A Crying Shame Read online

  Joe muttered something about beasts of the devil walking upright on the earth.

  I’m tired of hearing that crap, Joe,” Mike warned him.

  Joe nodded. I’ll pray for you,” he said.

  Katie Chapell stepped from the bathtub and dried herself, dropping damp towels on the floor of the steamy bathroom and more towels on the floor of the hall as she moved to her bedroom. Katie was not the world’s neatest housekeeper.

  She looked at the clock on the dresser. She was running a little late; Guy would be here before long. She giggled as an idea sprang into her head: she would greet him at the door, surprise him. She would be ... what was it the French said? ... yeah . . . au naturel. And then they would . . . damn! She had struggled so hard to remember that French line some of her Cajun friends had so patiently taught her. What was it? Every time she and Johnny used to make it together he’d holler that. Yeah! Laissez le bon temps rouler. Let the good time roll. Right! They’d damned sure do that tonight. Right on the carpet; right there on the floor. Then the next time that dumb bastard she was married to accused her of making out in their bed,” she could look him slap in the eye and not be telling a lie when she said no.

  She got her blow-dryer and sat naked at her dresser, doing her hair, getting it just right, just the way Guy liked it. She watched her nipples get hard and stiff in the mirror as she thought of Guy’s big pecker; the way it just seemed to fill her up when he got it all in. She couldn’t get enough of it. It hurt, at first, but sweet Jesus Christ! it felt good. Her husband was built okay, and so were most of the other men she’d made it with in her many bump-and-run affairs; but Guy was her main squeeze. True, Guy didn’t have much upstairs—kinda dumb; no, that really wasn’t it; he was a space cadet, and a real airhead—but goddamn what a cock! Couldn’t even get it in her mouth when it got all swollen up. All she could do was lick around on it.

  Hot Popsicle.” She giggled.

  She cupped her breasts and gently fondled them as her juices wet her thighs. She groaned in heat.

  She heard a car pull into the drive just as she dabbed a little perfume behind her cute little ears. She padded naked into the den and turned on the stereo, records already stacked on the spindle. Country music filled the room. Cheatin’ songs, baby. Honky-tonkin’ songs, man. Songs about motel rooms and smoky beer joints and back-street fuckin’.

  She waited for Guy’s knock on the door.

  At first Katie hadn’t liked it when they’d moved way to hell and gone out in the parish, not too far from that big old spooky swamp. But that was before she started really messin’ around, in a frantic search for the ultimate cock.” Now, with her shithead husband gone most of the time, peddlin’ all them stupid farm chemicals, the place was perfect. And she had Guy, and his ultimate cock.”

  She giggled once more. Yeah . . . the place was really all right. Nearest neighbor better than a mile down the road. So she could holler and scream all she wanted when Guy really rammed it in to the hilt; wasn’t no worry ‘bout disturbin’ the neighbors. She planned to holler a lot tonight when it started gettin’ good and Guy really began strokin’ her, gettin’ into his stride. Son of a bitch had the stayin’ power of a long-distance runner. Guy liked to hear her holler, her long painted fingernails raking his back.

  Ride, Cowboy, ride,” she would scream.

  That made him feel good.

  She certainly would holler a lot tonight. Good” would be a moot point.

  Come on, Guy,” Katie whispered, fingers busy between her legs. Stick your head in that door, baby. Mamma’s all ready to get it on.”

  Guy would not come through the door. Guy would never cum again. But Katie, who had cheated on her husband for years in search of the ultimate cock, would certainly find a more than adequate substitute this night. Several of them.

  Guy screamed just outside the door. Just off the porch, Katie reckoned. She grinned. Ol’ Guy was gonna play games with her, get her all scared. He sometimes did that, play-pretended he was a boogeyman, a monster-man, circlin’ the house, hollerin’ and a-gruntin’ and a-moanin’. Then she would open the door, there he’d be, grinnin’ at her, his big ol’ cock in his hand, all hard and swollen up, stickin’ out.

  Whooo!” Katie moaned, imitating Guy.

  A hideous snarl greeted her fake cry of terror.

  That ain’t Guy,” she said.

  The country music moaned in the background. Some woman was trying to make up her mind whether to get drunk and screw the cowboy she’d just met at a bar, or get drunk and go home and screw her husband, who, she figured, had already gotten drunk and screwed somebody else.

  Either way, opined the man who could, at best, be only loosely defined as a singer, someone was certainly going to get drunk and screwed.

  The picture window shattered. The drapes were flung open by the impact of something sailing through them, the object leaving a crimson trail as it ripped through the music-filled air.

  Now, goddamn it, Guy!” Katie squalled. This shit ain’t funny at all. What is that crap on the floor? And you done busted my winder.”

  She looked more closely at the object on the floor. Guy’s head. Torn from his body. It bounced on the carpet and came to rest on one cheek, eyes open, mouth open, looking up at Katie.

  Katie began squalling, standing in one spot, jumping up and down, her breasts jiggling. Her screaming soon drowned out the squalling of the music as the room filled with ugliness, creatures right out of a horror movie. They circled the woman, poking at her with blunt fingers. Through her stark, total, raving terror, she could see their maleness hanging down between their hairy, naked legs.

  Made Guy look like a midget.

  She had found her ultimate cock.

  She started to cut and run, but strong, hard paws grabbed her. She really started to holler as the things forced her to the carpet and held her, shapely dimpled ass up in the air, the recently wet lips spread apart, ready to receive them.

  Her screaming reverberated through the house in the country, cutting the night. She would scream until her throat was so raw and abused she could only grunt her fear and pain, her blood mingling with their semen, streaking her soft inner thighs. She would be only half-conscious when the maddened Links would carry her into the swamp, deep into the swamp, where she would be shared with others of their kind.

  At the house, Guy’s head, with its wide staring eyes and uncomprehending ears listened mutely as the singer sang his lines. Something about jumpin’ in the Mississippi River and haulin’ ass to the other side, ‘cause that’s where his darlin’ was, and she was just a-hollerin’ and a-cryin’.

  The record ended. The needle hit the reject groove. The house fell silent.

  And somewhere in the Crying Swamp, something cried.

  Chapter Seven

  Jon sat in the den, the room illuminated by only a small-watt bulb in a lamp in a far corner. He sat listening to the night sounds, his ears attuned for any deviation from the norm. He had done this very thing in many countries, many lands over the long years—listened for the sounds that might mean danger ... the end to his violent life style. The women were sleeping, or at least in bed. Jon knew, from body English and eye contact he could have Tammy whenever and wherever he wished, and probably Linda as well, but at this moment his thoughts were not of sex. Besides, he was growing weary of one-night stands, becoming much more selective in his choices of bed partners.

  Was he subconsciously looking for Miss Right? He felt, at times, he was.

  He had been informed of the fate of the Louisiana Tach Team, and the news had deeply saddened him and angered him. The loss of good men due to the stupidity of a non-combat-experienced leader was a bitter pill for a veteran combat man to swallow. Parker had had no right to send those men into the swamp, into the unknown. There had been no need for those men to have died, leaving behind them families and mortgages and unpaid debts and bitter mourning.

  The men of the tach team had not believed fully in the existence of the
Links; that had been their first mistake. They had not waited for the coroner’s full report on his examination of the Links’s brains: his opinion of their ability to think and reason, and of how dangerous they might be. Not that Jon would have placed much credence in the man’s findings, but something was better than nothing when dealing with a complete unknown—an unknown that had savagely killed. Another mistake was that they were not combat men in the most exacting sense of the word: they were professional lawmen, and, Jon was certain, highly trained in their field. But they were handicapped in that they were lawmen; they were trained not to shoot first and ask questions later.

  They had motored—or paddled, as the case may have been—right into an ambush. All right . . . that information was useful: the Links could definitely think and reason and plan. They were much more than animal in their cunning. Fine.

  He had told Mike, when the sheriff had called, about the jeep the foreman had noticed. Mike had said he’d check it out in the morning, but it sounded like Blackwell’s ace reporter’s jeep.

  Suddenly, Jon stiffened ever so slightly in the chair as the outside noises stopped. No birds warbled, no crickets rubbed their dry song. He listened, then smiled.

  The Links were outside, circling the house, but they were being very careful.

  Jon heard soft footsteps padding quietly down the hall. Linda’s step. It was different from Tammy’s. If one is to survive in a warrior’s world, one learns to quickly grasp the basics of survival. Or one dies.

  They’re back, aren’t they?” She spoke from the archway.

  Yes. At least two of them; maybe a third. He’s probably in the back of the house. But I don’t believe they’ll try anything this night.”

  Why?” She moved out of the darkness and closer to the chair where he sat. Her perfume touched him: a scent encased in a velvet cloud—his favorite scent—Shalimar.

  I think they are telling me . . . proving to me they have more intelligence than Paul allowed them. We’re too dangerous, too much death in our weapons; and they have seen what weapons can do. I think they are . . . testing me this night. Looking for weak spots. And they might be attempting to find their dead. Paul said he believed they buried their dead. Where is Tammy?”

  Linda moved closer. Out like a light. She drank three brandies tonight, on top of all those martinis you fixed. She passed out in bed. Those martinis are wicked, Jon. They’re so good they should be outlawed.”

  Better than sex?”

  Nothing is better than that,” she said, moving closer. Her reply was soft, sultry, inviting . . . and sensual. Providing the two people in question are right for each other.”

  Yes. I didn’t always agree, but the older I grow the less appealing one-night stands become.”

  Linda sat on the arm of his chair. You’re using me—us, now that Tammy’s here—for bait, aren’t you, Jon?”

  Smart lady, he thought. When did you put that together?”

  This evening.”

  Yes,” he admitted. I suppose I am. But I assure you, neither you nor that sexpot staying with us is in any danger. Not as long as you are careful, go armed; and above all, do what I tell you to do, and don’t question my orders.”

  She was silent for a moment, both of them aware of the mood building between them; both of them sensing the feelings between them were more than mere passion. But neither of them had the words to express it. And both were afraid of it.

  Do you have any orders for me this evening, mercenaire?” she asked, her voice caressing him.

  Yes.” His reply was husky. Kiss me.”

  You’d better be certain you want to become involved with me, Jon. I’m a very possessive woman, and I just might be more woman than you’ve ever had.”

  I hope that is true. That’s what I need. Besides, I’m used to taking risks.”

  Her soft mouth found his, and his hands, hard and callused, found her breasts. She wore no bra under her shirt. Their lips and tongues were exploring when the phone rang.

  Damn!” he said.

  Don’t answer it.” Linda sighed, her mouth still on his, her breath hot and sweet.

  Ringing phones irritate me. You answer it, you’re closer. Besides, my hands are full.”

  Animal!” She smiled, pulling away, stilling the ringing. Oh, God!” she said. She listened for a moment longer. All right, Sheriff Saucier, thank you for calling. Yes, we will be careful—I assure you of that. Yes.” She hung up.

  The Links have struck again this night?”

  Yes. The Chapell home. I believe it’s on highway 117. Miles from here. Katie Chapell is gone—kidnapped, taken, the sheriff believes. A man—one of the men she’s been seeing—was found dead in the yard. Partially eaten. Torn to bits. Like . . . Paul. His head was torn off. Tossed through the front window.”

  She’s married?”

  Her husband is.”

  Well . . . almost as if the Links were trying to tell us something by that act. But I don’t know what. A warning, perhaps. So ... it’s probably a different clan from the ones prowling around here tonight. But still,”—Jon eased the woman from his lap and onto the chair—it must be tit for tat in this game. Or at least as close as I can make it.”

  Tit for tat?” She looked at him, puzzled. What do you mean?”

  He walked to the gun cabinet and took out a double-barreled rifle, one of his personal weapons. He broke it down, checking the loads. Linda had never seen a weapon like it.

  You’re not going outside?” she asked, horror in her voice.

  No,” he reassured her. I’m just going to open the door a crack, dear; then I shall return to ... unfinished business.” He cut the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. He padded to the door, opening it just a crack. Quickly he hit the switches to the outside floodlights and threw the door wide, jerking the rifle into position. Linda noticed he carefully fitted the butt of the weapon to his shoulder. He sighted, then squeezed the trigger.

  She screamed at the noise of the rifle. Fire sprang from one barrel. He fired the other, then slammed the door. The room still rocked with the enormous sounds. He threw the bolt, then dropped the bar. He left the floodlights on.

  When her ears had ceased their ringing, she asked, What kind of gun is that?”

  Best weapon in the world to stop a rampaging Cape Buffalo. Four fifty-eight double-barreled rifle. Fires a nitro-express. Some people call them elephant guns. There are now two dead Links in the front yard. I’ll leave the lights on; that should discourage any others from dragging them off. I’ll remove them at dawn. Tit for tat.” He smiled. He listened a moment.

  Tammy had slept through the entire barrage.

  Come here, Linda,” he said.

  Obediently, she rose from the chair and walked to him. She opened his shirt and placed the palms of her hands on his bare chest, gently running her fingers through the thick mat of hair. After all the men I have known, all the socially correct gentlemen who have asked me out, many proposing marriage . . . I wind up with a damned mercenary. Must be my mother’s side of the family surfacing.”

  Her shirt was still open, her breasts exposed to his mouth and tongue. Bending his head, he tasted each nipple.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said. This is not like me at all.” She sighed a moaning yearning as he took a nipple into his mouth, tonguing its tautness.

  Do we do it standing up?” he asked, his tongue moving on her skin.

  No. But keep that thought in mind for later. It sounds interesting.”

  Governor Parker went into a rage when he received the news of Poyson’s tach team. He found it easier to blame Badon than the . . . creatures, so he soundly cursed the mercenary.

  Colonel Jeansonne sat quietly in the office of the governor’s mansion, listening to Parker vent his rage. He felt the loss much more keenly than Parker, for Poyson had been a personal friend. But the top trooper in Louisiana had seen death many times before and, as all lawmen must do everywhere, had hardened himself to the sight and though
t . . . on the outside.

  Jeansonne brought himself back from his thought trip. He had been recalling that just last summer he and Poyson had gone fishing together . . . had a good time.

  ... People in that area have been screaming for industry for years,” Parker was saying, visibly calming himself. Now we have not one but two factories ready to come in, going to locate just above Fountain, and one just outside of Laclede itself. Employ several hundred people . . . and that’s just at first. A thousand before they’re through. God! Just let news of monsters break out and we can probably forget those factories. Just kiss them good-by, and who could blame them?” His eyes found Jeansonne. What . . . are you going to tell the families of those troopers?”

  For the time being—maybe forever, I don’t know—the story we agreed upon: they died in a training exercise in the swamp; some high explosives detonated prematurely. Still looking for the bodies. ’Gator mauled Burt. I don’t like it, but what else can we do if we’re going to sit on the monster story?”

  We could tell the truth,” Parker suggested, rubbing his face, his eyes, his temples. He’d had this damned headache for a week. Felt like crap. It’s going to surface sooner or later. Probably sooner. God, wouldn’t Jennings love to get hold of this?”

  Jimmy, we’d better get a press release put together . . . just in case.”

  Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that. Got one all ready to go.”

  And I think I’d better start moving some troopers into the parishes around Fountain,” Jeansonne said. I’ll do it quietly. When the news breaks, there’s going to be a lot of shooting, I’m afraid; panic with it.”

  All right. We can’t sit on this much longer. That goddamned Badon.”

  Seventy-two hours max, Jimmy.”

  You think that’s all the time we have?”

  Maximum.”

  Shit!”

  After that it really hits the fan.”

  Don’t remind me.”

  I think we’d better think about evac plans, Jimmy.”