Clint Wolf Mystery Trilogy: Boxed Set

by BJ Bourg

  “Well, I hope you can get Buddy back. I’d like to give him a proper burial.” Mrs. DuPont started to turn away, but stopped and waved her hand to indicate up and down the bayou. “There’s kids playing all along this bayou and it would be easy for him to get one of them, so make sure y’all catch that gator before he does something horrible.”

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll get it, don’t you worry.”

  Dexter turned and stepped into his boat, deftly walking along the length of it as it rocked to and fro. He cranked the outboard motor, took his seat, and grabbed the tiller. I hesitated. The aluminum boat had to be a mere fourteen feet long and the sides were only about twelve inches above the water.

  “We’re going in that?” I pointed to the tiny craft.

  “Unless you’d rather swim.” Dexter smiled, exposing a row of tobacco-stained teeth. “I’d vote against swimming—considering the size of that gator.”

  I stepped into the boat and nearly lost my balance as it dipped under my weight. I leaned over quickly and grabbed the sides of the boat. My shotgun slipped off my shoulder and clanked loudly against the metal frame. Cursing silently, I fumbled with it and, when I’d gained control over it, placed it on the floor. I then sat on the front seat and held on.

  Dexter chuckled. “You’ll get used to the rocking.”

  I didn’t respond. Dexter revved the engine and the boat backed slowly away from the shore and the front end swung toward the right. We then headed down the bayou. Cool droplets sprayed my face as the boat cut through the water. Enjoying the relief from the heat, I scanned the banks on either side of us, searching for any sign of an alligator. We had only gone a dozen or so yards when I spotted an alligator’s head protruding from the water. I pointed. “There’s one.”

  “Too small,” Dexter called over the hum of the motor. “The one we’re looking for is a monster.”

  I nodded, kept looking. As we glided along the calm water, I saw a dozen more alligators, but none were big enough to be the killer. After what had to be a mile or two, we passed a number of camps that were perched along the shadowy banks of the bayou. Many of the cabins looked to have been thrown together with scrap wood and were topped with tin roofs. There were even a couple of houseboats in the mix and one of them had a satellite dish. I pointed to it. “They get satellite television out here?”

  Dexter nodded.

  I scratched my head. “But where are the electric poles? How do they get power?”

  “Generators.” Dexter sounded annoyed.

  We rode in silence for a few minutes and then I asked, “People actually live this far out?”

  “A few families do.”

  “How do they get back and forth to the store? Like, if they’re sitting down to eat cookies at night and they realize their kid drank the last of the milk, what do they do? They clearly can’t jump in the car and drive down the highway.”

  “They go by boat.”

  I pondered this as we continued on…thankful I lived just down the road from the grocery store. We rode by a thick wooded area and then came upon a small clearing where a weathered gray house squatted on short creosote poles. A covered screened-in porch extended from the front of the structure. It seemed to hang precariously from the front of the house, as though a hard sneeze could blow it directly into the bayou.

  “Hey, Dexter,” I called over my shoulder, “do you think they’re in danger?” I pointed to two small boys—clad only in faded jeans shorts—who sat at the very edge of the wharf that lined the front of the house. The tips of their toes dangled just above the water. One of the boys looked to be about eight and the other had to be five or six.

  Before the question fully left my lips, Dexter had pointed the boat toward the wharf. “That gator could snatch them off the wharf before they could blink twice,” he said.

  When we reached the dock, Dexter pushed the boat up against a tire that hung from one of the pilings, and I stood and grabbed onto it to maintain my balance. I turned to the boys. “Hey, little men, how are y’all?”

  The older one squinted and pointed at my right hip. “What kind of gun you got?”

  I glanced down at my holster. “It’s a Glock, forty caliber.”

  The boy whistled and said, “Awesome.”

  The younger boy was disinterested. He stared absently at us and kicked his dangling legs back and forth as he held his fishing pole in his hands. Water sprayed up and onto my pant legs, but the boy didn’t seem to mind.

  I pointed to the blue-and-white ice chest on the wharf near them. “What are y’all catching?”

  “A couple of catfish,” the older one said.

  “Cool.” I studied the calm bayou water. A warm breeze gently brushed the leaves of the surrounding trees and caressed my face. Had I not known better, I’d think this was a safe place to go for a lazy swim to cool off. “Look, y’all might want to head inside for today. An alligator killed a German shepherd just up the bayou from here, so it might not be safe for y’all—”

  “Hey,” called a masculine voice from the back door of the house. “What’s going on?”

  I looked up and saw a man stomping across the porch. He pushed his way through the storm door that looked oddly out of place attached to the dilapidated porch front. He was the right age to be the boys’ father.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  “Okay, I think. Is there a problem?” The man stopped at the edge of the wharf.

  “An alligator killed a German shepherd up the bayou,” I explained. “I was telling the boys it might not be safe out here.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yeah, it was a big German shepherd, too,” I said.

  “Wow.” The man glanced at the badge pinned to my shirt. “So, you’re the new chief of police?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s me.”

  The man turned to his boys. “Go inside and get cleaned up for supper.” He turned back to us. “Name’s Red McKenzie. Thanks for looking out.”

  “No problem,” I said.

  Dexter continued down the bayou, hugging the bank, and I had to duck under some of the low-lying oak tree branches.

  “Do you see any bubbles in the water?” Dexter asked.

  I shook my head. “You think he could’ve come this far?”

  “It’s been over an hour since I got the call—he could’ve gone twenty miles in that time.”

  Dexter kept the boat at a steady pace and, just as the shadows grew longer, turned right into a small canal that intersected Bayou Tail. The narrow waterway snaked through the center of a thick forest, where the underbrush smothered the trees lining the banks. The water seemed dirtier and logs could be seen just under the surface. I began to fidget on the front seat of the boat. “Sun’s going down quick.”

  “Good,” Dexter called. “We’ll have a better chance catching him at night. That gator didn’t get that big by being dumb.”

  Dexter revved the motor as the canal broke out into a lake, then he stabbed the front of the boat directly ahead and began crossing to the opposite side, where tall grass lined the shore. Although angry clouds had gathered ahead of us, it was much brighter on the lake and I felt better about being out there. “What’s the name of this—”

  “Look! Over there!”

  CHAPTER 3

  I turned to see Dexter pointing to the right side of the lake. My gaze followed his finger. I gasped. A giant alligator was floating near the bank about fifty yards from us, a limp and saturated German shepherd clamped in his jaws. I quickly jumped to my feet and jerked my shotgun to my shoulder. The boat swayed beneath me, and I tried to steady the front bead on the alligator’s head.

  “Don’t you shoot that gator.” Dexter’s voice was stern.

  Keeping my cheek pressed to the stock, I shifted my eyes to stare at Dexter. “Why on earth not? He killed Mrs. DuPont’s dog.”

  “He did what came natural,” Dexter said calmly. “That don’t rate a death sentence.”

>   I slowly lowered my shotgun. “Then what are we doing out here? I thought we were coming to kill it.”

  “I’m a trapper, not a hunter.” Dexter pointed to a pole that had a dart on one end and a hole in the middle of it. A rope was attached to the dart and extended through the hole in the pole and was tied to some sort of floating device. “We’re going to catch it and relocate it. Take it miles away where it can live in peace. Where there’re no dogs and where no kids will be in danger.”

  I could feel my jaw hanging. “You’re going to catch that gigantic beast?”

  Dexter shook his head. “Not just me”—he wriggled his finger between us—“both of us.”

  I let out a nervous chuckle. “I’d rather get in a gunfight without body armor than mess with that giant dinosaur.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Dexter said. “I’ve done this a million times. I’ll do the fun stuff. I just need you to drive the boat. Once I latch onto him, he’ll try to take us for a ride, so I’ll need you to use the boat to fight him like you would if you were shark fishing. We’ll take him in when he tires out.”

  “I’ve never been shark fishing,” I mumbled.

  Dexter moved the boat slowly toward the alligator. “Keep an eye on the exact spot where he goes down.”

  I reluctantly put my shotgun down and dropped to my knees. I held onto the front of the boat as we glided smoothly across the water. We drew nearer and nearer, but the alligator didn’t move. He looked even bigger up close, and I felt my heart start to beat a little faster. I could see the rest of his body outlined just under the water and gasped. He was longer than the boat. He seemed to be staring at us through his left eye.

  “Close enough,” Dexter called as he eased the boat to a stop. It rocked gently as Dexter grabbed his harpoon pole and stepped over the backseat and moved to where I knelt. “Get to the back and take hold of the tiller.”

  I did as I was told, holding my arms out to my side to keep my balance as I moved to the back of the aluminum hull. Once I was seated and had my right hand on the tiller, Dexter nodded, turned, and took aim with the harpoon. As though sensing something was amiss, the alligator released the German shepherd and the dog slowly disappeared beneath the surface of the water. With a deft swish of its tail, the alligator turned to face us.

  “Get ready,” Dexter warned. The alligator moved closer. Dexter spread his feet, steadied himself. He took a deep breath and held it. Letting out a grunt, he pulled the trigger and launched the harpoon into the air.

  I sat frozen. The harpoon seemed to move through the air in slow motion. My hand gripped the tiller, ready to spring into action. I gasped out loud as the harpoon smacked against the alligator’s armored back and glanced off of it, flying harmlessly into the water. Dexter snatched up the rope and began pulling the harpoon back toward him. The alligator dropped out of sight under the water.

  “Shit,” Dexter said. When he had the harpoon in hand again, he inspected the dart. It was still in place. He leaned over the edge of the boat and scanned the bayou. He pointed to a series of bubbles that had floated to the surface of the water. “There he is. Move the boat toward—”

  The water exploded in action. The monster alligator lunged out of the water, its mouth wide open, exposing two rows of ominous teeth. I instinctively lurched backward and fell against the opposite side of the boat. Dexter’s reaction was slower than mine. He lifted his left arm to shield his face, but he didn’t jump back in time. While still airborne, the alligator’s jaws clamped down on Dexter’s arm like a bear trap. Dexter yelled in disbelief. The forward momentum of the thousand-pound alligator slammed Dexter backward. As the full force of the alligator came to bear on Dexter and the boat, the aluminum hull dipped violently under its weight. My shotgun was flung into the air and water rushed over the side of the boat.

  The dip had tossed me forward and my shoulder smashed into the side of the alligator. My uniform was instantly saturated. I pushed off the floor of the boat, but my hands slipped and I fell headfirst over the side. My thighs caught the wall of the boat, and it was all that stopped me from slipping into the bayou. I tried to push myself up, but my hands grasped nothing but water. Somewhere behind me, Dexter screamed in agony. I reached out and grabbed the back of the alligator to pull my torso out of the water.

  Kneeling in the sinking boat, with water up to my waist, I drew my pistol and turned toward the alligator. It was stretched across the width of the boat and it had a death grip on Dexter’s left arm. Blood was everywhere. Dexter struck out at the alligator with his right fist, but it didn’t affect the alligator at all. The alligator began rolling to its right. Dexter screamed in agony. The movement from the alligator rocked the boat. Water splashed in all directions. Afraid to hit Dexter with my pistol, I aimed it at the side of the large beast. Jerking violently with the motion of the alligator, I pulled the trigger. The gun exploded in my hand. The bullet didn’t seem to have a noticeable impact. I fired again and again. Between my fifteen-round magazine and the bullet in the chamber, I had sixteen bullets—I didn’t stop firing until the slide locked back on an empty pistol.

  Dexter’s screams grew weaker as the alligator’s teeth ripped at his flesh. Blood spilled from his gaping wounds. Unfazed by the gunshots, the alligator gave a final roll and slid free of the boat. In a last-ditch effort to save Dexter, I stood so I could throw my Glock at the alligator, but the boat sank out from under me. I fell forward. Muddy water rushed into my throat and the Glock flew from my hand. I slipped under the water.

  CHAPTER 4

  I thrashed about in the murky darkness. My boots had filled with water. That and the weight of my clothes and gun belt threatened to pull me to the bottom of the lake. My lungs screamed as I strained to hold my breath. I struggled to reach the surface. My feet felt like lead as I kicked and paddled with my hands. After what seemed like forever, my head pushed through and I was able to suck in a mouthful of air. I stared wildly about. My breathing came in labored gasps. The boat was gone, Dexter was gone, and so was the alligator. The only signs they had been there were the millions of tiny white bubbles exploding all around me. I knew they had to be somewhere beneath me.

  I treaded water, snatched my expandable side-handle baton from my gun belt, and extended it. Without thinking, I took a deep breath and plunged under the water. Desperate to find Dexter, I headed straight for the bottom of the lake, opening my eyes as I swam. I could see nothing but blurry darkness. By the time I reached the muddy floor of the lake, I’d nearly reached the limit of my breath-holding abilities. I strained through the pain and made a frantic search with my left hand and my baton. For all my grasping, all I got was slush and weeds. After dozens of seconds, and unable to hold my breath any longer, I twisted my body so my head was facing upward and lunged off the bottom. Instead of propelling me upward, I sank to my ankles in the mud.

  I struggled, pulling and pushing on my legs, but they wouldn’t break free from the clutches of the sucking mud. And then I became very calm. I opened my eyes. I’d heard of diving in black water and how dark and utterly lonely it was down there, but at that moment, I felt peace and I could see.

  I could see Michele’s blonde hair waving in the wind as she walked toward me holding Abigail. I smiled, reached out for them. I wondered why Abigail wouldn’t turn toward me. I called out to her. Told her Daddy was here. Michele looked down at Abigail, and I thought I saw tears in her eyes. Abigail lifted her head and turned to me—

  I recoiled in horror when Abigail’s distorted face came into view and looked all around. Everything was black.

  I remembered where I was and what was at stake. I was Dexter’s only hope!

  Abigail’s face started to float back into view. I shook my head and her image faded into the black wetness that swished about me. I squeezed my burning eyes shut, dropped my baton and bent forward at the waist. Grabbing my pant legs, I pulled myself forward until I reached my bootlaces. As I worked to untie my boots, I swallowed in an effort to buy some time. Once
my boots were untied, I wriggled and pulled with my feet—nothing! The suction was stronger than I would’ve imagined. Resisting the urge to panic, I pushed with one foot, pulled with the other, straining until I thought my head would explode. I felt my right foot budge a little and then it was free. My lungs burned. I fought the urge to breathe. I placed my right foot over my empty boot and repeated the slow push-pull method until I felt my left foot start to slide. Once it was also free, I rushed toward the surface, my lungs crying for air. I opened my eyes, looking up. Hope surged through me as I realized the water wasn’t as dark. The more I swam, the brighter it became, and I finally saw sunlight approaching. I had made it!

  Desperate for air, I opened my mouth and sucked in. Water shot into my mouth and down my throat, as I’d misgauged the distance. I began choking, sucking in more water. When my head made it above the water, I broke into a fit of coughs. Water sprayed from my throat. Between coughs, I was able to suck in tiny bits of much-needed air.

  As I struggled to recover, movement to my right caught my eye and I spun to face that direction. It was the monster alligator. It had resurfaced about twenty yards from me and it was swimming away. Heaving from the lack of oxygen and the strain of my struggles, I scanned the lake.

  “Dexter!” I screamed. I broke out into a coughing fit again and it took several deep breaths to settle myself. “Dexter!”

  No response. No movement other than me and the alligator.

  My strength was waning. I screamed for Dexter several more times, but conceded the obvious—he was gone. Gritting my teeth, I stabbed out at the water, heading for the nearest shoreline fifty yards away. At this point, there was nothing pretty about my swimming technique. I kicked and thrashed with my hands. I swam like I was drowning. I thought each stroke of my hand and each kick of my foot would be my last. I looked back over my shoulder to make sure the monster alligator wasn’t bearing down on me, but it had disappeared.