Randy White - Dead Silence

There was Dormo, which was fast but didn’t last, and Rompon – a horse on Rompon could remain tart enough to kick. He also found a vial of Ace, a mixture of stuff that would have been Will’s choice if it was for Cazzio but it wasn’t.

He had chosen Ketamine. Ket caused quick paralysis but didn’t deaden what a horse could feel. One-third syringe would drop a horse, but Will had emptied a whole vial and part of another filling a syringe. He didn’t bother plunging out any air bubbles either before lashing the syringe to the pole.

The pole was now a spear. No, a lance, the way Will held it: the end locked beneath his arm, the point extending beyond the horse’s muzzle.

“Check the stalls! The man just called from his car, he’s only a few kilometers away,” Metal-eyes was yelling at Buffalo-head, who was now peering into Cazzio’s stall.

The man-someone the Cubans were counting on to do… what?

It worried Will, this unknown person. He wanted to be gone by the time the stranger arrived, so he was thinking, Don’t stop, keep coming

…

Buffalo-head did just that but slowly, slowly. The large Cuban appeared unsteady as he drew close enough to see into Cazzio’s stall. Sounded nervous, too, as he reported to Metal-eyes, “Nothing in here but a very big horse.”

“Keep looking!”

Hump didn’t want to keep looking. “You have never seen such a large animal. I should have the gun. Horses bite, I have been told.”

“You can’t have the gun.”

“Then come with me. On my grave, this horse is a giant, I swear.”

“Idiot! Would you rather be in an American jail?”

Will could feel Cazzio’s body heat as he wrapped his left hand in the horse’s mane, watching from beneath the blanket, as the big Cuban cracked the door and looked into the stall. Because of the headlights, Will could see the man’s shape: the sloped shoulders, the nub of horn that curved like a stem out of his pumpkin-sized head.

Cazzio nickered, sniffing the Cuban’s odor, and tested his steel shoes on the floor, as Will patted the horse’s neck and thought, Ready?

A second later, Buffalo-head called to Metal-eyes, “If the man’s only a few miles away, why not wait? It would be better if there are three of us.”

Will heard the older Cuban snap, “You’re afraid of a child? We’re not waiting!”

Buffalo-head pulled the door wider, as he turned toward the headlights, saying, “Want to know what I think?”

“No! Stop wasting time. The man is already convinced we are incompetent fools.”

“Then I won’t tell you that I believe the boy is cursed. Or possessed by demons-I have heard that it happens to teenagers.”

Will was thinking, Wait and see!, his shoulders tense, still hiding beneath the blanket. He knew he had to time it right. Move too soon, the Cubans would trap him inside the barn. So he kept his eyes focused on the angle of light, watching the door open wider… wider… until only the huge man was standing in the doorway, blocking their escape.

When Buffalo-head looked away to complain to Metal-eyes, “But the Devil Child is insane. A monster!,” Will used his boots to signal the stallion and yelled, “Now!”

The stallion was already lunging out the door.

Bern Heller’s body had washed ashore. There was a story about it in the regional newspaper, the News-Press. That’s why Tomlinson expected the police to show up with a search warrant.

Sections of paper were scattered beneath the man’s beach chair, where he was still stretched out sunning himself. The front page of the local section was folded open.

When I saw the headlines, I felt a constricting anxiety and thought, I’ve got to get out of here. EX-NFL PLAYER FOUND POLICE TO PROBE DROWNING OF CONVICTED MURDERER, RAPIST

It explained Tomlinson’s fears about a search warrant. A lot of people had reason to hate the man, yet my pal sounded convinced that I was the killer.

Why?

He had placed a book on the newspaper because of a breeze freshening off the bay. Wind roiled the water, whitecaps flashing near the oyster bar where pelicans and cormorants perched, leeward side, heavy in the rubbery mangroves.

I removed the book- Shadow Country by Peter Matthiessen-and placed it on the deck before grabbing the newspaper. The front section was still in the plastic baggie untouched.

To demonstrate I wasn’t worried and wasn’t in a hurry, I ignored the local section, with its headlines about Bern Heller, and read the front-page national section.

The lead story was about the attempted abduction of Senator Barbara Hayes-Sorrento and the missing boy. Only a dozen paragraphs had made this early island edition, but there was a photo of Barbara and a photo of one of the entrances to the Explorers Club. There was also a sidebar about the murdered limo driver.

The boy, Will Chaser, wasn’t named. An “unidentified pedestrian” was credited with detaining one of the kidnappers.

I asked Tomlinson, “You didn’t read the national section?”

“Never made it that far.” He motioned vaguely to the deck beneath his chair. “No need to play it cool with me. I can tell you’re worried shitless. Take a look at the story about Heller, you’ll understand.”

As I knelt to retrieve the local pages, he added, “You don’t have to worry about me narcing you to the cops. I’m no Judas.”

“It’s unusual for you to make biblical references on a Friday. Getting a jump on the weekend guilts?”

“In your e-mail, isn’t that why you mentioned Tenth Man? Thirty pieces of silver-hell, they could offer me thirty blotters of Frisco ’68, I still wouldn’t blabber.”

I said, “Here’s a concept: Some people ask questions because they want an answer. Me, for instance.”

“That’s my answer: Judas was the Tenth Man, the tenth disciple. You sent the e-mail, worried I was going to rat you out to the cops. That’s the way I interpreted it.”

Had Choirboy said Tenth Man or Tinman? Interesting distinction. It offered an entirely different meaning, but I was concentrating on the newspaper now. The body of a man found floating off Naples Pier, has been identified as former NFL lineman Bern Heller, 38, of Indian Harbour. Heller was sentenced to life in prison for murder but released from Florida State Penitentiary, Raiford, last month pending a hearing. Heller, who was principal owner of Indian Harbour Marina, was found guilty of second-degree murder seven months ago and was awaiting trial for additional charges that included murder, kidnapping and multiple rapes. Heller was reported missing from his live-aboard yacht at Indian Harbour six days ago by a friend and occasional roommate, Tripper Oswald of Fort Myers. The marina is in the final stages of foreclosure. Only Heller was living on the property, according to Citi Management Corporation, the mortgage holder. A Wisconsin native, Heller was convicted of the shooting death of Capt. Javier Castillo, a popular local fishing guide. Capt. Castillo’s widow and two children have been the benefactors of recent charity functions sponsored by Dinkin’s Bay Marina on Sanibel. Heller’s arrest made national headlines, and his testimony may have contributed to investigations into the effects of steroid rage associated with crimes committed by professional athletes. According to the Lee County Medical Examiner’s Office, the cause of death will not be released until police finish their investigation. According to a statement issued yesterday by Heller’s attorney, there are “sufficient anomalies” to suggest the former football star was a victim of foul play. Oswald and members of Heller’s family have retained a private investigator. According to the sheriff’s department, the investigation into the former star’s death is continuing…