The Ancient Breed (20 page)

21

B

lossom’s bedroom shutters rattled and banged with each storm gust and thunderclap. The rain pelted the tin roof so loudly that she couldn’t hear herself think.

Jay was busy in the front room packing a briefcase and a satchel. Blossom tried not to watch him, because the thought of his abandoning her in that filthy bungalow frightened her more than the prospect of his hanging around and raping her again.

It was just after midnight when she had regained consciousness after the beating and rape, and her face felt as if it had been trampled in a cattle stampede. She lay quietly and listened to Jay bang glassware and swear in the kitchen. She raised her throbbing head off the pillow and studied her reflection in the blank television screen. She fell back, livid. Her face was a mask of swollen and discolored bumps and dark bruises. In her agonizing state, it took her a while longer to discover that Jay had raped her. She was mortified. She attempted to block out the shame and embarrassment of being violated like that, but her nerves were too frazzled and hatred consumed her emotions.

Her resolve to kill the bastard swelled exponentially. To add to her degradation, Jay had left her tied to the bed, naked, with her legs splayed. Every inch of her body was exposed, leaving her helpless against his lewd scrutiny and further sexual advances. If she weren’t so set on murdering Jay, she would’ve prayed for a quick death.

Hours after she regained consciousness, Jay entered her bedroom. “Time for me to go, baby. Sorry things didn’t work out between us. But what the hell, you were a good fuck.”

“Damn you, Jay! You just can’t go and leave me like this,” she shouted.

He leaned over her and put his face inches from hers. “I could kill you instead, bitch. Would you prefer that?” he retorted.

Blossom bit her lip to keep from ranting. Venting her feelings would only result in her death. She wanted to live—live to see him squirm before she killed him.

He yanked her head forward by the hair and shoved what looked to be a collar in her face. “See this, baby? It’s an electronic, dog bark collar. You scream, it jolts the hell out you.” He slipped the leather strap around her neck so that the small plastic box and its two electrodes pressed against her throat, and fastened it. “You yell, you pay.”

Tears glazed her eyes. “Please, take me with you,” she pleaded softly, realizing that if he left, she would most likely die of starvation in the bungalow and never have the chance to exact her revenge.

Jay laughed. “You’re a jinx, baby. And besides, I got important work to do tomorrow for the cause. I’ll be one famous Indian,” he boasted, his grin a cruel slit in his unshaven face. “Oh, by the way, I don’t think I mentioned the snakes that like to slither in for a visit from time to time. Juan and me shot two, but there’s plenty more where they came from.”

Blossom’s eyes were saucers, but resisted begging for release. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her distress.

“They come in to feed on the rats and roaches,” he added, clearly enjoying her misery.

She turned her battered face away from him. “I’ll be just fine,” she lied. “You just go ahead and do what you need to do.”

Jay swore under his breath and shoved the bedroom door open with such force that the doorknob was buried in the water-stained drywall.

“Give the snakes my best, baby.” He laughed again, plucked his bags from the floor and disappeared out the door into the tempest.

Blossom’s mouth was as dry as dust as she scanned and rescanned the floor for snakes. Her thoughts were jumping like popcorn in a microwave. Were there really snakes and rats in the bungalow, or did Jay fabricate the story just to torture her? If he told the truth, she was in no position to protect herself, so keeping her eyes closed was her only option to preserve what little sanity she had remaining.

The raging squall slapped Crow’s black braids back and forth against his head and neck as he splashed through a front yard lake to another residence, but he was so worried about Blossom that he didn’t notice. He kept repeating to himself that she was alive.

Neo had arrived earlier with nine agents, and Grandfather had instructed them on which local roads to search. He apologized for not joining them, but his time-wearied legs were too weak to walk great distances.

Crow had struck out with the first five residences that lined a flooded, gravel road a quarter mile from Grandfather’s position. His optimism had ebbed with each dead end.

He kept checking his cell phone for missed calls from the other searchers, but there were none. He felt like the last man on Earth as he trudged across the swampy lawn in the gloom to his next stop, a hovel in the midst of a junkyard. The double-wide mobile house sat on cement blocks, and most of its vinyl siding had been blown off years ago. Crow pictured a beer-bellied, shotgun toting, redneck owner as he knocked on the badly warped door.

The winded owner huffed when he opened the door and scowled at his visitor. “We ain’t buyin’,” he snarled.

“And I ain’t sellin’,” Crow shot back and flashed his FBI identification badge. He explained why he and the others were canvassing the area.

It was obvious to Crow that the rotund owner’s knees were too weak to support him for prolonged conversations at the front door.

“C’mon in,” he wheezed, leaving the door ajar as he waddled away.

Crow stepped inside and wished he hadn’t. The body odor stench was so thick that it nearly gagged him. This guy certainly didn’t fit the terrorist profile.

“Sit down,” the man said, pointing to a leaning chair covered with a threadbare afghan. “Jasper’s the name.”

“Crow,” he returned, easing his frame into the chair.

“Injun, huh?”

“Precisely. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get down to business. I have a lot of ground to cover tonight. For starters, have you seen anything suspicious around the neighborhood lately?”

“I wouldn’t have invited you inside if I didn’t know shit,” he replied gruffly.

“I’m listening,” Crow prodded.

“Weirdoes down the road at the next intersection,” he said breathlessly. “They’s drivin’ some kind of tan SUV and a fuckin’ loud motorcycle that scares the milk outta my cows and makes their teats dry up.”

“Your cows’ teats dry up,” Crow repeated as if making a mental note of a significant detail.

“Yeah. You got cows out on your reservation?” Jasper asked.

“I live in Washington DC, and the city doesn’t allow cows,” he replied, having endured just about all the racial stereotyping he could take from this redneck. “You were saying . . .”

“Oh yeah, the weirdoes. One’s a spic, one’s an injun like you, and the third guy’s a fuckin’ ghost.”

“Ghost?”

“Real white, like chalk.”

“Is he an albino?” Crow asked, suddenly alert and hopeful.

“Nah, he’s just real fuckin’ white.”

“Have you seen a girl with them? Black hair, tall, good looking?” Crow asked.

“What would someone like that be doin’ them weirdoes?” Jasper reacted.

“They kidnapped her, remember?”

“Oh yeah, right. Anyways, I only saw one of them today. The injun. The other weirdoes and their Explorer ain’t been around lately,” he explained.

“Can you describe the house for me?”

Jasper sighed. “Like I said, it’s on the corner of the intersection with Campo Road. Ain’t much of a house, though. It’s been abandoned for near two years,” he replied. “It’s just a run-down bungalow - used to be white. Now it’s the color of rot.”

“And what color would that be?” Crow asked, unfamiliar with questioning routines. He was not a detective.

“Shit brown, Crow.”

Crow stood. “Thanks for your help.”

“I hope they’re your guys. I hate weirdoes, and my cows would sure as hell like to never hear that motorcycle again!” He started to stand, but Crow insisted he stay seated.

Once outside, Crow deeply inhaled the fresh air and dialed Neo. His optimism was on the rise.

Neo stretched inside his car parked in front of the last house he’d visited. The residents provided him with jack shit. He was about to drive on to the next place when his sat phone rang. His heart raced. Was it possible that one of the other agents managed to locate Blossom’s whereabouts?

“Neo.” he answered expectantly.

“Agent Doss, Sheriff Berger here,” the voice announced. “I checked the phone logs of those two punks that were butchered out at the Warnke construction site.”

“Yes, yes, I remember,” he replied impatiently.

“The phone company traced them to a New York City pay phone.”

“Damn,” Neo replied. Another dead end. He was damn tired of dead ends. “Any calls to Tampa?”

“Not in the past six months.”

“Did you have any luck locating the place where those two punks stole the C-4?”

“As a matter of fact, I did and I didn’t,” Berger answered.

“Meaning?” Neo was running low on patience.

“Meaning they didn’t steal it in the state of Florida.”

Great, Neo thought. Another dead end.

“There was one C-4 robbery reported within the past six months, but that was in Upstate New York. Some big-shot demolition company,” Berger informed him. “Homeland Security has been on the case.”

Phone calls to New York and stolen C-4 in New York
. Was it a coincidence? Neo knew how Nick felt about coincidences.

“Thanks, Sheriff. I’ll be in touch,” Neo said. Before he shifted into
Drive
, his phone rang again. This time, it was the Tampa Police.

“Agent Doss, this is Lieutenant Cartwright.”

“Oh, hello.” Neo’s heart sank again.

“We’ve located your kidnapping perp’s car,” Cartwright said.

Neo wasn’t as pleased as he should have been. “Where?”

“That’s the funny part. The VA Hospital murder victim stole it. His prints are all over it, and a quick check on the plates indicated it was stolen a month ago in Miami.”

Neo perked up. “What?”

“Looks like your kidnapper might also be our murder victim,” Cartwright deduced.

If that was case, Blossom might already be dead, or she might be tied up in one of these shacks starving to death.

“Agent Doss, are you still there?” Cartwright asked.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“I was, too, but I’m afraid they were all bad thoughts about the kidnapping victim.”

“Ditto. I’ll get back to you. Thanks.”

Neo had no sooner disconnected the call when his phone rang a third time. He slapped it to his ear.

“What!” he said irritably.

“Neo, it’s Crow. I have a solid lead on Blossom’s location.” He rapidly gave Neo directions to the place and asked him to pick up Grandfather on the way. Neo agreed and promised to relay Crow’s information to the other agents working the search.

Fifteen minutes later, the search party assembled next door to the bungalow fitting Jasper’s description. Neo barked out instructions to everyone and concluded his spiel by stressing that he wanted this operation to go like clockwork. The agents scattered to their positions as Neo, Crow, and Grandfather approached the front door.

Neo knocked on the door and instantly shuffled away from the entrance to avoid possible gunfire. By the appearance of the rotten door, Neo wouldn’t be surprised if it couldn’t stop a flying paper clip.

There was no answer.

Neo radioed the others, and they all reported no signs of activity within the bungalow. He knocked again, and when there was still no response, he tried the doorknob. It was locked. Neo raised his massive left leg, leaned back and kicked the door with his shoe. The door splintered around the handle and lock, swung inward on squeaking hinges, and hammered the wall behind it.

Neo sprang inside, crouched in a firing position, but there was no one to greet him.

“Blossom!” he shouted. “Blossom!”

He heard a faint thumping and a high-pitched humming. The sounds came from the bedroom straight ahead. He was about to check it out when he felt a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“I will see if Blossom is there,” Grandfather said.

“It could be dangerous,” Neo protested.

“And it could be embarrassing for my granddaughter, Neo. Please, I must insist.”

Before Neo was able to reply, three snakes slithered from the loose stones in the fireplace hearth.