Thorns on Roses Page 7

  “That’s what I’m counting on,” Tom said. “And the more they ask, the closer I’ll get to them. If they ask long enough, they’ll join you.” He squinted. “Look. There’s our turnoff.” He slowed and hit the exit lane that led into the Big Cypress Seminole Indian Reservation. As he merged onto Florida Route 833, he said, “Hang on. This road is bumpy and curvy. Don’t want you getting all bruised. Big Al might not like that.”

  “Who’s Big Al?”

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you? That’s where we’re going. He has a nice home in the swamp. Says I can drop in on him most anytime.” He stared at his watch in the glow from the dash. “Perfect. It’s barely one-thirty. He’ll be awake.”

  Twenty minutes later, Tom pulled off 833 onto a side road that led to a compound. He drove past the house and pulled up in front of a chain link fence. Pale light from overhead lamps illuminated the area. “Okay, Johnny. We’re here.”

  “Bout damn time. Now git me out of this crap and face me like a man.”

  “Sure,” Tom said. “Just what I had in mind. As soon as I position the car and get out, I’ll be right with you.” He chuckled. “Heck, I’m looking forward to seeing what you got.” He jockeyed the car until it faced the direction he’d come, then opened the door, and stepped out. Tilting his seat forward, he shot Johnny with a stun gun, giving him enough of a jolt to put him out. “Sorry, friend. Guess I should have told you. I’m an inveterate liar. Don’t believe a word I say.”

  Tom lowered the top on the convertible, then unlocked the cuffs holding Johnny’s hands and ankles. Working him across his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, he hauled him to the fence, sat him on the ground, and cuffed his right arm and right ankle to the enclosure. “There. That’ll keep you happy while we talk.” Bending over, he gave him a quick search, relieved him of a switchblade, then stepped back. “I’m guessing he’s right handed. Watch is on his left arm, car keys in his right front pocket, and knife in his right sock.” He double-checked the cuffs. “Even if he’s a lefty, he’s not going anywhere.”

  While Johnny slept off the effect of the stun gun, Tom made several trips between him and the car. He set up a small portable table with a folding chair beside it, and rested a tape recorder, flashlight, his .45, knife, stun gun, and a spray can of Off on it. After spraying all his exposed skin, he pulled a beer from a cooler, opened it, and sipped. Then he sat and waited.

  Sounds of the swamp filled the air. Different species of night birds singing, chirping, the croak of frogs from deep bass to soprano, and other noises that defied Tom’s knowledge. Most of his experiences in the Everglades were with people more knowledgeable than he, and he was happy to be led.

  “Wonder where his tattoo is,” he mused.

  Picking up the knife, he walked to where Johnny slumped and cut his shirt off him. Tom smiled at the tattoos on Johnny’s upper arm and chest. Both were long stemmed red roses with one thorn prominently located beneath the bud. A drop of blood hung from the thorn. “Thorns on roses. Touché, my friend. You just signed your death warrant.”

  He sat back down and mopped his brow with his handkerchief. It was hot and muggy, and when he shined his light on Johnny, he could see the mosquitoes feeding. Tom smiled, thinking Johnny would be in misery soon.

  A few minutes later, Johnny regained consciousness. “Man, I ache all over. What’d you hit me with?”

  “Stun gun. Sorry, but didn’t want you feeling helpless while I moved you. Want a beer?”

  Johnny looked at Tom and tried to stand. He didn’t get far. “You sombitch, now you got me cuffed to this damn fence. Turn me loose.”

  Tom chuckled. “Yeah, I’m really going to do that. Do you want a beer, or not?”

  Johnny rattled the fence, yanking at the cuff on his wrist, then kicked with his right foot. A look of resignation settled over his face. “Yeah.” He relaxed and leaned against the wire. “I reckon you got a plan. What is it?”

  Tom handed him an open beer. “Just a chat.” He held up the tape recorder. “See, you’re going to tell me all about Mary Lou’s murder—who was with you, where it happened, and exactly what you did to her.”

  Johnny looked incredulous. “Ain’t no damn way I’m doing that. Shit, my life wouldn’t be worth a can of pork ’n beans. ’Sides, I don’t know what you talking ’bout.” He shook his head. “Man, you must be crazy.”

  “Finally, you’re right. Took you awhile to figure it out but you did. Guess you’re like that broken clock story. Right at least twice a day. I am crazy. I’m so crazy that you’ll either talk to me or I’ll skin you alive.” He picked up the knife and waved it around. “You ever seen anyone who’s been skinned? It’s ugly, really, really ugly. I’ve only seen one, but I’ll never forget it.”

  Tom’s eyes glazed. “When I was Special Forces, the bad guys grabbed a man that provided info to us, spread-eagled him, and ripped his skin off. It looked like they made a small slit, then tore from there. When we found him, he was just a mass of raw meat. I can’t imagine what hell he went through before he died, how he must have hurt, how loud he must have screamed. Damn shame. He was a good man.”

  He paused and shook his head. “Like you, Johnny, he was out in the middle of nowhere. There was no one to hear him except the assholes doing the torturing. We never knew if they took him easy or inflicted maximum pain along the way. But we were pretty certain he was alive when the skinning started.” He sighed, a heartrending sound filled with sadness. “You don’t want that, do you Johnny? I hope you won’t make me do that.” He lay the knife down. “When you’re ready to talk, I’ll turn on the recorder.”

  Tom quieted and slumped back in his chair, giving Johnny an opportunity to think about his situation.

  * * * *

  Tom pretended to nap, however, through the slit of his eyelids, he kept a sharp eye on his prisoner.

  Johnny busied himself swatting mosquitoes with his free hand, a sullen look on his face. “Hey man, how ’bout some of that Off stuff? These damn skeeters eatin’ me alive. Ain’t gonna be nothing left for you to cut.” He chuckled, but it sounded forced.

  “Yeah, I suppose I could do that,” Tom said, rising. He picked up the can. “Don’t try anything. I’ll spray your back. You can swat your chest.”

  “How ’bout my left arm? I can’t keep ’em off it.”

  “Maybe later. Once you start talking, I might make you more comfortable. What do you say?”

  “Just put the stuff on. I ain’t got nothing to say.”

  As Tom sprayed, he noted the number of red welts on Johnny’s back. They had to be stinging and itching like mad. Returning to his chair, Tom watched his prisoner’s antics as he battled the increasing horde of mosquitoes. Apparently, the smell of blood had attracted all the cousins. After a few minutes, Tom stood. “It’s time, Johnny. I can’t wait all night.”

  Johnny’s eyes got large as he squirmed, trying to turn his body so he could face Tom. “You’re bluffing, right? You ain’t really gonna skin me?”

  “Sometimes I lie, but this is not one of those times. But, before I start, there’s something you need to see. Later, you’ll be in so much pain, you might not appreciate it.” He pulled a package out of the cooler. “This is a whole chicken. It was frozen when I put it in the cooler last night about ten.” He squeezed it. “Still pretty hard. Now, watch what happens. Just follow my flashlight.”

  He shined the light into the watery enclosure while tossing the chicken over the fence. A huge alligator head appeared from nowhere. It didn’t grab the package out the air, but it was close. The bundle had barely landed before the gator had it. Crunching, crushing sounds followed as Tom held the beam on the action. The monster slid beneath the water.

  “What the hell was that?” Johnny said. “I ain’t never seen nothing that ugly before.”

  “Big Al. Remember, I said I’d introduce you. Want to see it again?” Tom took another chicken out and repeated his action. That one met the same fate, only faster.

  “God. I ha
d no idea. I mean, I seen ’em on TV, but…” He shuddered, lapsing into silence.

  “Yeah, pretty awesome,” Tom said after giving Johnny a moment to soak it in. “You’re his breakfast.” He scratched his cheek. “Of course, that might depend on how many of his cousins are visiting tonight. Sometimes, it’s a real food fight in there. But, I expect Big Al will get the best parts.”

  He walked behind Johnny. “First thing though is we gotta dump the braids. A greasy mess like that could give him indigestion.” He cut each one off and tossed it in the nearby burn barrel. “There. Isn’t that more comfortable? You don’t have to thank me.”

  Tom returned to his chair and sat while Johnny kept his eyes glued to the water where Big Al had disappeared. Moments passed without movement. Even the mosquitoes seemed to have stopped buzzing.

  Suddenly, as if breaking out of a trance, Johnny’s head jerked toward Tom. “What’d you say? I mean, about breakfast?”

  “What I said was, you’re Big Al’s breakfast. You see, the creep of society has made it difficult to dispose of a body. Hide it, and somebody will stumble across it. Bury it, and some nosy neighbor will notice the fresh turned dirt. Burn it, and somebody will notice the smell in the air. Throw it in the ocean, and the damn thing’ll probably wash ashore.” Tom paused. “Unlike the good old days, once it’s found, it will be identified. The cops have so many tools for sniffing things out—dental x-rays, fingerprints, and the worst, DNA. What’s a fellow to do? I ask you, Johnny. What would you do if you had to get rid of a body? You and your buddies sure didn’t do too good with Mary Lou’s remains. The cops had her almost before she cooled. Got any ideas?”

  Johnny’s head turned toward the water beyond the wire. “Big Al? Feed it to Big Al?”

  “You got it. That’s why we’re here. A gator is a natural disposal system. When one of them finishes digesting, there’s nothing left to identify. So, even if the cops should figure out I brought you here, they’d never come up with the corpus delecti.”

  “But that’s…that’s…”

  Tom watched Johnny squirm, then said, “Yep. Almost as bad as raping and killing a seventeen-year-old girl whose life was just beginning.” He sighed. “Here’s the deal. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll put a forty-five slug through your heart. You won’t feel a thing from the bullet or when Big Al rips you apart. Keep being a hard-ass and protecting your buddies, and I’ll slice on you until I get bored. Then I’ll shove you in the water alive. You’ll get to feel the power of his jaws as he cracks you open like he did that chicken. It’s your choice. But my patience is running out. What’ll it be?”

  Johnny’s eyes danced in all directions, seemingly at once, then he smiled. “Man, you something, you are. You bring me out here and show me this shit thinking I’ll get scared and rat out my friends. You had me going for a while, but I see through your crap. Now take me home.”

  “Wrong answer. I guess you need convincing. Time to get started.” He took a pair of handcuffs out of the cooler. “Finish your beer. I have work to do.” He waited while Johnny turned the bottle up and chugged, then grabbed his left arm and slipped a cuff on the wrist. Before Johnny could react, Tom secured the arm to Johnny’s ankle. “Good. That’ll keep you from moving around too much while I cut.”

  He walked back to the table and picked up his knife. “I’ll start on your back. That way, you won’t have to watch the blood running and the mosquitoes in their feeding frenzy. Looks to me like you’re the type that chucks his lunch if he sees more than a couple of drops.”

  He went behind Johnny, and drew the blade lightly across his shoulders, cutting through the epidermis and the dermis. Blood oozed and trickled down Johnny’s back.

  Johnny’s screams quieted the noises from the swamp.

  “Shut up, will you? Try to act like a man for once.” He dragged the knife downward, opening a vertical slit, then completed the other two sides of a rectangle. “Okay, first cut’s done. Time to do some carving. Think I’ll start with my initials.” He methodically sliced a T into the skin.

  Johnny’s screams turned to moaning and sobbing. “I’ll talk. Don’t cut me no more. I’ll tell you what you want to know.” His voice gurgled from the tears rushing from his eyes and the mucous pouring from his nose.

  “So soon? Shit, I didn’t get to do my J. But a deal’s a deal.” Tom walked to the table and pushed the button on the recorder.

  Johnny’s blubbering accompanied the flow of blood from his lacerations. Little reached the ground though. Mosquitoes, flies, and other insects vied for it, each doing its best to drink every drop. Their buzzing filled the air, sounding like a mini-air force on maneuvers.

  Tom watched, keeping his emotions and revulsion in check, reminding himself what Johnny and his friends did. They were animals who did not deserve humane treatment. Mary Lou was dead, had died in as horrible a way as possible—raped and strangled. He wouldn’t rest until each of those who assaulted her burned in hell. He knew how monstrous his behavior was, but he couldn’t risk their appearing before some liberal judge who’d make excuses for them.

  He stared at Johnny, willing himself to follow through on what he’d planned. “Enough with feeling sorry for yourself. Spit it out, or I go back to work with my knife.” He pointed at the recorder. “Start with how you suckered Mary Lou into your gang.”

  Johnny wiped his nose on his shoulder and talked about the Thorns on Roses, and how they accidentally killed her during the gang initiation. It was supposed to be so simple. All she had to do was take on the five of them. No big deal. But she started screaming and fighting. All El General was trying to do was quiet her down. He told her to shut up. He even put his hand over her mouth, but she bit him. He had to strangle her, but he didn’t mean to kill her.

  A half-hour later, Johnny was running out of steam and Tom out of patience. He stood, picked up his .45 and moved behind Johnny. “I’m keeping my promise. I said if you sang, I’d take you out quick and painless.” Placing the barrel against Johnny’s back opposite the heart, Tom squeezed the trigger. A loud retort sounded, and Johnny’s chest exploded in a red mass of gore, blood, and rib cartilage. Somewhere in the expelled mess was enough of the heart to guarantee instant death. The bullet barely slowed as it tore through the flesh and bone and burrowed a path in the ground in front of Johnny before ricocheting into the night.

  Tom grimaced, not liking the idea of leaving that slug unaccounted for. However, the chances of finding it in the expanse of the Everglades were immeasurable. He would live with it.

  He checked Johnny’s carotid artery. Dead, as expected. “You’ll rape no more young girls. Too bad you can’t recognize I keep my promises. You’re out of your misery, and Big Al gets breakfast.”

  He undressed Johnny, turned his pockets inside out, and removed the buckle from his belt. He put the combustibles in a burn barrel and threw the metal items into the swamp, scattering them in different directions. The wallet, less its fifty dollars, went into the barrel. He noticed Johnny carried several credit cards in different names. Probably, he’d lifted them from unsuspecting customers in Publix.

  Tom dragged the body to a gate, opened it, and shoved Johnny in where he hung on the bank of the swamp until a huge set of jaws grabbed and pulled him all the way in and under. The water roiled as the bank came alive with alligators splashing in from every direction. A feeding frenzy ensued, backs appearing, rolling, and disappearing. Big Al’s cousins were not granting him a host’s rights.

  From his car, Tom took out a complete change of clothes, his gun cleaning kit, a jug of Clorox, Windex, and rags. He repositioned his table to catch the best light from the overhead lamps, then disassembled his .45, cleaned it, reassembled, and made sure it worked to perfection. Then he scoured his knife with the Windex before dropping it into the bleach as a last sterilizer. Finally, he changed his outfit and put his old clothes and the rags into the barrel.

  Another trip to the car produced a gallon of gasoline, which he poured over
the clothing, stirring to make sure everything was saturated. Then he lit a match and tossed it in. The swoosh of flame caused him to smile. “A good night’s work.” He pulled a beer from his cooler, and sat, sipping the beer as the flames devoured the evidence of his and Johnny’s night together. Occasionally, his eyes drifted to the swamp where the activity had almost ceased. He raised the beer bottle. “I’ll be back, Big Al—with more munchies.”

  When the flames dwindled, he stirred in the barrel, making sure everything had burned beyond recovery. When there was nothing left except glowing ashes, he collected sticks, fallen limbs, and other debris that he mixed with the embers. Soon, he had doubled the amount of ash and felt sure anything incriminating had gone up in smoke.

  The first edges of sunrise showed before he was satisfied he’d removed all evidence of his and Johnny’s presence. The small amount of blood that had made it to the ground was insignificant among all the other that had soaked in over the years. Many creatures had shed blood here before going over the fence, especially chickens, a favorite of the carnivores. Finding Johnny’s DNA would prove a near-impossible challenge. Tom was not concerned.

  He took the cassette tape out of the recorder and put it in a special compartment in the trunk of his car. It was small, just big enough for a pistol. The tape fit with room to spare. He shined his light around the small trap door. If a person didn’t know where to look, he’d never see it. When he got home, he’d turn the tape into the document he needed.

  He re-secured his pistol and knife, folded the chair and table, and put them in his car. After a final scouring of the area, he drove away, taking his time. As he passed the cabin on the edge of the compound, he saluted. “Our days in SF were never like this, were they? We knew the enemy and went out and killed the bastards. Not like today when we have to hide justice in the darkness. Anyway, thanks for the use of your alligator farm. I owe you one.”

  TEN