Chapter 23 #2
His dad leaned forward, pressed his hands on his knees and laughed.
The kind of laugh that rattled a man’s chest. "That's an interesting plot twist," his father said when he'd settled.
"But it doesn't explain why I'd kill Slade. I have no motive. None. I owed him everything. And the second anyone starts digging into why my death had to be faked in the first place—and they will, because that's how these things go—they’ll find the ME who did it. A Dr. Raymond Weiss. The same one who’d gotten a little tired of Edward Kirk threatening him.”
Trent shifted his gaze to Dutton, who narrowed his stare.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Courtney said.
“But I do,” Trent’s father said. “Your father might have been able to keep his hands from getting dirty. His name might have never appeared in Parrish’s Cache and Weiss couldn’t prove anything.
But he kept records. And he gave them to Slade, who gave them to me, and I gave them to someone else for safekeeping.
” His dad shrugged. “But you know, if you want to take your chances and kill us off, bury our bodies, good luck.”
“And no one is going to believe Dove and I killed each other,” Trent said. “It’s absurd.”
“Not a problem you have to worry about.” Dutton pointed his gun at Dove.
Trent sucked in a breath and slowly let it go.
“But at the end of the day, I’m the one holding the cards," Dutton said.
The song Born on the Bayou, by Creedence Clearwater Revival, came alive in the room.
Trent knew that ringtone. It belonged to Karl and his phone.
Karl dug into his pocket.
“Who the fuck is it?” Dutton asked.
“No one important,” Karl said, staring at his screen.
“Not what I asked.” Dutton glared.
“Cullen Monroe. A guy I grew up with.” Karl stared at Trent.
Trent didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t breathe. He had no idea what Cullen’s play was, but he suspected Cullen wasn’t the only one out there, and that had to be a good thing.
"Answer it, and put it on speaker,” Dutton said.
Karl tapped the screen. “What do you want, Cullen? I’m kind of busy.”
“I can see that.” Cullen's voice filled the kitchen. "Why don't y'all come on outside. And I mean all of you.”
Dutton inched closer and tapped the screen. “Who is this guy?”
“Trent and I went to high school with him. He left town right after to join the Marines. He came back a couple of years ago, not quite right in the head," Karl said. “He’s close with Trent and Dove.”
“He can go to hell,” Dutton said.
“Not sure where you think I am, but I’m not home and like I said, I’m busy.”
“I know. You’re at Trent’s. You’re with Dove, Trent, and I’m guessing Jack as well. Along with a politician and—”
“You don’t know who you're messing with, young man,” Dutton said. “But I’m sure my protection detail mentioned we were conducting important business in here. Please leave.”
“I really think you want to step outside,” Cullen said. “And if I were you, I’d bring everyone. Don’t make me come in and get you. That’ll just upset me.” The line went dead.
“That kid has some set of balls on him.” Dutton strolled toward the picture window and glanced outside. Then he looked over his shoulder before moving to the kitchen window. “Courtney, we’ve got a problem.”
Trent pushed to a standing position.
“Sit the fuck down.” Dutton pointed his weapon. “I won’t hesitate to put a bullet between your eyes.”
Trent held his hands up, but he didn’t back down.
Both Dutton and Courtney moved to the side door.
“All right. We’re heading outside,” Dutton said.
“Karl, you’ve got the girl. Courtney, you’ve got Jack.
I’ll take Trent. If any one of them does something stupid, shoot them.
I’m tired of this shit. No more playing nice.
We’re taking this property, and we’re putting an end to it.
And if I have to add one more crazy Marine to the list, then so be it. ”
Trent took Dove’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“That’s my line,” she whispered.
Dutton walked them out the side door and across the porch—Trent and Dutton first, Dove and Karl behind him, Jack and Courtney behind her—each pressing a weapon into their side while each of them held their hands up in the air.
Cullen stood in the driveway with a grin that had no business being that wide, given the circumstances. He held his rifle in his arms but not pointed at anyone. He stood there with a wide stance and an easy confidence that Trent wasn’t sure he’d ever seen from the man.
On the ground behind him, all five of Dutton's men sat zip-tied back-to-back in a line as if they were waiting for an execution.
And on the bank of the moat, Dolly had hauled herself halfway out of the water, her tail still cutting slow arcs in the shallows, her massive head swinging toward the group with the patient, ancient attention of something that had been on this earth long before any of them and planned to be here long after.
Clarkson was right behind her. The pale scar on her flank caught the morning light as she pulled herself up the bank, her head low, her eyes fixed on the gathering near the bridge with an expression—if you could call it that—that suggested she was deciding whether the flesh in front of her was too big to consume.
It was a dangerous look from a gator, especially if that gator felt threatened, and Clarkson was a wild beast who, while she trusted Trent, would still take off his leg if he moved in a manner that frightened her.
“Let my men go,” Dutton said.
Cullen chuckled. “That’s not gonna happen. You’re gonna step away from my friends and hand over your weapons.”
“It’s one against three,” Courtney said. “You lose every time.”
“Do I?” Cullen adjusted his stance. “You don’t know who I brought with me, or where they are. I could have a shooter on the observation platform. I could have someone hiding in the reeds. Not to mention the gators who are working pretty hard to cross the moat to come and say hello.”
Dutton turned. “Shit.”
"I'd put those weapons down," Trent said, without taking his eyes off his gators. “And I’d do it slow. Real slow.” He glanced over his shoulder at Dutton, who was staring at Dolly with the particular expression of a man whose plans had just developed a significant complication.
"She can move a lot faster than you think, and her hind legs just wiggled over the edge. "
“If she comes at me, I’ll shoot her,” Dutton says.
“There are anywhere from ten to twenty gators in that moat at any given time. Not to mention a second one just managed to climb where she isn’t supposed to be able to.
One shot isn’t going to put them down.” Trent took a chance and stepped away from Dutton.
“Dolly, the big one. She’s mostly friendly, but she doesn’t take too kindly to strangers, and she can be incredibly territorial.
Not to mention she gets all the other ones riled up. ”
“I don’t like agreeing with Trent.” Karl took a slow step toward the bridge. “But I’ve been around alligators my whole life. We don’t want to be here right now.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Courtney asked.
Trent completely separated himself from Dutton. “I’ll create a diversion while everyone else makes their way into the house. Once I’ve got them back on the right side of the moat, we can go back to killing each—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Cullen said. “Dawson and that other US Marshal are down at the gate waiting for my signal.” He lifted his rifle, pointing it toward the observation deck. “Buddy’s up there. Sterling’s around the other side of the house.”
Trent looked up toward Buddy. “Don’t kill my gators unless I’m the one about to die, got it?” Trent blew out a puff of air as he took a step backward, since Clarkson was closing in a little faster than Dolly.
Cullen moved toward the five men kneeling on the ground with their hands bound.
"Let's go. Slow and easy. Nobody runs because if you do that, those gators will bite your limbs off.” He helped the first man to his feet, rifle slung over his shoulder.
He kept his movements precise and so did the man he was helping.
Dove helped the second man, lifting him by the arm, talking low and calm like she'd done this a thousand times. Jack took the third.
Trent kept his gaze glued to Clarkson.
She'd stopped about six feet from the group, her head swinging back and forth, tail doing that slow, deliberate sweep that meant she was still determining something. Her nostrils flared. She could smell the strangers. The fear. Maybe even the blood from Dove's face.
None of that was good.
"Easy, girl." Trent kept his voice low and even. “No one wants to hurt you.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Slow at first, and then all of a sudden, Courtney broke off in a full run toward the SUVs, heels hitting the gravel.
Clarkson's head snapped toward the movement, and she opened her mouth, making a deep, guttural grunt.
“Stop running,” Trent said as calmly as he could. While he wanted these people in jail, he didn’t want them attacked by a gator.
Clarkson shot forward like something mechanical—low and fast, covering ground in that terrifying burst that people never believed until they saw it. Courtney screamed.
“Fuck,” Trent mumbled.
Karl lunged. He grabbed Clarkson's tail with both hands and spun hard, throwing his weight into it, but the gator shifted. She did, however, pause, turning her head. She repositioned herself, facing Karl, hissing through her open mouth.
"Don't. Move," Trent said.
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Karl held his hands up and stared Clarkson down like he’d done it a million times, which he had.
Dolly bellowed.
The sound rolled across the property like a wave, and every other gator in the moat joined in. Trent turned. Dolly had committed—all twelve feet of her driving toward Dutton, who'd backed himself against the second SUV with nowhere to go.
Shit. Trent hadn’t even seen Dutton move.