Amanda Stevens - The Dollmaker

But he knew it wasn’t going to be that easy, and when he finally pulled out of the parking lot and headed for home, he decided he’d better stop by and visit with Marsilius for a while. Dave had learned the hard way that it was never a good idea to be alone when the demons were riding him as hard as they were that night.

He drove with the window rolled down, and he could smell the sugarcane out in the fields. It was a calm, still night, with only a mild breeze to stir the willows that bowed low over the water.

Turning off the main highway, he took a back way home, past an old cemetery and a few houses perched on the edge of the bayou. Water oaks arched over the road, and the moonlight that shimmered through the heavy canopy turned the Spanish moss into silver lace.

The lights were off in his uncle’s house when Dave drove by, but he hadn’t heard Marsilius mention anything about taking the boat out. Like Dave, his uncle was a night owl, and even when he didn’t have a late charter out to the oil rigs, he was often up until dawn. But tonight it looked as if he’d turned in early.

Dave decided it was just as well. Marsilius was a good guy, but he could be like a dog with a bone when he sensed Dave was hiding something. And the last thing he wanted tonight was an inquisition. Seeing Claire had left him edgy and morose. For a long time now he’d tried to convince himself that his feelings for her were dead and buried, but he’d only been fooling himself. Claire was still a part of him. She always would be, no matter how many years went by or how much they hurt each other. Even if she was married to someone else, he would always think of her as his wife.

As he pulled into the drive, he thought about heading down to the dock to see if the boat was still there. It was going to be a long night, and he figured it might be a good idea to take the Sea Ray out a few miles from shore and drop anchor, sit in the dark until the craving eased enough for him to sleep.

But come morning, he’d be right back where he’d started. All he’d done by stumbling from one drunk to the next was postpone the inevitable. And now Titus was right. It was time to pay the piper. Dave couldn’t keep running away from his problems, because sooner or later he’d have no place left to go but the grave.

His truck tires crunched on the shale drive as he parked beneath an oak tree and got out. A mild breeze stirred the wind chimes on his screened-in porch, and Dave paused on the steps to stare out at the darkness.

Past the row of pecan trees in his yard, he could see the glint of the bayou. The water was dark and still, but the night was alive with the sounds of crickets and bullfrogs, and the bushes were aglow with lightning bugs.

He watched for a moment longer before letting the screen door close behind him. Unlocking the front door, he shoved it open, then leaned out slightly to toss the key back into the flowerpot. A floorboard creaked inside the house and Dave froze for a split second as a terrible premonition flashed through his head. But the warning came too late. By the time he’d turned back to the door, a shadow was rushing through the darkness toward him.

A baseball bat swung at his face, and Dave ducked as his arm flew up to deflect the blow. The wood caught him on the side of his skull and then bounced off his right shoulder. He heard a loud pop in his ears as he stumbled backward, reaching for his gun. The bat struck him again, across the stomach this time, and everything went black as he doubled over and fell to his knees.

Bracing himself on one hand, he gulped in air. He’d been caught completely by surprise and now was too dazed to fight back. He had the impression there were two of them, but he wasn’t sure why. He couldn’t see anything. His mouth hung open and his eyes refused to focus as blood ran freely down the side of his face.

Hands grabbed his arms and dragged him inside the house, where he was dropped facedown on the hardwood floor. A long string of spittle and blood hung from his mouth as he tried to lift his head.

“Lay still, asshole.”

A steel-toed boot connected with his rib cage, and Dave fell back to the floor. Someone straddled him and, with a fistful of hair, yanked his head back. A knife blade flashed in the moonlight a split second before he felt the edge against his throat. The man on top of him smelled of sweat and whiskey, and he was breathing heavily, not so much from the strain, Dave thought, but from excitement.

A pair of polished shoes came into Dave’s view, but when he tried to look up, the blade pressed into his throat.

The man in front of him paused, lifted one foot and struck a match against the sole of his shoe. A second later, Dave smelled the acrid scent of cigarette smoke as the man exhaled noisily. Walking over to the window, he sat down in a chair and continued to smoke. From the corner of Dave’s eye, he saw the glowing arc of the cigarette as the man lifted it to his mouth.

“You’ve got two options here, Dave. This can go fast and easy, or we can drag it out for hours. It’s your call, but I know which option my boy here would choose. Seems as if he’s got an ax to grind with you.”

“Enough talk,” a third man said from the doorway. “Just get on with it.”

The command was soft and steely, but this time Dave didn’t try to turn toward the voice. He kept his eyes forward and watched blood run off his cheek and drop on the hardwood floor.

“Tie him up,” the man with the cigarette ordered.

Dave gritted his teeth as his wrists were wrenched back and bound tightly with a thin cord that bit into his flesh.

“You’re in some serious shit here.” The smoking man spoke in a voice that was almost pleasant. “Obstruction of justice, tampering with evidence, interfering in an official investigation. Any one of those charges could get you put away for a very long time.”

Dave lifted his head. “Is that why you brought a bartender with a baseball bat to help arrest me?”

The man got up from the chair and walked across the room to stand over Dave. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you? Got it all figured out. In that case, I guess there’s not much point in keeping up the pretense.” He knelt and, for the first time, allowed Dave to get a look at his face. He was a big, muscular guy with hair clipped down to his scalp and a scar that ran the length of his jawline. He smiled in the moonlight. “Do you know who I am?”

“Only by reputation. But the description I was given didn’t do you justice, Nettle. No one mentioned how bad you stink. You smell just like a dead man walking.”

“You’re a funny guy, Dave. A regular comedian. But maybe what you smell is the stink of the gutter. I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time there.”

When Dave said nothing, Nettle stood. “Yeah, that’s right. I know you by reputation, too. I heard you were a real dumb-ass, and you just proved to me that you are.”

“I don’t like to disappoint,” Dave rasped.

“As I said, this can go easy or I can let your old buddy Robert have his way with you. It’s your call. But make no mistake. I’ll get what I came for. One way or another. And the way I see it, when you start interfering in police business, fucking with an ongoing investigation, you gotta expect some blowback. Even a dumb shit like you should know better.”

Dave wiped his mouth against his shoulder as he pushed himself up to lean against the wall. His head lolled back against the plaster. “If you’re still trying to pass this off as official police business, then I think we need to reevaluate which one of us is the dumb-ass.”

Nettle stared down at him. “Maybe I ought to let my boy here give you a little preview of coming attractions. Seems to me you could use an attitude adjustment.”