Byron Starr - Doppelgänger

Bill shook his head, “No, Sam, this is my call and I’m willing to accept the consequences.”

Over the length of his long, storied career, many people had accused Larry Williams of being schizophrenic. At home Larry Williams was a quiet man. He never cussed, drank, smoked or even raised his voice. The worst thing that his plump little wife could ever think of was his occasionally forgetting to raise the toilet seat. Larry would get a little loud when he went out to feed and work his dogs, but other than that he was essentially a very pleasant, easy going man.

The people who worked with Larry would no more recognize this man than Larry’s wife and kids would recognize the man who handled the bloodhounds on the manhunts. When Larry was with his hounds, he underwent a kind of metamorphosis. His Texas Department of Public Safety cap was turned with the bill toward the back. A large plug of chewing tobacco was placed in his cheek. His partial dentures, which replaced four of his missing upper teeth, were taken out and placed in his shirt pocket. His vocabulary began to have less depth and more breadth as he stopped using all words with more than two syllables and started using cuss words that would make a hardened sailor blush with shame. Even his eyes began to take on a slightly less than sane look.

Larry wasn’t only a bloodhound handler; he was also The State of Texas' very own bloodhound trainer. He started training his dogs as soon as they were weaned. Currently eleven other states’ highway departments and the FBI purchased bloodhounds from the State of Texas, and every one of these dogs had been trained by Larry. The best of the bloodhounds, however, stayed in Texas. Larry kept his seven best students in a small kennel behind his house. He trained and worked them twice, sometimes three or four, times a day.

As James and Emilio drove up to the Chamblins’ house, Emilio pointed out Larry Williams. He was holding four baying bloodhounds on leashes and yelling at a young game warden beside him holding the other three. “That’s Larry Williams. He’s a little strange, but I’ve worked with him. The man definitely knows his business. He’s like a god when it comes to bloodhounds.”

James noticed Larry was having no trouble at all holding his four big bloodhounds, which were chomping at the bit to get going, but the other game warden, who was a head taller and quite a bit broader than Larry, seemed like he was fighting for all he was worth to keep from being dragged off by the other three.

“Not exactly what I expected,” James commented as he watched the unruly dogs bay and paw at the ground.

“Don’t let them fool you, those dogs are about as disciplined as they come when Larry wants them to behave, but he always gets them all fired up before they start tracking someone,” Emilio said as he parked the Blazer in the drive behind another Game Warden’s vehicle. “He says it helps. I think he just likes the sound of barking dogs,” he added with a chuckle.

“What the hell took y’all so damn long?” Larry shouted over the baying hounds as Emilio and James got out of the truck.

“Sorry, Larry…” Emilio started to give an excuse, but Larry cut in.

“We might have a real show today, amigo. I got m’self a new assistant,” Larry said, grinning; with the front four teeth on the top of his mouth missing, his smile looked twisted and quite insane. “He ain’t showin’ much promise, but my babies’ve trained worse.”

Larry then looked around at the five game wardens who were in the area and yelled, “Y’all ready?” Without waiting for an answer, Larry let his dogs start off across the pasture with him in tow. Seeing their comrades get started, the other three dogs took off, almost pulling Larry’s assistant off his feet. James, Emilio, and four other game wardens followed right behind them. Up ahead they could hear Larry holler, “Hell, yeah! They on somethin’ already!”

They followed Larry through the pasture, pausing briefly to work their way through the barbwire fence. The troop of dogs and men continued through the woods and underbrush, heading north, back in the direction of town. The dogs let out a tremendous racket as they plunged through the woods, and Larry was almost as noisy, cussing his assistant and encouraging his “babies.” Every now and then, when the underbrush was at its thinnest, James could make out the dirt road to the left of them, and the scattered houses along its way. They pressed on at a jog for eight miles, taking only brief rest stops before Larry would have them back up and going.

During the first break, Emilio had taken out the satellite phone to call in, but Larry had informed him that the rest would be too short for him to make the call. He would let him know when they were going to have a break long enough for a call in to the Sheriff’s Department. Sure enough, Emilio had just enough time to put the phone up and take a swig from his canteen when Larry started up again. So much for keeping in constant touch with Sam and Bill.

Every so often, Emilio would take a small compass out of his breast pocket and check their direction. They headed north by northeast for about eight miles, crossing several dirt roads, passing through several pastures, and even an occasional backyard.

As they crossed a small creek, which was only about ankle deep and four feet wide, Emilio commented in a voice winded from the quick pace they’d had to stay at to keep up with Larry and his dogs, “Highway 190's not far.”

After crossing the creek the hounds momentarily lost the trail, giving James and the game wardens a short break; however, the break didn’t last long. As soon as the dogs had the scent again they were off, this time heading straight north, baying excitedly. Less than a half a mile later they came to Highway 190. When they came out of the brush there were no cars in sight on the road, so they quickly crossed over, with only one old pickup passing by before the entire group was on the other side of the road.

Once the team had gone far enough into the woods that Larry’s hounds wouldn’t be distracted by passing cars, Larry stopped to give the hounds a break. While Larry and his assistant gave the dogs their water (not too much, dipshit, Larry snapped at his assistant, don’t want ’em gettin’ sick on us!) Emilio plopped down on a stump and James slumped to the ground with his back to a tree. Both of them were breathing hard. Larry walked over and told Emilio that now would be a good time to check in, but he’d have to be brief. Emilio took out Sam’s little James Bond phone. He dialed the sheriff’s office and it started ringing. No static.

“Sheriff’s Department.”

“Debra, this is Emilio. Transfer me to Bill’s office.”

There was a slight pause, then Bill said, “Hello?”

“It’s Emilio. We’ve just crossed Highway 190. The trail’s been north by northeast for almost nine miles, now the trail’s going straight north. I’d say we’re just three to four miles southeast of town.”

“Okay, keep us posted.”

“I will if I can. Larry’s not giving us many breaks.”

“Ten-four.”

Emilio put the phone back in his pocket. He took a canteen out of the small backpack he was wearing and took a drink, then handed it to James. “You say this thing has a regular den it sleeps in during the day?”

James took a long drink out of the canteen, then replied, “Yeah, it’s under some roots on the edge of a creek.”

James handed Emilio the canteen, and Emilio put the cap back on. “Do you recognize any of this,” Emilio made a motion around him. “from your… dreams?”

“Not much. The thing usually moves too fast for me to tell much about where it’s at. I do remember crossing 190 though,” Then James added, “There’s something that seems strange to me. I’ve been watching that thing taking inventory in Newton for days, but when it finally strikes it hits a farmhouse ten miles out of town. What’s up with that?”