The Redneck Detective Agency (The Redneck Detective Agency Mystery Series Book 1) (14 page)

Chapter 29

At four o’clock the next morning, Rusty tossed aside the cover, rolled off his air mattress, and got out from under the mosquito net.

              He made a fire, cooked some country ham, eggs and camp coffee. Then with the use of a flashlight, he walked back to his skiff. He was careful to avoid the locust log and the cottonmouth.

              He got into this skiff and puttered up the river in the dark. He cruised up to his boathouse and swapped out his skiff for his hydroplane.

              Then he cruised back slowly down the Elk, taking his time. He used a spotlight to scan the water ahead of him. He steered clear of a snag here and there.

              By the time he got to the mouth of the Elk, there was a little light showing on the horizon. He headed up the Tennessee River. Now there was enough light to navigate by. He put the spotlight away and opened up the throttle. When he had it wide open, he pushed the electric motor button--one of Ray’s many inventions.

              The part of the transom the Mercury was bolted to slowly raised up. And with that it brought the propeller right at the surface of the water, causing the hydroplane to go into super-speed. He looked back. The prop was kicking up a rooster tail that went up twenty feet in the air.

              Soon, he skimmed across the smooth surface of the water at speeds up to sixty miles an hour. He steered over toward the southern bank, got in the channel.

              A slow-moving freight train was going across the train bridge. The caboose passed the trestle as Rusty went under the bridge. He could only imagine the engineer, looking down at the river and to the east.

              The Tennessee River. The rising sun. A lone boat with a high rooster tail.

              Rusty envisioned an old man five years from now, sitting in his den, showing off some photographs. “This one, I took right before I retired. I’s going across the Tennessee River and it just looked so peaceful. I couldn’t help but wonder who it was in that hydroplane. Who it was, what his life was like, what he was doing out in the channel. I grabbed up my camera at the last minute and got this shot.”

              The hydroplane kept going a bit faster and a bit faster. He passed under the Decatur Bridge and soon under the I-65 Bridge--the longest bridge in the state of Alabama.

              Five more miles up the river, and it was daylight.

              Hudson Marina was in sight. Soon, he cut the throttle and lowered the prop down. He cruised into the marina and moored his boat at the end of the western most dock. He waited.

              Then he saw him.

              Jeffrey Starr walked two docks down, on a covered row of slips. Mostly bass boats and runabouts. He was by himself and carried a small cooler and three rods and reels. He wore shorts, a heavy T-shirt and a fishing cap.

              Slip 14-B. Sixteen foot bass boat with a hundred horse Yamaha. A Yamaha. Shit. Rusty should have known.

              Starr loaded the boat, went back down the dock, disappeared and then came back carrying a tackle box and an insulated coffee cup. He got into his boat, started the outboard, let it idle while he sipped coffee and then he unmoored his launch.

              By grabbing onto the dock, he pushed his boat out of the slip, then he sat behind the wheel, engaged the outboard and taxied out of the marina.

              Several other boats were leaving the marina. Rusty waited until Starr was halfway out to the channel, then he cranked his Merc.

              He followed Starr up the river--close enough not to lose him but far enough away so that Starr wouldn’t get suspicious or notice the rooster tail behind Rusty’s boat.

              “Come on, Starr. See if that hundred horsepower piece of shit can outrun this Fifty-five Merc.”

              Then it was just too good. Starr cut across to the south bank and then veered into Myer’s Inlet. The inlet was a huge bay where treetops bent down at the water’s edge. It was bream and bass heaven when the willow flies came out. But the willow flies hadn’t hatched yet.

              Starr would cast up against the treetops for bass. Commune with nature. Well, Rusty was going to give him something to commune about.

              Starr veered off to port when he entered the inlet. Rusty came in behind him, veered off to starboard, to make a general broad loop of the bay. Not another boat in the bay. This was too damn good. The water’s edge was completely overgrown, so it could only be fished from a boat.

              Rusty had the motor at a quarter throttle. When he was coming back around to the outlet of the bay, he saw Starr’s boat. Starr was at the bow, standing there, casting.

              Rusty came in toward him. But Starr paid him no mind. Like, this is my spot. I’ve claimed it, now get the hell out. Rusty was thirty feet away from him before Starr turned to see what was going on.

              The first thing Starr noticed--Rusty could just tell--was that this was not another bass boat approaching him. When he was twenty feet away he recognized Rusty.

              Rusty pulled right alongside Starr’s boat, was careful not to touch Starr’s boat. Starr kept his eye on Rusty, bent over, put his hand in his empty tackle box, like he was going to come out with one of those Glock guns. Rusty would bet his Merc 55, that Starr owned a 9mm, to go along with his Yamaha.

              “Are you fishing with a Crippled Crawfish?” Rusty asked. A Crippled Crawfish was a lure that Rusty and Ray’s granddaddy had invented. You had to practically be an old Elk River Rat to own one or have heard of one.

              Starr sat up straight, deciding against the 9mm, seeing that this was not going to be a physical confrontation. Starr I
knew
he could beat Rusty in a battle of the wits.

              “No,” Starr said.

              “Do you own a Crippled Crawfish?”

              “No.”

              “Man, you can’t call yourself a fisherman if you don’t own a Crippled Crawfish,” Rusty said with a pleasant attitude.

              Rusty reached into his pocket, got the little clear plastic case out—which contained a Crippled Crawfish—and handed it over toward Starr.

              The gunwales of their boats were about two feet apart now. Starr took his eye off Rusty, to give a once over to his strange boat, didn’t see anything untoward going on, so leaned over and accepted the box.

              “I’m an old river man,” Rusty said. “I know what I’m talking about. You use that on the right day, you’ll catch something. And today might just be that right day.”

Rusty cranked up his Merc and slowly pulled away and then opened her up and headed home.

              Let Starr figure that one out. No matter how sharp and war-like Starr was, it would take him a good two weeks to figure that one out. That it was all bullshit.

              Starr, the shitass, had just been beat at his own game.

Chapter 30

On up in the morning, Rusty drifted out in front of the bluffs. After messing with Starr, he had gone back to his boathouse, swapped boats, went back to Clay Island and collapsed for a couple hours, going into a deep sleep.

              Now, he drifted out in front of the bluffs in his skiff.

              Finally, he saw her coming. The wooden boat crossed the channel. Gloria taxied around alongside him. She flipped three protective bumpers over her gunwales. Rusty threw her his line. She pulled his boat in closer.

              Rusty reached over and held onto her gunwale. She handed him the sack with the barbeque sandwiches. He said, “Thanks, Gloria. I’m laying low right now.”

              “I can understand.”

              “I have some confidential inside information. There may be a move to revoke my bail.” Rusty could hear his own voice. It sounded strained and a little psychotic. He needed to slow down and act a little calmer. “By the end of tomorrow I figure they’ll either take me in or it’ll blow over.”

              “I see. I suppose it best I ask no questions at this time?”

              “I won’t have any good answers. I want to thank you again for putting all those assets at stake for me.”

              “It’s only stuff. You’re you.”

              “I’m going to make myself unavailable to law enforcement for the next twenty-four hours.”

              “You’d rather walk in to the judge than be taken in?”

              “You know me pretty good, Gloria.”

              “You’re a Clay.”

              “Exactly. Do you want to go camping tonight?”

              “And where might you want to go camping?”

              “Dismal Canyon. Only catch is, you’ll have to drive. I don’t want any police spotting my truck.”

              “Hum.” Gloria paused. “We have two problems here.”

              “What’s that?”

              “First off all, two rednecks from Mississippi.”

              “Thank God for Mississippi.”

              “Yeah. Thank God for Mississippi. No matter how redneck we get, we can always count on Mississippi to be worse. Anyway, two grabblers got to drinking beer and wondered who had the more powerful pickup, so they chained their back bumpers together and gave it a go in the parking lot. A rock got slung and broke my windshield.”

              “Heck, I didn’t think you could hardly crack a windshield on a Land Cruiser?”

              “You put two Mississippi Rednecks with oversized Dodge Rams into the mix and you got yourself a broken windshield. And so I had to take it up to Bob’s Windshield and Glass. Bob won’t have it ready until in the morning.”

              “You didn’t take it to the dealership?”

              “Who wants to drive to Huntsville?”

              “I heard that.”

              “So, I don’t have any wheels right now. And number two on camping out at Dismal Canyon. A front is coming in. It’s supposed to rain about four inches tonight.”

              “The air does feel strange.” Rusty thought it was his own nerves he was sensing.

              “Yeah, things changed a couple hours ago. It drives kids and animals crazy. I got a bunch of no-neck redneck kids ripping through the RV park. And the catfish stopped biting, they’re just butting right now.”

              “You want to spend the night with me in my secret hideout then? It’s in the wilderness. No air conditioning. No inside plumbing. But it’s high and dry.”

              “Only if you plan on having your way with me.”

              With that, Gloria tossed Rusty back his line and pulled in her bumper guards. She cranked up and headed back across the channel toward her marina.

              Rusty sat there floating around about thirty feet from the bluffs and started eating a barbeque sandwich. Boats cruised up and down the river out in the channel. The grabblers were restless. They couldn’t just let the low pressure be.

              Then Rusty noticed a skiff go past him and then make a complete loop and head his way. There was a lone person at the outboard. And it didn’t take long to see that person was Vivian.

              She came up alongside and cut the engine. Rusty reached out and grabbed hold of her gunwale. She did likewise. They were right there facing one another, not four feet apart, with their boats facing opposite directions.

              “Hey,” Rusty said.

              “Hey, yourself,” she said playfully. “I just came from your house.”

              “You did?”

              “Yes.”

              She looked like she had just gotten out of the shower. She had on long jeans and a loose white long-sleeve blouse. She was barefoot and her hair was in a French braid. Over the smell of the river, the smell of the boat, he could smell her shampoo or some faint perfume.

              He didn’t want to flatter himself but he fantasized that she had spiffed herself up a little to come to his house. For whatever reason that was. He only hoped she didn’t get a whiff of his bile-smelling body odor, an odor of not having bathed, of having slept out on Clay island, of adrenalin.

              He held up the paper bag sitting beside him. “Want a barbeque sandwich?”

              “No, thank you.” She picked up a small paper bag sitting beside her. She handed it over to Rusty. “Al said to tell you it was waterproof and everything.”

              “Thank you.” Rusty took the bag. It felt to be some item no bigger than a small cellphone inside. He set it down beside him, on the other side from the barbeque sandwich. He knew it to be the recorder Al was going to give him.

              Vivian giggled and said, “Our boats are alike.”

              “They’re identical. Made at the same time, by the same man.” Rusty looked them over. The boats were identical, but his had an old eighteen horse Johnson. Doc’s old boat had a newer twenty-five horse Johnson.

              “It would be funny if they had baby boats connected up here like they are,” Vivian said.

              Vivian shouldn’t talk like that. She looked so young and fertile. And with that blouse she had on…

              The sensation of being near her and the sensation he got from looking at her body did not leave Rusty. But otherwise he just zoned out into a world of maybe.

              Baby. He wouldn’t mind another baby. A little baby boy. A Clay boy. It wasn’t too late for him. What if Crystal showed up at his doorstep pregnant and no husband? That would be just fine with Rusty. She could move in with him and he would help her raise the kid and it would be a Clay.

              Oh, great. What if Jenny knew what he was thinking right now? Thinking he didn’t mind if their unmarried twenty year old daughter became pregnant and a single mother. Rusty was sure that indicated some character flaw in him. A character flaw that Jenny could spot at twenty paces.

              Or what if Rusty went completely ape shit crazy and somehow a young girl like Vivian married him? And he started all over again.

              “Speaking of babies,” Vivian announced. “I would like to have a baby.”

              Rusty held his breath. He didn’t know if this was some kind of strange invitation or not. “You’re ready to settle down, huh?”

              “To one man and one place, yeah. I’ve already seen the world. I don’t have anything in common with guys my own age. I like older men.”

              Here Rusty was about to be thrown in jail for murder. And here he was scared of a teenage girl. Wanting her and wanting her to back off and go away at the same time.

              All that could come out of his mouth, to end the silence that was driving him crazy was: “I see you do. That’s understandable. There’s no more handsome man than Al.”

              “I like men older than Al. I like men your age.”

              He went from fear to terror.

              When she saw Rusty wasn’t going to say anything in the immediate future, Vivian said, “It’s not like I have father issues, or a grandfather fixation. I just like older men. I have more things in common with them.”

              “And how old are you?” Rusty asked. Oh, great. It sounded like he was auditioning her. Just lie to me. Just tell me you are over eighteen.

              “I’m almost twenty. Sometimes I look younger. I was a late bloomer.”

              Almost twenty? “Well, it’s plain to me you bloomed, Vivian.”

              “Oh, and I just want you to know that I didn’t steal Al away from his wife.”

              “I know that. I know they were separated before you arrived.”

              “Yes. We are faithful to one another. But I’m just not sure how long it’s going to last. I’m not sure if Al really wants to get married and have children.”

              “Well, it is a big commitment.”

              Vivian looked at her watch. “Oh, me, Rusty. I could sit here and talk to you all day. You are so easy to talk to. But I have to be going.”

              Vivian pulled away.

              And Rusty had to admit to himself--it was flattering at the thought that a pretty, twenty year old girl who was looking for a significant other might have a crush on him. It did his whole being good. He wasn’t dead yet.

              He opened the throttle up and weaved in and out of grabblers. He passed a boat that was going about a quarter throttle, obviously heading for the marina, three men in it. Two of them in the bow held a catfish, just at a glance it must have weighed about forty-five pounds. The man steering was catching the moment on camera.

              Rusty cruised on to his own dock and tied up.

              Brett was asleep on his front porch. Hell of a watchdog that lazy son of a bitch was. Rusty walked around the side of the house to the garage. The Mercedes was parked there, had the hood up.

              Ray turned around, gave a jump. “Good God, Rusty. You spooked me. Why don’t you wake Brett up next time you come up? What you doing here?”

              “I need to take a shower, get some more stuff and then I’m outta here.”

              “I got some good news for us.”

              “I like good news.”

              “You know old man Butler’s got that marina across the Tennessee River?”

              “Yeah. I haven’t been over there since I left Alabama. Yeah, I remember him. He still alive?”

              “Yeah, he called earlier. He wants to buy ten floating docks and twenty-five more of these fifty-five gallon drums.”

              “How’d he know we had them?”

              “On the news last night. They showed your house on Action News something-or-other and he saw all the drums.”

              “Why’d they show my house on the news?”

              “You know them news dumb asses. Here’s the suspect’s house. There is a controversy as to what all the industrial drums are for…”

              “Shit asses.”

              “We going to have us a stellar month, Rusty.”

              “I just hope I’m out of jail to enjoy it.”