting fern, black stems and roots tangled in every direction. And his gold teeth were straight out of the Mr. T School of Dentistry.
“Like I told you earlier,” Greene said, “as long as you stay by my side, you’re not going to get hurt. I promise.”
Blount smiled, but the action seemed forced. “If you says so, Mr. Greene.”
“Yes,” he asserted, “I say so.”
When Payne was done watching their conversation, he turned his attention to the back of the boat. “Hey, D.J., come up here so we can discuss some things. I want to make sure everyone knows what’s going to happen.”
Jones hustled forward and took a seat.
“When we pull up to the western dock, Bennie said we should expect two guards. As long as we don’t look suspicious, that’s all we’ll have to deal with. Unfortunately, if we don’t make this look believable, they’ll radio for backup, and our mission will get ugly before it even starts.”
Payne glanced at Blount and saw confusion in his eyes.
“Do you know what I mean by believable, Bennie?”
“I think so, Mr. Payne. You just want me to play Bennie. Right?”
Payne grinned. Things couldn’t be any easier. “That’s correct. But I need to remind you of one little detail that you keep forgetting. You have to stop calling me Mr. Payne. I doubt that the prisoners are referred to in such a polite manner.”
Blount smiled, and this time it seemed more sincere. “You’s definitely right about that. I ain’t even referred to in that polite a manner, and I works here.”
Payne nodded, turning his attention to Greene. “Obviously, you have the most important role of all. You have to make the guards believe that you’re one of them and you’re bringing two new prisoners to the island. Bennie claims that your black cloak is similar to the ones they wear, but it’s not a perfect match. So don’t let them get a good look at it. Always keep moving, okay?”
“Don’t worry. I will.”
“And make sure your hood is up. If they’re sports fans and they see your face, the game’s over. They’ll immediately know you’re not a guard. Then, once we get past the dock, you’ll need to borrow one of their vehicles to take Bennie’s supplies to the main house and us to the holding area. But before we get there, you’ll cut our ropes and leave us in the woods. That’ll give us a chance to do some recon.”
Jones asked, “When will we get our weapons?”
Payne answered. “One of Bennie’s boxes has our guns. We’ll take what we need and stash the rest in the trees. We don’t want to be bogged down until we know what we’re up against.”
He turned back to Blount. “Bennie, this is when you execute your part of the plan. I want you to go into the house and start breakfast. While you’re making food for the guards, I want you to mix in the drug that I gave you. Pour half the bottle in the coffee, the other half in the scrambled eggs. That way, everyone’s bound to get some, whether they’re eating or not.”
“Okay, Mr. Payne, I will. . . . Oops! I mean, okay, prisoner.”
Blount smiled with pride. He thought he’d done a good thing by remembering his line, but his momentary blunder would’ve been enough to get everyone killed.
“Keep working on it, Bennie.” Payne sighed, praying that Blount would improve before the big show actually started. “Where was I? Oh, yeah, within ten minutes of breakfast, everyone should be unconscious. That’s when D.J. and I will make our move. We’ll emerge from the woods in serious S amp; D mode.”
Greene frowned. He was unfamiliar with the term. “S amp; D mode?”
“We’ll search for the prisoners and destroy anything that gets in our way.”
“You mean, you’s gonna kill people?” Blount asked.
Payne nodded. He’d already gone over this at Greene’s house and during the car ride to the dock, and he didn’t feel like discussing it again. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice. He had to keep Blount as calm as possible. “We don’t want to, Bennie, but we might have to. That’s just the way it is. Sometimes, the only way to help one group is to hurt another, and that’s the situation we’re facing. In order to help my girlfriend and the innocent people on this island, we might have to hurt some of the guards. We’ll do everything in our power not to, but if it’s us against them, they’re the group that has to lose. I won’t settle for anything less.”
“Okay,” he whined. “I guess you’s right. Just try not to hurt me.”
“You got it, Bennie.” Payne smiled at Blount, then settled into his seat for the next portion of the plan.
BECAUSE of his frequent trips to the Plantation, Blount knew the appropriate channel through the cypress swamp. He carefully navigated the boat toward the moss-covered poles of the wooden dock until he could see the two guards.
“Is that you, Gump?” asked one of the guards as he stared at the captain of the boat. “We were expecting you a while ago.”
“Yeah,” said the other. “Did the fireworks run late or something?”
Before Blount could answer, Greene moved to the front of the boat and spoke for him. “It wasn’t the damn fireworks!” he growled. “There’s been a security breach! Now quit your small talk and take our damn line before there’s trouble. I have two prisoners on board.”
The guards glanced at the large figure in the black cloak and jumped to attention. After dropping their guns to the ground, they ran to the dock, offering their assistance in any way possible. Greene nodded at them, tossing them the boat’s rope. The two guards snared the line and carefully pulled the craft against the side of the dock.
“It looks like they’r
e buying it,” Jones whispered. “We might pull this off.”
Payne nodded slightly, but for some reason, he wasn’t nearly as confident. His gut told him there was something fishy, and it wasn’t just the stench from the murky water of the swamp. “I hate to say this, D.J., but-”
The confidence drained from Jones’s eyes. “Don’t tell me! Your gut?”
Payne nodded. But before he could explain, Greene approached the duo and ordered them to be quiet. “Things are going well. Don’t blow it by talking.”
Greene followed his command by forcing Payne off of the boat and onto the shore while one of the guards did the same with Jones. Once both of them were on the ground, Greene turned to the workers and spoke. “Bennie and I will watch them while you get me a truck. There are a lot of supplies out there, so start moving.”
“Yes, sir!” they blurted, running to complete their tasks.
Greene smiled at Blount, then glanced at the two captives at his feet. “How was that? Was I authoritative enough for you?”
Jones tried rolling onto his back, but his bound hands hindered his effort. In a strange way, he looked like an upside-down turtle that had trouble flipping over. “You sounded good to me, but I’m not the one you need to worry about. Ask Jon what he thinks. He’s worried about something.”
Greene turned his attention to Payne. “Is there something we need to talk about before the guards get back?”
“Not really,” he groaned. “I can wait until they return, if you’d like.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, you’re just going to tell them anyway.”
The smile faded from Greene’s lips as his bewilderment grew. In order to sort things out, he lowered his black hood and knelt on the ground next to Payne. As he did, his bad knee cracked several times. “What are you talking about?”
“Yeah,” Jones demanded. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Payne wanted to look Jones in the eyes, but the position of their bodies made it impossible. “D.J., I’m sorry to tell you this, but if my guess is correct, Levon is one of them.”
CHAPTER 32
HOLMES
and Jackson had planned on speaking to the prisoners, but since Webster was doing such an eloquent job, they allowed him to continue his lecture.
“Independence Day is a holiday that is supposed to symbolize freedom in this country. Freedom? In America? What a joke! A country that turned its back on my people, black people, for decade after decade believes in freedom? My black brothers and sisters were smuggled into America in the hulls of slave ships in the most unsanitary of conditions, brought here like cattle, then purchased by white men for their own personal use. And you call that freedom?”
The prisoners listened, trembling.
“Take a look around you! This plantation was built several decades before the Civil War. Nice, isn’t it? It’s probably hard to imagine, but the people who worked this soil were my ancestors. My
actual
ancestors! That’s right! Through painstaking research, I have traced my family tree back to this plantation. Isn’t that amazing? My forefathers worked this land! They slept here, ate here, and raised families in the tiny cabins that surround us!”
Webster shook his head at the thought, rage boiling inside of him.
“And because of you, my family was forced to die here, too!”
A slight murmur rippled through the crowd. What did Webster mean by
that
?
“For the past few days, you have been subjected to un pleasantries. Long hours in the hot sun, a scarcity of food and water, nothing to sleep on but the hard ground itself. But guess what? That pales in comparison to the hardships that my relatives had to endure. Back in the eighteen hundreds, slaves were forced to live in these tiny cabins year-round. Ten, twelve, sometimes as many as fifteen people were thrown together into one cabin and forced to make do, huddling in the center of the dirt floor for warmth. And if they bitched, they were beaten!
“During the rainy season, the ground became so saturated with water that the moisture would rise up into their cabins, forcing them to sleep in the mud. Like animals! These were my ancestors, for God’s sake, and they were treated like beasts! Meanwhile, the Delacroix family, the white bastards that owned this property, slept in the comfort of the plantation house. They didn’t work, but they lived like kings! Do you know what my relatives got to eat? At the beginning of every week, each person was given three and a half pounds of bacon from the smokehouse and enough corn to make a peck of cornmeal. That’s it! For the entire week! Just bacon, cornmeal, and water for every meal, for a lifetime!”
Webster paused to catch his breath.
“And what about punishment? Do you actually think we’ve been rough on you? The punishment that occurred in the nineteenth century was far more brutal than anything we’ve implemented here. Back in the old days, slave drivers used to whip their niggers until they could see
ribs
. The gashes on their backs were so wide and deep you could see their lungs! Have we done anything like that to you? Anything that brutal? Tell me, have we?”
Despite his point-blank questions, the crowd remained silent. They were way too frightened to talk. But that didn’t matter to Webster. He viewed the slaves’ silence as insubordination, which needed to be dealt with. Turning toward Master Holmes, he said, “Can you believe that? They don’t respect me enough to answer. Maybe you better show them what I mean about discipline.”
Holmes grinned savagely under his black hood. He’d been on his best behavior since the finger-chopping incident, but now that Webster was encouraging him, he figured he could slide back to his sadistic ways.
He stepped forward, searching for a target, staring at the scared faces in the moonlight. Who should he choose? Which person would be the most beneficial to their cause? Then he saw him, the perfect victim. He was the finest specimen in Group One. A middle-aged male, father of Susan and two other brats. What was his name? Ross. Jimmy Ross. Yes, he would do nicely. An impeccable sacrifice.
Devastate the strong and the weak will crumble!
With unblinking eyes, Holmes focused on him, quietly selecting him as his prey. And Ross knew it. Holmes didn’t even say a word, yet Jimmy dropped to his knees in fear. His entire body trembled with trepidation.
“Pick up the coward,” Holmes growled.
And the guards obliged, pouncing on Ross like hungry wolves before they dragged him to the front of the crowd. Then, just as quickly as they had attacked, they backed away, leaving Ross at the feet of his master, with nothing between the two but a palpable wall of hate.
“Master Webster?” Holmes continued. “Why don’t you tell our guests about the white man’s temple? I think they’d enjoy that tale.”
Webster readjusted his glasses, grinning. “In the nineteenth century, the white man considered his body sacred. It was a divine and holy temple that was not to be defiled by the dirty black man. Sure, it was fine for Massah to sleep with all the good-looking black women of the plantation. Famous men like Thomas Jefferson were reputed to have fathered many biracial children during their day. But if a Negro ever touched a white man for
any
reason, the slave could legally be killed. Can you believe that? The courts actually allowed it! Of course, that didn’t make much financial sense to the slave owner, so it was rarely done. I mean, why murder someone who is doing your chores? So the white man was forced to come up with a better punishment than death.”
Jimmy Ross gulped, waiting for Master Holmes to make a move. But the black man didn’t budge. He stood like a statue, not blinking, not breathing. Silent. Completely silent. Listening to the words of his friend.
“No one knows where the idea of the post first came from, but its popularity spread across the Southern states during the early part of the eighteen hundreds. In fact, it spread like wildfire.”
Suddenly, without warning, Holmes burst
from his trance and lunged in Ross’s direction. The prisoner instinctively flinched, raising his hands to protect himself, but it was a grave mistake.
“You tried to hit me!” Holmes screamed, stopping six inches short of Ross. “You white piece of shit! You tried to hit me!”
“I didn’t, Master Holmes. I swear! I-”
“I don’t give a fuck what you swear! I’m in charge of your sorry ass, so your words mean shit to me! If I say you tried to hit me, then you tried to hit me!” Holmes turned toward his guards. “Get me the post, now! I need to teach this cocksucker a lesson!”
“In fact,” Webster continued, as if he was narrating an evil documentary, “even if the threat was an implied one-a swing that never landed, a tip of a cap to a white woman, or a hand being lifted for protection-slave owners were encouraged to administer this punishment.”
The guards carried a six-foot wooden post, approximately six inches in diameter, to the front of the group and slammed it into the ground. After straightening it with a careful eye, they drove the long peg into the pliable turf with several swings of a sledgehammer. Once it was anchored in the ground, the device was ready for use.
“Now get him!” Holmes ordered.
The guards clamped onto Jimmy’s arms much rougher than they had before and slammed him against the post. Then, before Jimmy could move, the larger of the guards forced Jimmy’s cheek against the rough wooden surface, holding his face against the post with as much strength as possible. And Holmes was pleased by the sight.
While watching Jimmy tremble, Holmes slid in behind him while pulling a claw hammer out of the folds of his dark cloak. The sight of the savage tool brought a smile to his lips. Even though he enjoyed chopping fingers, there was nothing Holmes enjoyed more than the post. The fear. The blood. The disbelief in his victim’s eyes. He loved it! For one reason or another, it satisfied something inside of him that most people couldn’t understand.
The desire to be violent.
Reaching into his pocket, Holmes fumbled for a nail. Four inches in length, silver in color, sharpened to a perfect point. He lifted the tiny spike behind Jimmy Ross’s head, then studied it with a suspicious eye. It was so small, yet capable of producing so much pain. God, it was beautiful. Holmes breathed deeply, thinking of the impending moment of impact. The smile on his face got even broader.
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