Tonton

by Billy Kring

  Ringo reached higher and caught a fistful of Randall’s shirt and tried to pull himself up, but only tore the shirt.

  The pier shuddered and dropped another foot. Ringo slipped over the edge, but at the last minute he grabbed Randall’s foot and both men dropped from sight.

  Ariel wailed and Hunter felt her own heart break, but had to say to the woman, “Hold on to my hand!” She pulled the sobbing Haitian away from the edge, and chanced a glance at John. He was in a brutal, deadly struggle with the two large men.

  When Hunter moved Ariel out of danger, she ran to help John. Ariel alternately crawled and moved on her stomach to where Randall and Ringo disappeared.

  They were both there, still alive. Randall hung from some cord that snagged on a broken railing post, and Ringo dangled by one hand from Randall’s foot. Ringo said to her, “Bring me the rope, or we both die.” He indicated the ropes and pulley sets nearby.

  Ariel scooted to them, found one still attached and drug the unattached portion back to the men. She maneuvered it close to Ringo, and he grabbed it. He released Randall and swung below where the rope was anchored, like Tarzan on a vine.

  Randall could move, now that Ringo’s weight was off him. He grasped the izze cloth above his head, right below where it had snagged on a railing post when he fell, then used his arms to pull as Ariel reached down and grabbed his wrists, helping him up to a better grip.

  “Hurry,” Ariel said in a voice tinged with panic. She was crying very hard. She looked at Randall and said, oddly, “I hate to leave you.”

  The hurricane pushed the ship toward the pier again.

  When Hunter ran to help, Young Anson was behind John, slamming punches to his kidneys while Marc Dessaline, in the front, threw blows at his head.

  Hunter was over a hundred pounds lighter than Young, but she charged him, going for the knees. She swung a roundhouse kick to the side of his knee, and it buckled as Young grunted.

  He turned from Quick to face her. “I’ll kill you,” He said. He grabbed for her with both hands extended like claws, and Hunter dropped to all fours and kicked the same knee again.

  Young fell to the floor, then limped to his feet again. Hunter said, “Surrender right now and this ends.”

  “I surrender nothing.” He came toward her, guarding his leg. Hunter looked beyond him to John and Marc. Those two were hitting one another with frighteningly powerful blows, like two grizzlies battling for supremacy.

  She circled Young, making him use the bad leg. When he came again, she feinted toward his leg, and when he flinched, she got in a good open-handed shot to his throat.

  Young staggered backwards, and Hunter closed with him, throwing a second punch to his throat followed by a hard snap kick to his groin. He fell back against the railing, hurt and mad. Hunter circled him, but this time Young remained where he was, and waited, like a cornered beast.

  Randall pulled up on the izze cloth again and reached the edge of the pier. Ariel helped him, then a large black hand clamped over her face and pulled her backward, out of sight. Randall scrambled up, hooking a heel on the edge of the pier, pulling and rolling himself on top.

  Ringo had Ariel pulled close to him, like lovers in a slow dance. Randall quickly unsnagged the leather cord and shoved it in his pocket. The broken pier was slanted too much to stand, so he crawled up the incline to a place where he could rise to his feet.

  Ringo had his mouth on Ariel’s neck, and when he pulled back, blood washed down her front as he chewed a mouthful of flesh and meat ripped from her with his teeth.

  The sight shocked Randall, and he was enraged. He charged Ringo as the monster put his mouth down to Ariel for another bite.

  Coming at him from behind, Randall held each end of the izze cloth and tossed the middle portion over Ringo’s head. It slid down to his throat. Randall pulled back hard and twisted his body in tight circles several times to tighten the cord.

  Ringo fought it like a headstrong horse, snorting and shaking his head in every direction. Randall put his own back to Bazin’s and let his weight carry him down and forward so he was bent over. Ringo fell backward, off balance, and dropped Ariel to the deck.

  Randall carried the choking man across the pier so the killer couldn’t regain his feet. Randall looked like someone with a heavy sack over his shoulder.

  But Ringo would not die, or even pass out. Randall was winded, his leg throbbed, and this creature on his back seemed as strong and manic as ever. He would strangle Bazin until his legs gave out, and then he would fall. It was all he could do.

  John felt every blow Marc Dessaline threw, and realized the man was far stronger than he appeared. Marc said, “John Quick, run away, save your life.”

  John threw a straight right to Marc’s chest and the man staggered back. “You’re under arrest. How’s that?”

  The freighter pushed into the pier like a slow motion bomb, with metal, rebar, wood, and concrete crumbling and groaning so loudly it drowned out the wind.

  The rest of the pier began to crumble into the churning, white-frothed water. Everyone scrambled to get farther down the walkway toward shore and away from this inanimate floating beast of destruction. Everyone except Randall and Ringo stopped fighting, and they all stumbled to the narrow part of the pier.

  As the pier slipped into the water, Ringo pushed with his feet and Randall stumbled, then released the cord and rolled away from Bazin. They both gained their feet, with Randall in ankle deep water and Ringo farther from him in knee-deep gray water and foam.

  They were sinking, and Randall looked toward the still intact portion of the pier. A large crack was forming fast, one that would drop the part he stood on into the sea. He ran, and Ringo was close on his heels, grabbing at him.

  On the intact portion of the pier, Marc attacked John, swinging wildly. John ducked a punch and grabbed at the taller man, hoping to get him in a sleeper hold. Marc jerked sideways and John’s hand went under the shoulder strap of Marc’s small backpack. He latched onto it and twisted hard, jerking with the same motion. It turned Dessaline away from him, and John grabbed the backpack with his other hand, then used both to jerk and push the Haitian around so he remained off balance.

  The pack tore open and three boxes dropped to the pier. Marc jerked so hard that the backpack ripped off his shoulders. He turned to John and his yellow eyes held a mad, insane look. He reached for the boxes that vibrated across the floor from another wave and the freighter’s weight.

  John kicked the one closest to him. The wooden lid tore away and the box went spinning over the side, with diamonds scattering in the hurricane winds like bits of clear and colored ice. One large piece was as golden as Dessaline’s eyes. They all disappeared into the sea.

  Marc roared, “No!” and snatched the two remaining boxes to his chest, holding them tight with both arms.

  John closed fast and threw a right hook with everything he had at Dessaline’s unprotected face. It connected so well that John felt it all the way to his shoulder.

  But Marc didn’t go down, instead he staggered like a drunken dancer, still holding the two boxes to his chest, and moved dangerously close to the broken edge.

  Hunter saw the other battles going on, and she almost yelled out loud when Ariel dropped to the deck as bloody as anyone she had ever seen. She pulled her pistol, spread her feet to keep balance as the pier rocked like some carnival game with a moving floor, and said to Young, “You’re under arrest. I’m not playing. Lay face down and put your hands out to the side.”

  They were nine feet apart, and Young had a knife she didn’t know about. He thought he could get to her before she shot.

  The freighter groaned as a monster wave lifted the huge ship up and brought it crashing toward the broken pier.

  Randall and Ringo heard the freighter’s noise behind them and they reached the intact portion of the pier at the same time.

  Dessaline, still holding the boxes to his chest, staggered to the edge, slipped and went over the side as
the freighter rode the wave toward him.

  Ringo cut hard to his right and dove at his falling friend, catching one arm in his hands. Dessaline’s weight pulled Ringo forward so the upper half of his body hung down over the side. He hooked a foot against a remaining railing and held to his friend. Gray water sloshed and whipped below Dessaline.

  They hung directly in front of one of the concrete pilings, and Marc tried to get purchase with his feet.

  John started forward, then stopped when he saw how fast the freighter was coming.

  Randall was close enough to grab Ringo’s ankle, but the Haitian kicked him off and Randall rolled away as the freighter slammed into the remaining end of the pier and slid down it, then floated thirty feet back out to sea.

  Randall yelled, “Ariel!” As her limp body slid off the pier at the freighter’s impact, and disappeared under the waves.

  Ringo’s leg was still hooked to the railing, and Randall staggered to him in a daze, then he stopped.

  Ringo Bazin’s torso was gone, ground off between the freighter and the concrete and steel of the pier. A red smear showed where Marc Dessaline’s body had been. Randall stumbled backward, and John caught him by the shoulders, then walked them both toward Hunter and Young Anson.

  Hunter said, “I saw,” and she had tears in her eyes. Her pistol was still on Young. John said, “Shoot him.”

  Young blinked like he didn’t believe what he heard. “What did you say?”

  “I told her to shoot your murdering ass. The world will be a better place.”

  “Now wait a minute.” Young leaned backward against the railing just as the freighter hit the pier again. The railing splintered and gave way under Young Anson’s two hundred twenty pounds, and he toppled backward off the pier, hitting the deck of one of the half-sunken boats that still belched black smoke and flames because of Hunter’s shooting. Young Anson did not move. When another wave lifted the boat at a steep angle, his body slid across the boat’s deck and splashed into the water. Hunter looked for him, but the man was gone.

  “Let’s get off of here,” John said.

  Hunter said, “We still have bad guys on the beach.”

  “Not any more.” Hunter looked and saw what John meant. The beach was under water, and all the vehicles were gone. No one was in sight.

  “They either fled or drowned. Either way, they’re not today’s problem.”

  Hunter got on one side of Randall, and John on the other, and they walked down the pier to find shelter under the Quarterdeck’s overhang. John tried to break into the restaurant to use a landline phone, but it was too well fortified for the storm.

  They huddled together and waited like what seemed forever for the storm to pass.

  Epilogue

  Hurricane Kyle was rated a high Category Three by the weather service, and the damage was in the hundreds of millions.

  John and Randall heard little of it. They left for Ruidoso, New Mexico as soon as the airport opened. Hunter sent in an annual leave request and it was granted, so she joined them there.

  They stayed at the Inn of the Mountain Gods, and spent their time reading, sleeping, and visiting with Jeffrey Chee and other old friends. Randall’s grandfather took a special liking to Hunter, and they spent evenings around a pine log fire, talking and laughing. Randall, not as much as the others. He still grieved.

  One evening at Grandfathers fire, Randall said, “I’m not sure I want to stay in Florida.”

  Grandfather didn’t say anything, just sat there with the blanket around his shoulders while the others talked.

  John said, “You sure?”

  Hunter refilled all their old fashioned glasses with ice and Maker’s Mark, then sat down beside Grandfather. The sky here was so beautiful, and the fragrant pines perfuming the night air, she could understand.

  Grandfather said, “Don’t decide here. It will affect your decision. You love this place, you always have, but that doesn’t mean you don’t love other places, too. It’s not either–or, you can love many. It is the person you miss, grandson. Stay here as long as you want, but make your decision after you return to Florida and have time to think.” He sipped his Maker’s, and nodded at Hunter, saluting her with the glass. “Put your feet in the water there, smell the breeze, go fishing a lot, and then decide.”

  Randall was silent a moment, then said, “Okay. That’s what I’ll do.” He looked at his friends and his grandfather, put his glass out in a toast, and the others all clinked their glasses to his. He said, “Here’s to best friends and wise family.”

  Only Grandfather saw the glint of a tear in the corner of Randall’s eye.

  ~~***~~

  Thanks for reading TONTON, the 4th story in the Hunter Kincaid Mystery series. I hope you enjoyed it.

  Want to know when my next novel is available? You can sign up for my new release e-mail list here:

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  You can find my books, plus a few other things at my website: www.billykring.com

  Reviews help other readers find books, and I appreciate every review.

  ~**~

  Included on the following pages is an excerpt from HUNTER’S MOON, the next (5th) Hunter Kincaid novel, coming soon!

  HUNTER’S MOON (excerpt)

  Chapter 1

  Hunter found the body facedown in a flat expanse of rock, gravel and thin alluvial soil dotted with prickly pear, ocotillo, and the dark green creosote bushes that thrive in the Big Bend area.

  As she waited for her partner to arrive in the Jeep, Hunter squatted on her heels Indian style, wiped the sweat and grit from her face with a handkerchief and looked over things. From his tracks and the position of his body, the man seemed to be heading for Tinaja Prieta Canyon, in the eastern edge of the Chinati mountain range.

  She heard the vehicle coming and stood up so he could see her. Gary stopped the Jeep twenty yards from the scene and walked to Hunter’s side. He squatted on his heels beside her and said, “What have we got?”

  “Somebody shot him with a .22. He’s been hit three times in the back and once in the back of the head. The three are grouped tight. He was shot, then fell forward and didn’t move after he hit the ground.”

  Gary said, “He’s wearing the wrong clothes for out here.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He rose and went to the body, checking inside the back of the man’s collar. “Dior Homme. That’s a three hundred dollar shirt.”

  Hunter said, “Are you serious? And how did you know that?”

  “I was in California on vacation a couple years ago. We went to Rodeo Drive. You know, to be tourists and gawk at all the pricey stuff. They have a Dior Homme store there.”

  Hunter looked at the dead man, “What in the heck is someone wearing a shirt from Beverly Hills doing out here?”

  “I’m thinking drugs, maybe a drug deal that went wrong.” Gary looked at the holes in the man’s shirt, “You think it could be a .25 instead of a .22?”

  “Maybe, but look at the one in his head. It’s small. Had to be a plain .22 round, too, because anything more powerful would have exited the front. There’s no blood on his front.”

  “Did you move him?”

  “I checked for vitals, then lifted him just enough to see there were no exit wounds.”

  Gary looked around, “Where are the shooter’s tracks?”

  Hunter gave him a long look. “There aren’t any.”

  “None?”

  “This guy’s tracks, and now yours and mine are the only ones here.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t miss them?”

  “Knock yourself out. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

  Gary walked over the area for twenty minutes, then returned to Hunter and the dead man. “I followed his back trail that way for seventy, eighty yards and looked a good bit on both sides of his path. Only found your sign and his.”

  Hunter said, “I’d followed him three miles to here, then I went back a couple hundred yards and rechecked. His and mine are all
there is.”

  Gary looked the area over again, “This is on a slight rise, but it’s nothing different from this area for a quarter mile around. You think he was shot earlier and walked this far before falling?”

  “Uh-uh. Look at the blood. You can tell it leaked while he was in this position. He was shot right here.”

  Gary tilted the sweat-stained ball cap back on his head. “How can that be?”

  Hunter said, “I’m thinking somebody channeled Chris Kyle or Carlos Hathcock. It’s the only thing I’ve got.”

  “But with a .22?”

  “I know.” They were silent for a minute, then Hunter asked, “Who’s coming out on this one?”

  “Sheriff Montoya.”

  “Is Danny bringing any deputies with him?”

  Gary grinned at Hunter for calling the new Sheriff by his first name. Montoya had been Sheriff for less than a year, and was a little stiff when people didn’t address him by his title. “You just keep asking for it don’t you?”

  “He told me I could call him that, just nobody else can. So, is he bringing anybody with him?”

  “He didn’t say, but I caught radio chatter that several deputies are headed this direction.”

  Hunter pulled the brim of her Stetson lower over her eyes to help cut the glare, “Let’s wait in the Jeep. It’s so hot out here I’m cooking.”

  Half an hour later, Sheriff Montoya arrived. He had one passenger in the Suburban with him, a white-haired man wearing sunglasses and a black suit and tie.

  This guy’s watched Men in Black one too many times, Hunter thought.

  They converged at the body, and Montoya introduced the new man. “This is Mr. Jones, he’s with the federal government.”

  Hunter said, “Well what do you know, we’re with the federal government, too. You have a first name, or do we call you, Your Governmentship?”

  He said, “Why don’t you tell us everything, starting from the beginning?”