Survivors Will Be Shot Again

by Bill Crider

  Benton, Hack, and Lawton were talking when Rhodes came in. They were so engrossed in their conversation that they hardly looked up, so Rhodes put Hunt’s possessions and the slugs in the evidence room and filed Dr. White’s report. When that was done he sat at his desk and looked over another report, the one Mika Blackfield had left for him.

  She hadn’t found anything on Hunt’s cell phone. She’d made a list of his calls, but there were only five recent ones. Hunt wasn’t the kind of person to do much phoning. Three calls had been to Riley Farmer. The other two had been to Will Smalls. Nothing suspicious about that, although Rhodes wasn’t convinced that Smalls was innocent in this case, not after his appearance at the Hunts’ place earlier.

  Mika had found no social media accounts for Hunt, which wasn’t surprising. Rhodes would’ve been shocked to discover that Hunt even knew what social media were. She also hadn’t turned up anything on Hunt by using various search engines. He hadn’t left an electronic presence behind.

  Rhodes put the report away and thought through everything that had happened. He was almost sure he’d missed something that would clear things up a bit, but he couldn’t quite dredge it up from wherever it was hiding.

  “I hear you have another tough case,” Seepy Benton said from behind him.

  Rhodes turned in his chair to see Seepy standing there.

  “Are you going to keep me in the loop?” Seepy asked.

  Rhodes looked over to where Hack was pretending to be busy at his desk. Lawton had his hands in his pockets and was looking at the floor as if there might be a speck of dirt there that he could sweep away.

  “You’re not one of the deputies,” Rhodes said. “You’re not a commissioner. You’re not on the city council. You don’t have a place in the loop.”

  “I’m a citizen of the county,” Seepy said. “We citizens need to be in the loop to keep you law enforcers honest. You don’t use body cameras, so you need some checks and balances.”

  “It’s a good thing I know you’re joking,” Rhodes said.

  “Okay, I’m joking, but I do want to help out, the way I’ve done before. You remember, don’t you?”

  Rhodes nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Seepy said. “So once again I’ve dropped by to see if can I help out. Do my civic duty. Maybe help you catch an alligator.”

  Rhodes thought he heard Hack chuckle, but he couldn’t be sure because he could see only the dispatcher’s back. Lawton’s face was impassive.

  “My guess is that you’re already in the loop,” Rhodes said.

  Seepy glanced over at Hack, who didn’t look at him.

  “Maybe I am,” Seepy said. “I want to hear about the marijuana patch, if you don’t mind. I’m interested in that kind of thing.”

  Benton looked more like a rabbi than a man who’d be interested in marijuana, not that Rhodes had seen many rabbis in his life and not that he’d know what one thought about marijuana. Seepy had an even bigger thin spot in his hair than Rhodes did. In fact, he didn’t have any hair at all on the top of his head, but he did have a nice graying fringe, and he wore a short, neatly trimmed beard. Rhodes didn’t see Seepy’s hat, but he was sure it was around somewhere, maybe in a chair by Hack’s desk.

  “Have a seat,” Rhodes said, and Benton sat in the old wooden chair by Rhodes’s desk. Maybe Seepy could be of help after all. “What do you want to know?”

  “First let me tell you something,” Seepy said. “You’re going to be finding more of those patches all the time.”

  “What makes you think that?” Rhodes asked.

  “Two things. Meth’s getting easier to make, and there’s cheap meth coming up from Mexico that’s taking over the market. It doesn’t pay to make it here anymore, not in quantities big enough to sell, anyway, so marijuana’s coming back as a cash crop.”

  “You’re a regular bundle of information about drugs,” Rhodes said. “How do you know all this?”

  “I read the newspapers,” Seepy said. “The old-fashioned kind. I get the Dallas Morning News every day. You can still learn a lot from newspapers if you’re paying attention. That’s where I learned about making meth in two-liter soft drink bottles.”

  Rhodes knew a good bit about that, too. That method of meth cooking was cheap and fast, and now, along with exploding meth houses, Rhodes had to deal with the occasional exploding motel room. Not to mention the time that someone had blown up the men’s room at the Walmart. Or the time someone had set fire to the trunk of his car in the parking lot there.

  “I’ve had some practical experience with the meth problem,” Rhodes said.

  “I know, but those little batches in the soft drink bottles are just for personal use. You can’t make enough to sell that way. The meth houses are dangerous and not as profitable as they used to be. Marijuana still is. You’ve had some trouble with marijuana patches here in the county in the past. Hack and Lawton were just telling me about it.”

  “That was a while ago. This new patch isn’t as big as the one they must have told you about.” Rhodes paused. “Where does all this interest in drugs come from, anyway? You’re not going to set up a meth lab or a grow room, I hope.”

  Seepy grinned. “You know me better than that. I’m a law-abiding citizen. Besides, Ruth would handcuff me and lock me up in one of your cells if she caught me growing pot.” Seepy looked thoughtful. “The handcuffing part might not be so bad, though.”

  “I don’t want to hear about it,” Rhodes said.

  “I don’t blame you, so forget about the handcuffs. When it comes to drugs, I don’t need them to be in a state of euphoria.”

  Rhodes had to admit that Seepy was relentlessly cheerful, and while Rhodes had nothing against cheerfulness, it could sometimes be a little wearing on him when it was a permanent condition in others.

  “A few years ago,” Seepy continued, “before I moved here, I was invited to a peyote ceremony that was being held on land sanctioned by the State of Texas for Native American Church ceremonies. I didn’t take part because what I experience normally is what most other people experience on peyote. That’s what happens to your brain when you live a creative life.”

  “I’m not a bit surprised,” Rhodes said. He’d known for a long time that Seepy’s brain didn’t work like a normal person’s. “But if you’re naturally high, why are you so interested in drugs?”

  “I’m not interested in drugs for mind-altering purposes,” Seepy said. “I’m interested specifically in marijuana because of its medical properties. Here’s an old saying that I just made up: ‘The weed of crime bears medicinal fruit.’”

  “I suppose the Shadow knows,” Rhodes said.

  “You can count on it, and he’d probably agree with me that every state should legalize marijuana for medical use, or the federal government should. We advocates prefer to call it cannabis, by the way, not marijuana, which has bad connotations.”

  “If you’re waiting for Texas to legalize marijuana, you might have a long wait.”

  “Cannabis. And maybe the wait won’t be as long as you think. The legislature passed a very narrow bill that allows for the use of small doses of a marijuana-derived product with most of the THC removed. The problem is that it can be prescribed only for epilepsy, and a regular doctor can’t prescribe it. Only a neurologist or epileptologist can. That’s a start, but that’s all it is. There’s a lot of evidence that cannabis can cure or help with a lot of diseases including several kinds of cancer, but if you’re suffering from those things in Texas, you can’t get it to help your condition. I just don’t think that’s right.”

  “You’ve done some research,” Rhodes said. “It’s almost like you’re on a crusade.”

  “I am on a crusade,” Seepy said. “My bucket list includes getting cannabis made legal in every state. You want to know why?”

  Rhodes didn’t think he had a choice. Seepy’s eyes were lighting up as if there were a lantern in his head. It wasn’t the light of fanat
icism, or Rhodes hoped it wasn’t, but there was a zeal there that was impossible to miss.

  “You’re not going to sing that medical marijuana song you wrote, are you?” Rhodes asked.

  “I’m glad you remembered it,” Seepy said. “It’s on my YouTube channel. I’ve written a new one, too. You can watch it anytime you want to.”

  Rhodes didn’t know when that time would come. He didn’t know enough about YouTube to find the songs anyway.

  “Go ahead and tell me about your crusade,” he said.

  “All right. Here’s the story. I have a friend in Arizona who has crippling allergies. She can’t leave the house for a lot of the year, and she has to live in only one room the rest of the time. The room’s set up with all kinds of air filters that make life bearable but not much more. She’s able to get medical cannabis, though, and that helps a lot. My father here in Texas, on the other hand, has the same problem, but he’d be arrested if he tried to get relief the way she does.”

  “I’m sorry about your father.”

  “So am I. He’s getting treatment, but it’s expensive and less likely to give him a good result.”

  “Maybe the laws will change soon,” Rhodes said. “That seems to be the trend.”

  “I hope so,” Seepy said, “and the sooner, the better.”

  “They haven’t changed yet, though,” Rhodes said. “I still have to find out who planted that marijuana field, and I have to get rid of it.”

  “I know. It’s your job. You’ve sworn to enforce the law, but it’s a shame you have to do it in this case. Are you going to burn the patch?”

  “That’s usually how it’s done,” Rhodes said.

  “Can I help? Maybe just watch? Stand downwind and inhale?”

  “I thought you said you were on a natural high.”

  “I am, but it seems like a shame to waste a good opportunity like this to try something new and different.”

  Rhodes wondered just how new and different the experience would be for Seepy.

  “Forget it,” Rhodes said.

  “If Willie Nelson were here, you’d let him watch.”

  “He’s not here, and I wouldn’t even if he were.”

  “I knew you were going to say that. But seriously, is there something I can do to help with this case?”

  Rhodes thought about it for a second. He knew that Seepy couldn’t tell him anything about Ike Terrell because of the confidentiality requirements of the college, but he might be able to give him a few hints about what Ike was up to.

  “Ike Terrell,” Rhodes said. “How’s he doing at the college this year?”

  “He’s in my calculus class,” Seepy said. “He’s a good student. Does the homework, comes to class. He’s not smoking dope in the halls as far as I know.”

  “There’ve been a lot of burglaries down in his part of the county. I talked to Able this morning, and he says he and Ike aren’t involved.”

  “Ike does have a past,” Seepy said, “but considering his course load, I don’t think he has time for burglaries.”

  “What about growing marijuana?”

  Seepy looked thoughtful. “It doesn’t take a lot of time or work for that, and you don’t have to stand guard if you have an alligator to do the job.”

  The radio crackled, and Hack listened for a few seconds before turning to Rhodes.

  “It’s the alligator,” Hack said.

  “What about it?” Rhodes asked.

  Hack grinned. “It got away.”

  “Uh-oh,” Seepy said.

  Chapter 13

  Rhodes didn’t ask how the gator got away because he knew it would take Hack half an hour to tell the story.

  “Let them know I’m on the way,” he said, starting for the door.

  Sometimes it seemed to Rhodes as if every investigation he got involved in was like this one. No matter how hard he tried to go in a straight line, things kept pulling him in different directions. Of course, he could have simply allowed Alton and Ruth and Buddy to deal with the gator problem, but he was the sheriff, and it was his job to be sure that things went smoothly. When things got off track, he was the one who had to get them back on. He supposed that Riley Farmer and the others Rhodes wanted to talk to would just have to wait. As Hack sometimes reminded him, that’s why he was paid the Big Bucks.

  Seepy Benton followed Rhodes outside and said, “I’m going, too.”

  Rhodes noticed that Seepy had retrieved his fedora and stuck it on his head.

  “You’ll just be in the way,” Rhodes said.

  “I have a personal interest in this,” Seepy said. “Besides, you know that I’m good with alligators. You and I have worked together to catch one before.”

  “You’re a private citizen, and I can’t order you to stay here,” Rhodes said, “but if you get in the way and impede our police work, I’ll have to arrest you.”

  Seepy looked hurt. “I won’t get in the way, and I know how to catch alligators.”

  “You’ll have to stay out of the way this time,” Rhodes said.

  “All right, if that’s how you want it.”

  “That’s how I want it,” Rhodes said, and got into the Tahoe.

  When he’d gone a couple of blocks, he checked the rearview mirror. Sure enough, Seepy was right behind him. Seepy was still there when Rhodes drove through the gate at the B-Bar-B, and he followed right on to the inner gate, which Rhodes got out to open.

  “You can close the gate after you drive through,” Rhodes called to him. “You might want to wait at the barn. I can’t promise you’ll be safe from the gator.”

  “I’m not worried about the gator,” Seepy said. “I can handle the gator. I know several alligator-wrestling techniques.”

  “You told me that the last time we had a gator to catch.”

  “You didn’t let me prove it, though.”

  “I’m not going to let you prove it this time, either,” Rhodes said. “Remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “Good.”

  Rhodes got in the Tahoe and drove through the gate, not waiting to see if Seepy closed it and followed, but before he’d crested the hill on the way to the marijuana patch, Seepy was behind him again. They stopped in the pasture not too far from the patch and parked beside Alton Boyd’s van and Buddy’s county car.

  “You stay here,” Rhodes told Seepy. “I’ll see what’s going on and tell you when it’s safe.”

  Seepy got out of the Escape. “I’m not worried about my safety.”

  “Maybe not,” Rhodes said, “but I am.”

  “All right. I’ll stay here, but let me know if Ruth is okay.”

  “I will,” Rhodes said, walking away.

  Alton, Buddy, and Ruth weren’t at the marijuana patch. Rhodes looked around and thought about the situation. If he were an escaped gator, where would he go? The creek, naturally, so Rhodes headed in that direction. In a minute or so he spotted Alton and the deputies through the trees as they stood on the bank of the creek not far from the irrigation pipe.

  “What happened?” he asked when he reached them. “Where’s the gator?”

  “In the water,” Alton said around the cheap, unlit cigar he had clamped between his teeth.

  “We think,” Ruth added. “We didn’t see him go in, but he was headed in this direction.” She pointed to a muddy spot on the bank. “See?”

  Rhodes saw a smooth track in the mud near the water where a gator might have slid in.

  “How did he get away?” Rhodes asked.

  Nobody spoke up.

  “Well?” Rhodes said.

  “It was my fault,” Buddy said finally.

  “Not really,” Ruth said. “It was more like my fault.”

  “They’re right,” Alton said, removing his cigar and looking at it.

  Rhodes thought it was a soggy mess, but Boyd didn’t seem to mind. He stuck it back in his mouth.

  “What do you mean, ‘They’re right’?” Rhodes asked.

  “I mean it’s their
fault,” Alton said.

  Rhodes had just about given up on ever getting a straight story from anybody, not at first. He said, “Tell me what happened.”

  “I’ll tell it,” Buddy said. “Since it was my fault.”

  “More like mine,” Ruth said.

  “Hold it,” Rhodes said. “Let’s not start that again. You tell it, Alton.”

  “Sure.” Alton removed the soggy cigar and stuck it in the pocket of his shirt. “You remember that last gator we caught?”

  “I remember,” Rhodes said.

  “Okay. I figured to get this one the same way. Rope it, get its mouth shut, and use the duck tape on it. It’s not as big as the last one. We’d just chunk it in the back of the van, and that’d be that.”

  “It didn’t work out that way, though,” Buddy said. “It was my fault. I let him get away.”

  Buddy was short and wiry, but he was stronger than he looked. Rhodes wondered how he’d let the gator escape. Maybe eventually somebody would tell him.

  “What happened was that Buddy opened the gate,” Alton said. “He should’ve waited for the professional to do it.”

  “I thought the gator was asleep,” Buddy said.

  “They look lazy, but they can run like the wind,” Alton said. “Ten or eleven miles an hour if they don’t have to run far, and that one didn’t. He came charging through those plants and hit that wire gate. Knocked it out of Buddy’s hand and knocked Buddy flat on his butt. Knocked Ruth down, too.”

  “I was standing too close to Buddy,” Ruth said. “If I’d been back a little way, I might’ve been able to stop the gator.”

  “Nope,” Alton said. “You couldn’t. Only way to stop one moving that fast is to kill it, and you have to get a pretty good shot at him from the front to do that. He was already headed down to the creek before you could’ve got out your gun out. Gators need to be in the water, and that one wanted to get back to it as quick as he could.”

  “Didn’t you go after him?” Rhodes asked.

  “Sure,” Alton said, “but first I had to be sure Buddy and Ruth weren’t hurt.”

  “Were they?” Seepy Benton asked.