The Demon Pool (26 page)

It had been more than ten years since Pedro de la Garza
had last visited the old family estate. His conversations with the Highway
Patrol trooper had triggered a deep-seated sense of family pride and personal
outrage at the way his father’s claim on the property had been so callously
disregarded by the government.

His crew had finished their work early that day,
but for the first time in several years, his melancholic temperament did not
drive him to the Pit Stop, his usual after work drinking establishment.
Instead, he pointed his pickup truck toward Ft. Myers. Dark wasn’t for another
couple of hours. He would visit the old estate. He would think with a clear
brain, without the cloud of alcohol that usually preceded his passage into the
darker places of mind and memory.

Good Tejano music boomed from the truck’s stereo
system. It was one of the few things that could lift Pedro’s spirits. He had first
experienced the unique sounds of Tejano, or Tex-Mex as some called it, on
liberty in Saigon. In a bizarre little drinking establishment that catered to
Mexican-American soldiers.

Many of the soldiers he met there were on
R&R, rest and recuperation, from the C
ủ
Chi tunnels, the vast Vietcong tunnel complex seventy kilometers northwest of
Saigon. These were men of small stature, but enormous courage, that would enter
a Vietcong tunnel armed only with a gun, knife and flashlight. Even the
Vietnamese bargirls, half of whom were probably Vietcong themselves, treated
these soldiers with respect. Although Pedro was not Mexican, he felt
comfortable with the Spanish-speaking soldiers with whom he shared misery,
loneliness, and Tejano music.

A few years after he had left the service, Tejano
had made its way to Immokalee, Florida. The Tex-Mex sounds had resonated with
the mostly Mexican agricultural workers who flooded the region that bordered
the Everglades, southeast of Ft. Myers. As the years passed, he found it easier
to find Tejano records, then eight-track and cassette tapes, and finally,
modern CDs. Technology had changed rapidly over the years, but both Pedro and
his favorite music had remained much the same.

At Ft. Myers, he left the interstate and snaked his
way past tourist traps, cheap hotels, and tornado-magnet trailer parks. As he
drove east, away from the city, he thought about his conversations with Trooper
Demore. The man who owned the Viper was a government man and had some interest
in or connection to the estate, which the government owned. The Government Man
drove a very nice car, much nicer than one would expect. The thought struck
like lightning.
The bastardo with the Viper found Great-grandfather’s money
.

That was his thought when the red and black Dodge
Viper flew past him. Pedro hardly believed it. His mind flashed back to the
night of the accident, and now he was sure that it was the same damn car. It
was not a woman driving it this time, though.
Has to be the Government Man.

Without thinking about it, he knew where the
Government Man was going. He pushed the truck’s accelerator all the way to the
floor. The big, three-quarter-ton Dodge responded with a jolt of acceleration.
From the factory, the Hemi V-8 engine put out three-hundred eighty-three
horsepower, but Pedro did not have much he needed to spend money on — whiskey,
decent cigars, and his truck. So he had upgraded it to a Mustang- and
Camaro-eating monster. He pushed it down the highway, chasing the Viper for all
it was worth. Like a dog chasing a car, he would figure out what to do with it
when he caught it.

***

Bruce had mixed feelings about
heading back to the de la Garza estate. He had been damn careful about not
bringing attention to the almost-forgotten South Florida property. The
meticulous, some would say anal, way that he handled his responsibilities as a
federal property manager had led him to discover de la Garza’s secret. The
wealth he found hidden on the estate had more than made up for his otherwise
sucky life. That would all be at risk, unless he quickly resolved the situation
between Kat and the Highway Patrol. He couldn’t afford to have anyone poking
into his life and possibly his finances. Bruce found it hard to believe that
someone could be as lucky as Demore had been in the past couple of days.

As the Viper rocketed toward the estate, Bruce
examined his feelings for Kat. They were a tangled mess. On one hand, he needed
to protect himself. Yet, he had an almost overwhelming urge to protect her,
even if it meant sacrificing himself. Then there was the sex. Kat was like
nothing he had ever experienced. Even the nasty little penetration trick she
pulled on him last time they were together didn’t seem to bother him. The
pleasure turned out to be much greater than the initial surprise.

He did hope that Kat would find some way to
eliminate Trooper Demore. Explosions and extortion had not worked and his own
hastily contrived plan now seemed weak and pathetic.
Maybe she could get him
alone and shove something up HIS ass. Something with a trigger. Something
powerful enough to tear through everything in between and blow the top of his
head off.

Bruce snickered aloud at the thought of Demore’s
head exploding into a million pieces. Cop brains everywhere. For a moment, he
thought he heard other voices laughing, too.

Pedro did not have a plan, but he knew from his
experience in Vietnam that plans were often over rated. Military people knew
that few plans survived first contact. For Pedro, first contact came when he
saw the Viper speed by.

He backed off the truck’s accelerator as he closed
on the Viper. He doubted that the Government Man had any idea someone was
following him. That gave him a temporary advantage. He also knew that the
government had built a fence around the estate with a locked gate at the
entrance. The Government Man would have to get out of his vehicle to unlock the
gate. Pedro would initially drive past, giving the Government Man enough time
to get the gate unlocked. Then he would turn the truck around and power through
the gate before the Government Man could close it again. It was a simple plan.

No buildings, gas stations, or fruit stands stood
near the de la Garza property. Unlike the Southwest Florida winter estates of
Ford and Edison, the de la Garza estate hid in its obscurity. It sat on a
lonely stretch of Florida highway between Ft. Myers and Lake Okeechobee.
Salty’s Shrimp Shack, the closest structure, sat six miles to the west. The
estate’s remoteness made his childhood story of Tank the alligator even more
remarkable. How could such a large animal move between the pool at de la
Garza’s and the nearest community without being found and caught or killed?

Pedro thought that possibly an underground stream
or river had allowed the giant beast quick access to more populated areas. He
did not know how long alligators lived, but he had no desire to go anywhere
near the pool. Unless, of course, Great-grandfather had hidden some of his
wealth there. Maybe the Government Man hadn’t discovered it all.

Pedro made an instant and irrevocable decision.
Now that he had an idea where the money was, he decided that nothing, not even
Tank, would stop him from getting what the government had stolen from his
family. Not even the devil himself would keep him from reclaiming what should
be rightfully his. It would be better to die fighting to reclaim his heritage
than to continue living in the pathos of loneliness, regret, and misery.

Besides, the Government Man was a thief. What would
he do when Pedro confronted him? Call the police? While Pedro knew that the
government itself would never let him have Great-grandfather’s wealth without
an expensive fight in the courts, the Government Man had no choice. It would be
either give Pedro his rightful share or go to jail. For once in his life, Pedro
felt like he was holding all of the aces.

***

Bruce barely noticed the big Ram
pickup when it passed the gates of the de la Garza estate. He was too busy
trying to get the gate open. He wanted the Viper out of sight. He didn’t know
who would meet him here, but he knew that he didn’t want to draw unnecessary
attention to the Viper or himself.

He finally had the life he wanted. Yet, something
did not track. He knew the problem between Kat and the Highway Patrol had the
potential to kill everything he had gained, but, even away from her, he felt
her influence. Something tethered him to Kat. Something more than the sex.

He struggled with the heavy security lock,
twisting the key back and forth until finally pulling it open. He yanked the
chain from one side of the gate and slid the lock through the end links,
securing the chain to the gate post. He pushed the gate open and went back to
the Viper.

He was sure Kat’s influence had nothing to do
with drugs. No drug he could think of would last this long, assuming she had
somehow slipped him something. While sitting in the club talking to her on the
phone, he had felt ballsy, willing to challenge her, ready to take his place as
the alpha male. Now, doubt flooded his mind, metaphorically squeezing his
testicles.
What has she done? Not drugs. Not just sex. Something else.

He drove the Viper through the gate and around to
the back of the estate. He parked the Viper out of sight and walked back toward
the gate.

He had once watched a show on cable where they
had investigated the making of human zombies. It showed how Voodoo
practitioners used puffer fish poison to destroy part of a person’s brain. Once
administered, the victim’s respiration and heart would slow to the point that they
looked dead. After burial, the practitioner would dig the victim up, and the
victim would then be a zombie slave. Bruce doubted he had been puffer fish
poisoned. He could account for every moment of every day since his first romp
with Kat.
It has to be something else.

Besides, he did not believe in voodoo,
witchcraft, or any of that occult crap. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that
Kat had done something to him. Of course, she had done something to him when
they had made love at his house after Trooper Pain-in-the-ass had left. She had
violated him with a candle and he had experienced the most powerful release of
his life. She had done something unnatural and his body had betrayed him with
intense pleasure.

By the time he reached the gate, a van turned off
the highway and entered the estate. Without thinking, he raised his hand to
tell the driver to turn around. A voice shouted, “No!” He glanced around
looking for the source, thinking the voice must have come from someone standing
nearby. He saw no one. Except for the driver of the van, he was alone. He
turned his attention back to the van.

The driver pulled up and stopped right in front
of him. He wondered if the “no” he had heard came from an actual voice, or if
his subconscious recognized that the van’s driver was the person sent by Kat
and should be allowed onto the estate. Since the crazy sex, he not only had to
deal with his feelings of being violated with the candle and the pleasure it
brought, but also with a cornucopia of voices, or maybe just wild thoughts,
stomping around in his brain. Something had changed and he didn’t know if it
was good or bad. If it caused him to lose everything, definitely bad.

He watched a peculiar little man exit the van.
Instant dislike pushed everything else aside and Bruce wondered if he had it in
himself to actually kill another human being. After all, that had been the
reason for inviting Trooper Demore to the estate. To somehow kill him and toss
his carcass into the pool. As he pondered the thought, Bruce looked at the man
and his mind responded with a resounding chorus —
yes.

***

Kevin stepped out of the van
feeling like the king of the world. He was wearing Carl Johns’ utility belt and
gun. He had fastened the belt’s buckle at the last hole, but it still hung too
low on his skinny hips. He kept tugging at it as he walked toward Bruce. He
stared at the overweight, bespectacled man standing in front of him. Hate at
first sight.

The man reminded him of his father, and he hated
his father. Hated his filthy, booze-soaked guts. His father was a
big-prick-bastard who always said that his runt son would never succeed at
anything, and even though the man in front of him was not as big as his father,
he had the same goofy, Clark-Kent-after-fifty look. Nevertheless, Kevin would
do what Kat said, even if it took all of his willpower not to kick the guy in
his ‘nads.

“We’ve got to unload something. Some things.”
Kevin corrected. “Probably not a good idea to do it out here.”

The man stood there, staring at him. Blinking.

“Uh, sometime today, Clark.”

The name “Clark” just slipped out.

“My name is Bruce.”

The guy’s eyes kept blinking at him.
Real
piece of work you found there, Kat.

“Follow the tire tracks,” Bruce told him. “Around
back. Next to my car.”

Nothing about Bruce impressed Kevin
.
The
guy made him think of some freak of nature, like a two-headed snake or some
five-legged frog from science class, or something out of the “Ripley’s Believe
It or Not” freak show.
Looks like he’s sending some freaking eyeball Morse
code. What the hell is wrong with this retard?

“
Yeah, okay. Whatever you say
,
Bruce,”
Kevin finally replied.

Kevin got back into the van, shifted the
transmission into drive, and slapped the accelerator with his foot. Bruce
jumped back to keep from being sideswiped by the van. Kevin glared at Bruce as
the van dashed past. He smiled his best “screw you” smile.
I’m playing for
keeps, Clark. Better watch your ass.

***

Bruce watched Kevin race the van
past the huge house and around back. Bruce listened for the grinding of metal
against metal, but the crunch of tires rolling across crushed shells stopped
and the engine died. A door opened, then slammed shut, followed by the sound of
footsteps. It did not appear that the ugly little freak driving the van had
left a ding on his Viper.
Oh, yes,
Bruce decided.
It would not be too
difficult to kill another human being.
Not too difficult at all.