Severed

by Corey Brown

  “His pulse is strong.” Tina’s voice is clear, refined. “Cody is it? Are you in any pain, Cody?”

  “Some, not really, are you a doctor?”

  The woman smiles. “No, but I’ve had some emergency medical training.” She straightens up and looks at Hansen. “I don’t like that bump on his head but I think he’s probably all right.”

  “Fair enough,” Hansen says. He grasps Cody’s outstretched hand. Cody struggles to pull his legs free, trying to be subtle as he kicks at the snake. After a moment, Cody slips out from under it and Hansen helps him to his feet.

  “Thanks…I----” Cody starts to say, but a swell of dizziness chokes off his words. His legs feel weak and he sways a little then leans forward, hands on his knees.

  Hansen reaches out to steady him. “Easy. You sure you’re all right?”

  Cody raises his hand and nods. “Yeah, just give me a minute.”

  A moment later, Cody straightens and looks around, takes in the scene. The three of them are standing in the grass just off the edge of the road. Several feet away, his car is still running and he had been lying close to the exhaust pipe, which explains the strange chemical smell he had noticed. Lying on the ground is the dead cottonmouth, the tail end of which is still draped over the open car door and across the hood. An enormous dead snake that apparently no one else can see. On his right, is a woman, someone named Tina, a stranger. To his left, a steadying hand on his shoulder is Detective Hansen.

  It is surreal.

  The snake’s head is smashed in, but no bullet holes. Cody frowns. If I didn’t kill it, he wonders, who did?

  At the back of his throat, as if he had swallowed a gallon of it, Cody can still taste the dirty swamp water. Bits and pieces of an idea turn around in his mind. Images of the monstrous snake coming at him, mouth open and fangs bared. Had it really spoken? Did he really hear it say ‘your turn’?

  A memory of a man, was it Nick?, came in and out of focus; the man is drowning and a huge creature is wrapped around his chest. There is something else, another memory. Something foul, the acrid breath of someone speaking in his ear, whispers of death. In this memory, Cody thinks he can hear a chain uncoiling. The smell of death, the sound of a chain, thoughts of Nick, all of it swirls around Cody’s head like a dust cloud.

  “Cody?” Hansen says.

  Cody feels a prickly sensation in his hands and arms, like needles just touching the skin. He wants to retch, but he fights it. He shuts his eyes, trying to clear his mind.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” Cody says. “Just a little dizzy, that’s all.” His head throbs.

  “What happened?” Hansen says. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Cody glances at Hansen then back at the cottonmouth.

  “You’ll never believe it,” Cody says.

  “Try me.”

  “It’s hard to explain. It’s nothing, really. I’m fine.”

  “You fired your weapon,” Hansen says, pulling the forty-caliber from his waistband. “What? You shot at nothing?”

  Cody looks at the gun then at the woman. He feels stupid. She had seen him lying on the ground, apparently helpless because a giant, invisible, dead snake had him pinned down. Is he losing his mind? But the monster is not invisible, he can still see it.

  “I was….” Cody struggles to concoct a story. “I was attacked by an animal, a cat, maybe a lynx.

  “For real?” Hansen says. “But you mean a bobcat, right?”

  “What?”

  “A bobcat, there aren’t any lynx around here.”

  “Shit, who cares? I can’t tell the difference, a bobcat then. I stopped to….” He pauses, glances at the woman than back at Hansen. “I stopped to relieve myself and the cat came out of nowhere. Look,” Cody points at the car. “It took a bite out of my seat. I was barely able to draw my weapon. I fell trying to get out of its way, I fired a couple of rounds to scare it off.”

  “Sounds like you lucked out,” Hansen says

  “Yeah, I guess. I just should’ve shot the damned thing.”

  “Good thing you didn’t,” the woman named Tina says. “This time of year, the LDWF says traps only for bobcats, no firearms.”

  “It was self-defense,” Cody says, a little too harshly. “So, if you’re not a doctor, you must be a game warden. Mrs. …?”

  “Tina McGrath.” She smiles, extending her hand. Cody waits, looks at her slender fingers, takes her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” Hansen says. “I should’ve introduced you. This is Cody Briggs. Cody, Tina McGrath.”

  “No, I’m not a game warden,” Tina says, still holding Cody’s hand. Her grip is firm, confident. “But I am interested in wildlife, so I’ve taken it upon myself to learn the state laws. The folks at the Department of Wildlife and Fisheries know me pretty well.”

  Tina holds onto Cody’s hand a moment longer, her touch is both cool and intriguing. Cody takes her in again. She is younger than Cody but only by a few years, maybe in her late thirties. She is plain but not unattractive with strawberry blond hair, narrow hips and shoulders, a friendly face.

  “What are you doing out here anyway?” Hansen says.

  “I know you,” Cody says to Tina. “But I can’t think how.”

  “In addition to wildlife conservation,” Hansen says, “Tina supports children’s charities. She and her husband, Jordan, started the McGrath foundation, which takes care of homeless and at risk kids.”

  “Jordan McGrath?” Cody says. “The same guy who is CEO of Arrow Investments?”

  “Was the CEO,” Tina says, her face tightening, sounding weary. “But, yes, the same Jordan McGrath.”

  Cody knows the tone of voice, knows the look. He had seen it many times when she and Jordan McGrath were regulars on the evening news some time ago, video clips of the couple with reporters crowded around, pressing in on them. He remembered the expression on her face, embarrassed, often times angry, her brown eyes trying to avoid the cameras and the questions.

  Allegations of embezzlement at Arrow Investments became headline news not only in New Orleans, but nationwide. Tens of millions of dollars, invested by the local elite, were gone. McGrath had claimed it was because of a bear market, but his clients blamed him personally and the accusations found an ear at the SEC. Federal investigators spent months pouring over Arrow’s financial statements while the McGraths became fodder for the press.

  Wrongdoing was never proven and in the end Jordan McGrath had been cleared, but it was too late for Arrow Investments. Humiliated, Jordan McGrath resigned and Arrow, once a powerbroker for serious New Orleans money, slipped into obscurity becoming just another investment planning company servicing the six digit income bracket.

  “The McGrath Foundation is an excellent organization,” Cody says. “My wife has worked some of your fundraisers.”

  “Thank you,” Tina says. “I like to think the work is important. But it’s people like your wife and the folks at the foundation who make things happen. Everyone works very hard.”

  Tina seems grateful to avoid another discussion about Arrow Investments. “I know you, too,” she says, her mouth revealing a trace of a smile.

  “Really? How so?” Cody rubs his jaw, trying to look puzzled. But he did not need to ask, Cody knows the answer.

  “You were in the papers a few years ago. You shot those gang members. The Hit Man, isn’t that what they called you?”

  “There was no ‘they’, one guy came up with that name and he didn’t understand what happened. He was just looking for his five minutes of fame.”

  “I’d say he got it,” Tina says, her expression was sympathetic.

  “Yeah, he did. But no one remembers his name. No one even remembers mine, just the moniker.”

  “Give it time, Cody,” she says. “Soon enough even the nickname will be forgotten.”

  Cody? Calling him by his first name, like they were old friends. Cody becomes aware of her perfume and how close she was standing. Not too close, but close enough to
notice. Did she realize it? He looks at Eric Hansen then back at Tina McGrath. Two cops and a wealthy woman are standing in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a swamp and besides being outright strange, something about the situation is familiar. Not in the same way as the images that had filled his mind just moments earlier and not like his experience with the cottonmouth.

  Cody checks again. The giant snake is still there.

  This does not feel familiar like his other memories, but there is something to be remembered here. Tina McGrath looks at him intently, her eyes penetrating, searching, inviting. Inviting him? In a rush Cody knows what he needs to remember; cops and sex and rich women. He has to be someplace else.

  Cody looks at his watch. Nine forty-four. Sixteen minutes until his meeting with Derek and Doctor Harris, but it’s at least a twenty-five minute drive.

  “Shit. I gotta get outta here.” Cody takes a step toward his car.

  “Hold up,” Hansen says, catching Cody by the elbow. “Go where? Why are you here?”

  Cody twists free, a sickle of pain cutting across his injured shoulder. He winces and says. “I’ll fill you in later, but right now I have to go.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right, Cody?” Tina says, moving closer.

  Cody backs away. “Positive. I have to leave.”

  “Wait,” Hansen says. “Take your----”

  “I’ll call you,” Cody says, interrupting.

  Cody steps over the cottonmouth and stands next to the car. The passenger’s door is still open and the snake is draped over it. Now what? How can he move the damn thing without looking like an idiot? He checks his watch again: nine forty-five. No choice, he has get to Opelousas.

  Hansen and Tina watch in disbelief, as Cody seems to mime moving a heavy object. Cody can feel their stares burning into his back. What else can he do? He cannot drive off with the car door wedged open and a snake hanging off it. Cody works the carcass across the top edge of the doorframe then with one final heave pushes it onto the ground. It lands with a soft thud, like a sack of flour on a wooden floor.

  Without risking a glance at Hansen or Mrs. McGrath, Cody slams the door and walks past the trunk, moves to the driver’s side. He pauses to look at the other half of the snake sprawled across the Ford’s hood. He glances at the tail. He can probably drag the beast toward the front of the car and dump it off that way, but he would look even more like a mad man. Screw it. Reverse gear and a heavy foot on the gas pedal ought to take care of things.

  He climbs in and turns the ignition key. The starter howls as it tries to engage an already idling engine.

  “Damn it,” Cody snarls, feeling even more foolish.

  He shoves the car into reverse and rams his foot down on the accelerator. The car lurches backwards, spitting gravel. Out of the corner of his eye, Cody sees Tina and Hansen jump back. For a disturbing moment, the mammoth snake refuses to leave its perch, and Cody thinks he’s going to have to get out and dislodge it. He skids to a stop, throws the car in drive, floors it. Then he mashes the brake pedal again while simultaneously shifting into reverse and hitting the gas. Finally, the rest of the cottonmouth tumbles off and Cody spins the steering wheel, making the front end slide around. Seconds later he is gone.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Hansen says.

  Tina stares after Cody. Then she looks at the cottonmouth and says, “I have no idea.”

  «»

  Derek Simmons looks at his watch. He had arrived thirty-five minutes ago and is still alone. He had expected Cody to do the same thing, to show up early and have a look around. But the meeting is only five minutes away and Cody still has not arrived. Waiting at the back of the store in the food court, sitting at a green and white-topped table, Derek aimlessly fingers an empty cup of coffee. For half an hour, he had watched shoppers wheel their overloaded shopping carts up and down aisles, shuffling slowly along and ogling at items on the shelf as if they contained extraordinary objects, deserving of their full attention.

  Derek smiles, shakes his head. How absurd.

  Over by the deli counter, a man wearing a black Izod pullover and gray slacks is pushing an empty cart. Derek smiles again. He had seen the guy a few minutes ago pushing the same empty cart. That won’t fool anyone, he thinks. You’ve got to put something in the cart if you want to look like you’re shopping. But it is okay. The poor guy is a doctor, not a cop, and not a real shopper. What does he know about disguising himself? Besides, Derek is certain no one knows about this meeting. Derek stands and waves the man over.

  “Doctor Harris, thanks for coming,” Derek says, extending his right hand. “Sorry about the cloak and dagger routine but we can’t be too careful.”

  Harris looks haggard, dark semi-circles underscore his tired eyes. His face is strained, drawn.

  “No problem.” Harris says, shaking Derek’s hand. Harris’s skin is clammy, the guy is scared. “Where’s Cody?”

  Derek motions toward an aqua colored chair and they sit down. “Don’t know. He’ll be here, though. Don’t worry.”

  “I have to tell you----” Harris stops short. “I don’t even know who you are. What should I call you?”

  Derek smiles, tries to look friendly, he wants to put Harris at ease. Surreptitiously, Derek produces identification and says, “Derek Simmons. I’m with the FBI. Cody and I are old friends. That’s why I’m here, he needs my help.”

  Glen Harris nods, trying to conceal both his surprise and relief. This guy is not just a city cop, he is with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  “What’s going on here, Derek?” Harris says. “I’m scared to death. I don’t know what to do.”

  Derek draws a breath, expanding his barrel chest, stretching his shirt. He is dressed professionally, black sport coat and pants, white dress shirt, power tie. The pull of fabric against his skin reminds Derek of how he looks.

  He had other commitments today, ones that required more than jeans and a tee shirt, but here in Walmart formal sticks out like a lighthouse. Earlier, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, dragging a razor across his face, dress code had not seemed so important; in retrospect a coat and tie was probably not the best idea. Casual would have been better, he could have brought the suit along and changed at the office.

  “I don’t know what the deal is,” Derek says. “Cody wouldn’t tell me over the phone.”

  “You know about the movie, don’t you?”

  “Well, I know you gave him a video cassette, but I don’t know what was on it.”

  Harris fidgets a little. “Did Cody tell you anything about me or Nick Wheaton?”

  “Not much,” Derek says. “Very little, actually.”

  “He didn’t tell you about my patients?”

  “No, in fact he was careful not to tell me much of anything.” Derek shrugs. “He said it was better that way.”

  “What do you know?”

  Derek starts to reply that he doesn’t know anything but catches sight of Cody hurrying toward them. Even from a distance, Derek can tell something is wrong.

  “Hey guys, Cody says, dropping into the third chair but he stands abruptly. “Give me a second. I gotta have a cup of coffee.” He takes a step then turns back. “Either of you want anything?”

  Derek looks closely at his friend. Something is definitely not right. It isn’t his disheveled appearance, which alone is disconcerting, but something about him is off, something is wrong.

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll take another cup,” Derek says.

  “Glen?” Cody says. “Coffee?”

  Harris hesitates then nods. “Sure, why not?”

  “Okay, three coffees. I’ll be right back.”

  Derek watches Cody walk to the counter. He notices that Cody’s hair is matted in back, his shirt is dirty and un-tucked. Derek watches Cody pace in front of the cash register, waiting for the coffees. He seems to be at loose ends, distracted. What is wrong? Out of the corner of his eye, Derek sees Harris watching Cody, too.

  When t
he order comes, Cody tosses several bills onto the counter, snatches up the tray and starts to walk off.

  “Sir?” The cashier says.

  Cody keeps walking, does not seem to hear her.

  “Excuse me, Sir?” She calls out.

  “Cody,” Derek says, catching Cody’s attention. Then he points at the cashier.

  Cody turns to look at the cashier for a moment. Derek realizes the hair on the back of Cody’s head is matted with dried blood.

  “Your change, sir,” the cashier says, holding out her hand.

  “Oh. Um, just keep it.”

  “What?”

  “Keep it, I won’t need the money.”

  Cody places the tray on the table in front of Glen and Derek, he offers a cup of coffee to both of them.

  “Sorry I’m late, Cody says. I made a stop.”

  “Cody what happened?” Derek says. “Are you okay?”

  “Um, sure. What do you mean?”

  “Your head. What happened to your head?”

  Cody touches the back of his head, cringes when he finds the raw spot. Cody closes his eyes and he can almost hear the sound of a chain. Or is it the thin raspy hiss of a serpent? A tremor ripples his body.

  “Hey man, are you all right?” Derek says, getting to his feet. “Do you need help?”

  “Yeah---- I mean no, I don’t need help. Yeah, I’m okay, I...I think I fell.”

  Derek raises an eyebrow. “You think you fell, or you actually did fall?”

  “Look, it doesn’t matter. We have other things to talk about.”

  “It matters, Cody,” Harris says, also rising to his feet. “Let me look at you.”