Greg Iles - The Devils Punchbowl

“What the fuck’s she gawkin’ at?” Quinn asks.

Caitlin swings the beam away from the red eyes and aims it down at Quinn. Then she switches off the flashlight and covers her face with a shaking hand. Five minutes ago I thought of Caitlin’s period of captivity as a transient nightmare she had miraculously managed to escape. Now I know she might never escape it. Thinking this is like cracking the gate to hell.

“Stand him up,” she says. “Let him see.”

Kelly grabs Quinn under the arms and heaves him up onto one of the seats. The Irishman looks out, but all is darkness around the boat. Then Caitlin shines the light toward the cypress knees, and the red eyes gleam like rubies in its beam.

“Bloody hell,” says Quinn, his voice in a higher register. “What’s that?”

The satisfaction I feel at the sound of fear in his voice cannot be denied. “American alligator,” I inform him. “

Alligator mississippiensis.

I'm sure you'’ve seen them on TV.”

As Quinn slowly draws back his head, a throaty bellow blasts out of the dark at unbelievable volume. His bound feet scrape against the deck, but he has nowhere to run.

“You’re a big fan of people fighting animals,” Caitlin says. “You told me all about the Romans and their games, how they made animals rape girls.”

Reaching out my right hand, I touch her shoulder softly. “Caitlin…? What did he do?”

She looks back at me, her eyes wet with tears. “It’s what he didn't do.”

“What didn't he do?”

“He didn't

stop.

It was…unforgivable.”

Anger like corrosive acid burns the lining of my heart.

“Where’s your Christian mercy, darlin’?” Quinn asks mockingly, but his eyes are those of a cornered animal—desperate and calculating. He looks at Kelly. “It’s always the women. The most bloody-minded creatures ever the Lord made.”

“That'’s why you treat them with respect, Seamus.”

Another hard slap rebounds over the water, and Caitlin whips the beam over to the cypress trees. Quinn can’t tear his gaze away from the glowing eyes. When Kelly claps him on the back, the Irishman jumps in terror.

“Ready, tough guy? Here’s your chance to prove what a badass you are. Ultimate Fighting Challenge times fifty.”

“Ah, you’re bluffin’,” Quinn says, turning back from the water and smiling like a man who can appreciate being the butt of a good joke. “Cage is a lawyer. He won'’t have any part of this. He can’t.”

“Do you remember what I told you outside Sands’s house?” I ask.

Quinn nods. “Sure. This isn’t Northern Ireland. You were right about that.”

“‘Stay away from my family.’ That'’s what I told you. Well, Caitlin is family. And this is Mississippi. You remember what I told you about that?”

“Cage, listen—”

“I said, ‘We know how to play rough too.’ But you didn't believe me. And now here we are, with you telling me about the law.”

Recognizing the steel in my voice, Kelly eases the throttle forward, and we begin creeping through the narrow chute. Caitlin shines the light over the bow to assist him, and Quinn stares along the beam as though hypnotized by the unblinking eyes that surround us. After a couple of minutes, the chute opens into a wide pool. The old fishing camp stands somewhere in the trees to our left, but I can’t see it. The place is deserted now, and there’s nothing else down this way. The water’s too shallow and dangerous for people to build here. With seemingly infinite patience, Kelly turns the boat and heads back up the chute.

Quinn’s naturally pale skin looks as white as a movie vampire’s in the moonlight. Fear has drained the blood from his face. This man has fed human beings to dogs. He may even have imagined what it might be like to suffer such a death. But he has never contemplated the fate Daniel Kelly has set before him. Kelly has appointed himself the instrument of the karma he believes in, and for him the terror Quinn suffers now is as important as his dying.

“I’'ve heard a lot of guys brag about the biting strength of pit bulls,” Kelly says in an offhand tone. “But I'’ll tell you something. A gator could bite a chunk out of a

car fender.

”

“Alligators don'’t usually attack people,” I recall aloud. “It’s usually by mistake, or if one feels threatened.”

“This is a unique situation,” Kelly says with relish. “

Lots

of gators out there tonight. Protective females, territorial males.” He glances back at Quinn. “They don'’t need to see you, man. They

smell

you. Which reminds me…”

Motioning for me to take the wheel, Kelly lifts a seat cushion and opens the lid of an ice chest. A rotten smell instantly permeates the boat.

“That'’s awful!” cries Caitlin, holding her nose. “What is it?”

“I'm not sure. Got it out of the Dumpster behind the Mexican restaurant.”

Kelly reaches across me and shifts the engine into neutral, then pulls on a gardening glove and reaches into the ice chest. I pinch my nostrils shut as he tosses something heavy into the trees. The splash silences the frogs, but they soon resume their dissonant chorus.

No one speaks. Something primitive holds us spellbound. Then I hear a single, powerful swish, like a sound effect from a horror movie: a heavy, armored tail moving water. A primitive grunt comes from the dark, then a choked bellow. More swishes follow. Too many to count.

“Feeding time,” says Kelly. He pulls a knife from a sheath on his ankle. Quinn jerks in his seat when Kelly leans down and slices the duct tape binding his ankles. After a few seconds, Quinn stands erect on his good foot and holds out his wrists, but Kelly shakes his head.

“Come on!” says Quinn. “Jaysus, give a man a chance. Give me something to work with.”

I point at Quinn’s feet. “He just did.”

Caitlin turns the flashlight on Quinn. “More of a chance than you gave Linda Church.”

“The water’s only four feet deep here,” I offer. “Kind of tough to run in that, but I know you’ll give it all you'’ve got.”

“I wouldn'’t do that,” Kelly advises. “I’d swim for it.

Real

slow. Alligators have some kind of organ that picks up vibrations in the water.”

Quinn’s dark eyes are bulging. “You’re wired, right?” he says in a hyperexcited voice. “You want a confession? Fine. Let’s start with Jessup.”

“Save your breath,” mutters Kelly.

“Wait a second,” I say. “What about Ben Li?”

Quinn shakes his head angrily. “That kid attacked me on the boat! That crazy Linda jumped into the river, and when I turned around to find her, the chink went crazy. He was kicking me and screaming nonsense. I had to shoot him to try to save Linda.”

Caitlin looks incredulous. “You killed Ben Li to save Linda? So that you could rape her later?”

Panic arcs from Quinn’s eyes.

“Do you have any idea what she went through?” Caitlin asks. “She

hanged

herself because of what you did.”

“There you go!” he cries. “She killed her

self.

That'’s not murder!”

“Enough of this,” says Kelly. “Let’s get it done.”

He turns to Caitlin as though for final permission, but her eyes are locked on Quinn.

“Linda

begged

you to stop,” she says. “She begged you, but you kept on. She was

sick.

She was in pain. But you wouldn'’t stop.”

“I was only doing what Sands ordered me to do!”

“

Liar!

He beat you for it.”

“What do you think that was but

show

?” Quinn barks a hysterical laugh. “He did that in case he had to let you go later. So you could tell everyone what a merciful bastard he is.”

Caitlin turns to me, her eyes luminous in the half dark. “How long would Quinn spend in prison?”