Border Prey

by Jessica Speart

  “What I’m about to tell you has nothing to do with the fact that you like my artwork. It’s because Rage says you can be trusted,” Cassandra said with a toss of her long black locks, displaying a pair of penis-shaped earrings.

  “Fair enough,” I replied, wondering if it was too late to take Charlie Hickok up on his offer. Rednecks were beginning to same pretty normal compared to the folks out West.

  “Because I don’t give a shit whether you really like it or not,” Cassandra emphasized with a stomp of her studded black boot.

  Enough, already! Just get on with it!

  Cassandra apparently received my nonverbal message. “Okay. Just as long as you know. I found out this morning that there’s going to be a delivery.”

  “Of what?” I inquired.

  “I don’t know. But I’ll bet it’s gonna be something good, ’cause my father was all excited.”

  “And when is this delivery supposed to take place?” I wasn’t sure if Cassandra was all that reliable a source.

  “Tonight,” she confided in a whisper.

  I paused, then plunged ahead. “Sorry, but your father isn’t a stupid man. I find it hard to believe he’d talk freely about something like that when you’re hanging around the house.”

  Cassandra smiled. The girl was quite pretty when she wasn’t snarling. “You’re right; that’s why I don’t get information by eavesdropping on my father. My sister Helen May gives it to me.”

  “And why would she do that?” I inquired. The very pregnant Helen May hadn’t appeared to be big on communicating.

  “Let’s just say my sister and I came to an agreement,” Cassandra smirked. “It wasn’t an alien that knocked Helen May up, but Billy Bob Holder next door. My parents would kill her if they ever found out.”

  Now, this was something that finally made sense.

  “The delivery is supposed to take place at the border around midnight, somewhere along the Anapra Road,” Cassandra revealed.

  I had a pretty good idea of the exact spot—and I planned to be there.

  Thirteen

  Maybe there would be an illegal shipment tonight. Then again, maybe there would not. In either case, I had plenty of time to kill. I decided to make the most of it by moseying around to the back of the ranch and sneaking onto Happy Hunting’s property. With any luck, I’d be able to spot an illegal critter and slap Krabbs with a violation.

  I drove past land so still that it seemed to exist merely to hold the surrounding mountains apart. It’s at times like this that my mind is set free to wander. My thoughts were instinctively drawn to Jake Santou like a magnet pulled by a stronger source. We hadn’t been in touch since our break-up in Miami and I’d told myself that was it; our relationship was finished. Still, something inside refused to let go, giving me hope that it wasn’t yet over.

  Since there was no star to wish upon, I silently said a prayer. I know it sounds silly, but I’ve always been one who searches for a sign that my request will be answered. Being that no wishbone was handy, I looked outside for some sort of clue. Glancing upward, I slammed on my brakes to witness an event I’d only heard about before.

  Flying overhead was a majestic pair of bald eagles in the midst of an aerial courtship. Interlocking their talons, the birds became united as one, swirling in a revolving whirligig of feathers. Caught up in the voyeuristic vision, my blood pulsated in union with their undulating rhythm as their powerful wings beat rapidly, causing the very air to throb around them.

  Then the eagles suddenly plunged, locked in a downward death spiral. I held my breath and watched as the birds nearly crashed to the ground, breaking apart only at the very last second. Then with a quick flap of their wings, each flew off in a separate direction.

  I finally remembered to inhale, and the air seared my lungs. If I’d been looking for answers, I realized there were none. I would have to let nature take its own course in working things out. I put all thoughts of Santou away for the moment.

  I drove on, and soon reached the far end of F.U. Krabbs’ ranch. It was time to begin my own hunt. I parked, grabbed a pair of heavy work gloves, and stood on the pick-up’s hood. From there, I was able to reach the top of the wooden fence encircling all of Happy Hunting’s fifteen thousand acres. I climbed over and leapt down to discover there was still one obstacle left: a barbed wire fence that gleamed bright as a rapier’s edge, daring me to get through. I only hoped F.U. hadn’t had it electrified.

  I pulled on my gloves, walked over to a mesquite tree, and cut off one of its branches. Then I spread two strands of the barbed wire fence apart by using the stick as a wedge. After that, I tested the brace, reminded of an old cowboy saying.

  There are three kinds of men. Those who learn by reading. The few who learn by observation. And the rest, who pee on an electric fence before they finally get it.

  I wiggled through, determined not to become one of the barbecued, and made it onto the Happy Hunting Ranch without injuring myself.

  Walking along the fence line seemed like a good place to start until I felt sure of my bearings. Soon a mound of loose dirt caught my eye. Part of the ground had been dug up under the fence, creating a hole for a coyote to slip through. If that weren’t proof enough, I caught sight of the critter’s four-toed track. I cut off another mesquite branch, sharpened its end, and poked around the area.

  Snap!

  A jarring crunch severed the heavy branch neatly in two. Hidden beneath the dirt lay a steel-jawed leghold trap.

  The mechanism resembles a medieval torture device, which aptly describes how it works. Its bone-crushing jaws bite painfully deep into the animal’s flesh. Once the critter is caught, it suffers until a trapper eventually shows up to slay and claim his prey. There was no doubt that where one leghold trap had been set, others were also planted. Envisioning myself as yet another captured varmint, I left the fence line and headed into Happy Hunting’s interior.

  It wasn’t until I heard the muffled rumble of a man’s voice that I came to a halt. Sonny had taught me to track in grassland as well as in desert sand, tiptoeing as stealthily as a stalker. I began now, quietly treading toe-heel, toe-heel, until I drew close enough to catch a glimpse of the man. The large, hulking form clued me in that it was none other than Happy Hunting’s own Grizzly Adams, Dan Kitrell.

  I froze, afraid he would hear me, but he remained focused in the opposite direction. With any luck, I’d be able to turn and backtrack without being detected. I started toe-heeling away, when the snarl of an animal in pain stopped me in my tracks.

  A young buff-gray coyote stood in front of Kitrell with its lips pulled back and its teeth bared. Another snarl emerged from deep within the critter’s gut. Bile rose in my throat as I saw that the coyote’s leg was painfully pinned inside a leghold trap.

  More than anything, I wanted to stop Kitrell from killing the critter. The problem was that I had no legal means to do so. I couldn’t run for my truck and just leave; if I did, I’d be haunted for the rest of my days. If I stayed and intervened, I’d end up being hauled into court on trespassing charges. The only other option was to stand my ground and watch how the scene played out.

  I decided to slam, bam and ram through door number two, solving things my own way. I reached for my revolver, determined to stop Kitrell and damn the ensuing consequences, as he began to make his way toward the animal. But to my surprise, instead of moving in for the kill, Kitrell’s steps were slow and his voice was soft. I remained where I was, wondering what he was up to.

  The coyote violently lunged toward the man, only to be sharply jerked back by the trap. However, that didn’t stop it from fighting. The critter charged forward again, bringing Grizzly to a halt. All the while, Kitrell never stopped talking. The hypnotic timbre of his voice wound through the air, his tone as soothing as being wrapped in a stole of luxurious velvet. Either he was the most sadistic trapper alive, or he was up to something highly unusual.

  Kitrell kept up the melodious patter until the coyote finall
y stopped struggling. I didn’t know if it had become mesmerized by the man’s voice or was just completely exhausted. Grizzly drifted forward once more, taking one half-step, and then another. The coyote never took its eyes off the man but listened to the sing-song words with its ears raptly pricked in attention.

  I remained glued where I stood, not daring to twitch a muscle. Kitrell sank down next to the trap as he pulled a knife from its sheath. I tightened my fingers on my revolver, unsure of his intent. But rather than lean in to slice the coyote’s throat, Grizzly tried to jimmy the steel jaws of the trap.

  I looked on in disbelief as Kitrell worked his knife back and forth, as if prying open a clamshell. But the trap’s main spring remained invincible. Grizzly wiped the sweat from his face with his forearm and, dropping the knife, sat back on his heels. One look at the coyote was all it took to know the critter understood the situation. He pathetically sat awaiting his fate, and a cry throbbed against the back of my throat.

  Don’t stop now! I silently urged, not knowing what else Kitrell could do.

  Grizzly cautiously crept closer. The coyote pulled back and then stopped, allowing Kitrell to reach out and lift the trap in his hands. The muscles in the man’s back visibly strained as his fingers painstakingly worked their way between steel teeth and mangled fur. He briefly stopped and my stomach flip flopped, afraid he’d given up. But Grizzly made one last valiant effort, applying brute strength against the contraption with a roar as loud as thunder. The trap’s spring gave way, and the contraption miraculously sprang open.

  I covered my mouth to keep from breaking out in a victorious cheer. The last thing I wanted to do was rupture the bond between animal and man. The coyote faced Kitrell in a moment of silent communion, then backed away and silently took off.

  Its long, yellowish legs trotted away until even the black tip of its bushy tail disappeared from sight. Then I realized my plight: now I was the prey left standing there. The magic moment dissolved, and I imagined an alternate view of what had taken place.

  I was alone with a man who liked to ambush and torture his quarry. Only after the animal’s spirit had been broken did he release the injured critter back into the wild to possibly die. Maybe he considered it a form of sport, in which he was the ultimate conqueror.

  Whatever the case, I felt sure Kitrell wouldn’t be happy should he discover an uninvited observer. Especially one who could talk.

  I began to back off, but my skills were nowhere near as good as the coyote’s. A twig crunched underfoot, taking perverse pleasure in giving me away. Kitrell reflexively grabbed his knife and turned in one fluid motion, ready for action even before having sighted the prey.

  I didn’t wait to see what would happen but spun around and ran, my feet pounding against the unyielding ground. There was no sound of Kitrell behind me, but I probably wouldn’t have heard a Mack truck. My breath roared in my ears, throwing a blanket of silence on everything around. I was certain I’d eluded my pursuer until the Mack truck I hadn’t heard pulled alongside me.

  Swinging around, I flung my fist in an attempt to nail Kitrell in the kisser. But the man crouched low, anticipating my move. Using my own momentum, he flung me face down on the ground with a resounding thud. I squirmed, trying to shake the refrigerator-size man off, but Kitrell easily pinned my arms behind my back and removed the revolver from the waistband of my pants. In his other hand was his knife.

  “I’ll let you roll over if you promise not to try anything funny,” he rumbled in a take-no-prisoners tone.

  “All right,” I promised.

  Kitrell raised his body and I quickly rolled over to thank him with a knee in his groin, but my aim was off. Kitrell held my wrists tighter and sat on me like a human Rock of Gibraltar. The one good thing was that he’d put away his knife.

  “I thought we had an understanding,” he said calmly.

  I screamed at the top of my lungs, and immediately found myself rolled back onto my stomach, my face in the dirt, breathing in Happy Hunting’s down-home aroma.

  “We don’t have to do this, you know. I’m not planning to hurt you. I just want you to remain quiet and listen to what I have to say. Otherwise, you’re going to be here the rest of the day.”

  It felt as if I were being pinned down by Godzilla.

  “Now, what do I have to do to make you behave?” Kitrell asked ominously.

  “Maybe you should try using the same tone as you did with that coyote. It seemed to work wonders with him.”

  “You’re fast with the snappy remarks,” Grizzly commented. “I noticed that the last time we met.”

  “I always like to make a good first impression.”

  Kitrell rolled me onto my back and I looked up at a pair of fiery eyes. “You need to understand that I’m not who you think I am. I conned Krabbs into hiring me under false pretenses, but there’s a good reason why I’m working at this ranch,” Grizzly said.

  “Oh, yeah? And why is that?” I asked to humor him. As far as I was concerned, he was just another wacko. Unfortunately, he happened to be the wacko who was sitting on top of me at the moment.

  Kitrell gaze bored into mine. “Because I’m looking for a particular animal.”

  Well, aren’t we all. Mine just happened to be a homicide detective who was probably right now dining on oysters while listening to jazz down in the Big Easy.

  “So who does that make you? Captain Ahab, or are you tracking Bigfoot?” I inquired. A pebble began to bite into my back. At least that’s what I thought it was, until the damn thing started moving.

  “How about we call a truce? What say you cool it with the wise cracks and listen?” Kitrell offered.

  I saw a spider crawl by and nearly passed out. God, I hated creepy-crawlies! “Deal,” I agreed faintly.

  Grizzly remained looking down at me, giving me a lovely view up his nose.

  “Cross my heart. Just let me get up, already!” I pleaded.

  Kitrell shifted his weight and I scrambled to my feet, brushing off anything that hadn’t previously been on my body.

  “For chrissake, what did you think I was going to do, anyway? I’d no more hurt you than I would an animal,” Kitrell grumbled.

  I shot him a dubious look. “That’s pretty funny, coming from someone who’s employed on a hunting ranch.”

  “I told you, I’m only working here as a cover. I followed a lead to this place,” Grizzly retorted.

  “So, what are you, some kind of cop?” I asked skeptically.

  “I could be,” he said brusquely.

  Yeah, and I was Goldilocks. “Why don’t you just fill me in on this mystery animal you’re searching for,” I responded. “I’d also appreciate it if you gave me my gun back.”

  Kitrell studied me for a moment. “I’m looking for a chimpanzee,” he replied and handed over my .38.

  “Try checking out Admiral Maynard’s place. He seems to have plenty of them,” I suggested.

  “I didn’t say any chimp; I’m trying to track down a particular one. Besides, Maynard is as dirty as Krabbs when it comes to the animal trade.” Kitrell glanced around the area. “Look, it’s a long story which I’ll be happy to tell you—but this isn’t the place to do it. If Krabbs spots us out here, we’ll both be in trouble.”

  He was right. And if he’d planned to hurt me, he’d have done so by now. I thought back to how he’d opened the steel-jaw trap with his bare hands. Maybe he was the genuine article, after all.

  “Okay. What do you suggest?”

  “Since it’s quitting time, I’ll check out for the day. Where are you parked?”

  I pointed to the direction from which I’d entered.

  Grizzly shook his shaggy head in disbelief. “In that case, I’ll walk you back first. That’s the last area with traps that I haven’t gotten around to tripping yet.”

  I wasn’t about to argue after having found one, myself. “You mean, you go around planting traps only to sabotage them?”

  Kitrell gave the slightest hint o
f a nod. “F.U. pays me to plant the things, and that’s what I do. I can’t help it if there happen to be a lot of wily coyotes running around.”

  “How about releasing coyotes once they’re trapped? Is there anything regarding that in your contract?” I questioned.

  Grizzly abruptly grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him. “There’s a trap right where you’re headed.”

  Picking up a stick, he dug around until the trap sprang closed. I suddenly realized how lucky I was that he’d come with me. We reached the patch of barbed wire fence lodged open by my mesquite branch.

  “Very clever.” Kitrell nodded approvingly.

  I carefully slid through the opening, then found myself facing the high wooden enclosure. Only this time, I didn’t have the hood of my Ford to clamber up on.

  “Tell me. Just how were you planning to manage this part by yourself?” Kitrell inquired.

  All right, so there was one minor item I hadn’t taken into consideration.

  Grizzly made it through the barbed wire without coming into contact with either strand, then he boosted all one hundred thirty pounds of me up and over the wall.

  “Stay there. I’ll meet you in a few minutes,” he said and headed back.

  Fourteen

  I was daydreaming about clever critters catching Happy Hunting’s clientele in traps of their own, when Dan Kitrell pulled beside me in a battered Toyota Land Cruiser.

  “Ever been to an area called Hueco Tanks?” he asked. “It’s only about twenty minutes from here, and private enough that we can talk.”

  About thirty miles east of El Paso, Hueco Tanks is a state park known for its Native American pictographs. In addition, it’s a mecca for rock climbers and sun-baked desert rats. There was no doubt it met the standard as a secluded place; it also provided an excellent locale in which to knock me off.

  Kitrell noticed my hesitancy. “Well, well. You really are afraid of me, aren’t you?” He laughed.

  If his objective was to get me there, he’d just succeeded.