A Killing Season

by Jessica Speart

  “You stupid backwoods moron! Get outta here before I nuke your ass back to the missing link, whoever the hell this is!”

  “Rise and shine, Benny. Wipe the crud from your eyes and take a look at the monitor. It’s Rachel Porter and I want to talk to you now!”

  A stream of profanities poured through the speaker, after which the gate reluctantly swung open. Even the nude statues seemed to still be asleep as I parked and strode up the walkway. Benny was waiting to greet me, dressed in pajamas decorated with little tommy guns. You could take the boy out of the mob, but the mob remained in the boy forever. His Davy Crockett cap sat askew on his head and a sleep mask hung from his neck.

  “Am I supposed to invite you in, too?”

  “That would be nice.”

  His tiny bare feet slapped along the marble floor as I followed the sway of his coonskin tail.

  “You know how early it is? My damn coffeemaker hasn’t even kicked in yet!”

  I flicked the machine on for him.

  “You weren’t completely honest with me the other day, Benny.” I needed to play this just right if I hoped to get any more information.

  “What the hell are you talking about now?” But his coon tail began to twitch, as if in acknowledgment of his guilt.

  I cut right to the chase. “Does the name Rudy Tomasso ring a bell with you?”

  Benny hunched his little shoulders and curled his fingers up by his face. “Ooh! You’re really scaring me now, Porter. So you got the name off one of the vials in my medicine cabinet. Anyone ever tell you that you oughta get a life? All it proves is someone named Rudy stayed with me, and that you’re a big snoop.”

  “Then you probably won’t be interested in the fact that an old friend of mine just flew in from back East. By the way, my nickname for him is Little Italy, and he’s here looking for your pal Rudy.”

  Benny turned a shade paler than his statues. “Oh shit! You know damn well I’m Rudy Tomasso. That’s the identity the government gave me.”

  We were finally getting somewhere.

  “You didn’t happen to tell your pal where I live, did you?” Benny asked, starting to shiver like a wet Chihuahua.

  “Of course not. But I think it would be smart if you called your friends at witness protection and told them to relocate you.”

  Benny began to hop around from foot to foot as if dancing on a bed of hot coals. “I can’t! I left the damn program over a year ago!”

  Brilliant. “What did you do that for?”

  “It’s a long story,” he dodged.

  “No problem; I’ve got time. Or should I call my friend and save him the trouble of hunting you down?” I let the threat hang in the air. “Why don’t you start talking and I’ll pour us some coffee?”

  Benny hemmed and hawed, with his rear end hovering above a chair. I gave him a helpful push and handed him a cup of coffee. “Begin!”

  “For chrissakes, who lit a fire under your ass?” he grumbled.

  I pulled out my cell phone and started to punch in a series of numbers.

  “All right, already! Those government morons relocated me to some stinking suburb in Phoenix after I testified. We’re talking the middle of the fucking desert. What the hell was I supposed to do out there? I began to hang out at a strip club called the Sugar Shack. That’s where I met Cherry.

  “We hit it off and she moved into my place. Things were going great—until she scammed a bunch of cash outta me and split.” Benny dumped three teaspoons of sugar into his coffee. “I didn’t bother to ask Mother, may I when I left the witness protection program. I just packed up my bags and went after her. By the time I tracked her down in Montana, she was already working at Big Bertha’s and shacked up with militia boy. So I cut her a deal.”

  Gee, wasn’t he the nice guy. “Exactly what kind of deal are you talking about?”

  “I’d let her live if she forked over all the money and gave me an intro to the United Christian Patriots.”

  “Why did you want an in with them?”

  Benny shook his head, making it clear that I was terribly dense. “Why do you think? I had a business idea. I’d seen their catalogue and felt it had room for improvement. My plan was to sell them on retooling the image. You know, make it glossier, more upscale, very cutting edge. Sort of a hip militia version of Hammacher Schlemmer, selling everything the up-to-the-minute survivalist could possibly want.”

  I had to hand it to him; it was better than hawking hot tubs. “I take it they went for the idea. What was the business arrangement?”

  “I’d foot all expenses and, in exchange, get a cut of the business.”

  Now I knew where the mob’s money had gone. “And that’s when you changed your name to Rory Calhoun?”

  “Yeah. Who the hell’s gonna live in Marlboro Country with a name like Tomasso?”

  “So how’s business doing?”

  “It’s booming! We’re about to expand onto the Internet. Get a load of this—the name of the site is, jesusiscoming.com. Pretty catchy, huh? In fact, things are going so well that I plan to take the catalogue public in less than a year. That’s a little stock tip for you,” Benny generously offered.

  “Thanks. Too bad that’s never going to happen.”

  “Whadda ya talkin’ about?” Benny wailed, and his rear end flew out of the seat.

  “How should I put this?” I tapped a finger against my lips. “The state of your health depends on keeping me happy.”

  Benny’s butt fell back in the chair like a lead balloon. “You really are a Big Apple babe. You get off on bustin’ a guy’s balls.”

  “Enough flattery; I want information. Are the Lungrens involved in the bear gallbladder trade?”

  Benny dramatically wiped his brow. “Whew! And here I thought you were gonna shake me down for millions.”

  No, that’s Vinnie’s job. “I’m waiting.”

  “Hey, I gotta good one for you. How do ya tell the difference between a black bear and a grizzly? Black bear poop has fur and berries in it, while grizzly poop is filled with buttons, zippers, and Fish and Wildlife badges.”

  “You’re stalling.”

  “Okey-dokey, Smokey. You want info? Here it is. I have no friggin’ idea. What the hell do I care about that crap? You want my personal opinion? The kid could be involved in the trade. But the old man? If he’s gonna do something illegal, you damn well better believe it’s gonna be worth a whole lot more money than that.”

  “What about Hutchins?” I pressed.

  “Who knows what that freaky deaky is into? It wouldn’t surprise me if he was running a meth lab outta the clinic.”

  Now that made sense.

  “What about this Italian friend of yours? Can you ditch him?” Benny asked.

  “No problem. As long as you dig around and get me some rock-solid leads on who’s killing grizzlies. Otherwise, your address just might slip out.”

  I reconnected with the blacktop before punching in Running’s phone number.

  “Jesus Christ, Porter! Where have you been?” His voice was short and terse.

  “Didn’t Sally give you my message?”

  “Yeah, she did. And I left messages at both your office and Ornish’s home around four o’clock this morning. But you weren’t at either place.” There was a slight pause before he continued. “So, what’s up? Is your boyfriend in town?”

  I was caught by surprise as little pinpricks of delight erupted along my spine. Matthew was jealous!

  “No, some prankster broke into my office and I had to run down and check out the damage. I was probably already on the road, heading back up here when you called. Why? Is there any particular reason you were trying to reach me?”

  I held my breath, secretly hoping that Running would say he couldn’t live another minute without seeing me again.

  “I was kicking around near the Milk River complex yesterday and discovered a snare that hadn’t yet been tripped.”

  Shit! Wouldn’t you know something good would
happen the moment I left?

  “What did you do?”

  “I disabled it, of course. It’s still early enough to head back up there and do some surveillance. Are you interested in coming along?”

  “Nothing could keep me away.”

  “Okay, then meet me at my office on the double. We’ll leave from there.”

  My wheels nearly flew the remaining distance to Browning. I arrived to find Running leaning against his old blue pickup, waiting for me. A covey of wings sprang to life in my stomach, where they beat in rhythm with the pounding of my heart. Matt’s jet-black hair hung loose about his shoulders, and those almond eyes watched my every move. I tried hard to convince myself that I felt nothing more than anticipation over the impending hunt. But there was no denying things had changed between us since that kiss.

  I reached for the passenger door handle just as Running did, and our hands touched, sparking a mini-conflagration. I couldn’t have felt more flustered if I’d been standing there nude. I quickly climbed inside and closed the door—but not before catching the knowing smile that flickered across Running’s lips.

  I did my best to ignore the sexual tension as we rode in awkward silence. We finally reached a spot where I’d never been before. Running pulled off the road and parked close to a grove of trees.

  “We’ll have to hike a little farther than usual, but this is the back way into the location. No one will think to keep watch from this direction.”

  I quietly followed as we crossed a field as white as a shroud. The only thing marring the tableau was a pile of weather-beaten bones. That, and the grizzly tracks stalking the ground. I shuddered, remembering my dream of Old Caleb.

  “Good. The place still looks the same as it did last night,” Matthew said as we arrived at the scene. “Keep an eye out while I set something up in which we can take cover.”

  I had every intention of maintaining a vigilant guard for both two-and four-legged critters. It didn’t take long for Matthew to construct a well-camouflaged lean-to.

  “Wait here. I’m going to reset the snare.”

  Running was a study in fluid motion as he swiftly set to work on the trap. He appeared to be an old hand at ambushes, rigging the wires so that our human predator wouldn’t just be caught, but would be pulled off his feet to hang upside down. Matthew next removed his badge and placed it near the snare, as a sort of X-marks-the-spot. Having finished, he backed up while smoothing his footprints away with a branch. He caught my look of admiration and grinned.

  “My badge ought to draw the perp’s attention and help lure him into our trap.”

  “Very clever,” I concurred.

  “It’s life’s simple pleasures that make me happy,” Matthew chuckled. “This is going to be quite the amusement ride for our friend. It should also give us a chance to ask him a few pointed questions before we cut him down. Let’s see how much he likes swinging from the end of a rope.”

  I couldn’t have agreed more. “I’ll bet that it turns out to be Kyle Lungren,” I ventured, feeling pretty smug about my guess.

  “Personally, I believe it’s gonna be his old man. Tell you what. If I lose, I’ll buy you dinner.”

  He smiled, and those impossibly high cheekbones trapped my heart in their very own snare. I’d never felt so confused, guilty, and excited all at once.

  “But what I still can’t figure out is how this guy manages to lure grizzlies in without planting a pile of blood and guts,” Running said.

  Still diligently on the lookout for any sign of Old Caleb, my eyes landed on an object partially hidden by brush. On the ground sat a metal cylinder that blended in with the snow—a small propane tank. The black plastic safety knob on its top resembled the one I’d found on the ground only a few days ago.

  “The bears are being baited with propane.” I directed Matthew’s gaze toward the tank. “I’ve heard the smell drives them crazy. I’ll bet you a Snickers bar that thing is turned on.”

  It was Running’s turn to gaze in amazement. “Damn! You just might be right.”

  He tilted his head and listened for any foreign sound, ran over to shut off the valve, and quickly returned.

  “So, I’m willing to pop for a sumptuous dinner and all you offer in return is a lousy candy bar?” Matthew teased as he settled down next to me.

  I pulled a Snickers from my pocket and tossed it to him. “Here. I’m giving you one just because I’m a good sport.”

  A light layer of snow had begun to fall, caressing the ground like a wedding veil. Matthew bit into the gooey chocolate and then held it for me to take a bite.

  “Why don’t you tell me about that boyfriend of yours?” he suggested.

  My teeth sank into the soft, creamy bar, delighting in the first surge of caramel and sugar. “What do you want to know?”

  “For one thing, why isn’t he here with you?”

  Good question. “With our separate careers, it seems we’re never able to work it out so that we’re in the same place at the same time.”

  “Did you ever stop to think there might be a reason for that?”

  “Such as?”

  “Maybe you’re not really meant to be together.”

  My heart ached at the mere suggestion. I was about to protest, when Matthew held up a hand and stopped me.

  “Shh. Listen.”

  All I heard at first was the wind whispering through pine needles. Then came muffled footsteps that plodded heavily through the snow. My pulse joined in the march, hammering wildly as a figure strode into view.

  The man was a walking slice of the woods, dressed in camo pants and a parka so that he looked like a tree on the move.

  Swish, swish. Swish, swish, the fabric of his pants legs murmured, as though conspirators were exchanging high-level secrets.

  In his hand was a .30-06 shotgun, capable of firing a 220-grain open point cartridge. The ammo was particularly vile. It expands as it hits its target, making it all the more deadly should it strike a vital spot. Though the figure was tall and slender, I still couldn’t be completely certain who it was—until a long strand of greasy blond hair slipped out of the parka’s hood. The culprit was Kyle Lungren.

  He must have picked up on my adrenaline. He stopped and suspiciously began to sniff at the air. Then, being the thief he was, his eyes were drawn to the piece of glittering metal. Lungren slowly approached Running’s badge, just as Matthew had predicted. Greed overcame any sense of caution he might have otherwise had.

  The next second he was no longer standing on the ground but hanging from his feet, dangling in the air like a fish on a hook. The shotgun flew out of his hands. Running and I scrambled out of the lean-to to claim our prize as Lungren’s eyes bulged at us in anger and surprise.

  “You goddamn filthy Indian!” he screamed, uselessly flailing his arms.

  “Hey! What about me?” I inquired, feeling left out.

  Matthew silently stood with his arms folded across his chest, looking every inch the modern-day Geronimo—until a geyser of laughter bubbled up, bursting his stoic bubble.

  “Okay, Porter. ’Fess up! How did you know it would be Kyle?”

  “He accidentally left a calling card among the debris in my office.” I motioned to Lungren. “I see you forgot to wear the jagged heart pin on your jacket today.”

  Running looked at me curiously and I pulled the item from my pocket. Matthew ran a finger along its serrated edge.

  “Whew! This thing looks more like a weapon than jewelry. You must really attract the ladies with this, Lungren,” he taunted.

  “You think you know us so damn well, don’t you, you fucking Injun? Well, forget it! You’ll never become a white man!” Kyle spat at our feet. “That’s why you hate us so much. Isn’t that right, Running? You never could measure up to my daddy, no matter how hard you tried!”

  I stared at the two men, wondering what the connection was between them. Up to this point, I’d been unaware that Running and Lungren even knew each other. While tempted to f
ollow it up, I was also mindful that time was ticking away. I needed to question Kyle about the bear gallbladder trade right now if I hoped to keep the element of surprise on my side.

  “Cut the crap, Lungren. I know what you’ve been up to.”

  “Oh yeah? And what’s that?” he sneered. Lungren tried to grab me and I deftly stepped out of his reach.

  “You’ve been killing grizzlies for their gallbladders. But maybe we can cut a deal. I want the names of those people you’ve been selling to, along with who your partners are. You give me details about the pipeline and there’s a good chance I’ll be able to keep you out of jail.”

  “Like I’d ever tell you anything, you jackbooted thug! Your government has no legal authority over me. You work for an oppressive tyranny that’s anti-God and anti-gun, doing everything it can to take away our rights! Face it, Porter. You’re just as scared as everyone else, ’cause you know that in the end we’ll win. As for you, Running, my daddy always said you were a coward playing at being a recon soldier. But then, what else could you expect from a lousy mud person?”

  I saw Matthew’s hands clench and his jaw grow tight. Lungren noticed it as well, and began to laugh like a hyena. I stared, fixated by the man’s distorted features, made all the more ugly tainted with hate.

  “There are too many of us for you to do anything about! You’re doomed! Your days are numbered!” he ranted. “As for the bear gallbladder trade? I acted alone.

  “I’m just the latest in a long line of messengers. All your kind will be blown away on the day of the apocalypse! God save the United Christian Patriots!” he howled in a frenzy.

  Lungren suddenly reached into the waistband of his pants, whipped out a .40-caliber handgun, and waved it around as he laughed madly. The next thing I knew, Running’s hand slammed against my back and pushed me down hard to the ground.

  But we weren’t Lungren’s target. He placed the barrel of the gun inside his mouth and put his finger on the trigger.

  “No, Kyle! Don’t do it!” I yelled and struggled onto my feet. I began to run toward him, only to be tackled once again.