Bad Karma In the Big Easy Page 20

  Then he turned away.

  As the tension in the situation dropped just below Marge’s red zone, the guy did something she didn’t understand. He knelt and picked up a baseball bat that had been lying on the dock. He began to hit the bat rhythmically against a dock piling on her side.

  Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

  What the hell was he doing?

  The water in front of Marge’s boat suddenly surged and rolled. Something beneath the surface slid by. Whatever it was, headed out into the bayou, then turned toward the dock. The top of a huge scaly snout and a pair of evil eyes rose to the surface.

  In the boat, Marge almost peed her pants. Jesus. That thing had been sitting next to her for God knows how long. Jesus.

  The guy put the bat down and picked up the object he’d been carrying. He unwrapped it from what appeared to be a towel, and for the first time, Marge could see what it was.

  Oh my God. He was going to...

  She thought about screaming at him to stop, but from the object’s appearance and the rough way he was handling it, it seemed a scream wouldn’t accomplish anything but give her presence away. So instead, she snatched her camera phone from her shirt pocket.

  The man swung his arm backward.

  Marge got off two shots with the camera as the object flew through the air, both unobstructed, she thought. She was less sure about the one she took as the huge alligator caught the thrown object in his open mouth and sank out of sight.

  Chapter 30

  Marge Hennepin clicked the sharpen command on Adobe Photoshop. She bent closer to her computer monitor and looked at the effect on the blurred photo she’d taken behind the Marshall estate. “It’s still not great, but you can tell what it is.” She vacated her chair.

  Kit took her place and looked hard at the picture. “It’s definitely an infant,” she said. She lifted her hand to the screen and pointed. “You can see the arms here and these are the legs.”

  From behind Kit, Marge spoke again. “Like I said. I’m sure the baby was dead when it was thrown into the water. God help me if it wasn’t, because I didn’t do anything to stop what happened. I just snapped a few pictures. It looked limp and lifeless. I hope it wasn’t just unconscious. Lord, I pray that wasn’t the case.”

  Where the devil do you suppose that baby came from?” Teddy asked.

  “I have no idea,” Kit responded. “But I want to see it.”

  “You can’t,” Marge said. “I told you the alligator ate it.”

  Kit turned to Teddy. “Digestion is relatively slow in an alligator right?”

  “Yes...” Teddy’s brow furrowed. “You’re not thinking...”

  “I want to get hold of that animal and open it. If the Marshalls killed a baby, we can get them for that.”

  “Alligators are protected. You can’t just kill one whenever you feel like it.” Seeing Kit becoming angry at his uncooperative comment, Teddy quickly added, “But I’m sure if we explained the situation to Fish and Wildlife, they’d grant us a permit.”

  “How long would that take? We can’t get involved in a lot of red tape on this and let that baby get dissolved.”

  “I know some people there. I’ll get things expedited.”

  “And you could catch it?”

  “If we can find the right one.” He looked at Marge. “Did this animal have any identifying features?”

  “It was huge.”

  “That and the fact they’re territorial will certainly help us find it. But Fish and Wildlife will want more proof we know exactly which individual we’re after.”

  “I didn’t actually see much of it,” Marge said. “But now that you’re forcing me to think harder... It had an irregular white line running diagonally from the top of its head to down under its left eye. Don’t know if it had one under the other eye.”

  “I’ve never seen any natural marking like that on a gator,” Teddy said. “Sounds like an injury of some sort, either fresh or one healed without normal pigmentation. That’s what we’re looking for.”

  “FROM WHERE I STAND,” Dewey Lazare, sheriff of St. Charles Parish said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “You folks are messin’ in my business.”

  Lazare had a remarkable gut that spilled in a fleshy avalanche over his belt, making him look like a walrus in a brown uniform.

  “This is not about turf,” Kit said. “We’re trying to bring a killer to justice.”

  Lazare shot Kit a hard look. “Missy, I don’t appreciate bein’ lectured to by anybody, least of all a woman.”

  Kit was about to rip him a new southern egress, but Broussard reined her in with a touch on her hand and a little warning nod. He turned to Lazare. “Sheriff, I understand how you might feel that way. But that’s not our intent. We’re here because we need some direction and figured since the Marshall estate is in your parish and you’ve been at this kind of work a long time, you’d know what to do. Am I on the right track do you think, wantin’ to get a look inside this gator? Dr. Franklyn here thinks it’d be better to go out there and just question the people who live there... see what might come from that.”

  Lazare took a sip of his coffee and looked hard at Broussard.

  Kit was sure Lazare would never fall for such a transparent attempt to play to his ego. She was likewise, convinced he’d see though Broussard’s ploy of getting him to cooperate by using his obvious dislike of women against him.

  Lazare’s body language softened and he lost the defensive glint in his puffy eyes. He looked at Kit. “Questionin’ them would just be stupid. Then they’d know they were bein’ watched.” He shook his head, waggling his jowels. “No... you gotta check out that gator. How you gonna get hold of it?”

  “That’ll be my job,” Teddy said.

  “You know what you’re doin’?”

  “I’m a professional alligator farmer.”

  “You got a permit?”

  “We do.”

  “I can’t have you crashin’ around in my parish unsupervised. So I’m gonna send my deputy, Theo Lancon, with you.”

  “That’s good,” Teddy said. “An extra hand will be useful.”

  “When you plannin’ on doin’ this?”

  “That’s kind of a problem,” Broussard said. “There’s not enough time left today to get everything together and we can’t do it at night and risk the lights we’d need bein’ seen from the Marshall house, so we’re gonna start at sunup tomorrow mornin’.”

  “Didn’t you say the Marshalls eat breakfast out on the back patio?”

  “It is risky. But we hope to make the capture down bayou a little and be quick and quiet and gone from the area before they come out.”

  “Why not wait until later in the day?”

  “Can’t say that’d be any better. For all we know, they may have a yard crew out there workin’ later. Or somebody may come out to sit on the dock and birdwatch. And the longer we wait, the less of that child there’s gonna be to examine. We’ll post a watch to keep an eye on the house. If anybody comes out while we’re still in a vulnerable position, we’ll call it off.”

  “Where should Theo meet you?”

  Broussard laid a map out on Lazare’s desk and showed him the spot they’d chosen for the operation’s staging area.

  Chapter 31

  Theo Lancon was a walrus in training. In a few years, if he didn’t change his habits, his gut would surely equal Lazare’s in size. But he was a congenial fellow and willing to help where needed. Teddy posted him in the woods adjacent to the Marshall estate property line, where he could keep an eye on the back of the house.

  Teddy was situated in a second set of woods, across the bayou and down about fifty yards to Lancon’s right. He was located far enough from the Marshall’s house that the trees where Lancon was hiding would block the view from anyone looking out a window when the time came for Teddy to take his shot with the sound-suppressed Ruger automatic rifle he’d borrowed from Fish and Wildlife.

  Bubba was facing Teddy directly on the
opposite side of the bayou, ready to call the gator into their trap. Back aways, behind a tree, stood Phil Gatlin with another Ruger.

  Forty yards farther down to Teddy’s left, Kit and Broussard waited at the boat-launching area where the operation had gotten underway. To keep any local fishermen from stumbling onto what they were doing, they’d blocked the access road with Lancon’s cruiser along with a sign saying the road was temporarily closed for repairs.

  So everyone present could follow the progress of the operation, they were each wearing an earpiece and a tiny boom mike connected to a short range voice-activated Walkie-Talkie, courtesy of the NOPD via Gatlin.

  “Are we clear, number two?” Teddy said into his mike.

  “Clear,” Lancon responded.

  “Number three, get started.”

  Across the bayou, Bubba put the fat end of one of his two baseball bats into the water. Pressing that bat into the bayou mud, He began striking it on the side with the other one.

  Teddy cringed at how loud it was. “Easy does it, three.”

  Bubba’s next blow was much softer, but still probably hard enough for the gator they were after to sense the vibrations it sent into the water... if it was anywhere in the area.

  They could have come out last night and thrown some hooks baited with chicken carcasses into the water. Then this morning, if the gator they were after had taken one of them, they could have pulled it onto land and shot it there. But that was an indiscriminate approach with a potential for injury and death to alligators other than the one they were after if those others swallowed the hook. Their permit only allowed them to kill the big gator with the white mark under its eye. The most efficient way to do that was with a rifle.

  Even then, there was a lot of uncertainty associated with their plan. Would the gator be close enough for him to detect the vibrations? Would they be similar enough to those the Marshalls used to summon it? Would this unfamiliar location for the vibrations make it too skittery to show itself?

  Concerned that the sound they were making might carry to the Marshall house, Teddy checked with Lancon. “How we doing, number two?”

  “Still good,” Lancon replied.

  The gator did not make an immediate appearance. Nor did another five minutes of calling it change the situation.

  “How you holding up, number three?” Teddy asked.

  “I’d rather be peelin’ potatoes.”

  Bubba carried on for another five minutes while Teddy scanned the bayou for any sign of a wake that indicated the gator was coming.

  Bubba was crouching near a fan-shaped shallow that extended about five feet out into the bayou. They’d chosen the spot so it wouldn’t be possible for the gator to sneak up on him totally submerged. But, because gators can cover a lot of distance fast when they lunge for prey at the water’s edge, it was necessary for Bubba to keep a sharp eye on the point where the water deepened.

  Teddy believed the gator would be wary enough to surface and take a look in Bubba’s direction before making any attack decision. It was also extremely likely that after the gator surfaced, it would find the situation too dangerous to proceed and would submerge, never to be seen by them again. For that reason, Teddy had decided he should take the first shot available. If the gator came from Teddy’s left and surfaced, it would be up to Gatlin to determine, using the scope on his rifle, if the gator had the identifying mark. He would then communicate that to Teddy, who would make the shot. If the animal came from the right and surfaced, Teddy could judge for himself if it was the one they wanted. In either case, Teddy would get one shot to hit the thumbnail-sized lethal spot an inch behind the alligator’s eyes. If he missed, or hit it anywhere else, the gator would submerge and swim away.

  But Teddy wasn’t going to miss. He would send his slug directly into the animal’s brainstem. Then, in the few seconds, before the animal sank, he would use the grappling hook at his feet to haul the creature to shore.

  That was the plan.

  And that was exactly how it was going to play out.

  Or so Teddy thought.

  Chapter 32

  Bubba continued to call the gator. Eyes continually scanning the surface of the green water, Teddy watched closely for signs the creature was approaching. Suddenly, Teddy heard a sound behind him. Lowering the Ruger, he turned and couldn’t believe what he saw. The gator had come out of the adjacent bayou and was charging at high speed, its legs under it like a mammal, jaws open so wide Teddy could see the manhole size opening into its gullet at the back of its throat.

  Teddy snap-fired the Ruger and sent a slug down the animal’s throat just as the creature lunged for him. Teddy leapt to the side and the big jaws snapped shut on nothing but his heat signature. But as Teddy jumped, the rifle barrel hit a tree and the gun spun out of his hand. Mouth gaping, the gator swept its big head in Teddy’s direction.

  As he dove out of the way, Teddy screamed into the mike. “I’m in trouble here...” The gator’s jaws snapped again, just clipping the heel of Teddy’s left boot.

  Across the bayou, Bubba sprang into action. Spinning like an Olympic hammer thrower, he lofted the bat in his hand over the water onto the opposite shore. He then ran into the bayou and dove headfirst into the green water.

  It was a good thing Gatlin had not shown up in a suit, but had arrived in clothing appropriate for an alligator hunt, because he, too, ran for the water. Being much heavier than Bubba, when his feet hit the mud near the shore, he sank two inches into it and sprawled face down in the water. His ruger flew out of his hand into the bayou.

  Teddy’s shout rang in Theo Lancon’s earpiece. As Lancon turned toward the bayou, the rays of the morning sun filtering through the trees reflected off his badge. They hit the metal again a few steps later. In less than a minute, Lancon was at the water’s edge and he could distinctly see what was happening to Teddy. Nothing in him wanted to get any closer.

  Hearing Teddy’s distress call, Broussard started running toward the point where Bubba and Gatlin had gone into the bayou, Kit matching him stride for stride. They reached the fan-shaped shallows as Bubba and Gatlin climbed out onto the opposite shore. Beyond the two men, Kit and Broussard could see the thrashing gator.

  Broussard’s eyes went to Gatlin’s deep shoeprints in the mud. Realizing it would be an even greater trap for him, Broussard ran back a few steps to his right, and launched himself, his white shirt, bow tie, and dress slacks, horizontally into a deeper part of the bayou, producing slightly less splash than when the USS Ronald Reagan was launched.

  Kit stopped at the water’s edge and watched Broussard swim across the bayou. She was astonished at what he had done. But now, there was no need for her over there. What could she do that four men couldn’t? So she stayed where she was.

  The bad thing about Teddy’s leap to evade the gator’s jaws was that he ended up lying on his side in the weeds, where he saw a heavily armored case of the worst breath he’d ever encountered coming fast, the pearly white oral avenue to the animal’s stomach about to engulf him.

  He rolled onto his back just as the gator snapped at him. Teddy was acutely aware that it would take the animal no time at all to react to the miss, so he kept rolling, knowing this was a race he couldn’t win. Then the small of his back collided with a tree, ending the contest.

  The great reptile came at him so fast Teddy had no time to get at his little .22 pistol. He twisted and brought his feet around so he could kick at the animal, knowing he was less than a second away from having the bones in both his legs crushed.

  Seeing Teddy in dire trouble, Bubba rushed the gator and smacked it on the back with the baseball bat he’d thrown across the bayou. The animal jerked its head in Bubba‘s direction and grabbed the bat, splintering it with the force of its bite. It shook off the wooden shards and went after Bubba. Trying to lure the creature farther from Teddy, Bubba didn’t turn and run, but backpedaled. With the gator lurching after him, Bubba’s left heel caught in a grass hummock and he toppled over b
ackwards.

  Gatlin pulled his 9mm automatic from his belt holster and charged the animal.

  Scrambling to his feet, Teddy yelled, “an inch behind the eyes. It’s the only lethal spot.”

  Gatlin put the gun against the gator’s scaly hide and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  He tried again with the same result. The gun was jammed from being immersed in mud when Gatlin fell. From Gatlin’s right, Broussard came flying through the air. He landed on the gator’s back with a loud thump and a groan as the gator’s dorsal scutes rammed into his chest.

  Somehow, Broussard got the gator in a headlock that compressed the creature’s jaws until they were fully closed. Gators can generate an unbelievable amount of force when they close their jaws, but the muscles that open them are weak. So Broussard was able to keep those fearsome teeth out of play. But the animal was racking its head violently from side to side, trying to shake Broussard off him. Its other weapon, its great tail, was slashing back and forth between Broussard’s legs, looking for a way to do some damage.

  Broussard’s unexpected act saved Bubba’s life, and the little Cajun scrambled to his feet. Needing to do something, fast, Teddy spotted the rifle he’d lost during the first stage of the attack, He snatched it up and ran to the gator, intending to finish what he’d started, but Broussard’s headlock was covering the kill spot.

  “You’re in the way,” Teddy said. “I can’t get a clean shot.”

  Unable to dislodge Broussard, the animal began clawing at the earth, propelling itself toward the bayou. If it got into the water, it would not only be able to drown Broussard, but would get away.

  There were now two reasons Broussard needed to let go of the animal, but the question was, how to do that? If Broussard released his hold, there was a good chance the gator would turn on him, and there was no doubt about which of them was quicker.

  The gator was now about eight feet from the water and making steady progress.