The Dummy Line (11 page)

Standing silently along the creek’s edge, Reese listened for his prey. His shortcut through the woods had worked. He was about half a mile from the Dummy Line. He could hear a vehicle speeding east.
That has be Johnny Lee’s killer and his kid. He musta seen Tiny and Sweat and they flushed him back my way. If I coulda been here a few minutes earlier, I’da killed him as he drove by—just like shootin’ a rabbit.
The killer had nowhere to run. There were only two ways out, and they were blocked.
This guy’s screwed and payback’s comin’.
Reese smiled at the thought.

Reese flipped open the phone, found Tiny’s number, and hit Send.

Beep-beep
. No response.

Beep-beep
. Again no response.

“Dammit,” he said aloud.
Tiny never remembers to carry his phone. Hell, the lardass couldn’t even remember to turn it on. He drives me crazy. I gotta do all the thinkin’. I hate incompetence.
Off to his right a pack of coyotes started howling.

Poaching and drinking while driving were Reese’s favorite pastimes, and most of the time he combined them. It had been several years since Reese had been poaching on this property. The timber was a bit bigger now, but he knew where he was and where he was going.

I’ll kill the kid first—that’ll really punish him—and then I’ll steal his truck,
Reese thought. After everybody was back at Johnny Lee’s trailer, he could send Tiny to hide the truck until they could either paint it or fence it in Meridian. They’d have to get their story together and say Sweat shot Johnny Lee by accident as they were loading up to go turkey hunting. Nobody ever got convicted—or even charged—in a hunting accident. That made sense. Plus, they had the trump card—the killer’s old lady. That guaranteed cooperation. After they inflicted all sorts of pain and suffering on him and the woman, they’d simply shoot both of them between the eyes.

Reese knew to temper his revenge with caution. They needed to get out of here before daylight. He glanced at his fake Rolex and smiled; it was not quite 2:21 a.m. Time was on his side.

The shooting house was filthy. It was full of leaves, spider webs, and what appeared to be some sort of a nest in the far corner. Elizabeth felt around, hoping to find something useful. All she discovered was a hunting magazine, two empty Mountain Dew cans, an empty rifle cartridge, and one unopened can of what she thought was pork and beans. A swivel chair was in the opposite corner. She tried it but was more comfortable on the floor, with her foot elevated.

Slowly and silently she looked out the small opening again. Nothing, but she could hear a four-wheeler not too far off. She settled back down and wondered about Tanner.
He fought for me and I ran. I had to,
she told herself. It was killing her. She prayed that he was OK. She wanted to go home.

Suddenly she had an idea. She eased up on her knees to take another look down the road. The coast was clear. She took off her fleece jacket, then took off her shirt and tied one of the long sleeves into a knot at the wrist. She slid the can of beans into the arm. She twisted the shirt until it was tight, then put back on her fleece jacket, and zipped it up tight.
I’m gonna fight like hell…like Tanner did,
she thought, as she brushed her hair behind her ears and let out a deep breath.

She settled in to wait. After several minutes, she could hear someone walking on the road. On her knees, she peeked but couldn’t see him yet. Her heart was racing as she clenched her weapon. A little more than a hundred yards away, she began to see his outline coming toward her. Every few feet, he shined a small flashlight on the ground. She watched until he was almost to her when she realized that he was following her footprints. She wanted to scream.
How could I be so stupid
? She was cornered.

She watched him walk by without so much as looking up, and then suddenly he stopped. He flashed his light around on the ground, turned around, and backtracked a few steps. Then he quickly flashed the light up at the deer stand. She ducked down, hitting one of the empty cans.

In the moment of silence after the can rattled, she could hear the four-wheeler coming closer.
Who’s that? Is someone gonna help me?

“Hey, little girl…you got a real man comin’ up to see you…not some schoolboy!” he said, licking his lips.

Elizabeth huddled in the corner of the shooting house and prayed.

“You’ll never be the same after me. You’ll throw rocks at all them college boys after you’ve had a little of this!” he said and snickered as he approached the shooting house. His sadistic laughter and lewd comments made her hyperventilate.

Suddenly she felt the structure shake. She couldn’t see who was shaking the shooting house but saw the fat guy with the pistol drive up on a four-wheeler. She let out a bloodcurdling scream. The shooting house rocked more and more as the goon climbed higher. Then the door shook, but it didn’t open immediately.

“Sweat…is that the girl up there?” the fat guy called as he slowed to a stop.

“Yeah, man, but you’re gonna hafta let me bring her down there for you. This ladder ain’t gonna hold yo big ass!” Sweat said with a laugh.

Elizabeth curled into a ball, praying the latch would hold.

“Leave her alone, man. I can’t let you hurt her!” Tiny hollered up at Sweat.

“Shut the hell up!” Sweat said as he worked his hand between the door and the frame.

“I’m serious, man. I ain’t gonna let you hurt her,” Tiny replied, climbing off the four-wheeler.

“You and whose army’s gonna stop me?” Sweat answered as he splintered the plywood door with his hands. He threw the pieces to the ground and, like Jack Nicholson’s character in
The Shining
, stuck his head inside, smiled, and said, “Heeeeerrrrreeeee’s Johnny!”

WHACK!
The sound of the can smacking Sweat’s nose could be heard a hundred yards away.

Sweat rocked back, dazed, then slipped off the ladder. When he hit the ground, he bit off the tip of his tongue.

Elizabeth rushed down what was left of the ladder. She climbed as low as she could and jumped. Landing on her good foot, she rolled as she had learned in cheerleading camp.

Sweat reached out and caught her as she stood up. He slapped her as hard as he could, knocking her down. Then he kicked her in the ribs. The salty taste of his blood was making him crazy.

Tiny jumped on Sweat’s back. Sweat stumbled, but he still had Elizabeth solidly by the jacket. Sweat was dazed and confused and covered in his own blood.

“Let her go!” Tiny screamed, trying to hold on to Sweat.

“Get off me, you fat bastard. I’ll kill you, too! You sumbitch!” Sweat yelled as he struggled to stand.

Elizabeth was screaming, trying to pull herself free. Tiny was choking Sweat with his weight and grip around his neck. Sweat was not letting go of either one of them. They finally fell in a pile. Tiny landed squarely on Sweat. Elizabeth screamed in terror. They all lay in the road for several seconds. Elizabeth was trapped but was scrambling to regain position. As Sweat got to his knees, Elizabeth suddenly stood. He still had a grip on the bottom of her fleece but not her right arm.

WHACK!
She hit him again in the side of the head, breaking a cheekbone and stunning him. As she slipped from his grip, her jacket ripped and came off. With her ankle throbbing, she ran the best she could. Her strides became a one-legged hop, but nevertheless she was getting away. And she still had her weapon. Elizabeth continued down the Dummy Line, never looking back.

Sweat watched her run while he fought with Tiny. Now that he didn’t have to hold the girl, he rolled Tiny on his back and punched him several times as hard as he could. Tiny simply curled into a giant fetal position and tried to absorb the beating.

Sweat finally got to his feet. He was wet all over. By the four-wheeler’s headlights, he could see that it was blood. His hands hurt, part of his tongue was gone, and his face was on fire. Every heartbeat sent flashes of pain through his face. He looked at his hands, down the road toward the girl, then down at Tiny. Then he kicked the crap out of Tiny one more time.

“You stupid asshole!” he growled. He spat a gob of blood on Tiny, wiped his face with his shirtsleeve, and then staggered after the girl.

After only twenty-five yards, Sweat stopped. He bent over and placed his hands on his knees. He had swallowed a large amount of blood and was about to puke.
She’s a fighter. I like that.
He had been able to catch that skinny boy by surprise. That was his trademark. He wasn’t expecting her to attack him, catch him off balance.
What the hell did she hit me with
?
It felt like a brick. Bitch broke my nose.

Standing quietly in the moonlight, Sweat could see her limping down the road.
She’s hurt
. He smiled at the thought, blood trickling down his chin. He spat hard. She’d be easy to catch now.

Sweat turned and stared at Tiny moaning and unable to get up. “What the hell’s your problem, man? I don’t want to hurt you. We’re partners, dude, but you was way out of line. Ain’t nobody gonna keep me away from a taste of that sweet stuff.”

Glancing back at Elizabeth, he lusted after her athletic build and long legs. She had dark hair like that of a Cajun girl he had loved once. Seeing her in that black bra and jeans just made it worse. He couldn’t believe his good fortune.
To hell with Reese and Johnny…I now got my own business to tend to.

Sweat knew his injuries weren’t life-threatening. They hurt like hell, but he wouldn’t let them distract him. Four years ago while working as a flunky for a fishing guide near Lake Charles, he had been high and accidentally put the gas nozzle in a rod holder. Fifty gallons later, the transom was full of gas. He cranked up and was idling back to the boat ramp when he lit a cigarette. That’s all he remembered. He had sustained serious burns on his legs and feet, but if he hadn’t been blown into the water, it could have killed him. Since then, the pores of his skin had not functioned properly, so he smelled bad all the time. Shortly after the explosion, his dark-haired girlfriend had dropped him and taken up with an offshore mechanic. As soon as Sweat recovered, he tracked her down and then beat her nearly to death. He had left Louisiana with a taste for abusing women. It was a release he craved.
And this little half-naked teenage sorority bitch is just what I need
.

Tiny acted seriously injured so Sweat would leave him alone. He could hear Sweat walking off in the gravel and mud. Sweat had landed several good shots to his ribs, and it burned when he tried to breathe. He got to his knees and thought,
I can’t let him hurt that girl.
He finally stood and, with no small amount of effort and pain, straightened up. He slowly shuffled to the four-wheeler and painfully swung a leg over the side. He sat there for a few minutes, thinking, watching Sweat walk after the girl.
Where’s Reese, and where’s the dude who shot Johnny Lee?
He cranked the four-wheeler, shifted into low gear, and eased his thumb on the gas.