Десмонд Бэгли - Bahama Crisis

This was it. One last shot and they would be upon me. I put my hand out to where the shotgun had fallen and then stopped because a foot pinned down my wrist. I twisted around and looked up and saw a tall man dressed in faded denims. He had a shotgun under his arm.

‘All right,’ I said, defeated. ‘Get it over with.’

‘Get what over with?’ He turned his head and looked down the hill at the sound of a shout. ‘You in trouble?’

Someone else moved into sight — a busty brunette in skintight jeans and a shirt knotted about her middle. I suddenly realized these were not Leroy’s people. ‘They’re going to kill me,’ I said, still gasping for breath. ‘Chased me to hell and gone.’

He showed polite interest. ‘Who are?’

‘Don’t know all the names. Someone called Leroy. Torturing my wife.’

He frowned. ‘Whichaway was this?’

I pointed with my free arm. ‘That way.’

He turned to the girl. ‘Could be the Ainslees.’

‘It is.’ She was looking down the hill. ‘I see Trace.’

The man released my wrist, then picked up my shotgun. ‘Any load in this?’

‘One round of buckshot.’

‘Enough. Can you climb a tree?’ He was looking at my feet.

‘I can try.’

‘If you admire yo’ skin you better climb this tree,’ he advised. He tossed my shotgun to the girl. ‘Over there, behind that rock. Watch my signal.’

‘Okay, Pop.’

The man gave me a boost into the tree. For a skinny old man he was surprisingly strong. ‘Stay on the upslope side an’ keep yo’ haid down.’ I managed the rest by myself and got lost in the leafy branches. I could not see down the hill but I had a good view to one side, and I saw him walk out and look towards my pursuers. I heard heavy breathing as someone came up the hill fast, and the old man said sharply, ‘Just hold it there, son.’

‘Hell, Dade...’

‘I mean it, Trace. You stop right there.’ The shotgun Dade carried was held steady.

Trace raised his voice in a shout. ‘Hey, Leroy; here’s old Dade.’

There was the sound of more movement and presently Leroy said breathily, ‘Hi, there, Dade.’

‘What you huntin’, Leroy?’ asked Dade. ‘T’ain’t razorback hog ‘cause you ain’t gotten dogs. An’ yo’ makin’ too much damn noise for deer.’

‘Ah’m huntin’ one son of a bitch,’ said Leroy. He came into sight.

‘I don’t care what yo’ huntin’,’ said Dade. ‘I told you before. If you came huntin’ on my land agin I’d kick yo’ ass. I don’t care if yo’ huntin’ a man or Hoover hog — you git offen my land.’

‘You don’t understand,’ said Leroy. ‘This guy kilt Earl — smashed his haid in like a water melon. An’ Tukey — he’s like to die; he ain’t hardly got no belly left. Belle’s tendin’ to him, but ah don’t know...’

‘If Belle’s tendin’ him he’s sure to die,’ said Dade flatly. ‘Now git the hell outta here.’

Leroy looked around. ‘You reckon you can make us?’

‘Think I’m crazy?’ said Dade. ‘I’ve gotten six of my boys within spittin’ distance.’

Leroy eyed him speculatively. ‘Prove it.’

‘Sure.’ Dade took an apple from his pocket. ‘I was goin’ to enjoy this, an’ that’s somethin’ else I have agin you, Leroy.’ He suddenly tossed the apple into the air, and shouted, ‘Hit it!’

There was a shotgun blast from the rock behind me and the apple disintegrated in mid-air. Wetness splattered against my cheek.

‘Could have been yo’ haid, Leroy,’ said Dade. ‘It’s bigger. Mighty fine target is a swelled haid.’ His voice sharpened. ‘Now, you heard me tellin’ you, an’ you know I tells no one twice. Move yo’ ass.’ His hand pointed down the hill. ‘That’s the shortest way offen my land.’

Leroy looked uncertainly at the shotgun pointing at his belly, then he laughed shortly. ‘Okay, Dade. But, listen, old man; you ain’t heard the last.’

‘An’ yo’ not the last to tell me that. Better men, too.’ Dade spat at Leroy’s feet.

Leroy turned on his heel and went out of sight and I heard the sound of many men going down the hill. Dade watched them go, his sparse grey hair moving in the slight breeze. He stood there for a long time before he moved.

From somewhere behind me the girl said, ‘They’re gone, Pop.’

‘Yeah.’ Dade came up to the tree. He said, ‘I’m Dade Perkins an’ this is my girl, Sherry-Lou. Now, suppose you come down outta that tree an’ tell me just who the hell you are.’

It nearly went sour even then.

I climbed down from the tree, wincing as the rough bark scraped my bruised and bloody feet. As I reached the ground I said, ‘Where’s the nearest telephone? I need help.’

Sherry-Lou laughed. She looked me up and down, taking in my bleeding arms, the tattered tee-shirt with its incongruous inscription, the ripped jeans and my bare feet. ‘You sure do,’ she said. ‘You look like you tangled with a cougar.’ She saw the expression on my face and the laughter vanished. ‘Got a telephone back at the house,’ she offered.

‘How far?’

‘Two — three miles.’

‘You won’t make that in under an hour,’ said Dade. ‘Yo’ feet won’t. Can Sherry-Lou go ahead an’ talk for you?’

I was not feeling too well. I leaned against the tree, and said, ‘Good idea.’

‘Who do I talk with?’ she asked. ‘What number?’

I had forgotten the number and had no secretary handy to ask. ‘I don’t know — but it’s easy to find. Houston — the Cunningham Corporation; ask for Billy Cunningham.’

There was an odd pause. Sherry-Lou seemed about to speak, then hesitated and looked at her father. He glanced at her, then looked back at me. ‘You a Cunningham?’ he asked, and spat at the ground. That ought to have warned me.

‘Do I sound like a Cunningham?’ I said tiredly.

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘You talk funny. I reckoned you was from Californy — some place like that.’

‘I’m a Bahamian,’ I said. ‘My name’s Mangan — Tom Mangan.’

‘What’s the Cunninghams to you?’

‘I married one,’ I said. ‘And Leroy’s got her.’ Perkins said nothing to that. I looked at his expressionless face and said desperately, ‘For Christ’s sake, do something! She was screaming her head off when I busted out this morning. I couldn’t get near her.’ I found I was crying and felt the wetness of tears on my cheek.

Sherry-Lou said, ‘Those Ainslees...’

‘Cunningham or Ainslee — dunno which is worst,’ said Dade. ‘Ainslee by a short haid, I reckon.’ He nodded abruptly. ‘Sherry-Lou, you run to the house an’ talk to Billy Cunningham.’ He turned to me. ‘The young sprout or Billy One?’

‘Young Billy would be best.’ I thought he would be better able to make quick decisions.

Dade said, ‘Tell young Billy he’ll need guns, as many as he can get. An’ tell him he’d better be fast.’

‘How far are we from Houston?’ I did not even know where I was.

‘Mebbe hundred miles.’

That far! I said, ‘Tell him to use helicopters — he’ll have them.’

‘An’ tell him to come to my place,’ said Dade. ‘He sure knows where it is. Then come back an’ bring a pair of Chuck’s sneakers so as Tom here can walk comfortable.’

‘Sure,’ said Sherry-Lou, and turned away.

I watched her run up the hill until she was lost to sight among the trees, then I turned to look about. ‘Where is this place?’

‘You don’t know?’ said Dade, surprised. ‘Close to Big Thicket country.’ He pointed down the hill to the right. ‘Neches River down there.’ His arm swung in an arc. ‘Big Thicket that way, an’ Kountze.’ His thumb jerked over his shoulder. ‘Beaumont back there.’