Rumble on the Bayou (21 page)

"I can't think of anything we missed, and unfortunately, don't know the man well enough to pass judgment on his honesty. Do you think he lied about anything?"

"I don't know," she said, pushing open the door to the warehouse. "Something doesn't feel right, but I can't put my finger on it. Let me make sure this gets handled, and then we'll get back to our business. I'll think a bit on our conversation with Buster and maybe something will hit me later."

Richard nodded and they stepped into the warehouse to witness Gator Bait's most dangerous problem firsthand.

C
HAPTER TEN

The smell of fresh shrimp and fish assaulted Richard's nose as they followed a crowd of people through the warehouse doors. Suddenly, everyone in front of him stopped, and he dug in his heels to keep from running into someone. Peering over Dorie's shoulder, he tried to determine what the holdup was and got an immediate answer.

A couple of feet in front of them was the alligator, and he was huge, every bit fifteen feet. Perched in the middle of a giant pile of shrimp, with a good portion of the pile hanging out of his mouth, he seemed to glare at everyone, almost daring them to make him give up his supper. Every time someone moved, he swung his head in their direction, rose up on his giant claws, and all crowd movement ceased.

A door at the far end of the warehouse opened with a bang against the metal wall, and Richard saw people scrambling to move to the side. It looked like Moses parting a sea of people, and he couldn't help but wonder what in the world was coming now. He stretched up on his toes, trying to see over the crowd of people, but all he could make out was a mop of brown hair moving slowly through the warehouse. When the hair got to the crowd in front of the alligator, everyone shifted again, and a man stepped through.

"That's Curtis," Dorie whispered. "Wildlife and Fisheries keeps him on retainer for this sort of thing. He's fantastic."

Richard gave her comment a lot of weight, considering the source, and strained to get a better look at the man Dorie called fantastic, hoping he didn't have competition he couldn't compare with. When the crowd parted just enough so he could see, he was more confused than ever. Curtis was small, maybe five-foot-four and a hundred twenty pounds with clothes and shoes and if he stood in a monsoon.

"Fantastic at what?" Richard asked. "Being bait?"

Dorie gave him a grin. "That's another good one, Dick. Your true colors are coming through." She nodded toward Curtis, who now stood directly in front of the alligator. "You've heard of a horse whisperer?"

"Yes, I saw the movie," he replied. "How did we get off on horses?"

"Curtis is sort of an alligator whisperer," Dorie continued. "He's had write-ups in all the wildlife magazines."

He stared at her, certain she was pulling his leg, but she looked back at him, a completely serious expression on her face. He gave Curtis another good look and turned back to Dorie. "That man only has three fingers on his right hand."

Dorie shrugged. "That gator was blind. It was a fluke."

"A fluke? The man lost his fingers to a fluke?" He shook his head in disbelief and as the crowd grew quiet, he turned back to watch the clinically insane Curtis.

Curtis took a step closer to the alligator, who rose immediately on his enormous claws and looked directly at the man, obviously ready to strike. Curtis held his left hand out in front of him, palm up. Then he turned the palm to face the alligator, making a stop gesture, his eyes never leaving the alligator's.

They held in that pattern for about thirty seconds, then the alligator slowly began to lower. When the alligator lay down again, Curtis walked right up to his nose and squatted in front of him. He moved his hand in a circular pattern, then began to speak, but Richard was too far away to hear the words.

Curtis reached over and stroked the alligator on the nose, still speaking in a low voice. The alligator's eyes began to close as if sinking into a deep sleep. When his eyes shut completely, Curtis motioned to the crowd and someone passed him a duffle bag. He unzipped the bag, never disturbing the sleeping alligator, and removed a metal clamp, which he placed around the alligator's mouth. Then he reached inside the bag again and drew out what looked like plastic booties.

He placed the plastic booties around each claw on the alligator and clamped them at the top. When the last foot was done, Richard heard a collective sigh of relief, then a quiet cheer went up in the room. Realizing he had been holding his breath along with everyone else, he let out a whoosh of air.

The double doors behind them opened and a man on a small crane drove into the warehouse. Curtis rolled the alligator from one side to another and placed some belts around the creature. When the belts were attached to the crane, he motioned to the operator, who lifted the alligator off the floor and began to proceed out of the warehouse.

"What about the clamps?" Richard asked as the crane moved toward the water.

"Curtis will remove the clamp on his mouth before releasing him. The gator will work the plastic ones off in a matter of minutes. It's just a safety precaution. One of those claws could slit a man from end to end."

He nodded, still not quite believing what he'd just seen. "Why isn't Curtis in Hollywood? He could make a fortune hosting one of those silly wildlife shows."

Dorie shook her head. "He tried once to talk to an alligator in Florida. It doesn't work the same."

"Different dialect?"

Dorie smiled. "Maybe. Either way, Curtis is kept plenty busy right here. Besides, he makes sixty, maybe seventy thousand every year during alligator season. He doesn't really have to work but a couple of months out of the year. Spends the rest of it drinking beer and playing poker at the casino in Lake Charles"

"Sixty or seventy thousand?" Richard said, amazed. "Unbelievable"

"Not if you know where to find them and how to kill them without them killing you. Since Curtis doesn't use guns, there's no damage to the hides or the skulls. He gets top dollar for his catch."

"So how does he kill them?"

"He slits their throats."

He was taken aback for a moment at both the directness and the content of her answer. "And that's all right with you? I mean, I thought you were all about animal rights and such."

Dorie thought for a moment and shook her head. "It's not like that exactly. I run the game preserve. In the preserve, different rules apply. Besides, you can't let alligators populate under protection forever or you'd have ten times more of them than people in a couple of years' time. Our goal in the preserve is to keep the alligator from becoming extinct and provide them a safe place to exist, not help them take over the world."

He nodded, trying to comprehend the delicate balance Dorie must have in her mind to be able to support both preserving and hunting the same animal. "What's next?" he asked. “The boat store?"

Dorie looked up at the sky. "Yeah. We better get a move on. It took longer here than it should have. We'll be running late meeting Joe unless we hurry."

As they began to walk back up Main Street, Richard heard a big splash. He turned and saw the alligator pop up on top of the water. The creature shook his head for a moment, then submerged completely and was gone. Richard looked at the small man sitting on a crate on the dock calmly smoking a cigarette. Ripley's Believe It or Not had nothing on Gator Bait, Louisiana. He hoped things at the boat shop weren't quite as exciting.

***

Oblivious to all of the happenings at the shrimp house, Joe walked into Pete's Bar and took a seat at the counter. It was still early, not quite five o'clock, and the place was empty except for him and Pete. Which is just the way Joe wanted it.

Pete came out of the storeroom and gave Joe a nod. "What can I get you, Joe? Soda?"

"No. I think I'll take a beer."

Pete looked surprised. "Don't tell me it's after five already." He glanced down at his watch. "It's not quitting time, Joe. You having a beer before quitting time?"

"I am today."

Pete gave him a curious look and popped the cap off a bottle of beer. He walked over to Joe and sat the beer on the counter. "What's wrong? I haven't seen you this worried since your daddy caught you peeing in the baptismal at church."

Joe sighed. "I was six years old, Pete."

"I know. That's my point. So what is it that's driving you to drink at four-thirty in the afternoon on a weekday?"

Joe took a sip of his beer and thought about how to proceed. "You know about this DEA agent that's in town, right?"

"Yeah. He's been in here a couple of times. You saw him the first time he was in. He came back again a day or two after that. We had a pretty good conversation."

"Really? What in the world did the two of you have to talk about?"

Pete shrugged. "He wanted some information on the people in Gator Bait. Major players. I knew Dorie had decided to help him out, so I figured if I could give her a hand, why not. I told him the names of everyone that owned businesses and such and a little about the people themselves. Nothing much, really."

Joe took another drink of his beer and considered this bit of information. "So he had already decided before he ever arrived in Gator Bait that someone who lived here was involved. It might have been nice for him to let the rest of us in on that from the beginning.”

Pete gave Joe a look. "l got the idea that he didn't want you or Dorie put out because he might be arresting one of your friends. It didn't take him long to figure out how close Dorie is with most everyone in town. If someone here is involved in something like what Dick's looking into, it's going to be a real blow to her."

Joe nodded. "I know. It already is." He put his beer down on the counter and looked Pete squarely in the eyes. "Someone tried to kill them today."

Pete dropped the basket of peanuts he was holding and it fell to the floor. "What? What do you mean tried to kill them? Where at? Are they all right?"

"Yeah, they're fine," Joe said, trying to read the expression on Pete's face for any indication of guilt, but only came up with horror and disbelief. "Someone had been squatting at Buster's camp. They went back today to check it out for any changes, and someone took a couple of shots at them." No use telling everyone that a crazy drug dealer was running around firing an automatic weapon in broad daylight, Joe decided.

Pete shook his head and leaned against the counter. "Someone shot at them during the day? That's serious business, Joe. I don't have to tell you that. What in the hell are you doing about it?"

"Exactly what Dorie didn't want to have to do - question everyone in town and try to find a motive for why anyone would be involved in this sort of mess."

"Well, look at me all you want, but don't waste too much time here. I don't want that shooter getting away. I just can't believe it. Fifty-two years I've lived in this town and nothing like this." He shook his head. "Nothing even close. If I didn't know you, Joe, I'd swear you were lying."

"I know. It doesn't seem right, does it? Anyway, I just wanted to ask you a few questions, a formality really."

Pete picked the basket off the floor and placed it on the counter behind him. "Sure, shoot," he said and realizing his words, stammered a bit, "ugh, I mean, go ahead."

"When was the last time you were at your camp?" Joe asked.

"Last weekend. I went to mow."

"Any sign of a break-in? Anything out of order? And I mean anything at all, even something tiny?"

Pete thought for a moment and shook his head. “No, nothing at all. It was the same as it always is."

Joe nodded. "What about your boat? Have you loaned it to anyone lately? Been away from the dock at any time that you didn't know where it was?"

"Buster borrowed it this morning to pick up a couple of crab traps over in the channel. He said his flat bottom wouldn't start."

Joe nodded and made another note. "That's the only time, then?"

“
Yeah. Aside from mowing, I haven't had it out lately. Been too busy arranging shipping detail with Stella."

"Stella?" Joe said, feeling a bit confused. "What in the world would the two of you be shipping together?"

Pete shook his head. "We're not shipping the same thing. It's just that we both have to pay a ton extra for the vendors to deliver here in Gator Bait. Her boat parts and motors, my alcohol and frozen food, Sammy's grocery stock, too, and none of us have the storage for a full truckload. We end up paying full delivery prices for a quarter of a truck of merchandise."