Mystic Hearts (13 page)

Steve
joined him, shoving his gun in the front waistband of his pants. “Weed.”

Jake
walked inside and knelt. He nudged the greenery with the barrel of his gun.
“Tops are gone.”

“Wonder
what’s getting high,” Larry said as clattering echoed on the tin roof.

“There’s
your answer.” Steve tugged out his gun. “Better make sure it’s not a decoy.”

Larry
aimed his gun to toward the ceiling, twisted in a circle, and looked for
indentations in the metal, judging the weight of the intruders. There were
none.

“Just
animals,” Jake muttered.

“On
three,” Larry whispered to Steve across from him, Jake a foot behind. He held
up one finger…two…they charged outside and turned.

“Baa-aa…”

They
pointed their guns at two goats: one brown and the other black, both with
horns.

“I
can see the headlines: FBI takes down goat marijuana ring.” Steve chuckled,
lowering his weapon.

“The
uncatchable catch.” Larry grinned.

The
goat shook its head, mocking them.

“How’d
he get up on the roof?” Steve asked, sounding dumbfounded.

“Darn,
if I know,” Jake said.

“The
slope in the back.” Larry put the safety on and shoved his gun in his holster.

“More
goats magically appeared, too?” Steve reached for a baby, a kid.

“Nah,
Paul mentioned Bradley bought goats to clean up the brush,” Jake said. “Cute
kid.”

Steve
arched a brow. “I’ve never seen one up close.”

Jake
crouched next to him and petted the silky hair. “Baby goats are called kids.”

Larry
eyed the five goats surrounding them. The largest one’s dark eyes fixed on
Steve. Long hair grew under its chin, simulating a beard. It was stained yellow
against its white and black hair. Horns grew from his head at an angle, giving
him a wicked presence.

“Think
they ran over when they saw us?” Larry studied the area.

“They
had to protect the marijuana investment,” Jake said, amused.

“Looks
like the young’uns have gotten into the sauce.” Steve tilted his head to a
medium-sized goat separated from the group. It kicked his heels and pranced.

Larry
chuckled. “There’s a first.”

Steve
grasped the kid around the neck and belly and lifted. “Wild plants?”

Larry
stroked the kid behind the ear. “Cute.”

The
brown goat clicked off the roof and down the mound of dirt, baaing.

“The
mother’s getting pissed. Better drop the goat,” Jake warned.

Steve
knelt and set the baby on the ground. It ran away, bucking. The rest followed.

“This
was a waste of time.” Larry shuffled the dirt with the toe of his shoe.
“There’s black stuff on the ground that looks like raisins.”

“More
like chocolate-covered raisins, but I wouldn’t eat ‘em.” Steve chuckled.
“They’re goat droppings.”

“Delicious.”
Jake laughed.

“Come
on. Let’s find Larry’s sparkles,” Steve jested.

“The
lights came from the hilltop.” Larry motioned to the field bordering the road
and replaced his sunglasses.

Steve
slipped his sunglasses on and asked Jake, “Where’re your shades?”

“Left
them at home, and don’t give me any shit.” Jake’s voice was tight, leaving no
room for discussion.

Eyes
peeled, senses on alert, they walked through the field in the direction Larry
had seen the lights. They climbed over a stock fence, dividing the fields, and
stopped in the shade of a tree line.

“What’s
with the fence?” Steve asked.

“I
don’t know.” Knowing nothing about cattle, he had heard horses should be
careful where they stepped. Maybe the same conditions that could hurt a horse
would injure a cow. He nodded toward the bottom of the hill. “Looks like uneven
terrain around the creek. I guess the cattle could break a leg.”

“What’d
they, shoot it, like a horse?” Steve asked with mischief in his voice.

Larry
ignored him and faced Jake.

“At
twelve o’clock, twenty yards up, a piece of metal.” Jake pointed to a
reflection with the branches of the maple tree.

A
flat piece of metal, nailed to a tree, had creases to divide it into thirds,
giving a tri-fold appearance.

Larry
scanned the tree line. “Yep. Two trees down is another. I saw three to four
different lights sparkling at the same time.” He stepped backwards to see the
trees on either side. “Do you see the…”

The
earth disappeared. He dropped. “F-u-c-k!” His stomach fluttered. Darkness
greeted him. Abrasive material hit his thrashing hands. Dirt jabbed under his
fingernails. Panic clawed its way into the pit of Larry’s stomach.

He
was falling…bouncing from side to side, the interior wall taking bits of his
skin with each bump.

His
body jolted to a stop.

Air
escaped his lungs. Pain shot through his back, legs. His heartbeat boomed in
his ears.

“Damn,”
he groaned.

A
coarse surface scraped his cheek. Dirt kissed his mouth. He twisted, spit, and
looked toward the sky.

Two
forms blocked the light. Faint garbled noises drifted toward him.

Larry
sucked in a gulp in air filled with mold and mildew. He gagged.

Anxiety
threatened to control his thoughts. Another fortified breath, and he slipped
into survival mode, steadied his nerves and focused.

“Lar-ry!”

The
thumping of his heart lessened. Words became clear. The owner of the voice did
not.

“Ye-ah!”
His voice was weak. He hoped they heard him respond.

Snakes…rats
hid in wet, dark places.

Anxious
to see his surroundings, he stuck his hand in his pocket, grabbed the penlight,
and pressed the button. A small, yet bright beam lit the confined, clay space.
He shifted to test his legs.

A
rattle echoed.

He
stilled. For a fraction of a second, his brain couldn’t decipher the sound.

Another
rattle, hollow scales beat against each other.

The
originator of the noise sunk in. He tensed.

Wishing
twisted hope that he was wrong, he lowered the beam. Ice tendrils of dread
snaked down his spine.

A
snake’s head rose several inches from the dirt floor. A rattlesnake eyed him.
Its tongue snapped out and in rapidly, ready to strike.

Oh, shit!

Larry
reached for his gun and came up empty. Passing the light over the dirt, he
spotted his gun halfway between him and the venomous reptile. Any sudden moves,
the snake would strike.

“Larry!”

Jake’s
voice reached him loud and clear. He didn’t answer. Gaining strength and
courage was the only thing he could manage. Faced with this poisonous reptile,
Larry landed on the outside of his comfort zone. He hated snakes. Give him a
thug any day over one of these creatures.

“On
the count of three,” he said to himself. “One…two…” He snatched the gun.

The
snake lunged.

He shot.

Ringing
boomed in his ears. Matter splattered in every direction. The snake, less than
an inch from his arm, collapsed.

“What
the hell? Are you okay?” Steve yelled.

Larry
stuck his fingers in his ears to turn the damn noise off and gave up. He ran
his hands over his arms and body, waited for the sting to scorch his skin.
No pain, just ringing
. “I’m all right.
Snake’s not.”

“Larry,”
Steve’s low tone warned what his friend said next Larry wouldn’t like. “If
there’s one, there’re probably two.”

Larry
rolled his eyes.
Snake 101
. He wiped
his face on his shirt and checked his surroundings: the piece of grass he
stepped on, the snake’s remains, and lots of dirt. He slid backwards to the
wall, a gun in one hand, a flashlight in the other. The other snake lay
motionless. He took the butt of his gun and hit it over the head before it could
strike. Another shotgun blast would give him permanent hearing loss. “Only one.
It’s dead.”

“You
all right, buddy?” Jake asked.

Muscles
ached, and he had the beginning of one hell of a headache coming. “I’m good.”

“Do
you have rope in your truck?” Jake’s head loomed above him, blocking the light.

“Yes.”

“Throw
up the keys,” Steve said from the opening. “Or I could break a window.”

“Nah.”
With the wall’s support, Larry straightened. “You better catch them on the
first go.” Larry slipped the light into the waistband of his pants and pulled
out the keys. “Coming up.”

“Toss
them.” Steve stretched out his hand.

Muscles
strained, but Larry managed to get enough
oomph
into the throw.

Steve,
the former baseball player, snatched them out of the air. “Got’em. Be back
shortly.”

Larry
slid down the wall until his butt hit the dirt.

“What
do you see?” Jake asked.

Larry
shined the light again at the ragged walls. Dirt, his broken sunglasses, and
pieces of roots stuck out from the sides. The room looked like it had no purpose,
except...oh, shit.

“Son
of a bitch!” Jake disappeared from the edge of the hole.

“Except
to keep people out.” Larry rested his head against the wall. “He fell in a
fucking trap. Idiot!”

Jake
returned. “Steve almost bit it.”

“Whatever
the Impalers are involved in, they’re going to great lengths to stop people
from finding it. Man-made holes…lethal snakes…” He didn’t know if Jake heard
everything he said, but he was sure his friend thought the same.

“We
need a team here,” Jake insisted.

“Can’t.”
Larry stretched his achy legs, groaning. “Too many agents botch a case.”

“Hell,
the Impalers will know we’ve been here.”

“Not
if we cover it up…”

Steve
dropped to a knee beside the hole, panting. “Are you up for this?”

“Have
to be.” Larry straightened, holstered his gun and lifted the lump of grass,
covered in Astroturf, which had caused his fall. The piece was different, like
real grass, but had the thinness of a piece of carpet.

Steve
tossed down the rope. It dangled a few feet above his head.

“Can’t
reach.”

“Wait
a sec. Steve’s tying it around his waist.”

The
rope lowered. “You better walk up that wall,” Steve ordered.

“Yeah,
yeah. Done it before.” Larry stuck the penlight in his pocket, tucked the grass
in his flannel shirt, and tied the rope’s end around his waist. He needed
another surge of energy to get out.

“Ready?”
Jake asked.

He
sucked in a deep breath. “As ever.”

Thoughts
of Charlene and the kiss from this morning sent adrenaline surging through him.
He gripped the rope with both hands. Steve and Jake pulled. With men, stout as
mules, pulling him, he walked the sides easily. He reached the top, collapsed,
and rolled onto his back. “Damn.”

“You’re
one lucky SOB,” Steve puffed and sat beside him.

A
momentary shocked silence settled between them.

“What
held the grass in place?” Larry asked, huffing to regulate his breathing.

Jake
flopped down on the ground beside him. “A spider web of sticks in each corner.”

“This
is more than a small operation,” Larry groaned.

Chapter Eight

Jake’s
car drove like a dream. The motor purred, lulling Charlene into
‘daydream-land’: dreams of Larry, her thoughts alternating between fantasy and
reality.

The
confrontation with Larry on the side of the road boggled her brain. Charlene
wanted him, yet knew it was best to stay far away. Still, she couldn’t avoid
him. The instant draw of her attraction to him wouldn’t let her.

She
parked at the mall and headed to the lingerie store.

Tonight
when he visited, perhaps maybe she and he could sort out the newbie
relationship issues without having to date for months to learn about each
other. The conversation would be a little unorthodox, yet the perfect plan.
She’d didn’t want to waste time on another asshole.

After
a quick intimate purchase, she headed back to Jake’s Chevelle.

Excitement
from what possibly might happen later put a bounce in her step. She smiled at
the words, ‘kick-off’, Larry had used: so different, yet poetic in its own way.
She should talk to him about their relationship first before they resumed the
kissing, but––she peeked into her lingerie bag at the black, silk
nightie––maybe not.