Black Water (32 page)

It was time to go, so he stuffed the money back in the satchel, along with George and Matthew’s revolvers. He stood up and tucked his old .38 in his belt, picked up the backpack, slipped his arms through the straps, and jostled it comfortably between his shoulder blades. Then he leaned over, picked up the satchel, turned around, and started down the slope…

And stopped…Flat! Fucking! Dead!

Not thirty yards off stood the good doctor. Dexter Ball. Or maybe more apt, his evil twin. This one wasn’t decked out in doctor clothes, and in place o’ the little bottle to pee in, he had a .45 with a barrel the size of a cannon gripped tightly in his hand, his index finger curled comfortably over the trigger like it knew what it was doin’. The end with the big black hole was aimed straight at Hub’s gut. At Ball’s left and one step back stood One Ear, and on his right, Two Dogs—two top-drawer Seminole trackers, with eyes like eagles and noses like bloodhounds. They had feathers in their hats and pistols ever bit as big as Ball’s in their hands. Two Dogs had two short lengths o’ chain draped over his right shoulder. Hub recognized ’em. He’d seen ’em before. Manacles. They scared him more than the big bore overkill.

“Hey, Hub!” Ball chirped gleefully and chinned toward the bipedal bloodhounds. “Fuckers’re damn quiet, ain’t they?” The dark-skinned Frick and Frack smiled proudly. “You’re in one Hell of a fix, boy.” He caught the cold-steel look in Hub’s eyes and waggled the barrel of his .45 at the satchel. “Set it down.”

Knowing at the moment he had absolutely no way of running, Hub set the satchel on the ground. A jumble of thoughts rammed through his mind. The first bein’ why the Hell was Ball there? Only one reason. The money. But how would he’a known? A doctor? It didn’t make any sense. There had to be more. Was he gonna kill me? No. If he was, he’d a-done it the second I pulled the satchel out o’ the ground. Yeah, there was definitely somethin’ more.

“Boy, I wish you could see your face,” Ball said, bringin’ Hub out of his thoughts. “I didn’t think about it until yesterdee, I shoulda brought a Brownie with me.” One Ear and Two Dogs snickered.

Hub’s hand made a microscopic move to his belt and the tucked-in .38. Ball flicked his gun barrel from the direction of Hub’s gut to his nose, and the notched k-k of the hammer thumbin’ back said everthing needin’ saying. Hub felt a debilitating gloom wash over him.

“Hub? I know you’re bad disappointed, and I feel for ya. I do. A little. Thirty God Damn years, and then t’have it end like this must really hurt. But, you might as well accept it, ‘cause one way ‘r the other, your head’s goin’ back t’Oledeux. Now, it’s up t’you whether it goes still attached to your shoulders or carried back in a sack. I swear t’God, Hub, I’ll do it. Don’t fuck with me. I need proof I got you, but I’ll be damned if I’ll lug a whole, intact dead body back through what would be four or five days o’ swamp sluggin’, when I could carry out just your head in two, and I’ll bet these boys feel the same way.” The Southeastern Native American Aboriginals nodded their agreement. “I don’t mean t’rush you into a decision, but I’d appreciate it if you could make it now.”

Hub lowered his hand. Ball gestured to One Ear and Two Dogs to guard him. They moved to Hub’s ten- and two-o’clock positions, far enough apart that if Hub was quick enough to get one of ’em, the other’d get him. They set their legs, raised their straight-arm gun hands to Hub’s face, and didn’t blink. Their intent told him he’d better not, either.

Ball waggled his gun barrel to the ground. “Take off your pack. Slow.” Ball considered Hub not just a little dangerous, and if it looked like he was gonna go for the gun in his belt, he’d blow a hole right through him. He had no doubt ever move Hub made might be an attempt to get the jump on him, so he helt the .45 straight to Hub’s face. Hub wriggled out o’ the pack and set it on the ground. “Now, put your hands waaaaay up.”

Pissed, Hub’s jaw muscles worked double-time as he raised his arms over his head. It was so embarrassing.

His gun arm still helt straight out, Ball started towards Hub. When he got within ten yards, he stopped and nodded to Two Dogs. “Get the knife and the gun and chain ‘im up. Take your gunbelt off first. Lay it on the ground.”

Two Dogs holstered his weapon, unbuckled his gunbelt, and set it on the ground. Then he slid the manacles off his shoulders, laid ‘em on the ground, and walked wide around to Hub’s back. He pulled Hub’s knife from the sheath and the .38 from the holster and laid ’em on the ground. The whole time, One Ear and Ball kept their guns trained on Hub’s face. They were so notched up, if Hub farted, he was liable to die.

Two Dogs picked up the chains and, one at a time, pulled Hub’s arms down and behind his back. He snapped the manacles around his wrists and the second set around his ankles. Now that Hub was trussed up, Two Dogs thoroughly frisked him. Satisfied, he stepped back, took a deep cleansing breath, blew it out, and nodded the all-clear. Ball took his own deep breath, and he and One Ear holstered their guns. The relief was palpable. Two Dogs brought Hub’s .38 and the knife over to Ball.

“Thanks,” he said, and then, “Well, Hub, I got bad news for ya. Medical news. I’m not a doctor.”

“Really,” Hub said smartalecky, then, “You coulda fooled me.” Immediately he knew how stupid the statement was. He had fooled him. He imagined blowin’ Ball’s head off and shittin’ down his throat hole.

“But, I got even worser news than that. You’re not dyin’. Unless, o’ course, you keep swallowin’ those pills. They’ll give you an awful bellyache. Make you feel like you’re dyin’.” He gestured to the Indians. “I told these boys all about you and the pills, and they just couldn’t wait t’meet ya. Whada you think o’ my actin’ like a doctor? Pretty good, huh? The only one’s in on it was Wade and the Warden. You remember the day I gave ya the bad news? Wade wasn’t there? Just you and me? That dumb son of a bitch was supposed t’be in the room with us but he’d got so worked up worryin’ about his actin’ abilities I had t’tell him t’leave. I couldn’t take the chance he’d give it away. He said he wouldn’t leave, though, unless I promised ‘im he could stay in the other room so he could listen in. The parole board didn’t even know. The Warden told ’em t’give you a bad time, but in the end, regardless o’ how they felt, they were to put their X’s to your walkin’ papers.”

Hub was comin’ out o’ the ether. He grit his teeth, and the muscles in his neck roped up. “You son of a bitch!”

Faking hurt, Ball put his finger to his chest. “Me? No no no no no, sir! You made things a lot worse than they had t’be. What’d I tell you about takin’ more than two o’ those pills a day? I said don’t do it. No matter what. Didn’t I? You took three both yesterday and today, so you got nobody t’blame but yourself.”

It was then that Hub figured they’d been followin’ him. Watchin’ him pissin’ and shittin’ and pukin’ out his guts. Laughin’ at him.

“And, too, I went easy on you. The fellas ‘at gave me those things offered me some that’d give you the Hershey Squirts just for chuckles, but I turned it down. I figure you owe me for that.”

“I owe you f’somethin’ awright.”

“You’ll pardon me if I don’t get overly concerned. Got you wrapped up like a Christmas ham, and I don’t care if it takes a month t’get back”—he pointed to the leg irons—“those things ain’t comin’ off. If it’s a case o’ you drownin’ if they stay on, then you’re drownin’, boy. Glug glug glug.” He took another deep breath and laughed. “God Dammit, Hub, but you just made me the happiest man on Earth! I bet I get a promotion out o’ this!

“Okay, enough laughs.” He motioned a few feet to the side. “Move over there and siddown.” Hampered by the ankle chains, Hub shuffled a few feet to a fallen log. “Get the bag,” Ball told One Ear. One Ear retrieved the satchel and brought it to Ball. “Check ‘is backpack. There oughta be three or four hundred dollars in it somewhere.”

One Ear rummaged through the pack and found the rubber-banded wad. Ball took it and counted out a hundred in tens and twenties and handed it to One Ear. “You boys split that. Little bonus. You did a good job.” He smiled at Hub and added, “We’ll just say he spent it showin’ the café woman a good time.” Hub’s eyes lit up. Ball noticed and stuck the rest o’ the wad in his front pants pocket. “Shit, Hub, you ain’t been alone since you set foot out the prison gate.”

“What’d you mean by ‘gettin’ a promotion’?”

Ball smiled and pulled a thin, folded wallet-like thing out of his back pocket. “Let me introduce myself officially,” he said, and flipped it open to a badge. “Special Agent Dexter Ball, Federal Bureau of Investigation. And you, Hubert Marshall Lusaw,” he flipped the little wallet shut and put it back in his pocket, “are under arrest for your part in the robbery”—he pointed out the satchel— “o’ that money from Southern States Security, and for your part in the murder o’ the two security guards, Jack Hoff and Randolph Snodgrass.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about no robbery ‘n I didn’t kill nobody,” Hub said. He chinned to the bag. “I found that settin’ on th’porch.”

“The Komeses porch?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you think they made that kind o’ money? Raisin’ rabbits?”

“I didn’t give a shit how they got it.”

“Hub? I got you with the money. That’s all I need. Anything else is just hoohaw.” He looked through the trees at what little was left of the orangy-red glow in the west and told the trackers, “We’re not gonna start back t’night. How ‘boutchu boys set up camp and fix a little somethin’ to eat.” They moved to make camp and Ball told Hub, “It’s gonna be a long night. Dang, I wish I’d brought my Brownie.”

Long after nightfall, their butts planted on the log, Ball and the Seminoles were on one side o’ the campfire, sitting on a log, and Hub on the other, sittin’ in the dirt. Dinner was black beans, Spam, and pan biscuits. Hub was still chained, but his hands were now in front so he could manipulate his tin plate and spoon.

“So, I was given an old unsolved case to look at,” Ball was still ridin’ high, ramblin’, between smacked-mouth bites. “A robbery slash murder.” He’d been goin’ on for a while, braggin’ about his quest, equatin’ hisself with other supposedly big-name FBI guys Hub’d never heard of. Ball thought he was big shit. Hub thought he was, too.

“Fifty thousand smackers gleeped, two guards murdered and mutilated, and neither the money nor the perpetrators ever found.” Then, nodding to the top o’ the rise, “I think that was probably Hoff’s and Snodgrass’s dicks you so casually flipped away up there.” He wiped his sweaty forehead on his shirtsleeve and looked at the Indians. “You boys like ’em spicy, don’tcha?”

They nodded. They thought all white men were pussies, but they paid pretty good.

Ball took another bite and continued. “New bills, consecutive serial numbers, but nary a one ever turned up.” He took another scoop, waved the spoon around in a futile attempt to cool it off. “So… if the money didn’t show…was it still hidden somewhere? Had it been lost? Had the robbers maybe died before gettin’ the chance to enjoy it? If not, they had the patience o’ Job.” He popped more beans into his mouth and ignored the rule about talkin’ with your mouth full. “Lookin’ through a newspaper o’ the time, I found a story about a fella beatin’ a couple o’ brothers to death.” He stopped just long enough to suck some cool air over his burning lips. “Boy! They’re good tonight, but sure as shit I’m gonna regret it in the mornin’. Anyway, they’s killed the same day as the big robbery.

“No way to prove it, o’ course, ‘cause they’d been done in, but everbody figured one or both the guards was in on it. Supposedly their armored truck’d broken down, but when we went over it, there wasn’t anything wrong with it. There was speculation that the bad guys killed ’em to keep ’em quiet, and then, too, that woulda been two they wouldn’t have t’share the loot with. So I wondered, if the fellas that were killed…the brothers in the article in the paper…were the robbers, and if the fella that killed them went to prison…in that case you…was in on the heist….”

“I awready toldju I didn have nothin’ t’do with it!”

“…regardless…it still made perfect sense why none o’ the money’d never turned up. You can’t spend it if you’re dead and rottin’ in the ground or sittin’ out forty years in Angola. One and one’s two. The Komes did the heist, knocked off the guards, and you knocked off the Komeses. Bingo.” He took another bite.

“You’re a real whiz bang, ain’tcha?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty proud o’ m’self,” Ball boasted. Then he laughed at another thought. “I got the best help from the ex-Mrs. Hubert Lusaw. I chased ’er down, and when I told ‘er I was gonna bring charges against you, she just laughed and said ‘good luck.’ Said if you did have the money, I’d never get it ‘cause you’d clam up out o’ pure ornriness. Well, naturally, I didn’t tell her, but I knew if I didn’t have the money, I didn’t have diddly-piddly. It still woulda been nothin’ more than my word against yours. That’s when I cooked up the cancer thing. I told ‘er about it and said if she’d help setcha up, she might even get a little somethin’ as a reward. I told ‘er, too, that if she didn’t throw in, I’d say she was part of it, and she’d go to the gray bar as an accomplice to murder and robbery, and I tossed in obstruction to justice just t’spice it up.” He snapped his fingers. “She turned rat pretty quick then.”

He gnawed off a hank of biscuit and muffled, “I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t run into any trouble gettin’ out here, so that money she give ya? That was my idea, too.” He pruned up his face and swallowed the masticated wad of tasteless dough. “Nasty, vindictive thing, that woman, ‘n uglier’n a baboon’s butt. She come in handy, though. Yessireebob, boy. I played her, she played you.” He took another bite o’ spicy beans and shook his head, gigglin’.

KAAABLOOEE!

Looee…

Ooee…

……thundered and echoed across the swamp, and ever critter for a mile in ever direction raised a holy-helly ruckus. Two Dogs’, One Ear’s, and Ball’s arms flew up, launchin’ plates, spicy beans, greasy Spam patties, hard biscuits, and two hats with feathers, everwhere. Their heads’d snapped back and their bodies jerked off the log like God’d yanked a rope tied at their necks, flat onto their backs. The thunder rolled and tumbled until finally dissolving into the night. If Hub hadn’t been lookin’ at ’em when it happened, he’da thought they’d just disappeared. The only thing left of ’em, visually, were the bottoms o’ their boots layin’ on top o’ the log.