That wasn’t all he was thinking. He was one man against an unknown quantity of opponents, all of them presumably armed, dangerous and very pissed off once they became aware of an intruder in their place of business. Even with the shotgun, Ben was going to be at a major disadvantage. And a bow wasn’t much of a weapon against the kind of hardware he expected Jayce Garrett to be packing. Then again, there were ways to make a bow a lot more effective. Especially in a place like this.
Ben had to work fast. He picked up the walkie-talkie handset and saw from the readout that it had a full charge. He removed the battery compartment cover. Inside was a single nine-volt battery, the standard rectangular type with the two terminals attached to a snap connector at one end. He disconnected the battery and set it down. Then he drew an arrow from the quiverful Caleb had given him, and clasped it between his knees with the hunting tip pointing upwards. He tore off a generous wad of steel wool from the roll and bound it securely to the business end of the arrow with a length of gaffer tape. Once that was done, he picked up the bow and set about taping the nine-volt battery to its handle, so that the terminals were just below the arrow rest.
Watching him work, most people might have thought he was crazy. But that was because most people were unskilled in the art and science of causing maximum mayhem. Ben was a master at it, as the Garretts were soon to find out.
He replaced the doctored arrow in the quiver, then grabbed the bearded guy’s shotgun from the nail where it hung and checked it. An old Remington 870 pump, five-round capacity, loaded with buckshot. Ben slung the gun over his shoulder. Checking the coast was clear, he slipped out of the guard hut. Still no sign of the monstrous wood-cutter.
Ben made his way towards the main building. Ahead was an open doorway. He slipped through it and found himself in a crude, dank plywood ante-room at the end of a narrow passage, full of more junk and piled sacks of cane sugar and cracked corn and barrels of water loaded on a hand truck. The malty brewery smell was much stronger here, telling him that somewhere at the far end of the passage was a more open area where the business of distilling was taking place.
He stood very still. Listening hard and hearing faint voices. He closed his eyes and focused on the sound. Three men were talking. Their accents were local. The conversation they were having sounded more like an argument, but Ben couldn’t make out the exact words.
He opened his eyes. Drew the modified arrow from the quiver. Fitted its nock to the bowstring and laid the shaft on the arrow rest. Silently, slowly, he moved along the passage in the direction the voices were coming from.
And moments later, Ben had found what he’d come looking for.
Chapter 34
Ben now found himself standing at the entrance to a cavernous, barn-sized space that was a full-scale distillery operation in full swing. The floor was smooth concrete painted industrial red. Much of its area, and the interior walls, was hidden behind a mass of sacks and water drums and firewood. Closer to the centre stood a dozen or more large cylindrical moonshine stills, over eight feet tall and four feet wide, set in a broad circle like the ring of Stonehenge, gleaming copper just like the one Ben had seen dismantled for repair in the guard hut. Pipes ran across and down from the top of each cylinder to a separate water drum and then to a collector vessel into which the distilled alcohol steadily dripped. Each still sat atop its own lit wood burner, and the combined smoke from the fires was channelled towards the centre chimney by a massive corrugated-iron hood.
The heat in the room was almost overpowering and the smell of cooking mash was chokingly thick, mixed with the stench of diesel fumes from a generator that rattled and rasped in the background, powering pumps and gauges and equipment whose purpose Ben could only guess at.
At the centre of the bizarre circle, dwarfed by the height of the copper cylinders, stood all three Garrett brothers.
The argument was over money. Logan appeared to be doing most of the talking. He’d taken off the mirror shades and his eyes were defensive and anxious as he fronted his two elder siblings. He was gesticulating and saying, ‘Chill, guys, you know Biquaisse’s totally good for it. If he says he’ll pay in two weeks, he’ll pay in two weeks. Ain’t like he’s ever let us down before.’
‘Biquaisse my ass. This is ten fuckin’ Gs, Logan. You gone pussy on this fucker, or what?’
‘Come on, Seth.’
‘You go back and tell this lyin’ prick we want the money in two days or he’s gator meat.’
Ben paid little attention to their dispute. He was just watching, very still and barely breathing. His heart rate was low and calm and his blood felt cold despite the overpowering heat.
Because this was it. The final shred of proof, if Ben even needed it. Logan Garrett’s elder brothers were the same two men he had last seen escaping the scene of the murder that night. The one with the tied-back hair and the nasty scowl on his face, had been the driver of the Mustang. That would be Seth, Ben now knew. He was maybe thirty-five and wiry, with a few thousand dollars’ worth of tattoos covering his arms and neck and a pearl-handled Beretta sticking out of the waistband of his jeans. To his right stood the eldest brother, Jayce, whom Ben now recognised without a shadow of a doubt as the man he’d watched running from the guesthouse as Lottie lay dying in the hallway.
Jayce Garrett had murdered her. Jayce Garrett had personally planted the sword through her body and nailed her to the floor.
Jayce was wearing a plain white T-shirt that hung loose over black combat trousers. He was the eldest by maybe three years, perhaps four, but he was in much more athletic shape. He had no visible tattoos except for the faded blue swastika on his right hand that Tyler had mentioned. His reddish hair, the same tint as his brothers, was freshly buzzed almost to the scalp, military-style. He didn’t look angry, like Seth, or agitated, like Logan. His voice was soft and smooth as he addressed his youngest sibling, but the softness carried its own kind of menace.
‘How many times I gotta tell you, Bro, you don’t let nobody bullshit you?’
‘Yeah, Bro,’ Seth weighed in, ‘it ain’t the principle. It’s the motherfuckin’ money.’
Logan’s shoulders slumped in defeat. The cocky pimp with the swagger in his stride now looked like a berated child. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll make sure he pays.’
Seth began, ‘Sure, if he ain’t halfway to fuckin’ Nebraska by n—’ Then he broke off mid-sentence. Both Logan and Jayce looked at him in surprise, then turned their eyes in the same direction Seth was suddenly staring.
Because Ben had just stepped out from between two copper cylinders to confront them.
Before any of them had time to speak, Ben drew the bow about three-quarters of the way. The last time he’d drawn it he was ready to collapse from exhaustion and pain. Now he felt strong and ready for whatever might happen next. He held the weapon steady with the first of his modified arrows pointing at the three brothers.
He watched their faces. Logan had turned purple with rage and seemed about to start blustering. Seth was staring at him with a look midway between alarm and aggression. Jayce’s reaction was the most telling. His face was completely blank, as though nothing could possibly faze him. It was the look of a remorseless, psychopathic killer. Ben knew he’d been wearing the same empty, impassive expression when he’d slaughtered Lottie.
But even if all three Garretts responded differently to the sudden intrusion, none of them, not even Logan, was foolish enough to impulsively go for his pistol.
Ben took a step closer.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ Logan yelled, pointing.
‘You know who I am,’ Ben replied. ‘I’m the guy you set up. Or tried to. Surprised to see me?’
Jayce Garrett spoke next, his voice still as calm and smooth as before. ‘You’re a real smart guy, findin’ us here, that’s a fact.’
‘Talk to your little brother,’ Ben said. ‘He’s the one who led me here. I don’t think he’s the brains of the family. That’d be you, Jayce.’
Jayce made a slow, cold smile. ‘You’re right about that.’
‘But you’re not as clever as you think you are. Killing Lottie Landreneau was a very stupid thing to do. Picking me to frame for it was even more stupid. You have no idea what you’ve got yourselves into.’
Seth Garrett laughed out loud. ‘Says the dumbass who just walked in here with a goddamned bow and arrow. You got one shot. We’re three guys packin’ forty, fifty rounds between us, without havin’ to reload. Let that arrow fly, you know what’s gonna happen next.’
‘Try me,’ Ben said. ‘Do you want to be the first to die?’ He swivelled the arrow Seth’s way.
Seth stopped laughing and said nothing.
‘You know, I could ask you all kinds of questions about why you did what you did,’ Ben said. ‘About why it was so important to you to carry out some vendetta that’s centuries old, and what you thought you were going to achieve by murdering an innocent woman, and how you found her after all this time. But truthfully, I don’t care. You can save that story for the police.’
Logan sneered, ‘So that’s why you’re here, to take us in? Like a citizen’s arrest, right?’
‘That’s how it has to be,’ Ben said. ‘If it wasn’t, all three of you would have been dead before you even knew I was here.’
‘That a fact?’ Logan shot back.
‘Yes,’ Ben replied. ‘That’s a fact.’
‘Looks like he forgot to bring his army with him, boys,’ said Seth.
‘Just me,’ Ben said. ‘You think I need help to take down a bunch of yokel wannabe outlaws? Get serious. I’m only sorry there aren’t nine of you. It might have evened the odds a little.’
‘You got one helluva mouth on you,’ Logan spat.
Jayce Garrett was silent. His eyes totally inscrutable. Body relaxed, hands hanging loose by his sides.
‘So here’s the deal, folks,’ Ben said. ‘You’re each going to slip out your pistols, nice and easy, finger and thumb, no sudden moves. You’re going to lay them down on the floor at your feet and slide them over to me. Then I’m going to have to ask you to strip to your underwear, so I can see you’re not trying to hide any concealed weapons. Then we’re all going to sit tight and wait for the police to show up. My pal Sheriff Roque will put you in a nice cell where you can confess your crimes and beg for mercy. I hear the state of Louisiana hasn’t executed anyone in years because they ran out of lethal injections. That means you’ll get to sit on death row for a long, long time, thinking about what it feels like to burn in hell.’
‘Sounds like a shit deal to me,’ Seth said.
‘Best one you’re going to get,’ Ben replied.
Jayce spoke again. ‘What if my brothers and I, we don’t feel like signin’ up for it?’
‘Then we have a problem,’ Ben said. ‘Because if you decide to fight this, you’re all going to die. And if you die, you can’t confess, and I can’t clear my name. Then I might as well go down fighting, too. In short, you have about five seconds to throw down your weapons or I’m going to blow this place up with all of us inside.’
Chapter 35
All three of the Garretts laughed. Jayce shook his head. ‘Don’t you just love this guy.’
‘Got some balls, that’s for sure,’ Seth said. ‘Still gotta smoke his ass, though.’
Logan’s eyes glinted. ‘Leave some for me, fellas.’
Ben said, ‘Last warning.’
In case they didn’t think he meant it, he pulled the bow to full draw. As the arrow slid all the way back on its rest, the wad of steel wool taped to the shaft brushed against the exposed terminals of the nine-volt battery he’d attached to the bow handle. The steel wool instantly began to glow red, then burst into a bright, hot flame. The faster the arrow flew, the hotter it would burn. Greek fire, revisited.
Ben raised the angle of the bow by a few degrees, to aim for the upper half of the copper still directly behind where the Garrett brothers were standing. The arrow’s tip would punch through soft copper as easily as a bullet and instantly ignite a large quantity of ethanol vapour as volatile as gasoline fumes. The erupting fireball would blast the cylinder apart like a bombshell, engulf everything within its range, set off the rest of the stills and turn the whole building into a raging conflagration in moments. Nobody would escape alive and nothing would remain but a scorched hole in the ground.
And all three Garretts knew that very well.
‘Told you it was a bad idea picking on me,’ Ben said. ‘Now we can all go to hell together, if that’s how you want to call it.’
‘Don’t shoot,’ Logan yelled. ‘Here, there’s my gun. Take it. Fuckin’ take it!’ He pulled out the concealed Glock he’d been wearing under his shirt and lobbed it at Ben’s feet.
‘Mine too.’ Seth gingerly drew the pearl-handed Beretta that had been sticking out of his back pocket and laid it down, then skimmed it across the floor with his foot.
Jayce Garrett didn’t move. A tiny glimmer of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. Ben could see the outline of a large handgun in a belt holster under the loose hem of Jayce’s T-shirt. If Jayce went for it, it wouldn’t be to surrender it.
‘Don’t bluff me,’ Ben said.
‘No?’
At that moment, Ben sensed a rushing movement coming up fast at his rear. He broke his aim and whirled around to see a flesh mountain looming towards him. It was the giant woodcutter he’d spotted from afar earlier on. Up close, the man was even more enormous. He was over seven feet tall, all lumpy and misshapen like a mutant, with rat-tail hair and bulging eyes that looked in two directions at once. His huge arms were raised overhead and his fists clenched the log-splitting axe that had just reached the top of its swing and was now falling like a guillotine blade towards Ben’s head.
Ben sidestepped and ducked, and the blade missed him by an inch and crashed against the concrete floor with a shower of sparks. With a roar of rage the giant hefted the axe up again to take another lunge at this puny little man who dared threaten his masters.
Ben let the bow and the burning arrow fall from his hands, reached behind him and unslung the shotgun. But before he could bring the gun into action the axe was whooshing towards him again, a fearsome swing that could cut him in two if it landed. Even if he blew the monster’s head off at this moment the heavy wedge-shaped blade would keep coming by its sheer momentum.
A gun had other uses. Ben raised the weapon protectively to parry the blow. The crushing force of the impact almost smashed the shotgun from his grip. The barrel crumpled like a length of cardboard tubing.
Ben fell back a step with the ruined weapon in his hands. The giant lumbered towards him, snorting something unintelligible and baring a set of jagged black teeth that looked as if he’d been chewing raw sugarcane all his life.
‘Meet our good friend Rufus,’ said Jayce Garrett. ‘Rufus don’t take kindly to folks bustin’ in on our place of business. Now he’s gonna chop your ass up into little pieces, and we’re gonna watch’m do it.’
Rufus’ little piggy eyes glittered to hear his boss’s praise. He gathered his massive strength and swung the axe once again at Ben, in a horizontal arc right to left that would have separated neck from shoulders if Ben hadn’t ducked. The sideways momentum of the blade carried it onwards, rotating Rufus’ mass with it. Which opened up a gap in his defences, and Ben wasn’t about to miss the opportunity. The giant might be inhumanly strong, but he was also ox-slow. Ben wasn’t. He was playing to a hostile audience and needed to finish this job very quickly.
In days of yore when men were men and recoil-absorbing rubber buttpads were strictly for wimps, the old model 870 shotgun came with a hard rubber plate attached to the shoulder end of its wooden stock. Ideal for protecting a fine piece of American black walnut in the great outdoors. Also handy for smashing someone’s face in, when circumstances required. Rufus let out a high-pitched squeal of pain and shock as the shotgun butt rammed him brutally in the mouth, crunching whatever was left of his teeth. He
dropped the axe and teetered off balance.
Ben moved in hard and fast and hit him again, this time full in the throat. It was a savage blow both designed and intended to kill. One that Ben knew was very capable of that job. Seven pounds of wood and steel driven by a further 175 pounds of bodyweight all focused on Rufus’ windpipe and crushed it flat. He went down like a felled oak tree, clawing at his throat and gasping for air that would never come, because Rufus had breathed his last.
The crack of a gunshot rang out, loud and harsh under the tin roof. Logan Garrett had managed to recover his fallen pistol and snatched it up to fire at Ben in such a scrabbling rush that he’d missed by a couple of feet.
His eldest brother would make no such mistake. Jayce was drawing a big stainless-steel automatic from his belt holster, smooth and fluid and practised.
Ben had about a second to get himself out of it, or else he was a dead man.
Chapter 36
Seth Garrett’s Beretta was still on the floor, but it was too far away for Ben to make a grab for. The fallen bow was nearer, and it still had a couple of arrows left in its inbuilt quiver. He threw himself towards the cover of the nearest moonshine still and snatched up the bow mid-roll just as Jayce Garrett let off a booming shot that struck exactly where Ben’s head was.
Or had been, a quarter second earlier. The bullet punched a 9mm hole into the still’s copper cylinder as Ben disappeared behind it. A stream of pure alcohol jetted out, spattering to the floor.
Jayce Garrett clutched his pistol in both hands and ran bent-kneed around the side of the perforated still, ready to send a volley of bullets Ben’s way. Ben had already retreated behind the next one in the row while loading another arrow to the bow.
As Jayce came into view, Ben drew and fired all in one movement. The arrow flew straight and true towards Jayce’s head. Jayce saw it coming a split second before he could fire his pistol. He tried to flinch out of its path, but his fast reflexes weren’t quite fast enough and he screamed as the arrow’s hunting tip skewered his right ear and tore away a big piece of its lobe before embedding itself in the shiny copper cylinder behind him.
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