Burrows

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  White’s dog handling training in Dallas covered six weeks when he was paired with the huge German Shepherd. They immediately bonded and White learned to communicate with the dog using German commands, a holdover from the second world war. Once he was comfortable with the foreign words designed to prevent a criminal from giving the animal counter orders, White and Shep practiced together every day.

  As the weeks passed, they became inseparable. They understood each other and, in time, successfully worked the streets with confidence and authority. More often than not, the department loaned White and Shep to other towns and communities along the Red River where they tracked felons through towns and woods and cleared buildings at night

  In the short time they’d been together, White learned to respect the animal’s intuition. It made White nervous when Shep whined as they came up to the Exchange, a sound that he’d never heard before.

  Neither liked what they saw…or felt.

  O.C. picked up on their unease. “What is that dog gonna do in there? Grab somebody by the collar and drag ’em out?”

  Feeling that for once he was on safe ground with the old judge, Griffin hooked both thumbs in his tooled western gun belt and rocked back on his heels. “White will call through the window that he has a dog and will send it in. If whoever in there don’t come out, he’ll release the dog, who will find, hold, or incapacitate the individual, until White can join up.”

  Ned frowned toward the Exchange, forgetting the men around him. He fell into the familiar habit of talking quietly to himself. “Apprehend. Individual. In-com-pass-it-tate.”

  Pepper snickered and Top glared at her. He didn’t want to attract any attention that would cause them to be sent away.

  “What was that, Mr. Ned?” Washington also heard him and gently brought Ned back to his surroundings. Ned glanced at the lawmen around him and sheepishly raised an eyebrow.

  “What are you doing here?” Griffin asked Ned. “You ain’t…”

  With growing irritation, Ned knew he had no business there, but he held himself in check. “I know. I ain’t a constable anymore, but Cody is, and he’s my kin and…”

  “We’ve already chewed this fat.” Judge O.C. scowled at Griffin. “Don’t forget he’s with me.”

  The three-way confrontation ended as the gathering crowd watched White cautiously approach the Exchange and ascend one of two wide-stepped ladders officers previously leaned together against the bottom of the window frame.

  Carefully, expecting to be shot off the ladder, White quickly reached the second floor window and opened it. He ripped down the paper shade and exposed a tunnel of trash similar to the one holding Andrews’ body. He stared into a shoulder-width aisle through sagging stacks of wooden crates, doors, refrigerators, boards, and a warped wooden file cabinet, all cemented together with cloth and other debris jammed into every crack and crevice.

  Once he was settled, White called the dog. Shep whined and ascended the rungs. He’d been trained to climb ladders, but it never came naturally to him. White calmed the dog and murmured soft words of encouragement in his ear. He shifted to the side and the dog stepped through the window, hesitating nervously and waiting for instructions.

  Two bolt action 30.06 caliber rifles covered them from the roof of the train depot across the street. From there, the officers could see directly into the window. Despite their guardian angels, White glanced uneasily around the starkly lit building and the shadows surrounding the streets that led to darkness.

  He’d been briefed about what they might find inside the window, but he was unnerved by the bizarre tunnel leading into the building. He stroked the German Shepherd to calm his quivering muscles.

  Finally, White shouted into the opening. “This is the law! You are under arrest! Come out now!” Without waiting for a response, he continued. “If you do not immediately respond I will send in a dog!”

  Overcoming his fear, Shep barked into the opening, suddenly ready to do the job he loved.

  White waited for another moment, listening. When there was still no response. He leaned into the window and shouted again. “I am sending in a dog! Do not run! Do not fight!”

  He urged the dog in. “Du gehst!” Shep hesitated at the dark entrance, quivered in anticipation, and sniffed the stale air. He stepped delicately over the debris and following the beam of White’s flashlight, quickly disappeared around a sharp left bend.

  White watched until Shep was completely out of sight and gave a thumbs-up. Positioned where he could see clearly, Blair relayed the message to Griffin. “Sheriff, the dog is in. Carlton is going to stay up there until contact is made.”

  Sheriff Griffin nodded and hoped the dog would find someone so they could wrap up the macabre scene. The neighborhood was becoming a circus. The area bustled with activity. High intensity lights illuminated the besieged building and huge generators filled the air with noise and exhaust.

  “TV is here,” someone said in a flat voice.

  “It took them longer than I expected.” Griffin swung around to watch two well-dressed men in narrow lapel suits weave their way through the crowd. One struggled to carry a huge television camera attached to a wooden tripod. The other carried a note pad and was busy adjusting his thin tie.

  “Sheriff! Can you tell us what’s going on here?” the reporter called over the roar of the generators. He extended a microphone attached to a long cord toward Griffin, expecting an immediate answer. The photographer opened his tripod, steadied the camera, and started filming, panning across the area and coming to rest on the annoyed lawman.

  Completely ignoring the obtrusive reporter, Griffin turned his back on the camera and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Keep those ambulance chasers back behind the cars.” He ground his teeth. “And don’t let them get close enough to film that boy in the door.”

  ***

  At the top of the ladder, Deputy White was joined by Deputy Billy Roy Davis. “Anything yet?”

  “Naw, and I haven’t heard a sound. What are you doing up here?”

  “Thought I’d keep you company, and besides, if Shep tangles with anyone in there, you’ll want some help.”

  Despite the expert riflemen watching from behind, they continued to glance uneasily over their shoulders.

  White reached into the window and ripped down the rest of the stained shade. “My lord. Have you ever seen anything like it?”

  The tunnel floor was covered by debris that extended into the darkness. Billy Roy worried that the entire thing might come tumbling down with the slightest invitation. “This whole nightmare could fall in any minute.”

  The gaping entrance remained silent and dark. Nerves jangling, White checked his watch. “It’s dangerous as hell. What is that? Boxes stacked up so high those on the bottom are crushed and giving away.”

  “That side is made from furniture thrown every which-a-way. If those drawers weren’t jammed in there like that, the whole thing would come down.”

  “Hope it don’t come down on my dog.”

  In the passageway, disturbing odors assaulted Shep’s sensitive nose and he was nervous, because everything was enormously wrong. Though uneasy, his training held true and the dog advanced, even if he didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for.

  The darkness ahead was almost complete. Shep turned again, relying heavily on his sense of smell. The touch of a real wall against his right shoulder made him feel somewhat secure.

  The passageway rose sharply.

  His toenails scrabbled for purchase on smooth cardboard, which soon gave way to stairs covered with mildew-slick carpet. The police dog climbed higher along the incline. Darkness was complete. The wall against his shoulder suddenly stopped and he paused, uncertain of which direction to take.

  Indecisive and apprehensive, he whined uneasily. At that moment, Deputy White called into the tunnel. The dog’s sensitive ears perked at his master’s faint voice. “It’s all right boy. Seek. Go on.”

  With the encouraging wor
ds, the Shepherd made an unconscious decision to take the right fork. The roof of the tunnel lowered even more and Shep ducked under a rusty car fender bulging downward, only inches above his head.

  The tunnel again turned right and the grade continued upward. He sensed a slight movement ahead and he squeezed into an even smaller opening, now moving quickly.

  A rustle, barely discernible in the trash ahead made a soft shuffling noise. This was what Shep did for a living. He barked and charged, front paws scrabbling for leverage on slick cardboard. His rear legs dug in and sensing an open area, Shep gave one last lunge to escape the claustrophobic passageway. His sudden weight caused a flimsy piece of cardboard beneath his paws to collapse.

  In absolute darkness Shep plunged over twenty feet into the bottom of what was once a closet, now thick with sharpened surveyor’s stakes. The dying animal only managed one sharp yelp of terror and pain before the deadfall did its work.

  ***

  Deputy White heard the dog bark at the fork, then the bellow of his challenge. “Got him!” The enthusiastic words died on the man’s lips when they recoiled in horror at the dog’s shriek of terror, and the immediate, ominous silence that followed.

  A frightening high, thin giggle drifted out of the darkness.

  “Shep!” White shouted after his partner. He unconsciously leaned into the window to rush in and help his partner. Billy Roy grabbed his belt and held him firm.

  ***

  Sheriff Griffin jumped at Billy Roy’s sudden shout back over his shoulder. “The dog is down! We’re pulling back! Keep us covered!”

  The terror in his voice brought other deputies behind the barricade of cars to lean expectantly over their weapons. Something else had happened. Guns in a dozen hands rose toward the façade, seeking targets but finding none. They watched the building, radiating fear like heat from fire.

  Whatever was inside might come outside.

  Superstition and darkness preyed on frayed nerves and the combination does not mix well with people who live so close to the land.

  The two riflemen at the rear watched the gaping window, covering the officers’ frantic retreat down the ladders and back to safety behind the police car barricade.

  Sheriff Griffin was almost beside himself when the stunned K-9 officer joined them in the shelter of a fire truck. “What the hell happened?”

  “I think he’s dead, sir.” White stifled a sob. His partner was gone and the loss was intense. Losing the dog was like losing a human friend. “I heard him yelp, and then nothing.”

  “Could you make out what was going on?” Ned asked.

  “No, he was out of sight.” Deputy White barely controlled his anguish.

  Billy Roy made a vague motion with one hand. “He yelped, but that sound was cut off pretty quick. I believe he’s dead.”

  Deputy White turned his leaking eyes away from the activity around him. Seasoned officers and deputies gathered to touch his shoulder or his back, extending their sorrow, but maintaining a sense of decorum in the midst of an ever-mounting horror. They understood his grief, and didn’t want to intrude.

  “And then we heard somebody in there laugh.”

  ***

  John Washington stood amid the scattered deputies. “This ain’t right.”

  Griffin leaned wearily on the fire truck and stared down at the crude floor plan. The Motorola in his car again squawked to life. He walked around the open door, slumped in the car seat with one foot outside, and spoke into the microphone. “Go ahead.”

  “Sheriff Griffin, Mesquite PD said to inform you the officer you requested can’t respond. He broke his leg last week playing baseball.”

  “All right,” Griffin answered and rubbed the back of his neck. “Now what?”

  Sergeant Blair turned from the bizarre warehouse. “I know one more man who used to do tunnels, but I bet he won’t go.”

  “Who?”

  Blair jerked his thumb toward the back seat of Griffin’s car, where Cody Parker sat half in and out, elbows resting on his knees.

  Cody heard him and lowered his eyes to the ground. They lost focus as he tried to block out the world before him.

  no, no, no,…

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Mountains of flattened cardboard tied with cotton string. The dark figure wriggled, crawled, and scooted through the tunnels. Animal heads on walls, heads in jars. Kendal learned at Daddy’s knee. The art of collecting was deeply ingrained, but the need for organization was just as strong while Kendal was so personally disorganized…

  ***

  Griffin considered John Washington for a moment. “All right, deputy, this is your side of town. Do you have any suggestions for a warehouse full of death traps?”

  “Well sir,” John drawled. “I don’t never remember anyone talking about junk piles in particular. But I reckon if y’all turn off the power and water right about now it might get that feller inside to talking.”

  Sergeant Blair turned his attention from his radio. “Won’t work. Company says there ain’t no power to this place and hasn’t been for years. Don’t even ask me about phones. The last time they had phone service was during the war.”

  “Unbelievable,” Griffin sighed.

  “I was afraid of that.” Washington watched the Cotton Exchange. “I disremember the last time I saw lights on in there. How ’bout tear gas. That way we’d know if anyone was holed up inside. They won’t stay there very long, unless they have gas masks.”

  Sheriff Griffin weighed the consequences of gas. “No. Tear gas is liable to catch the place on fire. We don’t need to take any chances until we know what’s going on for sure. I don’t want to lose what’s left of that boy there in the door, neither.” He cut his eyes toward the bulky news camera on top of a nearby station wagon. The dark lens was fixed on the Exchange at the moment. He turned back to his men. “So far all we have are booby traps. So I guess we either wait him out or go in.”

  “We could try to make entry.” Blair didn’t like the suggestion, but it was all he knew to do.

  “You forget the tunnels?” Griffin asked. “You boys haven’t exactly practiced anything like this.”

  “No sir, but they’re good, experienced men. I can pick a team and have ’em check it out.”

  “Call in the National Guard.” O.C. had already gotten his fill of the whole situation. “This is too much. We don’t know nothing about anything such as this. Let the Guard take care of it.”

  Griffin’s face turned red. “I ain’t calling the governor. Who ever heard of calling in the army over a killer?”

  “Whoever heard of a killer holed up in a trash pile?” O.C. quickly flared at the man whose only concern was reelection.

  The sharp report of a gunshot from the Exchange immediately resulted in a barrage of return fire from nearly every officer on the scene. Bullets ripped through windows, shredding everything piled there. Brick powdered under high-velocity rounds. The area flashed with hundreds of shots.

  The noise was tremendous.

  Ned grabbed the kids and with his back against the fire truck, hoped it and his body would be enough to protect his grandchildren. Big John yanked O.C. against him and they covered Ned’s family from the other side, fearing a missed round from the frantic return fire.

  The reporter rolled off the station wagon, landing hard, nearly knocked unconscious. Firemen and other onlookers scrambled for cover.

  “That’s enough! Cease fire! Cease fire!” Sheriff Griffin realized the lawmen had emptied their weapons and were reloading.

  Blair took up the shout, along with other cooler heads.

  Hands shaking and ears ringing, Ned ran his hands over the kids to make sure they were all right, and then released them.

  “Who fired that first shot!?” Griffin shouted.

  “It came from the Exchange!” Blair pointed.

  “Anybody hit?”

  After a moment Blair answered. “Nossir, don’t think so.”

  Ned drew a long, deep b
reath and pointed toward O.C. “Well, that tears it.” His blood was up and he wanted something done. “Call in the National Guard and let them handle this.”

  O.C. was mad and agreed with him. “Griffin, if you don’t call the governor, I will. We need the military here and we need them now.”

  Cody Parker stood beside the car and rested his hand on top of the open rear door, slumped over as if he’d been beaten. He chewed the inside of his lip, giving himself a moment to think. “No. I’ll go in and see if I can find a way to get Andrews loose. Blair is right. I’ve had experience in this sort of thing.”

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  Fear was a heavy stone in Ned’s chest and he wished he hadn’t said anything. “Now that ain’t what I meant.”

  Amid a swirling sea of flickering emergency lights, camera flashbulbs, and tense men, Griffin pondered the frightened constable. With no other alternative available, he finally agreed. “All right, if that’s what you want to do.”

  He felt it would serve the young upstart right for getting them into this mess in the first place.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Two splintered 4x4 posts braced one of many sagging ceilings. They rested upon a foundation…of four bricks.

  ***

  In a white sleeveless undershirt tucked into his jeans, Cody stood beside Ned and John. The young constable’s gun belt and khaki shirt lay on the table. In his left hand he held a flashlight and gripped the .45 automatic in the other. A lit cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth.

  Ned thought for a moment, then reached into the pocket of his slacks and withdrew his Colt 32.20. Griffin raised an eyebrow when he saw the revolver, but Ned ignored the man and slipped the small handgun under the waistband in the small of Cody’s back. “Just in case.”

  Arms crossed over his massive chest, Washington frowned at the idea of Cody going in alone.

  O.C. couldn’t remain silent. “You sure this is what you want to do? Personally I think you’re nuts if you do. There’s a better way coming.”