Deep Shadow

by Randy Wayne White

  King said to me, “I’m not carrying a flashlight, so toss me your night vision dealy. I won’t hurt it. I’m serious, man. I want to see what was making that noise on the other side of the lake.”

  I said, “Was it close?”

  “No, I don’t think so—way back there in the swamp, maybe, but coming this way. Hard to tell, though. It wasn’t like what we heard earlier.”

  I turned my head, pretending to concentrate, but there was nothing to hear but insects and frogs trilling and wind moving through the trees. Even if I had heard something, I wouldn’t have been concerned. The most dangerous animals on earth were right in front of me, not roaming the swamp.

  Still looking at the coins, I removed the mask from my forehead and said, “Sounds to me like you’re the one who’s scared, not Perry.”

  Perry said, “Hear that? The man’s not dumb.”

  I placed the mask on the ground next to me, adding, “This kind of equipment is hard to come by. You can use it, but if you break it we’re all screwed. I won’t find any more of these.”

  I thrust out my hand again and used a flashlight to show them what I was holding. The coins became mirrors in the light. I could feel their golden reflection on my face.

  “I’ll be goddamned,” Perry whispered. “He was telling the truth.”

  The two men stopped to look for a moment, then continued walking, separating as they approached me—five yards, then ten yards apart—and I felt my optimism fade. About five paces away, they both halted as they continued to stare at the coins. They were careful, always careful—as sly and wary as stray dogs.

  I said, “Do you want to try the mask or don’t you?” I touched it with my bare foot, then ignored the thing.

  King stared at me and nodded. Because it was so dark, I couldn’t see his face clearly enough to read his expression. He said, “For now, I’m happy seeing what I’m seeing. Put the flashlight on them again—how many you get?”

  I said, “Count them yourself. Most of them look to be in mint condition. You supposedly know all about rare coins”—I turned to face him—“how much do you think they’re worth?”

  As I took a step toward King, Perry snapped, “Don’t give the damn things to him. I’ll take them.”

  I said, “He’s the expert, not you. So why not?”

  “Don’t tell me you believe his bullshit.”

  I replied, “You don’t trust your partner and you don’t trust me. How are we going to get anything done?”

  Holding the rifle at his side, Perry started toward me, saying, “We sure as hell can’t trust him—that’s one fact I know for sure.”

  I said, “If you say so,” hoping he would keep coming. Stripping the rifle from Perry, then killing King with a quick shot, would be more difficult, but I had to work with any opening they offered me.

  I dropped down on one knee to make myself appear smaller and less of a threat. Using the flashlight, I focused my eyes close to the coins, then extended my arm. “Here. They’re yours. There’re more where these came from. The surprising thing to me is how heavy they are. Feel.”

  Perry almost fell for it, but something stopped him—his street instincts, probably—and he caught himself when he was still a safe distance away. He pointed the rifle at my chest. “I don’t think I will,” he said.

  I let him see that I was mildly offended. “Jesus, now what’s the problem?”

  He motioned with the rifle. “Put the coins in the mask. Then move over there where we can watch you.”

  King began chuckling as if he’d known all along what I was trying to do.

  When I didn’t move immediately, Perry raised his voice, still using the Winchester to point. “Move closer to the water! Keep walking until I tell you to stop. Then sit down on your butt and don’t budge. Hear me? I don’t want you trying nothing stupid.” A second later, he said, “You’re awful damn slow for a man in a hurry.”

  When I was sitting on a wedge of limestone, at the edge of the lake, the two men converged on my mask, grabbing at the coins like starving men snatching food. Perry took a fistful, and King, after giving him a look, took the two remaining coins.

  “Damn, if he wasn’t telling the truth,” Perry said again. “Take a look at these things! You still think it was stupid that we stuck around?”

  From his knees, King turned his head toward me. “Only six? That’s all you found?”

  I said, “Get the generator started, we have to go back into the water if you want more. I need someone on the hose—but no more of your games.”

  “How many more are down there, you think?”

  “Enough,” I said, “and we’re wasting time.”

  King said, “I don’t see why someone has to paddle around on the surface messing with the hose. I’ll freeze my balls off—you’ve got a wet suit, it’s easy for you.”

  I said, “There’re a couple of jackets in the truck. Wear a jacket, it’ll be almost as good as a wet suit.” In my mind, I was picturing King in the lake weighted down by sodden clothes. He would be easier to pull him under if he was wearing a jacket.

  King said, “Screw the jacket and screw you. We can watch the hose and the generator from here.” He had picked up my mask and was fiddling with the switch on the night vision monocular.

  I thought, Uh-oh.

  From the corner of my eye, I gauged the distance to the blanket where Arlis had been tied. The blanket was hidden by shadows, but King would be able to see it if he used the monocular. I realized I’d been stupid to use the thing as bait.

  Perry said to King, “What’s the big deal? The water wasn’t a problem a couple hours ago. It’s no different now that it’s dark. Swim out and help the man.”

  King laughed until he started coughing. “You swim out there if it’s so easy! Take the fins, they’re yours.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re the expert lifeguard-scuba diver,” Perry shot back. “What’d you tell me, we can sell these coins for about two grand apiece? We’ve got ten now, that’s only twenty grand. Plus what we took from the farm. Fifty thousand? That’s not enough to get us out of the country and buy a place in Mexico. You’re the genius, you figure it out.”

  It was the first time they had referred to robbing a farm, and I now knew for certain they had killed the five people near Winter Haven, three children included. I could picture Perry pulling the trigger, maybe using the knife, too, while King urged him on.

  I was watching King and trying to think of a way to distract him as he held the mask to his face. He had finally found the switch.

  “This thing’s amazing,” he said softly. He was framing the mask with both hands, staring across the lake.

  “See anything?” Perry asked. He sounded like he didn’t much care now, one way or another, his confidence coming back. “The professor’s probably right—what we heard was probably just a wild cow or something.”

  I got to my feet, hoping for a reaction. “When are you two going to stop wasting time? There’s enough gold down there, we can all retire. Toss me the mask and let’s get to work.”

  As I stepped toward them, Perry yelled, “Hold it, Jock-a-mo!,” which caused King to chuckle as he began a slow pan of the lake’s perimeter, his body pivoting toward the truck.

  “Goddamn it,” I said, looking at Perry, “you know what this guy’s like. He’ll break the lens and pretend it’s an accident. Who’s in charge here? You? Or him?”

  Perry was stuffing the coins into his pocket as he said, “Give him his mask back, King, before you break it.” He sounded like an irritable father speaking to a child.

  King ignored him and began to give us a play-by-play of what he was seeing. “Those lizard-looking bastards have run off somewhere, I guess. I don’t see ’em, anyway—maybe that thing we heard scared ’em. There’s a couple of birds sitting in that tall tree . . . Hawks, you think? Other than that, it’s like we’re the only living things for miles. Everything else
just sorta disappeared.”

  King’s feet were moving now as he pivoted toward the truck and the empty blanket. I started toward him again, saying to Perry, “Maybe you’re willing to let this idiot screw us out of the gold but I’m not.”

  Perry hollered, “Goddamn it, Ford, you stay right where you are.” He looked at his partner. “King! Give him his goddamn nightscope thing back before I”—the man swung the rifle toward King—“before I shoot you. I’ll do it, you smart-assed bastard. I swear I will.”

  It was too late. King was facing the truck now. I watched him lean forward to focus as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

  The tone of his voice caused Perry to lower the rifle. “What do you see? What’s out there?”

  “He’s gone,” King said, his voice rising.

  “What?”

  “The old man—Grandpa—he’s gone!”

  “Gone where?” Perry was fumbling in his pocket, and a couple of coins went flying as he pulled out a flashlight. He painted the trees with light, searching, until he found the truck. Next, he found the empty blanket.

  “Shit!” Perry yelled, and he began running. “I’ll check the truck—you watch this asshole.”

  King waited until Perry had the truck door open, the dome light on, before saying to me in a surprisingly calm voice, “You knew the old man was gone the whole time, didn’t you? You helped him. Maybe cut him loose when you knelt down to give him that water or left a knife or something for him. Which is it?”

  I said, “What’s it matter? We don’t need Captain Futch to salvage the gold. He’s an old man. Let him live.”

  “Let him hike out to the road and flag down help, that’s what you mean.”

  “If I wanted the police involved,” I said, “I would have waved in that chopper. Remember?”

  “Perry’s dumb enough to fall for that routine but I’m not. You’re setting us up somehow. Don’t think I don’t know it.”

  I said, “All I want is my share of the gold. Perry understands that. If he’s dumb, then you’re dumber.”

  I ducked reflexively when King hurled the mask at me but recovered in time to snatch it out of the air with one hand before it sailed over my head.

  “You met your match when you met me,” King said, his voice still low, keeping the conversation between us.

  “Did I?”

  “You think you’re so smart but you’re not. All my life, I’ve hated you superior-acting dweebs. You, with your know-it-all attitude. But I can guarantee you one thing—if anyone leaves this shithole with a bunch of them coins it’ll be me, not you—and not Perry, neither. It’ll be me all by my lonesome.” He let me hear his smile as he added, “Why share these pretty little things when I can have them all?”

  “How do you think Perry will react when I tell him what you’re planning?”

  “He won’t believe you. Go ahead and try. He’s dumb as a damn post and he takes orders from me, not you.”

  From the truck, Perry was now calling to King, “We’ve got to find the old bastard before he gets to the road. That mouthy old fool, he won’t get a third chance with me!”

  His voice still low, King said to me, “Perry’s about to decide that it’s best if we tie your sorry ass up while we go looking, want to bet?” Then he hollered to Perry, “What should we do with numbnuts here?”

  “Bring him along, we’ll take the truck.”

  King’s patient chuckle was infuriating. He yelled, “And risk both of them getting away? Okay, if that’s what you want.”

  “No! Leave him there. That sack of tie wraps is somewhere near that little bag of his. Put the pistol to his head and use them. Hurry up, goddamn it!”

  King grinned. “See? What did I tell you?”

  I said, “If you tie me up, you can kiss the gold good-bye.” I was watching Perry as he used the flashlight to look under the truck, then search the bushes beyond the stand of cypress.

  “Oh, you’re going back into that lake,” King said. “And you’re gonna bring us a bunch more of these coins. Want to bet on something else? Yours truly is not going back into that goddamn water. Not tonight, not ever. Want to know how I’m so sure?”

  I stood my ground as he pointed the pistol at me and stepped closer. He said, “Get down on your belly. You know the drill. Hands behind your back. Watch and learn, Jock-o, watch and learn. I’m about to suffer a debilitating injury.”

  Confused, I said, “What?”

  Before I had a chance to move, King pulled the trigger twice. I dropped to the ground automatically even as my brain registered what was obvious: The man had intentionally shot high. The little pistol made a sound like wood smacking wood, the gunshots still echoing through the swamp, as King yelled to Perry, “Shit, this asshole just tried to jump me! Are you happy now?”

  “What?”

  King repeated the lie.

  “How the hell did that happen?” Perry was jogging toward us, using the flashlight to find King, then me.

  King began limping, shaking his head as if in pain, but was still aiming the gun at me as he pretended to test his right leg. “Your girlfriend just tried to body-block me—that son of a bitch is heavy. I knocked him down, but he twisted the hell out of my knee. Goddamn it, Perry, thanks to you I can barely walk.”

  I said, “He’s faking. Take a look and see if there’s any swelling—” But Perry cut me off, screaming, “Shut your goddamn mouth or I’ll shoot you myself!”

  King suddenly became the peacemaker. “Take it easy, Per, not so quick. I don’t think he’ll try it again. And we want that gold, right?”

  “Jesus,” Perry said, “I’m getting sick of this whole business. Maybe you were right. Maybe we should just take what we got and get the hell out of here.”

  King cut in, “No, man, I was wrong. You were right. We make Jock-o here fetch us some more coins, then we leave.” He paused. “Later, if you decide to carve a piece out of Mr. Smart-ass’s hide, I won’t object. For now, though, let’s stick with your plan. But I don’t think it’s smart for me to try and tie up this moose without help. Take my pistol and keep the rifle on him. What do you think?”

  A few minutes later, after I was tied, hands and ankles, Perry stormed off alone in the truck to search for Arlis. King waited until the truck lights were pointed away from the lake before he sidled up to me, paused and spit. I felt his spittle hot on my face. As I turned away, he kicked me hard in the ribs.

  “Didn’t I tell you he was dumb as a rock?” King said, drawing his foot back to kick me again. “I hate to say I told you so, but—” He stopped in midsentence for some reason and didn’t follow through with his leg.

  I couldn’t figure it out. I had twisted myself into a ball, trying to get my knees up into a fetal position, and lay there with muscles tensed until I realized that King was listening to something . . . or maybe looking at something across the lake.

  “Do you see that?” he said, his tone serious.

  I made a croaking noise when I tried to reply—he’d kicked me so hard that my diaphragm muscle was spasming. It took me a couple of tries to say, “If you kick me again, I’ll kill you.”

  King was walking toward the pile of gear where he’d left the night vision mask, then pressed it to his face.

  “It’s gone,” he said after several seconds. “It was right there, I saw it, but I don’t see it now.”

  I gasped, “What are you talking about?”

  His voice low, he replied, “I just saw something crawl out of the bushes and slide down into the water. It swam like a snake, but bigger. I mean a lot bigger.” He was silent for several seconds before adding, “The fucking thing was huge, man, the size of a damn canoe. It’s gone now, but I can still see the water moving. How big do alligators get?”

  Because I was tied, with my face pressed hard against the ground, I couldn’t see anything but King’s silhouette and a horizon of trees and stars beyond. I said, “Did you hear what I just told y
ou? If you kick me again, you’d better never untie me because I’ll kill you.”

  King took another look through the mask, then did a slow circle as if whatever he had seen might sneak up and grab him from behind. He said softly, “If you go into that lake, Jock-a-mo, I don’t think you’ll ever get the chance.” He turned, and then he threw the mask at me again.

  I couldn’t move. An edge of the monocular clipped my forehead, drawing blood.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ARLIS FUTCH, WHO HAD SURVIVED TWO MILD STROKES in recent months but had not told anyone including his closest friends, thought he might be suffering yet another aneurysm—the final nail in the coffin, perhaps—because he could hear voices calling to him and they seemed to be coming from beneath the ground.

  He stopped and listened, his hands on his thighs, breathing heavily. His heart was pounding so loud in his ears that he thought he might still be hallucinating, when, once again, a voice called to him. But the words were difficult to decipher. “Doc . . . hey! We are . . . Arlis? Can . . . hear me? Down here!”

  The voice was faint, softer than cypress leaves rustling in the wind. The words seemed to float out of the marsh, up through Futch’s feet, then into his head.

  Was it Tomlinson’s voice?

  That couldn’t be. Tomlinson and the boy were dead. Arlis feared that maybe Ford was dead now, too, after hearing two gunshots just minutes before. The voices couldn’t be real, which meant they were coming from inside his skull, not from the woods around him.

  Arlis had brought along the only equipment close enough to grab before escaping into the swamp—the tire iron the two killers had used to fix the truck and a flashlight that Ford had slipped him when he’d left the bottles of water. Arlis dropped the iron on the ground, leaned his weight against a tree and checked the far shadows. He could see the lights of his truck angling through the tree canopy, but it didn’t sound as if the truck was getting any closer.

  That was good. The two Yankee killers didn’t have the sense, apparently, to get out of the truck and try to track him on foot. Which meant they didn’t have a chance in hell of finding him—not a man who’d grown up in the Everglades and knew good places to hide, like the shadowed dome of a cypress head ringed by water—a natural moat that would spook most men but not him.