Blanco County 03 - Flat Crazy (4 page)

6

TUESDAY MORNING, JOHN Marlin woke before sunrise to a warm tongue scraping like sandpaper across his cheek. He turned his head and tried to ignore it, but that didn’t stop the young dog from climbing across his head to get to the other side, planting a paw squarely on Marlin’s ear as it went.

The licking continued.

Marlin covered his face with a pillow, but in a matter of seconds, the determined pup burrowed underneath and continued the assault.

“Okay, you win,” Marlin muttered, raising up on his elbows. The gangly pup knelt on her front paws, butt in the air, and yapped. This was her I-want-to-go-outside bark, and Marlin had become intimately familiar with it. In fact, his alarm clock was quickly becoming obsolete.

Marlin pulled the covers back and the dog leapt to the floor, excited now, dashing back and forth, barely able to contain herself.

Her name was Geist and she was a seven-month-old foundling. The previous July, Marlin had discovered her whimpering in the darkness, dehydrated, hopelessly lost in the middle of a large ranch. Marlin had saved the pup’s life—that’s what the vet had told him later.

But looking back on it now, considering everything that had been happening in his life the past summer, Marlin liked to think it was Geist who had come along at just the right time.

Two hours later, Marlin was driving down A. Robinson Road when he passed the gate to the Shorthorn Ranch. Maggie Mason, the owner, lived in Dallas and made it to the ranch about twice a year at most. She was a widow and had inherited the ranch from her deceased husband’s side of the family. Maggie was not particularly fond of hunting, and she usually called Marlin at the beginning of each deer season, asking him to keep an eye on the place. They both knew poachers would be tempted to trespass in Maggie’s absence. That’s why there shouldn’t have been tire tracks going into the ranch. And yet there they were, fresh in the mud from Saturday’s light rain.

Marlin reversed, then swung up to the gate. Even before he climbed out of his truck, he could see that the chain was hanging loose and the lock was gone.

Duke Waldrip needed to talk to Kyle about the animal situation, so he drove over to the Macho Bueno Ranch, sorting things out in his head along the way.

This was the second animal they’d lost—but the first one, Duke had to admit, had been his own fault. Hadn’t used enough tranquilizer on a jackal. When Gus hauled old man Raines over to shoot it, the damn thing was nowhere to be found. Hadn’t seen it since. Coyotes probably got it. Duke had fixed the problem the next time around, dosing the second jackal with enough drugs to keep it from wandering. Duke had been lucky to find another one so quickly. But this new escapee would be much harder to replace, Duke knew.

Oddly, Duke felt remarkably calm about the Oliver Searcy fuckup. There hadn’t even been anything on the news yet. And once there was, as long as he and Gus kept quiet, nobody would ever know Duke had guided Searcy on a hunt. Chances were good that Kyle didn’t even know Searcy had set foot on the ranch. Duke couldn’t remember specifically mentioning Searcy’s name to Kyle, but if he had, it was doubtful Kyle would remember, being half blitzed most of the time. Kyle didn’t seem to care who Duke brought out to the ranch, as long as Duke kept feeding him some of the profits. Like he really needed the money.

Kyle’s daddy had been a big-time oilman, a millionaire before he turned thirty. When the old man died three years ago, Kyle was the sole heir to the fortune. Had to be something like twenty million bucks, according to the newspapers. Since then, Kyle had lived a life of fast women, fast cars, and expensive drugs. In other words, nothing had changed at all. Kyle had always driven in the fast lane, and there were times when Duke went along for the ride.

Like nine years ago. They were riding in Kyle’s Lotus outside Houston, and Kyle had decided they should rob a liquor store. Just for kicks. “Hell, let’s try something new,” Kyle had said, high as a kite. If Duke hadn’t been so drunk, he never would have done it. Or if Kyle hadn’t bet him ten grand he didn’t have the balls. So Duke went in alone, ended up shooting the slant-eyed clerk in the leg, and the whole scene was captured on video. It didn’t take long for the cops to come calling, and for Duke to end up in Huntsville for four years. Shit, it could have been longer, if it wasn’t for the overcrowded Texas prison system. Sure, Kyle had paid for Duke’s lawyer, and he had even given Duke twenty grand in cash to keep his name out of it. But now Duke was an ex-con with a violent crime on his record.

That’s what made the Searcy situation so dicey. Even if he managed to skate on the killing, the game violations and the fraud were enough to send him back to the joint.

Besides, who would believe that Duke had killed Searcy in self-defense? The grand jury would string him up like a piñata and hand the district attorney a cane. And even if Duke
had
claimed self-defense and called the cops, they would have dug into his business and eventually nailed him for the hunting scams.

Okay then, Duke felt like he had done the right thing. He knew he’d probably have to answer some tough questions at some point, but he was prepared for that. With a little coaching, Gus would be, too.

One other loose end nagged at Duke’s insides. What about Searcy’s trophy mount? It had Duke’s fingerprints all over it, inside and out. Should he try to find out where Searcy lived and go get it back? Duke figured that was probably overkill, at least for the moment. Hell, the heat wasn’t even on yet. No sense in putting himself at risk if he didn’t have to.

The best thing to do was to go back to life as usual. That meant trying to round up the escaped animal—or get ahold of another one—so Raines could shoot the damn thing and Duke could collect his money.

Marlin followed the tire tracks until the mud ended and turned to hard-packed caliche. He continued along the rough road, hoping to find soft ground that would reveal additional tracks.

Four hundred yards farther, he came to a Y in the road and kept to the right. He followed it for a few minutes, until he reached a muddy spot where a seasonal stream crossed the road. No tracks. He returned to the Y and went left this time. The road made a slow, sweeping curve, then crested a small hill. Coming over the rise, Marlin immediately spotted a blue vehicle a hundred yards away. As he neared, he identified it as a Ford truck. Fairly new, judging from the looks of it. The cab appeared to be empty, and the driver’s door was open.

Marlin grabbed his radio mike. “Seventy-five-oh-eight to Blanco County.”

“Blanco County, go ahead seventy-five-oh-eight.” It was Darrell Bridges, one of the dispatchers for the sheriff’s department.

“Darrell, Bobby told me yesterday about a missing hunter….”

“Yeah, his wife called again this morning.”

“Can you give me his plate number?”

“Uh, yeah, hang on a sec.”

Marlin shifted his gaze to the license plate on the truck in front of him.

Darrell came back and recited the number.

It matched, just as Marlin figured it would.

Duke felt the usual pangs of envy as he pulled through the entrance to the sprawling Macho Bueno Ranch. It always made him do a slow burn, this place. Here he was, working his ass off year in and year out, and he’d never own a place like this. All Duke and Gus had was the old Waldrip homestead, a stone house on twenty acres. But Kyle, hell, he’d had it handed to him on a platter. Didn’t seem right. Even though Duke and Kyle had been best friends since childhood, their properties sharing a common fence line, it always nagged at Duke that Kyle had it so easy. When Duke and his Gus were young, before they could drive, they’d hop the fence behind their house and follow a worn trail to Kyle’s place, marveling the whole time at how big the ranch was.

Duke parked in front of the massive ranch house, which, like a lot of homes in Texas, was built from large slabs of limestone, durable cedar-plank siding, and seamless metal roofing. The place was huge and rugged and a little bit overstated, just like the whole damn state.

Walking to the front door, Duke heard a shriek—part giggle and part scream—coming from behind the house.
Cheri,
Kyle’s current girlfriend. Oops, check that. Cheri was Kyle’s wife now, at least on paper. The two of them had flown to Vegas two weeks ago. Kyle had gotten wasted and married, in that order. He was planning on having it annulled.

Duke couldn’t blame him. Cheri wasn’t the type you married. She was the type who’d look right at home with a wad of dollar bills sticking out of her G-string. Lots of brittle bleached hair. Long painted nails. A fake tan, even in the winter.

Duke followed a bordered path around the side of the house and found Kyle and Cheri wrestling in the hot tub in back, next to the swimming pool. The recreational area at the rear of the house—pool, tennis courts, barbecue pit, picnic tables—had an astounding fifty-mile view of the Hill Country. But Duke was distracted by another breathtaking view: Cheri, topless, her pendulous fake breasts swinging to and fro while she and Kyle played grab-ass. Damn. He might not like the girl much, but she had a tight little body on her. Wasn’t bashful about showing it off, either.

“Couldn’t afford the whole suit?” Duke said as he pulled up a chair on the patio.

Kyle and Cheri managed to shake their lust long enough to realize they had a visitor.

“There he is, Mr. Sunshine,” Kyle bellowed, liquor in his voice. “Done snuck up on us. What’s up, big man?”

Cheri giggled. She was always doing that. Giggling like a simpleton every time Kyle said something. Maybe Duke should set her up with Gus. The two pea brains would probably have a lot to talk about.

“I’ve always wanted to ask you something, Cheri,” Duke said. “If you were on a plane that went down in the ocean, would those two things act as flotation devices?”

Cheri looked down at her gently bobbing orbs, then looked back at Duke, confused. “No, I don’t think so. God, what a weird question.”

“Aw, give her a break,” Kyle said. “Grab yourself a drink.” He pointed toward a wet bar beneath the latticed arbor.

Duke walked over, filled a glass with ice, and grabbed the lone bottle of vodka on the bar. Empty. He turned back to Kyle and shook the bottle back and forth.

“Hey, baby?” Kyle said.

“Whattie?” Cheri replied.

“Would you run in the house and get another bottle of vodka?”

“What am I, your slave? Go get it yourself.”

Duke smiled. He liked to see Cheri giving it to Kyle that way.

“Don’t be a bitch, Cheri,” Kyle said. “Can’t you see I’m talking to Duke here?”

Cheri glared at him. “Baby, it wouldn’t hurt to say
please
now and then.”

“Pleeease.” Lots of sarcasm.

Cheri rolled her eyes and climbed out of the hot tub.

“That’s my girl,” Kyle said.

As she strutted toward the house, Kyle called out, “Have I told you lately that you love me?”

Cheri responded by flipping him the bird over her shoulder.

Kyle laughed. “God, I love to watch that girl walk, don’t you?”

Duke gave a grunt.

“Damn, you’re in a pissy mood,” Kyle said. “Need to get laid or what? Maybe Cheri’d be willing to help you out.”

Kyle, trying to be funny. What Kyle didn’t know was that Duke had already been there and done that. Several times.

“Naw, man, it’s this damn Raines thing. It’s a package deal, and he ain’t payin’ until he gets his last animal. Tell me again what happened.”

“Simple. I went to check on his last animal and it was gone.”

Duke pulled a pack of smokes out of his pocket and lit one up. “Just like that? Gone?”

“As in not present. No longer there. Adios, muchachos. Sayonara and—”

“Awright, enough already. I get it.” Duke was in no mood for Kyle’s smart-ass bullshit. “How’d it get out?”

“Wish I knew. Checked on it two days ago and it was fine. Mean as a damn grizzly, but fine. Yesterday, the cage was wide open and it was gone.”

Duke grimaced.

“Man, what’s the big deal?” Kyle said. “Just call one of your buddies and get another one.”

“My problem is, it never should have gotten loose in the first place. Know what I mean?”

Kyle set his drink down on the concrete beside the hot tub. “Hey, now, don’t blame it on me. You want to use my ranch, fine. But keepin’ ’em locked up—I don’t remember applying for that particular job. I ain’t no goddamn zookeeper.”

“But damn, Kyle, how hard is it to make sure the cages are locked?”

“Man, that’s your deal, not mine.”

Duke knew Kyle was right. But still, there was something about Kyle that was damn irritating. Always had an answer for everything. Duke rattled the ice in his glass and looked toward the house, wishing Cheri would hurry the hell up with the vodka.

“Like I said,” Kyle continued, “just get on the phone and round up another one.”

“Snap my fingers and make it happen?”

“Isn’t that how things work?”

“Maybe in your world.”

Finally, Cheri emerged from the house, carrying a bottle of Stoli. About damn time.

“Besides,” Kyle said. “How hard can it be for them to find another hyena? Worthless damn animals, if you ask me.”