by Arno Joubert
“Captain Guerra, the League needs your services now more than ever,” the General said, hesitating a moment before continuing. “But not in France.“
Alexa snapped her fingers. “Okay, please continue,” Alexa answered, willing Laiveaux to get to his point.
“Very well, then. We followed up on Metcalfe’s distribution network, and a certain name popped up on several occasions.”
This information piqued her interest. Senator Robert Metcalfe had run a human trafficking ring; he had made snuff movies of young girls. Interpol was following up on the whereabouts of their parents, as well as tracing the recipients of the movies to bring them to justice. “Yes, General?”
“Portions of the snuff films were e-mailed and we managed to trace the destination address to a certain individual.”
Alexa rolled her eyes. Laiveaux had a manner of building up to the crux of a story, and he was stretching this out for effect. She clicked her fingers impatiently. “Yes, General?”
“A gentleman called Anderson Fitch,” Laiveaux said, pausing for effect.
Alexa stood up straight. “Andy Fitch, the Texan oil billionaire?”
“Yes,” Laiveaux grunted. He continued in a disgusted tone. “We sent two Interpol agents to question Monsieur Fitch.”
“Who?”
“Voelkner and Latorre.”
“Okay,” she said, smiling at two young women who waved at her. “What have they found?”
“Well, they haven’t reported back yet. Their last communication was seventy-two hours ago,” Laiveaux said with an irritable tone. “And we’re starting to get edgy.”
Alexa bit her lower lip. Voelkner and Latorre had been her fellow troops at the French Foreign Legion. They had saved her life more than once. “Where?”
“The last time we heard from them, they were in Houston. They were on their way to a small town called Dabbort Creek, a hundred-and-fifty miles east of your current location.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know. That was their last message.”
Alexa turned around and marched back to the tent. “Very well, General. I’ll get Neil. We’re leaving now.”
“Excellent, Captain. I’ll email you the intel we have. I must admit, it’s sparse. We have an approximate address.” He hesitated for a second, but then cleared his throat. She guessed he was worried about her safety. “Good day, my girl. Be careful.”
“Au revoir, General,” she said before she disconnected the call. The general’s tone told her more than his spoken words. She was starting to get worried now.
Alexa made her way through the milling crowd towards a group of people gathered around Neil. They laughed and told stories, their hands waving and gesticulating in the air. Neil looked up at her. She jerked her head towards the exit and he stood up and excused himself, following her outside.
“What’s up?” he asked, slipping his arm around her waist.
“Have you ever heard of a place called Dabbort Creek, Texas?”
Neil thought for a moment. “As a matter of fact, I have. We passed through there when I was a kid.” He scratched his chin. “Didn’t have much going on. Why?”
Alexa shrugged. “We’re going on a road trip,” she said and pulled him towards their caravan. “Courtesy of the French government.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Neil hummed to Bob Marley’s “Redemption Song” as they drove the scenic route into town. He squinted and peered ahead. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky, a hazy mirage shimmering on the tarmac ahead.
After a few miles, the road started a gentle climb as they wound their way up the side of the foothill to the town above. When they caught up to a large tanker truck, Neil was forced to slow down. He admired the scenery.
For the first time in his life he felt untroubled - content with the hand he had been dealt. He glanced sideways at Alexa. She smiled, her green eyes sparkling, and put her hand on his leg. She understood him; what he was thinking when he looked at her in a certain way. Probably their military training, or something else. Love, maybe? He grunted. He remembered loving someone, a lifetime ago.
A murky, brown river flowed gently to their left, halting the advance of a dense green forest growing up to its edge. Neil slowed down more, allowing the tanker truck to gain a hundred yards. He opened the window and inhaled deeply. He smelled the earthiness of the rich soil, a moldy waft of decomposing leaves blew in from the forest. The river started to recede into the distance below as they climbed higher.
They crawled past an ornate sign on the side of the road which said, “Welcome to Dabbort Creek, population 685, Home of the Ocelot.” They followed the tanker truck into town.
The village was nestled on the side of a wooded hill. The neat blacktop meandered past a Police Station to their left. They saw a diner and a bar further up the road to their right. Various signs in front of shops and stores vied for their attention.
Neil glanced at Alexa. “Alex, what’s an Ocelot?”
Alexa shrugged. “Let’s ask,” she said. She pointed towards the bar, and Neil nosed into a parking space in front.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alexa and Neil entered the dimly lit barroom and stood still for a couple of seconds to allow their eyes to adjust to the light. The sound of Mac Wiseman skinning a cat emanated from a vintage jukebox in the corner. Four elderly men were playing cards in a corner booth, talking softly under their breaths as they flipped the cards on the table. They stopped their game to eyeball the newcomers.
A cowboy sat on a stool at the bar, his Stetson pulled low over his brow. Ice rattled as a burly barman filled a bucket from the ice machine.
The barman shifted his attention to them as they sauntered to the counter. He stooped forward and planted his hands flat down on the counter. The man wore a denim jacket with the sleeves torn off at the shoulders, and his triceps bulged impressively.
“What can I do you for?” he asked with a gravelly voice. His eyes lingered on Alexa's chest for a moment before he dragged them away and looked up at Neil. The old-timers continued with their game in a hushed tone. Neil ordered two Sol’s and sat down at the bar. The barman wiped two glasses dry, placed them in front of Neil, poured the beers and pushed a bowl of peanuts towards them.
“What’s an ocelot?” Neil asked him.
The question drew a smile from the barman. One of the card players sniggered.
The barman scratched a bearded chin. “It used to be some wild cat folks would find in these parts. But they were wiped out years ago.” He twirled the side of his long handlebar mustache between a thumb and forefinger. “They used to be a tourist attraction,” he said with a grin.
Neil tossed a handful of peanuts in his mouth, chewed noisily, and chased them with a chug of beer.
Alexa turned around and examined the room, noticing a couple of pool tables at the far end. “You see two French guys come in here a couple of days ago?” Alexa asked the barman.
The hushed conversation stopped.
The barman shrugged. “Nope,” he said, eyeing Alexa suspiciously.
Alexa considered his answer with her head cocked to the side. “You sure?” she asked.
“Yep,” The barman answered and refilled the cowboy’s glass with bourbon. The man grunted a thanks.
“Can we play?” Neil asked, jerking his head towards the pool tables.
“Knock yourself out,” the barman answered and stooped below the counter. He placed a white ball and chalk on the counter. “Five dollar deposit, includes the first hour. Two dollars an hour after.”
Neil placed a fifty dollar bill on the counter and picked up the ball and chalk. “Run a tab until it’s done.”
The barman nodded, picked up a glass, and started wiping it dry.
They carried their beers to the pool tables. Neil switched on an overhead light suspended from the ceiling above one of the tables and started packing the balls.
Alexa broke, shattering the cluster of balls and sinking a
stripe in the corner pocket. She lined up her next shot, glancing up at Neil. “I went through the intel Laiveaux sent me.”
She positioned herself, leaning over her cue, one eye squeezed shut as she took aim and sunk yellow in a side pocket. She stood up and rubbed some chalk over the tip of the cue, then blew the excess away. “Metcalfe sent an email to Fitch with a downloadable link to a snuff film. Fitch or whoever was monitoring the mail account downloaded the movie a couple of days ago.”
She lined up another shot and the white cracked into the side of orange, bouncing it off the side of the table and sinking it into a side pocket.
Neil sighed.
She took a long shot at blue and pocketed it in the corner pocket. She looked up with a smile and saw Neil grimace. “How do we know that it was Fitch who downloaded the movies?”
Alexa shrugged as she considered her next shot. “We don’t. But the mail was addressed to him. It’s the only solid lead we have to go on.” She took a sip of beer. “Frydman traced the location of the computer to approximately thirty miles east of town. The IP address points to Refatex, Fitch’s refinery.”
Alexa proceeded to clear the table. She was about to break for the second game, when the bar door crashed open. The silhouette of a large man blocked the blinding outdoor light.
The guy entered the bar, and a second man followed him inside. They wore leather biker clothes, with long ZZ Top beards. They walked up to the barman and a seemingly urgent conversation ensued. Alexa observed them casually, leaning on her cue, as the barman nodded his head towards the pool tables. The two men looked up and strode purposefully towards them.
Alexa leaned forward to take her shot.
“Nice ass,” one of the guys said and slapped it.
Alexa closed her eyes and sighed, then stood up and faced the two men. She cocked her head towards the guy who had slapped her, then grinned, blinking twice. “Ugly nose.”
He frowned, about to reply, when Alexa’s shoulder snapped forward and she rammed the palm of her hand into his nose. He fell to the floor in a convulsing heap, blood gushing through his fingers.
“See, ugly nose,” she said to the man on the ground, and turned around to complete her shot. He looked up at her through teary eyes, blood dripping from his broken nose.
The other guy looked at Neil in bewilderment. He took a step towards Alexa. “Why, you, you little—”
“Oi,” Neil called. The biker slowly shifted his gaze from Alexa to Neil. Neil drained his beer then put the glass down firmly on the table. “Give the lady a chance to finish her shot first.”
The man stared at Neil blankly.
Alexa broke the balls and sunk one into the corner pocket. She glanced up at Neil accusingly. “What, no help?”
He smiled and shrugged. “You started it.”
She scowled. “I did not.” She pointed at the guy on the floor with her cue. “He slapped me first.”
“All right then. Your ass started it,” Neil said with a chuckle. “It is handsome, by the way.”
Alexa sauntered up to him and punched his shoulder. “Screw you.”
“Hey. I’m still here, okay?” the second biker said. His friend was trying to pull himself upright against the man’s leg. The biker pushed him away. “Just wait,” he said with an irritated tone.
“Oh sorry,” Alexa said and walked towards him, the cue slung over her shoulder. She stood in front of him, her chin jutted out and her arm hanging by her side. “How may I help?”
The man shifted his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the next. He glanced at her and then back over his shoulder to the barman, who was busy on the phone.
“Uhm, I hear you snoopin’ around, askin’ funny questions,” he said as he thrust his face close to Alexa's, their noses touching. “What do you want, bitch?”
Alexa jabbed a finger in front of his face. “That’s no way to talk to a lady,” she said, and threw an accusing glance at Neil. “Are you going to allow this piece of snake shit to talk to me like this?”
Neil just shrugged.
The biker shoved her chest. “Whadya just call me?”
Alexa growled. “Touch me one more time and you’ll be leaving here in a body bag.”
The card players stood up, mumbling, and shuffled towards the door.
“Oh yeah? You and which army, bitch?” he said, and shoved her again.
She looked back at Neil, who was leaning against the pool table, obviously enjoying the show. She pointed at him, holding the cue to her side. “You’re next.”
Neil shrugged.
Alexa flicked the weighted bottom of the cue upwards and caught the man flush in the balls. He crouched, clutching the family jewels. She grabbed his beard, and ripped his head towards the floor. She jerked a knee up, connecting solidly with the nose. She looked down at the second man writhing on the floor, then pointed at them with the cue. “Now you two look like twins.”
She swung the pool cue over her shoulder and sauntered towards Neil. He held his hands up in a defensive posture.
The card players opened the door and sunlight flooded in. Neil heard the familiar wail of a police siren outside. The car screeched to a halt in front of the bar and car doors opened and slammed shut. A cop ran in, scanning the room, gripping a gun with both hands. The barman pointed towards them, and the cop nodded and marched towards the pool tables.
“Now, who is the troublemaker then?” he bellowed.
The two men on the floor pointed at Alexa.
The cop marched up to Alexa, removing his cuffs from a buckle on his belt. He started reciting Alexa her Miranda rights. A female cop kept a close eye on them from a distance, her gun pointed to the ground.
Neil walked in between Alexa and the cop. “Officer, you’re taking this too far.” He nodded at the two men on the floor. “These rednecks harassed my girlfriend.”
The cop looked at Neil, then at the men on the ground. His name badge said ‘Morris.’ He grinned at Neil. “Yeah, sure looks like it.”
Neil grabbed the man’s wrist and pulled the cuffs from his hand.
The female cop pulled a taser from her holster and pointed it at Neil. “Do not make me use this…”
Neil glanced over his shoulder. “Try.”
Alexa gently pushed Neil aside. “Let it go, baby.” She held her hands in front of her. “Let’s get this over with.”
Neil pursed his lips, but did nothing. He slapped the cuffs into Morris’ open palm, then snorted in disdain.
They cuffed Alexa and the female officer led her outside.
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