Dead Soul (19 page)

THE DISPATCHER
interrupted a routine report of a citizen’s lost wallet to take the Nine-One-One. Clara Tavishuts identified herself as affiliated with the Granite Creek Police Department, asked how she might be of assistance. She was swamped by a flood of words from the concerned citizen. “Yes, sir. I understand. Please identify yourself. And just in case we’re disconnected, please give me your telephone number.” She made neatly printed notes on her duty pad, jotting down the phrases arriving over the telephone line:

Ford pickup…veered off road…engine running…man in truck told me to keep away.

“Sir, is there any sign of fire or other hazard?”

There was not.

“Does the occupant appear to be injured?”

Not as far as he could tell.

“Is the occupant armed?”

Not as far as he could tell.

“Can you give me the license plate number on the subject’s vehicle?”

He could and did.

She wrote it down, asked for and got a fairly precise location. “Sir, could you stay on site while I dispatch officers to the scene?”

He could and would. But he did not intend to go near that pickup again. Something weird was going on out there.

After Clara had dispatched a pair of GCPD officers to the scene, she forwarded the license number to the state police computer for an ID.

LIFE IN
this world is never sweeter than when it is about to end. This being so, Charlie Moon had one overriding goal—to stay alive. The Ute’s tactics were simple. He prayed to God for help. And remained extremely still. Even his breathing was barely perceptible. Moreover, he assured himself that if the enormous rattlesnake scooting around on the floorboard struck at him, it would be at a location well below the knee. And even a big diamondback like this one would not be able to penetrate the tough cowhide boots under his denims. Or could it? Moon tried to recall how thick the walls of the Ropers were. Eighth of an inch? Under the grim circumstances, this dimension seemed paper-thin. He sought other avenues of reassurance. Eventually, Mr.
Togoa-vi
would slither under the seat. Maybe even behind it.
Then I’ll be outta the door faster than you can say—

He heard the distant wail of a siren. The tourist—bless his sweet soul—had called the police. Charlie Moon closed his eyes, imagined the chief of police arriving. Scott Parris was a resourceful man who always knew just what to do. When Scott understood the situation, he would call for a helicopter. Bring in that Forest Service expert who handled all kinds of snakes. He could picture the reptile wizard wielding a long pole, a loop of transparent nylon cord on the end—snagging the snake, yanking it from the cab.

Moon heard the squad car slow to a stop, fat tires crunching on roadside gravel, two car doors opening, then slamming. Scott had brought someone with him.
Thank you, God.
Things were looking up.

The Ute opened his eyes. Looked down. Supported by a massive, muscular body, the rattler’s head floated over the edge of the seat. Beady eyes locked with Moon’s, a forked tongue flicked around, scenting his fear. In a moment, the serpent was on the seat beside him, head poised over his crotch.
Oh, God. Things can’t get any worse than this
. The optimist heard a pair of familiar voices. Officer Knox. Officer Slocum.

Things can always get worse.

DESPITE THE
impediment of an artificial leg, Eddie “Rocks” Knox was two paces ahead of his chubby sidekick. “Hey, Piggy—that looks like Charlie Moon’s old bucket a bolts.”

“And that looks like Charlie’s black hat,” Officer Slocum said. “Wonder what’s happened to him now? Maybe some of them bikers’ tough buddies has caught up with him—shot him dead.”

“Nah. It’ll be a blowout on a front tire,” Knox opined. “Or maybe his steering column busted.”

Slocum found a flaw in this line of reasoning. “Then why’s he still in the truck?”

“Could be he’s broke his back. Or he’s impaled on the steering column.” The morbid possibilities were endless. This was what made police work so interesting. Knox snickered. “Or maybe he’s parked out there with a sportin’ woman.”

The plump officer thought this doubtful, and said so.

As they came near the pickup, Knox called out. “Hey, Charlie—what’n hell you doin’ out here in the sagebrush?”

The officers heard an unintelligible response from the Ute.

“He’s not moving,” Slocum said. “Can’t even turn his head. I expect he’s paralyzed or something.”

“He sounds drunk to me,” Knox said this with an old-maidish air of disapproval. “Imagine. After all these years of sobriety, ol’ Charlie’s back on the bottle.” He leaned to look in the open window at the driver. “What’s wrong with—”

“Get back.” Moon said this almost without moving his lips.

Now ‘Rocks’ Knox was not a man to take orders. Not from his own chief of police. Not from the president of these fifty United States. Certainly not from some oversized Ute Indian who wasn’t even a real cop anymore. He leaned over to get a better look inside the pickup. “Charlie, we come all the way out here to—” His normally pink face turned the color of dirty chalk. Officer Knox, who had lost his leg in a face-to-face shoot-out with a Mexican
bandito,
had never once backed down. Until now. He was two yards away from the pickup in one eighth of a second.

Officer Slocum stuttered. “Wha-wha-what is it, Rocks?”

The one-legged man was, for a moment, speechless. He sucked in a deep breath, pointed at the pickup. “Charlie—he’s got a great big rattlesnake in his lap.”

Slocum stared in incomprehension. “Why?”

“Damned if I know, Piggy. Maybe it’s some kinda pet.”

They heard Moon again, still speaking softly. “Stay away. And don’t make any loud noises.”

Knox frowned at the side of the Ute’s head. “You want us just to stand here?”

“Go back to your car. Call Scott. Tell him to bring that snake handler who works for the Forest Service.”

Both officers understood. They were not considered competent to handle the situation.

Knox set his jaw. “We don’t need no fancy snake handler. We’ll take care of this.”

“Eddie,” Moon said in monotone, “if you cause this snake to bite me, I won’t die right away. And before I give up the ghost, I will get out of this truck, yank your wooden leg off and beat you to death with it.”
It will be the last useful thing I do in this world
.

“Because you are not yourself, I am going to overlook that remark.” Eddie Knox said this with an expression of saintly patience. “Now you just sit still—and be real quiet. Me and Piggy, we will rectify this situation.”

“I give up,” Moon muttered. “Just shoot me.”

Officer Slocum offered the view that while suicide might seem to be an easy way out for the Ute, shooting him would not be strictly legal.

Knox addressed his partner with a weary shake of his head. “Charlie is just joking, Piggy. He don’t actually want us to shoot him.”

Moon looked straight ahead.
I’m good as dead.

Eddie Knox summoned Slocum to his side. “I figgered out a plan.”

The victim with the rattlesnake draped across his thighs tried not to listen.

“What we’ll do is this. We move up to the window, side by side. I’ll have my sidearm ready. You sorta wave your hand a bit, get that ol’ snake’s attention. When he raises his head up to see what’s a-goin’ on, I’ll shoot him right betwixt the eyes.”

Piggy Slocum nodded. “Yeah. That ought to work.”

Moon looked to the heavens.

The police officers moved closer.

Piggy waved hopefully to the reptile.

Eddie ‘Rocks’ Knox aimed his .357 Magnum revolver in the general direction of the snake. Which was in the general direction of Charlie Moon’s crotch.

It seemed to the team of Knox and Slocum that the plan was going well. The diamondback did raise his triangular head, focus his beady eyes on the visitors. Wanting a scent, the reptile flicked the forked tongue at this odd pair of human bipeds.

Though it was unnecessary with a double-action revolver, Officer Knox cocked the hammer. He did this for dramatic effect.

Piggy Slocum wagged his trembling hand. “Here, Mr. Snakey-Snakey.”

Knox closed one eye, sighted down the barrel. “Now hold still. Okay…gotcha.”

The potential victim knew the score.
The best that can happen is I get my leg shot off and bleed to death. Well to hell with that!
Moon snatched the deadly viper, flung it out the window.

There were shrill squeals and terrified yelps from the startled policemen. Knox’s revolver discharged, shattering the F-150 steering wheel into shards. Piggy was running backward at a full four miles per hour, and accomplishing this feat with a grace admirable in one so heavy. Knox stumbled, landed on his back, became disconnected from his artificial leg. The revolver discharged again—puncturing the truck’s gas tank. Moon exited the pickup by the passenger-side door, keeping his head low to minimize the chance of stopping the next round from Knox’s hand-cannon.

The five-foot rattlesnake departed in a huff, never again to be seen by the eye of mortal man.

“
BARROOM
,
BRAWLS
. Now a rattlesnake in your lap.” The chief of police shook his head. “Charlie, you do like to live on the edge.”

The Ute held his silence.

Scott Parris shoved a padded chair toward his friend. “Why don’t you have a seat.”

Moon continued his pacing. “Can’t afford to sit down.” He rolled his hands into fists. “Who knows when one of your fine police officers will bust in here, try to shoot a chigger off my ear.”

The former Chicago beat officer tried hard not to grin. “Eddie Knox did make a poor judgment call. But he was trying to help you out of a bad situation. And the department will pay for the repairs on your pickup.”

“Next time I see Knox, I’m going to break his
good
leg. Put him out of action permanently. It’ll be a service to the community.”

“I guess this would be a bad time to tell you that Officer Knox intends to file a complaint against you.”

Moon paused in his pacing, looked blankly at his friend. “What did you say?”

“He intends to charge you with reckless endangerment.”

“Scott, I’ve had a pretty tense afternoon—do not kid around with me.”

“It’s no joke. He claims you purposely threw a venomous reptile at him.” Parris cleared his throat. “With malicious intent.”

Moon continued to stare at the chief of police. “You know, now that you mention it, I do feel some malicious intent. Take me to Knox and I will provide him with some hard evidence.”

Parris chuckled. “I’ve never seen you quite so worked up.”

The Ute clenched and unclenched his hands. “I should’ve tied that rattlesnake around his neck.”

“You can do that later. Right now, we got more important issues to be concerned about. Like how did that snake get into your pickup.”

Moon closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Exhaled.

Parris pressed on. “I found a grass sack behind the seat. It’d been tied, but apparently not very tight. Somebody intended for the snake to get free.”

Moon nodded. “Somebody who don’t send me Christmas presents.”