The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1)

by Patrick Astre

  Chapter 31

  Ol'Donny Murtagh had made up his mind. No matter what the cost, or what happened to him, he had to make things right. He knew he had to fight this evil that grew in the everyday light under the name of Duke. The old man had been disturbed to tears when little Deeno showed up this morning, he'd hugged the boy, gently stroking his head and murmuring soothing words. Deeno's left eye was blackened, the welt on top of his right cheek crusted with dried blood.

  Ol'Donny knew what he had to do. There was no other way. He knew there was precious little the authorities would do. Child welfare was at the bottom of the county's priorities. To complicate matters, the boy's Down Syndrome would prevent effective communications. No, there remained only one way for Ol'Donny.

  While the boy waited in the boat, Ol'Donny pulled the double barrel shotgun out of the closet. He checked the action and pulled out the box of OO shells. Tonight, he would force the boy to stay at his house then he would walk to Duke's and kill the man. It was that simple. At this point the consequences didn't matter to him. He'd lived long enough anyway. However it worked out, even if Duke turned the tables and killed him, it should bring enough attention so the case would be investigated. Perhaps then the boy would get a better break. The only thing that troubled Ol'Donny, was that he could not be sure things would get better for the boy. He agonized with those thoughts until Daniels pulled him aside after lunch break.

  Like the rest of the men on his barge project, Daniels had noticed the bruises that appeared on the boy's face. He felt the tension in the boy and the old man and smelled the undercurrent of fear. Neither Deeno or Ol'Donny would answer his questions. So Daniels had called his new lawyer, a real sharp cookie named Kate. Daniels thought Kate had an incredible combination of brains, education and beauty.

  Kate had gotten back to him with a detailed report on Deeno's life from court records. She also had filled him in on what was known about the new custodial couple: Duke and Loretta. But the courts didn't have that much information about them. His old friend, Constable Donald "Hent" Hentley did. Born and raised in Everglades City, Hent knew everything about the locals. He had a lot to say about Duke and Loretta so when Ol'Donny and the boy arrived at the worksite that morning Daniels had a good idea what the situation was.

  He sat with the boy as he held the Basset puppy, the latest resident of Ol'Donny's house that now accompanied them to the barges every day. He stroked the puppy's ear as Deeno held him, then moved his hand, cupping the boy's head.

  Daniels felt a raging anger coursing through his veins as he saw the blackened eye. He had to bite his lip to bring himself under control. He stroked the boy's cheek gently, he didn't ask about the eye. He knew the boy just couldn't talk about it.

  Daniels pulled Ol'Donny Murtagh away from the work crew and led him behind a pile of lumber.

  "Donny, I want to know what's going on."

  "T'aint none of your business, Richard."

  "And how you going to handle it, Donny? You gonna ambush Duke one night and gun him down? That'd be real smart, have the boy lose his best friend and let the courts throw him in an institution."

  Ol'Donny shook his head and looked away. A glistening tear rolled down one leathery brown cheek, followed a wrinkled channel and dissipated in the stubbles of his chin.

  "Look Donny, I know a lot more about this then you think I do and I got some ideas."

  Ol'Donny and Daniels spoke for over an hour. When they were done, Ol'Donny felt that things just might be okay after all. But there was one thing that ran through his head as he looked into Daniel's eyes, and saw dark ominous shadows dancing in his pupils:

  He didn't want to be in Duke's shoes tonight.

  Chapter 32

  That night, Duke stopped his new pickup truck in the dirt parking lot of the Gator's Brew, Bar and Grill. Four miles down a dirt road that ran ninety degrees from US #4, set right at the watery edge of the Everglades, Gator's was the kind of bar that men like Duke would frequent. Pure one hundred percent American Redneck complete with Rebel flag behind the bar just below the shotgun rack and pictures of Merle Haggard, Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson. Draft beer, lower shelf whiskey, rough wood furniture and a jukebox that only carried songs about fighting, heartbreaks, drinking and trailer parks. That was the essence of this venerable establishment.

  Actually most of the patrons were a decent, hardworking lot, wrestling a living from the land and water as fishermen, shrimpers, guides and laborers. Duke was the exception. Duke was the kind of guy that gave rednecks a bad name. He ran a tab at Gator's that everyone knew would never be paid. When Duke held court at Gator's most of the patrons would leave. Big and mean, meaner still when he drank, you never knew when the big ugly bastard would decide he didn't like your face. Duke's entourage was the usual retinue of losers and rejects who found moments of glory under the umbrella of the town's vicious bully. That was the sort of friends Duke attracted.

  Tonight Duke felt pretty good. He had some money from Ol'Donny Murtagh and gotten to show the kid what was what, all in all, a good day for Duke. Hell he might even give Jake the bartender a few bucks toward his bill.

  * * *

  If an observer could see in the blackness of the Everglades that night, he would have seen a man with oversized goggles paddling a canoe as Richard Daniels pulled silently with swift powerful strokes. The night vision goggles made his head look like a Praying Mantis as he paddled for over an hour through the blackness of the channels and bogs on the edge of the dirt road that ran from US #4.

  As he approached the glow of light from the bar at the edge of the water, he removed the night vision goggles and pulled the canoe into a thicket of sawgrass and ferns. He climbed the embankment until he reached the edge of the pool of light from the bar's window and laid, stomach down in the grass. Waiting.

  * * *

  Goddamn, life is good tonight, thought Duke as he stepped outside. He was on his fifth beer and had won his third game of eight ball in a row. Moving away from the bar Duke stepped between a pickup truck and a Chevy with three different color fenders and started pissing into the darkness.

  He didn't hear the man—night shadows have no sound. Duke turned his head and saw the stranger watching him, standing relaxed and casual between the two vehicles, blocking his way.

  "Goddamn boy, where the hell you come from? Didn't hear you or nothing."

  The man didn't move, didn't reply. Duke frowned. The stranger was dressed in black, blending in the shadows, Duke was sure he hadn't been inside the bar.

  "You one'a them queers who likes to watch a man piss? You'd best be gone by the time I get done, faggot," said Duke as he zipped up.

  When he turned, the man was still there, blocking his way.

  Duke walked slowly toward the stranger, reaching in his back pocket for the homemade truncheon. The club was an eight-inch piece of automobile heater hose filled with lead pellets. Hard and flexible, it could inflict serious damage, mostly without leaving marks. Duke had been thinking about using it on the back of the kid's legs. Some pimp in Jacksonville had told him that trick, put the fear of God in the little retard.

  "Maybe you one of them Noo Yawk faggots like to get beat up. Well you done come to the right place, boy."

  He swung the truncheon in a vicious overhand blow toward the man's temple. Daniels' movement seemed an impossible blur as he sidestepped against the Chevy and simultaneously caught Duke's arm in a wristlock.

  The truncheon flew out of Duke's hand as waves of excruciating pain shot up his arm, veritable lightning bolts in his nervous system. Duke's body was bent forward, the legs bowed so he was almost on his knees. He was paralyzed with pain as Daniels transferred the wristlock to his left hand, holding Duke effortlessly with one hand. The slightest twitch of his fingers on the wrist brought gasps of agony from the big man.

  "Ow ow, oh shit, man, let me go, just let me go and we'll forget about this."

  "Sorry Duke, this is way, way past forgetting."

 
The first real twinge of fear flashed through Duke's mind as he realized the stranger knew his name. He glanced over at the bar but no one could see anything outside. He saw the patrons through the windows, moving about, shooting pool and drinking in the haze of cigarette smoke. They were all busy. It would be a while before Duke was missed.

  Duke reached upward with his left hand, trying to prop up his right arm and relieve the pressure. Daniels caught Duke's wrist with his other hand, just holding it gently at the forearm. The Jiu-jitsu lock on the left wrist was all that was needed to control the big man.

  "Look, I don't know what you want, but just let me go and we can work it out. Ow, Goddamn it, shit, let me go."

  "Eventually Duke, eventually, but right now I am mightily troubled," Daniels said, his voice came low and casual, like two acquaintances discussing the weather or the price of gasoline.

  Duke tried to pull his aching wrist away in a sudden move. He went to his knees as thousands of shards of pain, like fiery glass, traveled down his right arm from the wrist. He moaned, his face pale in the dim light of the bar's windows, his upper lip twitching and gleaming with sweat.

  "Best thing for you Duke is to be still as you can. Broken wrists are very painful. Now let me tell you why I am troubled, why I needed to speak with you tonight. There is a little boy in your care. I know the boy is handicapped but I don't believe he is causing you any problems."

  As he spoke Daniels' hand traveled up Duke's left forearm until it enclosed Duke's fingers.

  "What is very troubling is that the boy has marks on him. Two ugly marks, like someone has been beating him. Would you know anything about that Duke? He is, after all, in your care."

  "No, don't know nothing about it, kid probably fell or something. Ow, shit, let me go."

  "Yeah, kid probably fell. Kids will do that sometimes."

  Daniel's fingers found the little finger of Duke's left hand. His fingers intertwined with the little finger and suddenly clamped down in a violent pulling-twisting motion. Duke's little finger broke with a dry snapping noise.

  The pain was incredible, overwhelming. Duke shrieked, a high-pitched wail like a small animal dying in the night. The noise rose and washed over the darkness. Inside the bar no one heard. Johnny Cash on the jukebox belted out a song about a boy named Sue and the blood, the mud and the beer, drowning out Duke's screams.

  Duke fell to his knees retching, the pain so intense it nauseated him, turning his stomach, as both his arms were held up by Daniels like a priest helping a supplicant invoke the heavens. The wristlock on the right hand, the broken finger on his left. Daniels' finger left Duke's pinky and traveled to the next finger, gently encircling it.

  Duke retched and gasped, saliva drooled out of the corners of his mouth.

  "No, no, please... No more..."

  "Well, we have a problem Duke. You see, there are two marks on the boy. Two very ugly marks."

  Daniels broke the other finger.

  Duke shrieked even higher, the agonized wail ending as he passed out.

  Duke came to when Daniels dragged him to a deep puddle in back of the Chevy and put his face in the cool muddy water. He helped Duke get to his knees, holding him gently by the back of his neck and shoulder. There was no fight left in the big man, he was docile as a whipped cat.

  "Now Duke, I didn't really want to do that. This is not my idea of a party, but you didn't leave me any choice. The boy is your responsibility."

  Daniels paused, his head cocked, he looked at Duke with a puzzled expression.

  "How many bones in the human body, Duke?"

  Duke looked at Daniels through a red haze of pain. At the moment he would have given up a fortune just to be away from this terrible, implacable stranger.

  "I... I don't know, please... no more."

  "I'm not sure myself," said Daniels. "But there's lots of them, some of them big. The thing you want to remember Duke, the bigger the bone that breaks, the more intense the pain. Those were just two little finger bones, simple fractures, barely broke the skin. That's important for you to remember."

  Daniels raised Duke's head by his hair and leaned forward so their eyes were just inches apart.

  "I'm telling you this Duke because I see that boy every day. I'm going to check him carefully each morning. For every mark on the boy, I will break two of your bones. But it won't be as easy as tonight. It'll be big bones, the kind of break that tears through the skin and muscles and leaves permanent damage. Personally I don't think you'll take more than two or three fractures before you wind up in a fifty-dollar pine box in the ground. So if I were you Duke, I'd be very careful around the boy. Be careful he doesn't have another fall, make sure he doesn't get any more marks."

  Duke leaned forward and vomited in agonizing retches. Daniels waited until he was finished then held him up again.

  "Relax Duke, we're almost done, just a couple more things to talk about."

  He turned Duke's head toward the expanse of the Everglades, the tree lines just slightly darker then the star-studded sky blending on the distant black horizon.

  "Can you appreciate how truly large this swamp is Duke? You know that most of it is still uncharted and when they do chart it, it shifts again. Plenty of men went in and never came out. Never found."

  Duke looked out into the night where Daniels guided his head. His mind overwhelmed with pain and fear, his strangled moans and agony filled the night.

  "If something happens to that boy Duke, you and I will take a trip into the back country—the part of the Everglades where only the birds and snakes go. Only one of us will come out. Now I'm not a gambling man Duke, but I would most certainly make books that the one coming out will not be you. What do you think?"

  Duke didn't answer. He understood very well but didn't have the capacity for speech at the moment.

  "And Duke, one last thing, don't take any more money from Ol'Donny."

  Daniels slammed Duke's head into the fender of the Chevy. Blood exploded over his face and down the front of his shirt as his nose broke. Daniels released him and he slumped forward.

  Duke raised his head and saw the man walk into the darkness at the edge of the canal beyond the dirt parking lot. The man seemed to vanish like a ghost into the night jungle of the swamp. No noise, no cars. One moment he was there, the next moment, gone.

  Duke staggered back into the bar. The two end fingers of his left hand dangled at unnatural angles. His face was pale and blood ran in streams from his mushroomed nose down his shirt, mixing with the vomit and mud. He could barely speak as two of his drinking friends drove him to the emergency clinic.

  * * *

  The next morning Deeno showed up alone at Ol' Donny's house.

  "Duke said I could go with you every day. He said you don't have to give him any more money either," said Deeno.

  Ol' Donny Murtagh couldn't keep a grin from lighting his face as they loaded the airboat and started out.

  Chapter 33

  Three days passed before Duke ran into Richard Daniels in the back parking lot of Juny's groceries in Everglades City. Duke had not been sleeping well, he kept waking up in nightmares where Daniels held his broken fingers, dragging him into a dark forest. In that swamp Duke saw things lurking under the rippling water—nightmare creatures with eyes like Deeno and huge gaping maws bristling with fangs. He woke from these episodes bathed in sweat, his hand and nose throbbing with pain. He'd taken to carrying a .38 revolver, police special. But deep in his mind, laid the certainty that he was outclassed. No way could he ever stand up to Daniels, no matter what he carried.

  Duke made his way across the parking lot, holding a grocery bag gingerly in his right hand, the left swathed in bandages and a cast. Another bandage ran across his nose, taped to his cheeks on either side. He opened the door to his pickup, slid the bag across and sat behind the wheel.

  Before Duke could take the keys out of his pocket, Daniels appeared at the open window, one arm casually draped across the top.

  "
Howdy Duke. How's the hand these days? At least your nose seems to be healing."

  Duke's stomach felt as if it dropped through his body while a sinking sensation overtook him. He dove for the glove box and pulled out the .38, holding it in his right hand, trying to steady the shaking weapon with his bandaged left hand.

  Daniels didn't waiver at the gun barrel not more than two feet from his face. He held up a trigger mechanism and twirled it on his hand.

  "I think your little popgun lacks something." Duke looked at the missing trigger and whimpered.

  "Leave me alone, I didn't do nothing. The kid goes to Murtagh's every day, I don't take no money from them, I leave them be."

  "Oh I believe you. I don't think you'd be that stupid. I want to talk to you about something else. You're going to get a visit from a lawyer in the next few days. She's going to have a lot of papers for you and Loretta to sign. These documents will have you giving up your custodianship of Deeno."

  Duke blinked several times as if he had something in his eyes. He put the useless .38 on the seat next to him as Daniels pulled a folded computer printout from his pocket.

  "I don't think your loving paternal instincts will stop the transaction. No, I see it more as the ending of your little cash cow: Deeno's trust fund."

  A sinking feeling started in Duke's gut. He imagined hooked sandworms crawling around his intestines couldn't feel much worse than this.

  "I, uh, we been using it to take care of the kid."

  "Oh I'm sure you have. The new Bassmaster twenty foot boat with twin eighty horsepower Johnson outboard and all the amenities, this new pickup truck, the projection TV with VCR, satellite hookup and the high end Harmon Cardon stereo, new shotgun, new fishing equipment, not to mention all the cash withdrawals—all for little Deeno's benefit. See, I believe you Duke. I know what a good heart you have. Problem is, when we take it to Florida State court, they won't see it that way. Fact of the matter is, they'll consider it a felony, good for ten to twenty."