“Now get to your feet, slowly, and turn around.”
Lewis thought his legs might go out from under him, but he managed to struggle from his crouch. He tried to keep the pain of his wound from showing in his expression. No sense in letting the enemy know you were vulnerable.
“Lewis. You. You let them get away?” Donald Green stood before him holding not a gun but the butt of a fishing rod pointed at him.
“Kind of far from the lake, aren’t you?” Lewis nodded toward Donald’s hand, then staggered a bit.
“You’re hit. You’d better sit down and let me look at that.”
“Make up your mind. You just told me to get up.”
Lewis heard Donald express his concern with his usual growl as Lewis slid down the trunk of the tree and leaned back onto it.
“What are you doing here, Green?”
“I saw you head north out of town with the gals in your car, so I thought I’d sorta tag along and see what you were doing.”
“Playing hooky from the bar. Emily said you weren’t fond of the work.”
Another growl escaped Green’s throat. “She said that about me, did she?”
“Naw. I’m just feeling a little testy right now so I made that up. When I’m a hundred percent again, I’ll tell you what she really said.”
Donald leaned over and moved the lapel of Lewis’ jacket to one side, unbuttoned his shirt and looked at the wound. “Light’s not good, but it doesn’t look like the bullet hit an artery. You have lost some blood.”
“Hurts like hell.” Lewis leaned back against the tree trunk and let out a moan.
“Where did you leave Emily and Naomi?”
Lewis ducked his head so Donald couldn’t see his expression of embarrassment.
“They’re hiding out.”
“Where?’
Lewis raised his eyes. “I don’t know. Find them, would you?”
“You’re some detective. Everyone in these parts knows the Pratts cook barbeque and make moonshine. And most folks know where they make moonshine. Here. And you didn’t have the sense to keep Emily and her daughter away from the still?”
Lewis looked Donald in the eye. “I know. I was an idiot.”
“You were showing off for Emily, making her think you were on top of this case when all you had was the location of a still the Feds have stayed away from for months. Rumor is they’re waiting for the Pratts to start distilling and then they’ll arrest them. Now you’ve blown their cover.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Cuz I listen real good instead of sounding off like some pompous ass. Even your old partner Toby knows enough to keep his mouth shut and listen.”
The unfavorable comparison between Toby and himself made Lewis want to jump up and punch Donald, but Lewis knew he was right. He could have checked with one of his friends in Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms before he marched in on the still, but he didn’t. He played the Lone Ranger, and he knew Captain Worley would have his head for it. He’d be lucky he wasn’t riding a bicycle on parking meter patrol next week.
“Go find them,” he said to Donald. “Take this. You’ll need it.” He held his pistol out to Donald.
Donald shook his head. “I’m good.” He strode off into the woods and was soon hidden by the jungle of trees. Lewis couldn’t even hear his footsteps as he walked through the underbrush.
Lewis leaned his head back against the trunk. I’ve made a mess of things. I only hope I haven’t gotten Emily or her daughter killed.
He reloaded his gun in case the Pratts came back this way.
When Naomi turned to give her mom a hand down the slope leading into the sinkhole, she found Emily wasn’t behind her. She didn’t dare yell for fear the Pratts or whoever the guys were with the guns would hear and know where to look for her. Now her dilemma was whether to stay hidden where she was, snug in the unused end of the hole or try to climb the steep sides and search for her mother. She looked up and saw the last rays of the sun over the lip of the depression. She’d never be able to find her mother now. She wrung her hands and began to chew on her nails. She hoped her mother found herself a good hidey hole too. Lewis would find them soon, she hoped, and if not tonight, then tomorrow. Naomi looked toward the sky again. It was hard to make out the perimeter of the hole now. Everything was bleeding into darkness.
Emily had indeed found herself an almost impenetrable hiding place, impenetrable to anyone over five feet tall carrying more than one hundred pounds of flesh on them. Before she entered the tent created by the Cyprus knees, she took a long stick, pushed it into the space and poked it around hoping whatever might be in the bowels of the trunk would come out and find another home. Or was riled up enough to take defensive action. She’d find out soon enough. She took a deep breath and crawled in on her hands and knees, then wiggled back against the inside. Now she was in a crouched position, her entire body within the tree’s roots. No one would find her here, assuming she could hold this uncomfortable position long enough to wait out those looking for her.
She heard voices and footsteps coming nearer. She had squeezed her eyes shut not wanting to discover what the inside of her hiding place looked like, fearful she’d see some living creature peering back at her, a spider or, horrors, a snake. Now she opened her eyes and caught sight of a pair of legs, jeans-clad, walking past. She moved farther back into the tree.
“I can’t see a damn thing out here,” she heard someone say. The voice wasn’t that of anyone she’d count as a friend, but she thought it sounded familiar. Maybe Jasper Pratt or his scummy friend. She waited, holding her breath, then let it out in a whoosh.
The light faded to purple darkness and silence rained down on her hiding place, broken only by the distant sound of a frog croaking. She waited for what seemed like an hour before she squirmed out of the protection of her hole. Now I’ve go to find Naomi. Dirt, leaves, dried moss and other prickly stuff covered her clothes and skin and nested in her hair. She brushed it all off with her hands as best she could. Something tickled her in the small of her back. She reached back with her hand under her blouse expecting to dislodge a spider or bug. Nothing there. But she still felt crawly all over. Which way back to the sinkhole and the still? And did she dare go that way or would she encounter the men chasing them? So damn quiet out here. The crawling feeling intensified, this time moving upward along her spine and under her bra.
A hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed. Before she could cry out, another covered her mouth.
“Shhh. It’s me, Emily,” Donald Green whispered into her ear. “Where’s Naomi?”
Donald’s sudden appearance frightened Emily mute. She struggled for words and finally croaked a shaky, “I don’t know.”
The two men Toby met ran for their truck and sped off down the highway toward the coast.
“You ruined my deal,” Toby cried as Mr. Smith strode toward him.
“I don’t like you making deals on the side, Toby.” Barry, Naomi’s ex, appeared at Smith’s side. “I told you. He thinks he’s smarter than everyone else, but he gets himself in too deep, gets distracted by his dealings and makes a mess of everything.”
If Barry thought his words would bring Smith’s wrath down on Toby, he failed to understand Smith.
“And still you hired him. You’re more of an idiot than he is. He’s your responsibility. You take care of him, one way or the other. I don’t need any glitches in what we’re doing. You’re not paying me enough money to tolerate this kind of incompetence.” Smith paused for a moment, then walked close to the other man. Barry was taller, heavier that Smith, but Toby knew Smith was the dangerous one. He’d rather take a beating from Barry than to be put into Smith’s hands for punishment.
“Look,” Barry’s voice was light, conciliatory, “I’m sure Toby will be happy to drop this little, uh, endeavor and concentrate on his work for you. Me. His work for me.”
Smith’s head snapped around, and he pierced Barry with a steely glare. “Shut up. I didn’t tell you to spea
k.” Smith walked closer to Toby until Toby could smell his breath, a warm rush of garlic- and wine-laden air.
Toby gulped. “Sure thing. I can forget this. It’s not important anyway.”
Smith reached out and grabbed Toby’s arm. Oh no, thought Toby, not this again. The pain made his vision go black. “But it was important enough to get you the attention of those men, and they may decide to go to the cops. Then you’re no good to me.”
“No, no. They won’t tell the cops. They’re the ones who killed that barbeque guy, and I’m the only one who knows it. I was trying to lift a little cash off them to keep quiet about it.”
Smith continued to grip Toby’s arm, but his hold let up a little, enough that Toby thought his arm might not be broken.
“I don’t like things messy,” Smith hissed. His grip again tightened on Toby’s arm. “I should kill you.”
Barry came to Toby’s defense. “We need him. Who else can fit in with these cowboys around here?”
Smith’s hold seemed to tighten even more. A moan slipped from between Toby’s lips.
Smith gave a final twist to the arm and shoved Toby backwards. “Then, if I can’t kill the little toad, I’ll need more money from you to complete my mission.”
“I’ll double what I’m paying you, but I need time to get the money. The original amount now and the rest when we deliver the two women to my contacts in North Africa.”
“And Detective Lewis,” Toby squeaked as he rubbed his arm.
“What?” said Smith.
“I thought since we were doing the women, we could throw in the detective too. Toby liked the idea.”
“Why should I care what Toby likes? No detective on my boat. Too many things can go wrong.”
“Sorry, Toby.”
Toby ducked his head to hide the scowl on his face from Mr. Smith. Smith reached out and laid his hand on Toby’s arm again. Toby flinched.
“The detective is all yours, Toby. After we get the women, that is.” Smith’s lips made some kind of twitching movement at the corners. A smile of some sort, thought Toby, and prayed fervently he’d never see it again.
As Toby drove back into town, he thought about the evening’s events. If Smith and the husband thought he’d give up his plan to blackmail Pratt’s killers, they had to be fools. Toby just needed to make certain he wasn’t being followed when he set up the next meeting with his pigeons. That was a delicious feeling to wrap his mind around, and then there was Detective Lewis, now his to handle in whatever way he wanted. Toby contemplated the myriad of ways he might kill Lewis.
Getting dark, thought Toby. He flipped on his high beams and noticed lights in his mirror. When he made the turn toward town, the vehicle followed. As he sailed past his old place of employment, police headquarters, he gave the place the finger and chuckled. Ain’t never going back there again, he thought. Retirement suited him, or would suit him as soon as he got his money from the blackmail and the job for that gal’s ex-husband. And, oh yeah, when he got the charges dropped against him. Toby stuck a new chaw of tobacco in his mouth and turned the radio to the local country station. Yep, life was just fine. He glanced in the rear view mirror. No lights back there now. Toby pressed his foot harder on the accelerator as he made his way toward his cabin on the Kissimmee and sang out of tune with one of his favorite songs about liking women who were trashy. Yes sir, he did indeed. Toby was about as happy as he’d ever been.
“I think Naomi intended to hide in the far end of the sinkhole that houses the Pratt’s still.” Emily was almost running to keep up with Donald. “Do you know where the still is? Can you find it in the dark?”
Donald muttered something under his breath and Emily quickened her steps to stay at his side.
“What did you say?”
Donald stopped and turned to her. “I said for you to keep your mouth shut so you don’t alert whoever’s out there, but no, you have to keep blabbering on. Damn Yankee women. You can’t shush them once they think they have something important to say.”
“Sorry.”
“’Course I can find it.”
“Well, you’re headed the wrong way, Mr. Green.” Naomi’s voice came from behind them. “It’s back there. I just crawled up the sides of that thing.”
They turned and Naomi pointed through the trees in the direction they’d come.
“They left anyway. I heard their truck,” said Naomi.
Emily and Naomi grabbed each other and hugged. Donald rolled his eyes in embarrassment at the emotional nature of their greeting and stomped his feet in impatience.
“Let’s get moving. We’ve got to get Lewis.”
“What’s Donald doing here?” asked Naomi.
“I have no idea, but he always turns up when there’s trouble of some kind, like at fires or fishing for dead bodies.”
Donald stopped short. “Okay, I’m only going to say this once more. Shut up, both of you.”
“But there’s no reason to be quiet now. The Pratts or whoever it was have left.”
“I know that, but now you’re annoying me with all your chatter. We have to hurry.”
“Why?” insisted Emily.
“Because your boyfriend has been shot.”
“Who?” asked Emily.
“You know. Lewis.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Emily spat back at him, then her lips clamped closed for a second. “What do you mean, ‘shot’?”
“Well, you take this thing called a gun and you aim at someone, pull the trigger, and…”
“Donald.” Emily said his name in a tone of voice that said she would counter no more snarly comments from him nor sarcasm about Lewis.
“Come with me. He needs a doctor.”
“And you just left him and started wandering around here?” asked Emily. Anger at Donald was helping her overcome her shock and concern about Lewis. He just couldn’t die, she thought, not when we haven’t made it past being shower buddies yet.
“He insisted I find you gals first. And, of course, I agreed with him.”
“Yeah, I saw how thrilled you were to see me,” Emily snapped.
The sound of a siren split the night air.
“I guess he got tired of waiting for me to find you all and called help on his cell,” Donald said.
“You couldn’t do that for him? Before you left him to die there alone?” Emily silently vowed she’d find a way to fire Donald. She could barely stand being near him. What a selfish…
He led them through the tangled underbrush and around trees and vines toward the road. An ambulance and a police car sat on the shoulder with their lights pulsating, creating odd red images like demons dancing through the gnarled branches of the live oaks.
The EMTs were about to place Lewis into the ambulance. Emily ran ahead and grabbed the gurney.
“Are you okay?”
“Are you worried?”
“Of course, I’m worried. You could have been killed.”
“Well here I am, still kicking. Does that make you happy?”
Emily looked down into his face, white with pain.
“I’m happy you’re not likely to die.”
“Because? Say it Emily, please. Only the EMTs can hear us. Donald and Naomi are back there.” He nodded with his head toward the two figures bringing up the rear.
“I’m happy because, well, because I, well, I kind of like you. Some.”
But Emily’s confession came too late. Lewis didn’t hear it. He had already passed out from the pain.
“You jerk. You can’t even stay awake for some love talk.” She mentally kicked herself for her selfishness. “Is he still alive? Or did I shock him into unconsciousness?”
One of the EMTs looked at her. “That’s love talk? Wow, no wonder he passed out. Too much passion for one night.”
If the guy hadn’t been carrying one side of Lewis’ stretcher, she would have tripped him for his sarcastic tongue. Instead she caught up with him and grabbed his arm.
“I was tryin
g to spare him an overload of feelings. I guess I blew it. He could have experienced cardiac arrest.”
The EMT shook his head. “He’ll be fine. Now would you let go of my arm so we can get him to the hospital?”
Emily looked down at her hand which gripped the EMTs arm like a vice. “Sorry.”
The ambulance pulled out, leaving Lewis’ police cruiser and Donald’s truck at the side of the road. The officers from the other car had entered the woods to investigate where Lewis had been shot.
“Better leave his car. Someone from the department will come get it. You gals can ride with me.”
“I don’t want to ride with you, Donald. You ran off and left Lewis to die. If anything happens to him, I’ll…” Emily didn’t know what she’d do, but it was something, maybe put a dent in his big ole truck or scratch the paint on his fine bass boat. Something.
Donald gave her one of his exasperated looks and got into his truck.
“Mom, it’s our only ride back to town.” Naomi got into the passenger’s side and slid to the middle to make room for her mother.
Emily crossed her arms over her chest and stood unmoving.
“Fine,” said Donald. He started the engine and shifted into gear.
“Mom.” Naomi’s voice mimicked the exasperation in Donald’s tone.
Emily turned away from the truck and marched down the road.
Donald rolled down his window. “Last chance.”
Emily ignored him.
“Mooooooom, please.”
Emily continued walking.
Donald sped off, leaving nothing but darkness in his wake.
Emily continued down the road. When the truck pulled out of sight, she turned and reversed her direction to follow its taillights disappearing in the distance. What a jerk I am. I was going the wrong way.
This is creepy, she thought. It has to be at least two miles back to the main road and then ten into town. The night sounds around her began to register in her consciousness. What was that? Maybe a wild pig? She stopped to listen. A small canal paralleled the road, and she envisioned it filled with alligators, all of them hungry, all of them in vile moods. Something moved under her foot. She jumped to one side. Had she stepped on gravel which rolled under her sole or was that a snake? She picked up her pace. A low rumbling sound caught her attention. Donald must be coming back. She stopped to listen more closely. It was thunder.
Grilled, Chilled and Killed Page 17
