by Ronald Kelly
DARK POISONS
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Around five o’clock the next morning, Joe Adkins knocked on the back door of the McLeod farmhouse, feeling nervous and a little frightened. He had spent most of the night with his wife, Flora, trying to comfort her and prevent her from launching into a fit of hysterics over their son’s puzzling disappearance. Joe also had a difficult time convincing her that it would be in their best interest not to alert the local sheriff. During his second phone conversation with Jasper McLeod, the elderly farmer had assured him the fate that had befallen Chuck, Rusty, Keith, and Maggie was something beyond the law’s ability to handle. He didn’t know exactly what Jasper had been talking about, or even if he was correct in his opinion to keep the police out of it. After a heated discussion, Joe had reluctantly agreed to meet with Jasper before doing anything rash.
Before he could knock again, Jasper McLeod opened the door. The elderly man reached out and shook the mechanic’s hand. “Howdy, Joe. Glad you decided to come.”
“What choice did I have?” said Joe, stepping inside. “My boy’s missing and you seem to be the only one who knows what’s happened to him. Or think you know.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure about it,” said Jasper grimly. He motioned toward the kitchen table. “I reckon you know everybody.”
Joe turned his attention on the two who sat at the table. One was a heavyset woman with shoulder-length black hair and a worried look on her face, while the other was a teenage boy with reddish-blond hair and a Hawkshaw County Hawks satin jacket. He recognized them immediately; Susan McLeod and Bill Sutton’s boy, Tom. Both acknowledged him with a nod and he quietly returned the gesture. The housewife and the high school student looked as ill at ease as Joe did. And they looked scared as well, although the boy attempted to hide it behind a wall of attitude.
“Can I get you some coffee, Joe?” asked Jasper, stepping over to a coffee pot on the gas stove.
“Yes, please,” he said, taking off his Texaco cap and pulling out a chair next to Susan.
Jasper poured a ceramic mug full and set in front of him. “There’s sugar and cream on the table if you need it.”
“I drink mine black,” said Joe.
Tom Sutton rolled his eyes. “Let’s screw the formalities, okay? The grease monkey’s here, so why don’t you tell us exactly what the hell’s going on?
Jasper McLeod stood at the end of the table and glared at the young man for a moment. “You listen to me, you arrogant little cuss,” he said, his words angry but restrained. “This is serious business we’re discussing here. It involves the lives of four children. That includes you little sister. I’d much rather be dealing with your father or mother, but, lucky me, I’m stuck with you instead. So why don’t you just shut your trap and listen up. Okay?”
The teenager’s face turned a brilliant red and he opened his mouth, on the verge of telling the old man off.
However, Joe interrupted him before he could do so. He reached across the table and firmly laid his hand on the boy’s forearm. “You’d best think twice before you fly off the handle, son,” he said. “And watch your mouth, will you? There’s a lady present.”
Tom looked into the mechanic’s eyes and saw a subtle threat there. He closed his mouth and slumped back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest.
Silence hung over the kitchen table. Then Susan spoke up. “So, what’s this all about, Papa?” she asked. “What’s happened to them?”
“Have they been kidnapped or something?” Joe wanted to know.
“Fat chance!” said Tom. “We’re not exactly a bunch of Donald Trumps sitting here. They wouldn’t get very much for my sister, I know that. Our folks have enough trouble making ends meet, let alone paying some sort of ransom.”
Jasper ignored the boy’s remark. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s not what happened.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “But there is someone who I believe is responsible for their disappearances.”
“Who is it?” Joe asked.
“A fella by the name of Leech,” Jasper replied. “Augustus Leech.”
The three stared at him blankly.
“I didn’t figure ya’ll would recognize the name,” he said. “If you did, you’d have to be pert near as old as I am, or older.”
“Just who is this Leech dude?” asked Tom.
“Ya’ll just sit back and listen,” said Jasper, taking a seat at the head of the table. “This is gonna take a while to explain.
For the next half hour, Jasper McLeod told them a tale of a murderous traveling medicine man, the awful crime he had committed against the town of Harmony back in 1917, and the fate he had eventually suffered at the hands of an angry mob of vigilantes. He also told them of the dream he had had several nights before, as well as everything Edwin Hill had told him in the hospital room in Manchester. When he was finished, Jasper leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Well, that’s it,” he said, waiting for their reaction.
“Sounds like a crock of grade-A horseshit to me,” said Tom. “I mean some evil dude coming back from the dead and all? Give me a break!”
Joe Adkins nodded. “I’ve got to agree with the boy, Jasper. What you just told us does sound pretty farfetched. In fact, it sounds kind of crazy to me.”
Anger leapt into Susan McLeod’s face. “Listen here! My father-in-law is an honest and level-headed man. If he thinks it’s some kind of spook from ninety years ago, then there’s a fair chance that he’s right. There are things in this world that we don’t have a clue about, you know.”
“Simmer down, daughter,” said Jasper with a smile. “I don’t blame them for being so skeptical. It does sound crazy, I’ll admit that. But I’ve turned it over and over again in my mind and this is the closest I can come to figuring out what has become of them. Let’s look at the facts for a moment. First, those kids took a trip out to Hell Hollow. Then I have that dream about Leech, followed by Edwin’s heart attack a few days later, seemingly by the hand of the same one I dreamt about. Now, all of a sudden, all four of those young’uns have up and vanished. Frankly, I think they came across someone down in that hollow. Someone who pulled the wool over their eyes and tricked them. Made them do something that caused their disappearances last night.”
Jasper let them mull it over in their minds for a moment. Then he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the oversized card he had found the night before. He laid it face-up on the tabletop, revealing the picture of the hard-nosed police detective. “And, for some reason, I think this is the key to the mystery. Don’t ask me why. I just do.” He looked from Susan, to Joe, to Tom. “You did check beneath their pillows, like I asked you to on the phone?”
One by one, the three nodded. Tom Sutton and Joe Adkins pulled cards from their jacket pockets, while Susan produced one from the inner folds of her purse. They laid the cards on the table in front of them. Drawings of a high wire acrobat, a western marshal, and a World War II soldier graced the fronts of the three cards.
“What do they mean, Papa?” asked Susan.
The old man recalled the one dream he had experienced because of his own card and how it had frightened him as a child. “I’m not exactly sure yet,” he said. “But I think I know someone who can tell us. If he’s willing to, that is.”
“Leech?” asked Joe.
“Yep. And, if he truly exists, he’ll likely be out there in the middle of the South Woods. Down there in Hell Hollow.”
“So, what are we waiting for?” said the mechanic. “Let’s go out and find the bastard. Make him tell us what the hell’s going on!”
“Just calm down, Joe,” suggested Jasper. “We ain’t gonna get nowhere if you go out there half-cocked. If that fellow is for real and he’s down in the Hollow, he’s likely to clam up and refuse to tell us anything if you show up aiming to beat the living crap out of him.”
“I’m willing to go out there, if everybody else is,” said Susan. “It’s better than sitting here worrying myself t
o death.”
“I’ll go,” Joe told them. “But on one condition. If we get out there and this Leech fella turns out to be a load of bunk, I’m going straight to the county sheriff. Understand?”
Jasper nodded. “I agree.” He turned to Maggie’s brother. “What about it, Tom? Are you willing to go with us?”
The teenager looked uncomfortable. “Why would I want to go out to that creepy old hollow? There won’t be anything out there anyway.”
“Maybe not,” allowed the elderly farmer. “But hopefully my suspicions are on the right track.” He could detect the fear in the boy’s eyes. “I think it’s important for you to go with us. If nothing else, then for your sister’s sake.”
That seemed to make up Tom’s mind. “Okay. I’ll tag along.”
“Good,” said Jasper. He picked up the card and looked at the design on the back: a scattering of stars and a moon against the blackness of night. It might have been his imagination, but the half-moon’s grin seemed somehow broader now, more sinister in nature. As if amused by the plan of action they had just agreed upon.
They left the table and prepared for their trip to Hell Hollow. As he locked the back door behind him, Jasper McLeod found himself both anticipating and dreading his confrontation with the specter of Augustus Leech… that was, if he truly existed. He looked forward to discovering what had become of his two grandsons and their friends, as well as a way to recover them from whatever danger they now faced. But he also could not help but feel a little frightened. After all, he had been one of the horsemen who had pursued the medicine show man and participated in his death.
He secretly knew that the part he had played in that incident ninety years ago could very well have been the reason for the mysterious abduction of the four children. And he also knew it might prevent him from safely getting them back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Keith struggled against the ropes that bound him, but to no avail. The cords of sturdy hemp held firm, refusing to give even a fraction of an inch.
He abandoned his attempt to escape and settled back in the chair he was tied to, exhausted. Keith had tried numerous times to loosen the ropes around his wrists, waist, and ankles, but it seemed as though they only grew tighter the more he fought them.
Keith thought about Rusty and the others. He wondered if they, too, were trapped in their own private nightmares. Somehow, he had known all along that Doctor Leech was not what he presented himself to be; that he was potentially dangerous and not to be trusted. Keith had voiced his concerns openly, but his friends had scoffed at them, telling him that he was only being paranoid. He had a feeling that none of them were scoffing now.
He focused on his own particular situation. He was being held captive in an abandoned warehouse near the waterfront. The cavernous structure of concrete and corrugated steel had once been a seafood processing plant from the looks of it. Long conveyor belts and saltwater tanks stood in the dim glow of a single, flickering bulb that dangled overhead. The corroded machinery was covered with cobwebs and an inch of dust, as well as cloaked in eerie shadows. The rancid odor of fish guts still lingered in the clammy air, conjuring images of workers scaling and gutting tons upon tons of fish.
As he sat there, he spotted something scampering through the shadows. He didn’t know what it was at first. Then the creature jetted across a patch of illuminated floor and he realized in horror that it was a rat. A rat as big as an adult house cat. And from similar sounds that echoed throughout the warehouse, he knew that there were more than one locked up in there with him.
Keith thought of his Grandpa McLeod, feeling sad and guilty for the hard time he had given the old man. He also regretted the rotten things he had said to him, especially during their confrontation in the kitchen. His grandfather probably thought that Keith hated his guts, but that was far from the truth. He was beginning to realize that more and more as he sat bound securely in the chair, surrounded by rats, both of the rodent and human variety.
The rattle of a key in a lock drew his attention. A moment later, an iron door at the far end of the warehouse opened. Keith wasn’t at all surprised to see the Big Man swagger in, puffing a hand-rolled Havana, the Tommy Gun canted cockily over his narrow shoulder. His henchmen – the Jamaican and the Columbian – accompanied him. They no longer carried the Uzi and shotgun they had before, but he could tell by the bulges beneath their coats that they were packing pistols.
“So, how is my guest doing?” asked the gangster, stopping a few feet from the bound detective. “Comfy?”
“Untie these ropes and I’ll be just fine,” Keith replied.
The Big Man laughed, his dark eyes sparkling. “Oh, I bet you would. But that’s not about to happen. Remember, it was you who came looking for me. If you had left well enough alone, we both could have gone on, business as usual. But you had to stick your nose in where it didn’t belong.”
“That’s what I do for a living,” Keith told him. “Bring down lousy scumbags like you.”
“Not for long,” said the Big Man. “You crossed the line back at the Purple Passion, copper. I’m afraid there is absolutely no turning back now.”
“Fat chance!” said Keith. “I left word at the station where I was going. They’ll investigate and find out the truth. Before you know it, the entire precinct will be down here with riot guns and tear gas. They’ll set me free and then we’ll shut down your operation for good.”
The gangster threw his head back and laughed. “You have quite a vivid imagination, Detective. But I’m afraid you’re in for a very big disappointment. I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for your fellow officers to arrive and save the day, if I were you. You see, they’ve all been in my pocket for years. They’ve traded their loyalty to the law for a wad of greenback dollars in a plain brown envelope. We attempted to recruit you as well, but you do have an annoying stubborn streak. You’d rather remain poor and honest, than corrupt and financially comfortable. But, hey, to each his own!”
The realization that he was totally alone began to sink into Keith. The ropes around him seemed to grow even tighter as the prospect of actually escaping the waterfront warehouse grew grimmer and less likely.
“So what are you gonna do to me?” Keith demanded. “Shoot me?”
“Oh, I could do that, gumshoe,” said the Big Man. “I’m certainly adept enough with this baby to accomplish the task.” For an example, turned and rattled off a burst of .45 rounds from the circular drum of the Thompson submachine gun. A gray rat was caught moving from the cover of one piece of machinery to another. The slugs cleanly sliced the rodent in two, leaving both halves kicking and squirming before they finally twitched and grew still.
The Big Man lifted the smoking muzzle of the Tommy Gun and smiled. “It would be so very easy to ventilate you with the pull of a trigger. But I have other plans for you, Detective Bishop. You see, I’m about to fit you for a brand new pair of shoes.”
“What?” asked Keith, not understanding what the crime lord had up his sleeve.
The lanky gangster grinned and stepped aside, revealing the work that was taking place behind him. The Jamaican and the Colombian were next to one of the empty saltwater tanks, pouring bags of concrete into the vat and stirring in bucketfuls of water with a long broom handle.
“Cement shoes!” said the Big Man with a laugh. “Oh, they’ll be a bit heavy and a tight fit, but they’re guaranteed to last forever. And they’re waterproof, too!”
“No!” yelled Keith. He struggled frantically against his ropes, so forcefully in fact, that he tipped the chair completely over. He lay on the floor and continued to wiggle and buck, but it was useless. He was completely at the mercy of the notorious Big Man. And, in Keith’s case, that meant ending up at the bottom of the harbor, anchored to a watery grave by a pair of concrete brogans.
~ * ~
Rusty sat on a bunk in a cell of the Carnage City Jail, the verdict of only a few hours ago ringing like a death knell in his ears.
&nb
sp; For the crime of brutally gunning down the Widow Johnson in cold blood, you are found guilty as charged! a judge who looked suspiciously like Augustus Leech had said with a bang of his wooden gavel. Therefore, you, former-marshal Rusty McLeod, shall suffer the following sentence. Come sunrise, you shall be taken from your cell and hanged by the neck until dead!
He couldn’t believe it, but the trial had passed and he had been returned to his cell to await execution. Even now, in the darkness beyond the bars of the cell’s only window, Rusty could hear the steady pounding of hammers against wood. Eager carpenters were at work constructing the gallows that would, at the first light of day, take Rusty’s life.
Rusty sat glumly on the hard bunk and buried his face in his hands. He couldn’t help but wonder how things were back home. Was he still in his bed dreaming, or had he already gone far beyond that? Had his mother entered his bedroom and been unable to awake him? Or had she found him missing from his bed entirely? He had no idea what the extent of his physical presence was at the time being. All he knew was that his subconscious was hopelessly trapped in a nightmare that he couldn’t emerge from, at least not under his own power.
The crisp striking of a match against a brick wall drew Rusty’s attention. He glanced toward the window. In the black of night, a flame illuminated a narrow, bearded face as a cheroot was lit. It was the leering, arrogant face of the gunslinger named Sidewinder. A low chuckle drifted into the cell as the outlaw tossed the match aside, leaving only the glowing tip of the skinny cigar hovering in the darkness.
“How’re you doing, McLeod?” asked the gunfighter in a low, taunting voice. “Getting jumpy yet?”
Rusty walked to the window and grabbed the iron bars. “You bastard! That gunfight was between you and me. I’d have won and you’d be six feet under right now… if you hadn’t pulled such a dirty trick. Putting that poor, defenseless widow woman in your place like that!”
“That’ll teach you not to be so quick on the trigger,” Sidewinder told him. “Not that you’ll get much of chance anymore. By the time the sun is an hour in sky, your rotten carcass will be dangling by the end of that hangman’s noose. Easy pickings for the buzzards.”
