Prey Page 16

  Barry ignored the derision and said, “Get to the point, John.”

  “Pick a side, cousin. The war is coming.”

  Barry did not reply, but he agreed with the assassin. The United States of America was facing open revolt if the politicians did not get off the backs of its citizens, and do so damn quickly. Actually, everything that Ravenna had said was true. It was only a matter of time before a few armed citizens got angry enough to start shooting. And as with all revolutions, it only took a spark to start it.

  Ravenna rose to his feet. He looked down at Barry. “Think about it, cousin. And think about Crazy Jacques while you’re at it. With him in the area, we both have something to worry about.”

  “If it is Jacques.”

  “Cousin, you are the eternal optimist. You know it’s Jacques. The man is insane and you’re fully aware of that. You’re also well aware that while he hates me, he isn’t exactly filled with love for you.”

  Sitting in his chair in the darkness of the porch, Barry slowly nodded in agreement. Jacques’ dislike for Barry went back more than two centuries, back to the American colonies’ fight for independence. Jacques had wanted to hang a young British soldier who had been captured by Washington’s troops, a boy, really, about sixteen years old. Barry had spoken on the boy’s behalf and the lad had been spared the noose. Then, during the Indian wars on the American frontier, Barry had again gone against Jacques’ wishes, successfully arguing to spare the life of a young Cheyenne boy. Jacques had disliked Barry ever since.

  “And you are suggesting what, John?” Barry asked.

  “That in dealing with Jacques, we work together. It’s to our mutual benefit.”

  Barry had to admit that was certainly true. The thought of Jacques Cornet padding around as his Other, killing whenever the mood struck him, was disconcerting. “I’ll think about it,” he told John.

  “Well, that’s something,” John said. “If this trend continues, think of the progress we might make during the next thousand years.” The last was said with no small amount of sarcasm.

  Barry looked up. But Ravenna was gone, having shape-changed into his Other and blended silently into the night.

  * * *

  “Mr. Washington stopped by to see me before he and Ophelia pulled out for home,” Chief Monroe told Sheriff Salter and federal agents Van Brocklen and Robbins as they sat at a table in Nellie’s Cafe. “Told me he and his wife raised seven kids. Six successes and one idiot. Said if we have to put Willie in jail, don’t call him to go his bail.”

  “You knew this man well?” Van Brocklen asked.

  “All his life. One of the finest men I ever knew, and you won’t hear me say that about many black folks. Even Jim Beal would sell Mr. Washington supplies . . . on the QT, of course.”

  “Why are there no minorities in this area?” Robbins asked.

  “Klan ran them out. That was, oh, hell, ninety years ago, I guess. Maybe longer. Those that didn’t leave were hanged. Just east of town, ‘bout three miles, to the south of the highway, there is a large hill with a stand of timber. That used to be known as Ku Klux Hill. That’s where the hangin’s took place. Over the years people have forgotten about that. All of the people who took part in the hangin’s are dead. Includin’ my father.”

  “Your father was a member of the Klan?” Van Brocklen asked.

  “Yes. So was I until I was about thirty years old,” the chief admitted. “But when this local bunch got all involved in the American Nazi movement and all sorts of weird-assed other philosophies, I got out. I ran for chief of police the next year and won, and I’ve been chief of police ever since. The Klan walks very light around me.”

  “There is still an active chapter here?” Van Brocklen asked, surprise in his voice.

  Chief Monroe smiled. “You betcha there is. But they, like so many other antigovernment resistance groups, went hard underground. Posse comitatus is very strong around here. But they went deep underground after Gordon Kahl was killed. The posse is stronger than ever.”

  “How come you never told us any of this?” Van Brocklen asked.

  “None of you boys ever asked me.”

  “Why were the blacks run out of this area?” Robbins asked. “Or hanged,” he added.

  “According to my daddy, it all started with a robbery and a killing. That much is documented. A young colored fellow got himself all juiced up on Sweet Lucy one evenin’ and decided to rob a store. Durin’ the robbery, the owner of the store, a white man, was killed. As the colored fellow was runnin’ out the store, the constable showed up, and the two of them exchanged shots. The constable was killed. The young colored fellow ran down into colored town and hid in his mother’s house.” Chief Monroe shook his head. “From this point on, it gets a little vague. I don’t think there is anyone alive today who really knows the truth. I sure as hell don’t. I do know that my father was involved in it. He told me so. My daddy was an older man when I was born. He’s been dead fifty years. He was born about 1880.” The chief finished his glass of iced tea and waved to the waitress for a refill.

  When the waitress had come and gone, Chief Monroe said, “Well, it didn’t take long for the Klan to get cranked up that night. I have a suspicion they’d been waiting for something like this to happen. They rode their horses down to where the young colored fellow was holed up and demanded his mother turn him over. She refused and they shot her. Right there on her front porch. Killed her. That much is, again, documented. What happened next may or may not be what really occurred. The masked riders pulled the colored fellow out of the house and hanged him. Right then and there. There was a riot. I don’t know who started it, and there is no one living who does, but colored town was burned to the ground. Every building destroyed. There were a lot of colored folks killed. Men and women, and I suspect, some kids, too. Those that didn’t leave that night were hunted down and hanged, right out there on Ku Klux Hill. The next day, folks went out there and cut down the bodies and burned them. By the time word got to the governor about what happened and he sent people in here—you have to understand there were no telephones back then, and it probably took weeks or months for the governor to learn of it—there was not a trace left of colored town. What was left of the charred buildin’s had all been removed and the ground worked clean, usin’ mule teams and road scrapers. My daddy said there wasn’t a board or a nail left. The governor’s people looked around, talked to some people, and went back home, and that was the end of it. The Washington family lived way out in the country and wasn’t involved in it in any way. Course, like me, Willie’s father wasn’t born when it happened. We’ve never talked about it.”

  “I wonder why the relatives of some of the survivors haven’t come forward with this story?” Van Brocklen mused aloud. “Survivors of other similar incidents have come forward.”

  Chief Monroe shrugged his shoulders. “Stories fade with time. None of the original survivors who could remember it would be alive. Their kids would be at least fifteen or twenty years older than me, and more than likely dead. Hell, the survivors scattered to the wind after that night and were probably afraid to talk about it.”

  One of Don’s deputies walked into the cafe, looked around, and spotted the sheriff. He quickly walked over to the table. “Sheriff, Chief, gentlemen.”

  “You want to sit down and have something to drink, Mark?” Don asked.

  “No, sir.” He squatted down and whispered, “Another body was found about an hour ago, Sheriff. Scattered all over the place. It’s in worse shape than that escaped convict’s body. Although I can’t imagine how that could possibly be.”

  Don cursed under his breath for a few seconds. “Where?”

  “On the north end of Bubba Bordelon’s farm. Bubba’s hired man found it. He’s pretty shook up. Had to call for the EMTs to come out.”

  “The coroner been notified?”

  “Not yet.”

  Don nodded and reached for his hat, then looked at the feds. “You boys coming along?”


  “We’ll follow you, Sheriff.”

  “I’ll be going to the house for a few minutes first.” Don glanced at the deputy. “Get in touch with Mr. Hardesty and his hounds. We’re going tracking and tree this damn animal. Tell Hardesty we’re going to stay out until we find this . . . whatever the hell it is. Tell Steve to take over until I get back. Tell Jess and Davy to get their rifles and pack some food and water for each man—enough for a twenty-four-hour period. Hiking boots and extra socks. Go!”

  Bureau and Secret Service stood up; Bureau said, “We’ll head back to the motel and change clothes. Meet you . . . where, Don?”

  “City limits sign. North end of town by the supermarket.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  In his car, Don used his car phone to call Barry and bring him up to date. “I want you with us, Barry. I think you know what’s going on here.”

  “Yes, I do. But who would believe me?”

  “Well, we’re about to find out. No press on this, Barry.”

  “Stormy and Ki are gone. Meeting with the Speaker later on today. I’ll leave a note telling them I’m helping you on a case.”

  “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  “Ten-four, as you professionals say,” Barry replied.

  Don hung up before the urge to tell Barry what he could do with his sarcasm became too great.

  Twenty-one

  “This is Phil Unger,” Don said, kneeling down by the body. “Or what’s left of him. See the tattoo on his left arm?”

  “Where is his other arm?” Inspector Van Brocklen asked.

  “We haven’t found that yet,” a deputy said. “But we did find his guts. They’re over yonder, about fifty yards, under that tree.” He pointed.

  “This is a damn shame and a disgrace!” Bubba Bordelon hollered, waving his arms. “I’m gettin’ the boys together.”

  “You do and I’ll put you all in jail, Bubba,” Don told him. “I don’t want you nitwits wandering around shooting at everything that moves.”

  “Nitwits!” Bubba squalled. “Who you callin’ a nitwit, you nigger-lovin’ son of a bitch!”

  Don stood up quickly and faced the Klan leader. “Bubba, you better put a zipper on that mouth of yours and close it up tight.”

  “This is my property, Salter! All bought and paid for and legal. You can’t tell me what to do on my own property. Phil was my friend, and by God I’m gonna avenge him.”

  “Go back to your house, Bubba,” Don told him. “Stay out of the way.”

  Bubba stalked off, muttering threats and obscenities.

  “Is he dangerous?” Agent Robbins asked. “We have only a very sketchy outline on Bordelon.”

  “So far, he and his bunch are all mouth,” Don told the Secret Service man. “But I’ve always believed he has the potential to turn violent. He’s worth keeping an eye on.” Don looked up at Barry. “What about this, Barry?” He pointed to the mangled body.

  “Don’t touch anything!” The shout came from the middle of the pasture. “Get away from there before you destroy the tracks.”

  All heads turned. A half dozen men and women were trooping across the pasture, doing their best to keep from stepping in the cow patties that littered the field.

  “What the hell . . . ?” Inspector Van Brocklen muttered.

  “I think your archaeologists and animal behavioralists and what have you have arrived,” Barry said.

  “Wonderful,” Don said. “They have such great timing.”

  A man about five and a half feet tall and about five and a half feet wide huffed to the group of lawmen. “I’m Dr. Waller,” he announced, wiping his face with a large purple bandanna. “From the university. These distinguished ladies and gentlemen with me are the leading experts in our field. They’ve flown in from various institutions of higher learning all over the United States. From left to right, Doctors Thomas Dekerlegand, Harris Ramsey, Irene Biegelsack, Gladys Dortch, Inez Hopper.”

  “A pleasure, I’m sure,” Don said with a long sigh. “I think,” he said under his breath, frowning at Barry’s ill-concealed smirk.

  “My word!” Dr. Irene Biegelsack blurted, getting her first good look at the body of Phil Unger. “Would you look at that!”

  All the Ph.D. types suddenly wanted to crowd closer to the body. Sheriffs deputies held them back.

  “Let us finish our work first, ladies and gentlemen,” Don told the group, all of them very ample in size. “Then you may make your examination.”

  “I can tell you from the size and depth of those bites, this was not done by any ordinary panther,” Dr. Ramsey said. “And look at those paw tracks. This animal weighs two hundred and fifty pounds, at least.”

  “Could we possibly have a mutant here?” Dr. Dortch questioned.

  “Oh, quite,” Dr. Hopper said.

  “Marvelous!” Dr. Waller cried.

  “Wonderful!” Dr. Biegelsack clapped her hands.

  “Oh, shit!” Sheriff Salter muttered.

  * * *

  After the pictures were taken and the deputies concluded their immediate examination, Don left two deputies with the body and walked to the center of the pasture to meet with Mr. Hardesty and his tracking dogs. Just before he left the crime scene, he overheard the Ph.D. types’ conversation:

  “Definitely caught somewhere in the evolutionary chain.”

  “Oh, definitely.”

  “Not a saber-tooth, but not yet evolved to the present panther form.”

  “Quite right.”

  “I’m thrilled at this find.”

  “I’m absolutely ecstatic.”

  “What world do these people live in?” Don asked Agent Robbins.

  “The very tight little world of academia,” the Secret Service man replied.

  “What the hell language are they speaking?” a deputy asked.

  Before anyone could reply, they all looked up at the rattle of several trucks pulling up to the fence line.

  “What the hell . . . ?” Don said.

  “Rental trucks,” Inspector Van Brocklen said, as about a dozen young men and women began pouring out of the vehicles and dropping the tailgates.

  “Those are our assistants,” Dr. Waller said. “They’re bringing in our supplies for an extended stay. Also the capture equipment.”

  “Capture!” Don blurted.

  Dr. Waller looked very offended. “Certainly. What were your plans?”

  “To kill the goddamn thing!”

  “Barbarian!” Dr. Biegelsack shrieked.

  “Unthinkable!” Dr. Dekerlegand wailed.

  “Call the president!” Dr. Hopper yelled. “The animal must be taken alive.”

  “What president?” Don asked.

  “The president of the United States, of course, you ninny!” Dr. Hopper said indignantly. “We were classmates. He’ll put a stop to your primitive urgings.”

  Barry had backed away from the main group, standing off to one side with a smile on his face.

  Van Brocklen looked heavenward. “Just think,” he muttered. “All I ever wanted to do was be a cop in Philadelphia like my daddy.”

  “Call Jacques Cousteau!” Dr. Ramsey yelled.

  “Call Marlin Perkins!” Dr. Dortch hollered.

  Don shook his head in disbelief and walked off to meet with Hardesty and his dogs.

  “Who the hell’s all them people?” Hardesty asked.

  “Scientists.”

  “You don’t say. What are they scientistin’ ’round here?”

  “Animal behavior, more or less.”

  “Hell, we got both kinds in this part of the state.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Two-legged and four-legged. Have they seen Vic Radford yet?”

  Don chuckled. “Your dogs rested and ready to go?”

  “They’re ready. What are we after, Sheriff?”

  “A panther.”

  “No kidding! Have you kept people away from the tracks?”

  “As much as we c
ould. Come on. And ignore whatever the scientists have to say.”

  “Hell, I wouldn’t know what they was talkin’ about no ways.”

  Don waved at Barry and the two deputies, Jess and Davy, who would go with him, and the men gathered around the sheriff and the dog handler. The deputies both carried 30-.06 rifles in addition to their side arms. Each had two canteens of water attached to a military-style web waist belt, and each carried a small packet of food. Don strapped on his own gear just as agents Robbins and Van Brocklen joined the group.

  Don glanced over at Barry. The man carried neither water nor food and was weaponless. “You’re traveling light, Barry. Where is the food and water I gave you?”

  “I won’t need it.”

  “Why?” Robbins asked.

  “We won’t be out here that long.”

  “You seem damn sure of that, Cantrell,” Van Brocklen challenged.

  “Just a hunch,” Barry replied evenly.

  “Your dogs got the scent, Mr. Hardesty?” Don asked.

  “They got it.”

  “Is everybody ready?”

  “Sheriff, all them kids with nets and such is right behind us,” Hardesty pointed out. “All they got’s them tranquilizer guns. And from lookin’ at these here tracks, I got to say this is a big son of a bitch we’re after, and a mean one. This cat’s tasted human blood. He’ll prob’ly attack without no warnin’.”

  He’s been doing that for hundreds of years, Barry thought. But he won’t attack us unless he’s cornered. That is, unless Jacques has gone completely around the bend.

  “They were warned to stay back,” Don said. “I’m on record as advising them to stand clear. I won’t nursemaid them. Turn your dogs loose, Mr. Hardesty.”

  * * *

  “You don’t say?” Congressman Madison said, after the aide had interrupted the meeting with Stormy and whispered in his ear. “Lots of excitement around here.”

  Ki had cut the camera at Stormy’s signal.

  “What’s going on, sir?” Stormy asked. “If I might ask.”

  “Some sort of wild animal attack outside of town. A man has been killed. The sheriff has called for tracking dogs and is out there now. It should be wrapped up quickly.”