A Taste of Honey

by Tom Benson

  Along the outer perimeter of the main compound and on a nearby trail, the grass and shrubs were longer. Higgins crawled halfway to the mesh fence and started to make his way along to the trail. He lay there with the rudimentary and pathetic shield of long grass and small bushes to hide behind while he worked out a strategy.

  At one point, he looked at his rifle, and turned to crawl towards it, but a patch of dirt blew up near his face, sending dust into his eyes. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Higgins stayed still, breathing heavily, cursing the sniper. He was effectively pinned down. Somebody obviously wanted him captured alive, but who?

  After five minutes remaining motionless and hearing no more shots, Higgins raised his head and then got up onto his hands and knees to look around. There were no further shots and his heart raced as he licked his lips, He mentally prepared to dash for his rifle.

  The back of the cabin was 40 yards to his right, the compound, and his rifle were 10 yards to his left. The overgrown trail was 40 yards to his front. He got up into a crouching position and looked ahead, just in time to see a figure in a one-piece camouflage suit walking around the corner of the perimeter fence.

  *

  “Hey,” Higgins said, standing up and holding his hands outward. “I don’t know what your beef with me is, so let’s talk about it, okay?” He licked his lips, swallowed and stared.

  “Yeah,” Honey said, “you do the talking. Start with your name and then follow it with your real name.” The compound was on Honey’s right, and she glanced at the hunting rifle, still standing against the mesh fence. An idea came to mind.

  “My real name-,” Higgins said as he tried but failed to force a laugh of disbelief.

  “Yes asshole, your real name,” Honey said, “but to keep you honest, if you lie I’ll put a bullet in you.” She stopped walking, placed her left foot forward, raised the butt of the rifle into her shoulder and aimed at the center of Higgins’s body mass.

  The end of the rifle barrel was rock steady, and at a little over 30 yards, Higgins knew she would be able to choose a one inch spot on his body to place a shot. He had already learned that whoever she was, she could shoot like a pro. He noticed she was wearing latex gloves, so she had no intention of leaving prints.

  “I’m Gus Higgins,” he said, accepting that he was in a fix. “My original name was Greg Hitchins.”

  “Now give me the name of the others in your ring of deviants.” She advanced with the barrel lowered slightly, but with the rifle butt still pulled tight into her shoulder. The weapon could be brought into the aim again in a matter of seconds. She was less than 30 yards away and moved forward slowly. Honey was decreasing the distance and the margin for error.

  “Hold on,” Higgins said and started to inch forward. “The guy you’re looking for is a detective.” He swallowed hard. “He’s a big guy by the name of Tony Morgan.”

  “Why would I want to talk to him?” Honey said and glanced to her right again. She noticed the undone padlock hooked on the fence beside the gate, and also that the metal bar on the gate only had to be pushed back a few inches.

  Honey gripped the stock of her rifle with her left hand, before she reached out with her right hand and slid the bar back and forward. She left it within a fraction of being free. The compound gate would open with a gentle push.

  Higgins said, “Morgan set up this list of names.” He continued edging forward. “It’s a sort of hit-list of people, to take the blame for anything he got up to.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I got a call from a friend in the police department where Morgan works.” Higgins cleared his throat and tried to continue his bluff, still moving towards his challenger. He managed to get within 15 yards. Her features were indistinct because she was wearing camouflage cream.

  He realized she had started moving backward, away from the gate; away from him. His confidence grew, and he continued forward, slowly, steadily, inch by inch. If he could reach that gate, his rifle was within a few yards, leaning against the mesh. He could make it.

  “Go on then,” Honey said, “what did this friend of yours tell you?”

  “This guy knows Morgan well, and he said that there was a list of innocent people that Morgan had put together.” He moved forward again two small steps.

  “I still don’t understand,” Honey said and stepped backward again, further away from the gate. She was allowing the rifle to point towards the ground as if she had forgotten to maintain the threat. The ploy of leaving Higgins’s rifle leaning against the fence was working. Honey continued making her way back along the perimeter fence, and Higgins followed, slowly, occasionally glancing at his weapon. He was almost there.

  Higgins said, “Morgan is the sort of guy who spreads rumors about people to draw attention to them. If he thinks he will get caught at something illegal, he sets up the people on his list.” He inched forward, now touching the perimeter mesh fence with his left hand as he moved along. It was one of those things that people do, touching a wall or a fence as they’re walking alongside.

  When Higgins got to within a few yards of her, Honey stepped to her left, away from the fence. She headed for the open area of longer grass between the compound and the back of the hut. At the same time, she brought the rifle up into a more threatening position, pointing it at the man’s feet. He saw the change in stance and stopped his advance. He raised his hands and tried again to force a smile.

  Honey said, “What do you know about two people who work at St. Joseph’s College who might be on this mysterious list?”

  “Now wait a minute,” Higgins said, “I didn’t have-,” his words dried up when the rifle barrel was brought up to aim a little higher, at his knees. “Please,” he said and stepped backwards to the perimeter fence again. “I didn’t kidnap the Carsons-,” The barrel raised again, to point at his groin.

  Honey said, “Tell me about them. Tell me about the pervert couple.”

  “They’re sick you know,” he said. “She was worse than him.” He paused. “I didn’t kidnap those two or anything. I don’t know why they disappeared, or who-,” The explanation faded when he noticed that not only was his captor standing still, but she was staring at him without a hint of emotion.

  Higgins swallowed hard. It struck him that this crazy woman in front of him was probably responsible for the death of Brett and the disappearance of the Carsons. He also realized he should start peace-talks with his God.

  “Tell me about you,” Honey said. “Tell me about your part in all the abuse, you lowlife, cowardly bastard.” She made the question sound almost business-like.

  Higgins started to sob as he tried to tell Honey that he had a true sickness, but when she shook her head, he opened up. In between confessions of things he’d done to the girls, he sobbed and pleaded for his life.

  It was a common trait Honey had noticed. All of these people seemed to be devout cowards when it came to their life being under threat. Sweat was dripping in rivulets down the man’s face. Dark stains grew under the armpits of his shirt.

  Honey said, “Tell me the names of the victims you remember,” she paused. “I have a list.”

  Higgins looked up to the clear blue sky and focused on a buzzard gliding on the thermals. He looked down again and slowly recounted the first names of five girls. Crucially, one of those girls was called Harriet, which tightened the noose around his neck, metaphorically speaking.

  Honey didn’t have to pull out her list to check it because she remembered all of the names and the ages of the victims. Their names and suffering had become etched on her soul.

  She said, “Did any of the girls ever do what you’re doing?”

  “I don’t know what you-,”

  “Did they ever sob and plead to be allowed to go free; to be allowed to live?”

  “I wasn’t in charge-,”

  “What’s in that enclosed pen back there apart from deer?”

  Higgins was standing with his back about two inches from the gate of t
he large fenced compound. He glanced at his rifle, leaning on the mesh fence only a few feet from where he stood. He cast a look back towards the small enclosure that he’d been about to open when the first bullet struck. The man swallowed hard, and the sweat continued to pour from his face. His hair was now dripping, and his breathing was heavy and ragged.

  Honey said, “Don’t make me ask again.” She was forcing herself to hold back.

  “I keep deer,” he paused and swallowed again, “for food.”

  “Are they all intended to end up in the compound?”

  He looked over his right shoulder through the fence. “Yes.”

  “What’s the purpose of that small hut between the two compounds?”

  “Brett suggested-,”

  “Alan Brett?” Honey broke in, knowing well who Brett was.

  “Yeah,” Higgins said, swallowing hard again. “Brett wanted a hut … a place to cut up-,” he licked his dry lips. “He said it would be handy if we had to get rid of-,” he paused and closed his eyes briefly. He was having difficulty finishing a sentence, to make the truth sound less horrific than it was. “He said he needed a place to get rid of ... for disposal.”

  Honey blinked and inhaled deep and swallowed hard when she heard that word disposal again. Realization hit her, and she had to concentrate not to vomit or simply shoot Higgins. She controlled her breathing and thought of her original intentions. She would keep to her plan.

  She said, “Explain, just so that I don’t imagine the wrong scenario.”

  Higgins had started crying, even before he began the explanation because he knew there was no way to disguise the atrocities. He also believed that she already knew everything, because she seemed to be pretty well informed.

  He told her how Brett had been told to put his butchering skills to use, to deal with the victims if they died. Higgins told her that to his knowledge; at least four of the girls had died. Brett had brought the bodies here. Brett and Higgins worked together regarding removal of all traces of the dead girls. For that purpose, they utilized the large compound.

  Honey lowered the barrel and fired a shot at the instep of Higgins’s left foot, prompting an instant bright red stain on his shoe. He screamed with pain, lifted his injured foot and fell backward. As Honey suspected, the compound gate fell open. It took only a little pressure to open the metal slide that last fraction.

  Higgins tried to get up, realizing he’d fallen into the main compound. By the time he staggered to his feet, his adversary had closed the gate and was standing on the other side. Honey looked at him as she slid the metal bar into the closed position. She unhooked the padlock from the fence and held the open end in position over the metal bar.

  “Please don’t do this!” Higgins screamed as he limped towards the gate. He started to look around wide-eyed to the right, into the far reaches of the compound. “Please don’t. I’ll do anything.” He was blinking rapidly, tears streaming down his face, and his mouth gaped.

  Higgins had all but forgotten the fresh bullet wound in his left instep. He turned and looked over his left shoulder towards the trees and rocks further within the compound. “Please, for Christ’s sake, I’ll do anything-,”

  “You already have; asshole,” she said. “Now while you have some time left, did the girls ever say that they would do anything, or where they just made to do anything?” She stared into the condemned man’s eyes.

  “It was Morgan I’m telling you,” he sobbed and glanced over his shoulder, “please-,”

  “Fuck off and die Higgins,” Honey said and closed down the clasp of the padlock. She turned and started to walk towards the small compound.

  “Shoot me!” Higgins screamed. “Go on, fucking kill me … please, kill me.”

  Honey stopped, turned and aimed her rifle at him through the fence. Something to the left caught her eye, and she shook her head as she lowered the barrel. For a moment, she watched the furry bodies loping through the compound. They were spreading out, heading towards the man who was trying to climb the gate.

  As soon as Honey opened the smaller enclosure, she ushered the red deer out to their freedom. The frightened animals took their opportunity. They stepped cautiously at first towards the exit and then out onto the thicker grass between the compounds and the cabin. Together, they started running for the trees when they discovered there were no barriers.

  Honey heard a scream and turned to look into the large compound. Higgins was limping and trying to run across the uneven surface of grass, rocks, and small streams, seemingly trying to reach a large tree about 100 yards away. His injured foot wasn’t helping.

  It would be interesting to know what comfort the tree might give him. It wasn’t a way out, and nobody would know he was there. Giving chase to the pitiful figure was a healthy pack of five full-grown Timber wolves. They expected breakfast on four legs, but to the captive wolf pack; a meal was a meal.

  When Honey had seen a sign on the compound in the middle of the night on her recon, she realized it might not be official. It had brought back to mind one of the things she’d learned about Higgins. He was one of the many people who wanted to reintroduce wolves and cougars back to the eastern states. He had obviously decided to pre-empt the official sanctions.

  The screams in the compound got louder and more frantic for several seconds. There was one final ear-piercing cry, and then there was silence, except for the growling and infighting of the lupines. Honey didn’t bother to look, confident that Higgins had at least made sure this particular pack of illegally introduced and incarcerated wolves wouldn’t go hungry today.

  Honey walked across to the gate, lifted the rifle by the end of the barrel and threw it over the high mesh fence into the compound. She then went around to the front of the log cabin.

  *

  The place was cozy, and the smell of the timber was pleasant, except for the knowledge of who had been living there. A gas stove was in place, and all the kitchen utensils were of the camping design; lightweight and portable. There was a simple wiring system fitted which demonstrated that Higgins enjoyed his creature comforts. He depended on those things that required electricity so there would no doubt be a generator in the vicinity.

  There was a laptop computer, a charger for his cell, and a CD player. In two locations, bare electric bulbs hung from the ceiling, suspended by their cable. There was a small room about the size of a closet, and when the door was pushed fully open, a camping toilet was situated against one wall. It was most likely for when the occupant was too lazy to visit the woods.

  Honey kept her gloves on and turned to make a rapid search of the chest of drawers. Higgins organized himself, and if nothing else the items in the drawers reflected that; there was no excess. In one drawer, there were a few pieces of cutlery and a can opener. In the other drawer were spare bulbs, batteries, padlock keys and a handful of porn magazines.

  She went into the only other room. There was a large single bed, appropriately made of timber but adorned with modern bedding, including a heavy duvet. Mounted across two brackets on the wall was a rifle with a narrow gauge barrel. Near the bed, there was a small locker with a single drawer.

  Having placed her AR-7 on top of the bed, Honey lifted down the rifle from the wall brackets and broke it open. The diameter of the barrel and the mechanism made it clear that it was a tranquilizer gun. She lifted the mattress on the bed and placed the gun underneath.

  Honey opened the drawer of the small locker. It contained a diary, a case of darts for the tranquilizer gun and something large wrapped in a brownish, yellow oilcloth.

  She lifted the diary, turned the pages and was pleased to find that Higgins took to making note of special people and events in his diary.

  Confirmation of his disgusting taste in sexual matters was easy to find. He had made notes of his intentions for particular days - and then he had drawn a smiley face, probably to show completion at the end of certain entries. The handwriting became more of a scrawl from Saturday 14th June, the da
te of Honey’s recent visit to Pinewood, near Greensburg.

  There were reminders in the diary, to contact Tony Morgan and Ben Sorrenson after the house fire had been on the news. It seemed that there was no response, and then two days later there were references to the Carsons, who had disappeared. Higgins had been beginning to feel isolated and had obviously decided that his cabin was a good place to keep a low profile. As it turned out, that wasn’t the case, but that was no longer a problem.

  A flick back through the book informed Honey that the two detectives helped Higgins and Brett the butcher, in the construction of the unofficial wildlife compound. It had taken several weeks to complete, and then he had sourced the wolves illegally and brought them from the Canadian border.

  Since introducing the animals to their new confinement in early April, Higgins had come to the cabin once a week to feed them with the wild deer. He had captured the deer locally, using sleep darts. As much as she didn’t want to dwell on it, Honey realized that the wolves had also been used to remove all trace of the deviant group’s dead victims.

  It was clear that apart from his own, Higgins had little regard for life or the dignity of others, whether they were human or animal. It was right that Higgins died as Honey had chosen for him. He wasn’t as good as an animal.

  She had seen enough. Honey put the diary back into the drawer and lifted the heavy item wrapped in oilcloth. As she unwrapped the object, she recognized it instantly as a Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum revolver. She shook her head. The weapon was made famous in a series of detective movies. Back in her training in the academy it was a standing joke that all the successful detective candidates would ensure they owned such a weapon.

  Finding the powerful handgun loaded, Honey removed the bullets and inspected them. She then checked the working action of the pistol. It was well maintained, and the mechanical operation was slick and almost silent. She slipped the rounds of ammunition into a pocket in her Ghillie suit.

  Honey placed the handgun under the mattress, lifted her rifle and went back into the main living area. She went to the laptop and absently pressed the space bar before reaching up to close the lid. The machine was on hibernate mode and burst into life.