Something Bad (19 page)

G
ABE AND
W
ANNA
were putting up hay in the barn loft and the hot, humid summer day was making it a sweat fest. There wasn’t a hint of breeze to help cool them off.

Wanna dropped her bale and wiped her forehead with a bandana. “Tonight’s your card game so we better finish this up today. You’ll be hung over tomorrow.”

Gabe grabbed his lower back in his hands and stretched in a backward arc. “I’ll probably stay at Billy’s. We’re planning to head up to the reservoir for some walleye fishing tomorrow. Should be at it all day if we feel okay. If we’re lucky, we’ll have Teddy cook up the fish—we’ll give you a call. If we don’t get any walleye, we’ll just have a few more drinks for having to eat Teddy’s special.” He giggled.

A strong wind whipped up and blew straight through the two open ends of the barn loft. Gabe stripped off his shirt so the sweat would evaporate faster.

“Shit, Gabe. It ain’t fair how a man can pull off his shirt and a woman has to keep herself bundled up. It just ain’t fair.”

Gabe put his hands on his hips. “For Christ sakes. We’re up here in the barn and there ain’t a soul around but us. If you want to peel off, go ahead.” His voice carried a hint of challenge. “It’s just us.”

“Don’t have to be told twice.” She had her shirt and bra off in an instant and she waved her hands skyward.

Gabe returned to the bales, but he watched her out of the corners of his eyes. There’s something about jiggling breasts that makes it impossible for a man not to look, he thought. And her’s are big—puts a sway to the jiggles.

Wanna reached for her bandana again and wiped her forehead. She looked at Gabe and then down at her protruding nipples. She smiled.

After a few more bales, she dropped her bale hook and skipped over to the bucket of drinking water. She bent at her waist so her torso was parallel to the floor, her breasts hanging straight down. She pulled a ladle of water to her mouth, but paused. She straightened up and poured the water down her chest, and flashed an evil grin. “You want some?” She chuckled.

Gabe walked over and exhaled a giggle. “Give me what you got.”

Wanna loaded a ladle and gave it a hurl, full force into Gabe’s face and chest. She reached for the bucket just before he grabbed it, and in the struggle, most of it spilled on them both. She twisted it away, and his arms wrapped around her. The bucket dropped onto the wooden floor as she turned into him.

It took only seconds for her hands to free him from his trousers. He responded by slipping her jeans from her hips. She kicked the clothing into a pile on the mat of hay that lined the floor and pulled him down. Rolling him on his back in a single quick motion, she straddled him, pinning him down and taking him in at the same time.

Gabe’s mind went blank, but only for an instant. Wanna hovered over his face, exhaling in soft grunts. Like a metronome, the vocalizations entrained his movements to hers, their vigor increasing. He heard a second set of sounds, rhythmically entwined with hers, but softer, more like the panting of a dog. The sounds were his.

His right hand pulled from Wanna’s back and gripped his head. The left hand stayed on her back. Buck her off like a rodeo horse, he thought, but the urge couldn’t compete with what he felt and saw. Her breasts were in a posture no man could resist—hanging straight down—and only inches from his face. Her motion exaggerated their jiggle and sway—he didn’t want it to end.

As his excitement built, he grasped for the only out left for him—his secret weapon. He closed his eyes and tried to visualize Miz Murtry. Instead of motivating an escape, this only superimposed Miz Murtry’s face on Wanna’s body, and within seconds it was all over. He gasped for what little oxygen hadn’t exited the barn along with his good intentions.

“Shit, Wanna.”

“Don’t say a word. Let me enjoy what I’m feeling right now. We’ll talk later.”

The wind died down in parallel with their excitement, and Gabe rolled on his side, away from her. The mountain of unstacked hay bales seemed small in comparison to the problems he had just created.

Wanna’s rhythmic breathing captured his attention, then sent his mind into freewheel. Confession. He needed to confess his sins. But to whom? And where did that come from? He wasn’t Catholic.

Thibideaux sat in his chair and grinned, flicking small lightening bolts from his fingertips. They crashed into the walls and extinguished, creating an electric display that would have inspired “oohs and aahs” from an audience, had one existed. His thoughts turned to his job. Where’s the damn councillor when I need him? He missed some of my best handiwork today.

T
HE SUN WAS
an oversized orange orb on the western horizon as Sam Merriwether drove up to the rectory. His knuckles hit the door once, twice, then hit air as the doors swung inward, serenaded by singing hinges. Thibideaux stood in the center of the double entrance, dwarfed by the rectory atrium.

“Sheriff Merriwether. What a surprise. What can I do for you”?

“Good afternoon, Mr. Thibideaux. I’m here on business.” Sam shifted into professional mode. “To be blunt, some of the residents have expressed concerns about the increase in accidents in the area, and a suggestion has surfaced that you might be involved.” He paused to watch Thibideaux’s expression, but it didn’t change. “I know when a person comes into a closed community like this, a state of distrust can make life miserable for the newcomer, so I’ll assure you I’m just being thorough by following up on all matters related to these tragedies.”

“Fair enough, Sheriff. What can I do for you?”

Sam shifted his weight slightly. “You can start by giving me some information about your business here in the Tri-counties. What’s your occupation?” He took a small spiral-bound notebook and pen from his shirt pocket and thumbed to a blank page. Pen touched paper, ready to write.

“I’m not trying to be uncooperative, but I’m afraid I can’t divulge my occupation or my business in these parts without compromising the goals of my Organization.”

Sam shifted his eyes up to Thibideaux’s and a shiver ran up his back. His eyes were black. Sam’s eyes returned to the notebook and he tapped the pen tip on the page. “Okay.” Not okay. Why would someone refuse such a simple request? “How about this? What if I tell you what’s been proposed, and you can tell me if it’s off base.”

Thibideaux didn’t say a word.

Sam shifted his weight to his other leg. “Okay … It seems there’s a rumor that a new divided highway is going to be constructed between the two interstates. One of the proposed routes runs through the Tri-counties. Is your occupation in any way involved with these plans?” Sam’s voice slipped up in volume with the question.

“Once again, with no disrespect intended, I have to decline to discuss any aspect of my business in the

Tri-counties. I hope you will accept that.”

Sam dropped both arms to his sides, accidentally drawing a short line on his pants with the pen. His words came loud and fast. “It seems the most economical route through the Tri-counties takes it directly through several farms, including those of the families that have been wiped out recently. Do these occurrences have anything to do with you or your business? Do you have any knowledge of these events?”

“Once again, this time under protest, I will not discuss my work with you. Now, if I may, I have to get back to the very work that interests you.” He stepped back and pushed the doors, but Sam stiff-armed them back open.

“Mr. Thibideaux. Some serious complaints have been lodged against you. I’m afraid if you aren’t willing to talk here, I’ll have to take you in for more formal questioning. Now, once again, would you please tell me … do you or your organization have anything to do with the various accidents that have happened over the last few months in the Tri-counties?” Sam bit his lip to keep from expressing the contempt he was developing for the little man.

Thibideaux repetitively balled his hands into tiny fists and released them. “I don’t have an obligation to provide that information without a warrant or other formal writ. If you take me in for questioning, I assure you a team of lawyers from my Organization will descend on this town within hours to correct the situation, and to file a complaint against you and your beloved Tri-counties. Now, if I may, I would like to get back to work.”

The doors slammed before Sam could react. He stood in place for a full ten seconds, then hurried to his vehicle. His hand slammed against the steering wheel. “What does he have to hide?”

The little jerk was correct about his rights. But why would he avoid such mundane questions? Maybe John and Billy had something this time.

Sam entered his office, welcomed by a ringing phone. The voice of a near hysterical child echoed in the earpiece.

“Calm down and tell me what’s wrong,” Sam said.

“Help me, please. I’m here alone. He’s trying to break into the house.”

“Where are you?”

“James Farm. Please. Come quick.” The boy began to cry.

“James Farm in Porter County?

“Yes.”

“Stay on the line. I’m going to transfer to my cell phone, so there’ll be a couple of clicks. I’m on my way. Okay? Hello? Hello? You there?” Sam sprinted for his car, turned onto State Route 27, and headed for Porter County with full siren and lights.

Just over the Boyston-Porter County line, State Route 27 ran through the only non-tillable land in the Tri-counties other than the swamp. A series of small, rocky hills forced the highway into a serpentine path for just over a mile and a half. The curved road slowed Sam’s dash, but not as much as the dense fog that shrouded the hills. He rounded a corner made by blasting away half of one of the hills, and he hit his brakes, hard. A partially shrouded figure stood in the road. The car fishtailed to a halt, nearly running into the jagged upright bank of the blasted hill.

Sam trained his floodlight into the fog, focused on the figure and inched his car closer, but most of the light was reflected back in his eyes. He turned it off. Through the mist, he saw the stranger walk toward the car. When about fifty feet separated the two, a wave of recognition gave Sam a hard shake. The small size. The irregular walk. He felt sick. He stopped the car and swung out of the door.

“What are you doing here? I have an emergency to get to at the James farm. Let me pass. Now.”

“I’m afraid the only emergency you have tonight is me, Sheriff Merriwether,” Thibideaux said as he ambled closer.

Sam drew his service revolver and cocked it, keeping it close to his side. “If you don’t allow me to pass, I’ll have to arrest you for hindrance. Your lawyers won’t be able to get around that one.”

“You will do no such thing, my dear Sheriff. You see, you can’t even raise your arms from your sides.” Thibideaux extended his arms straight out toward Sam, parallel to the ground, fingers extended straight out, palms inward.

Sam tried to raise his arms, but they wouldn’t move. He sneered at the little man. “What the hell is going on? I have an emergency to get to. Let me go.”

“As I said, you have only one emergency tonight, and that emergency is me,” Thibideaux said in the same child’s voice Sam heard over the telephone. “Now you see, no one, including you, will interfere with the business I have to conduct for my Organization. I’ll go to any length to maintain this situation.” He pulled his fingers back to form two fists and the tightness in Sam’s arms loosened.

Sam raised his right arm and leveled the revolver directly at Thibideaux’s torso. “Now maybe you’ll tell me what the hell is going on here.”

Thibideaux took a step forward.

Sam put his finger through the trigger guard and onto the trigger. “Freeze! Or I’ll shoot!” His voice was pitched high with adrenaline.

Thibideaux took another step.

“Freeze, Thibideaux!”

A slight grin appeared to separate Thibideaux’s lips and Sam thought he saw a glint of silver.