The Two-Bear Mambo Read online

  “All right,” I said. I looked behind us, trying to take in our position. The roots of great willows and oaks grew down from the bank behind us and wound their way into the water and knotted near our feet. Some of the roots were wrist-thick, and some of the thicker ones came down from where the bank was higher than where we lay. Above all this, falling down on the water like a blot of ink, was the great darkness of the woods. I was glad for that, but not ecstatic. Darkness cannot deflect bullets. A shotgun can clean out darkness as easy as light.

  Out through the weeds I could see their car lights. Shadows, like goblins, moved in front of the lights. To our left I could hear someone tromping along the marshy water’s edge, someone about as sneaky as a bull rhino on its way to mate.

  Leonard very softly said, “Use the rifle. You know how you can shoot, Hap. I know you don’t want to hurt nobody, but you know how you can shoot.”

  I squatted and hooked Leonard under the arms and got back in the water with him, pulled him toward where the roots were thickest. When I got him there, I whispered, “I can’t pull you on shore far enough, get you hid in time for them not to see us. I go by myself, I can make it faster and I can get their attention and pull them away from here. Stay hid. No arguments.”

  “Hap. Use the rifle.”

  I shoved Leonard through a split in the roots, and the roots and the muddy overhang and the darkness from the trees and the blackness of his skin concealed him well.

  We squeezed hands and I pushed away from him, scooped mud from the marshy bottom and rubbed it on my face and the backs of my hands as I went. I got hold of roots and pulled myself out of the water, crouched and tried to go along the edge of the bank quietly where there were some reeds and trees for camouflage.

  But I wasn’t as quiet as I hoped. I sloshed as I moved and my shoes made sucking sounds. I slung the rifle off my shoulder, backed into the woods about even of where Leonard hid in the roots just below the bank. I got positioned just as around a row of high reeds came a big bulky shape in a muddy white outfit and hood. The goblin was armed with a shotgun.

  I thought, if you’re trying to be sneaky, you dumb sonofabitch, you need to lose that Kluxer suit. It stands out like a white tent in a bombing raid.

  He came along crouched. As he neared I felt sick and weak and scared. I could have shot him in the head effortless. He wasn’t expecting me to have a gun, and he didn’t know where I was. Maybe he thought I had drowned or was somewhere in the water. Maybe he thought he found me, killing me would be easy as stomping an ant on a piece of stale bread.

  I waited on him, keeping an eye and ear out for others and not seeing or hearing them. When he was alongside me, I stepped out from the shadows of the trees quick-like and brought the Winchester stock around and hit him hard as I could in the side of the head. He had seen me move a second sooner than I hoped, so he reacted enough that the blow was a glancing blow and didn’t knock him out, but it was still a good hit and he lost his peaked hood. It flew into the water, and in that instant, even in the dark, I could see it was the big bastard from the cafe that I had called Bear. Ray, his name was.

  He stumbled toward the bank and the mud crumbled beneath his big feet, and one leg went off the edge of the bank so hard the other leg was forced to bend quickly to try to hold his weight. It couldn’t. I heard his knee snap. The big bastard screamed, fell into the water, still clutching the shotgun. He floundered and splashed and started to yell, but suddenly the yell was cut, and I knew he had fallen near Leonard and Leonard had reached out and got him. Probably had that goddamn choke hold on him he did so well. Leonard could go either way with it. He wanted, he could end your life by strangling you, or he could use another version, shut off the blood supply to the brain. You’d be out quick that way and not wake up too soon, if ever, and you’d never know you’d been got, because it didn’t take any strength to make either choke work, just skill and determination.

  I slipped back into the woods and went along the trees, clinging to the shadows. The lights through the reeds and cattails seemed to die at the trees, and when I looked back at the marsh the lights made the water look dark blue, as if it had been dyed, and the rain moved the blue and it was oddly mesmerizing and beautiful.

  I found an oak with a fork in it, slung the rifle over my shoulder, climbed up and eased onto a big limb that went way out to where I had a good clear look at the marsh and the highway beyond. The leaves were all gone off the oak, but the limb was thick and there were two big limbs jutting out from it like a Y and there were some little limbs too, and I figured they’d hide me pretty good if someone wasn’t expecting me to be ten feet up.

  I hooked my legs around the big branch and rested an elbow in the Y and sighted down the barrel. I knew even in the dark, if I wanted to, I could shoot clean across the marsh and give a frog a hemorrhoidectomy. No brag. Just fact.

  There was one hooded figure over by the truck, waiting, using the rifle to lean on. He was probably there to make sure someone didn’t come along and run the hell over the cars and the truck. I slung water out of the rifle barrel, hoped it would still shoot, then lined his head up in the sights. I figured I splattered his brains all over the place, the rest of them, wherever they were, might opt to head to the house, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been an easy shot for me, but I couldn’t do it.

  Then I saw lights on the highway and the hooded man by the truck turned and looked in that direction, and I wondered, what you gonna do now, Bubba? How you gonna move the truck and two cars? How you going to explain this? Then, I thought, oh shit, he might not explain anything. He might just start shooting. He might decide not to leave witnesses.

  The car came into view and slowed, and I could see now that it was Chief Cantuck’s patrol car, and I thought, you double-talkin’, big-balled sonofabitch. You set us up. You got us on the road, then you had us followed out, knowing our old wreck wasn’t going to make much time. Had us followed because we were on to the fact that you hung that guy in jail or had it done, and you didn’t want us to spread the word. That’s why we hadn’t been charged. That’s why the snow job.

  Cantuck stopped the car and got out. Across the marsh, floating on the night air, I heard him say: “You might as well go on and throw that rifle down, Leroy. I know who you are and know them other two cars, and I ain’t gonna let you go on with things.”

  “It’s a nigger,” Leroy said, “an out-of-town nigger. And he’s got that nigger lover with him.”

  “Put the gun down,” Cantuck said, and I saw his hand go to where his holster hung.

  I thought, now wait a minute, what’s this? Then I saw to the left of the pond one of the Kluxers was sneaking around some reeds, and he squatted with his rifle across his knees, thinking he was hid. I saw to the right of the marsh that another Kluxer, or whatever those bastards called themselves, was easing up on that side. He slid into the woods behind a tree. I knew as soon as I saw him, even under that wet sheet, that it was Elephant. He was big and had an ass that poked out behind like … well, what Leonard had said. Like he was pulling a trailer.

  “Throw down the gun,” I heard Cantuck say.

  The man at the truck said, “Can’t do that, Chief. Can’t go back with you. None of us can.”

  “I think you oughta,” Cantuck said, and at that same moment the man by the truck used the toe of his shoe to kick the stock of the rifle up, tried to catch and pull it under his arm for action, like he’d seen in some cowboy movie, but Cantuck had seen the same movie. He drew his pistol and shot Leroy through the head and I thought I saw a shadow jump across the front of Leroy’s hood but realized it was blood, then Leroy was down, on his back, his heels pushing at the highway, pushing so hard he went up under the truck about a foot and lay still, legs spread, knees up, as if accepting a lover.

  Another shot cut through the night, and I realized too late it was the man at the left of the pond. He stood up and fired and the shot hit the outside driver’s mirror on Cantuck’s car and glass leaped
from it and Cantuck let out a yell and jerked his head so hard his hat flew off. He stumbled back, grabbed his eye and fell down. The Kluxer fired again, hit the back of the car, near where Cantuck lay writhing, holding his eye.

  I repositioned the rifle, sighted the shooter, and fired. My shot hit where I meant for it to hit. The peaked hood. It ripped it off his head, knocked it back and away.

  The de-hooded shooter couldn’t quite place where my shot had come from. He shuffled left and right, and across the pond I heard Elephant yell, “Goddamn, Kevin, you shot Cantuck.”

  Kevin, a middle-aged dark-haired man, was crouched, twisting left and right, trying to locate me. He said, “Shut up. That last shot was at me.”

  Elephant yelled, “What?”

  “Shut up,” Kevin yelled back, and I got a bead on the stock of his rifle, fired, knocked the gun back into him. He dove for the dirt and I put up a line of fire around him, snapping three shots near his head, making the dirt fly. He lay facedown, the rifle in one outstretched hand, the rain pounding down on him. He didn’t look like he had any intention of moving.

  While I was so engaged, Elephant came up from his side and located me. He fired a shot that shattered the limb I was resting my rifle on, and though the slug missed me, the sudden impact caused me to lose my balance and fall out of the tree. As I hit, the Winchester bounced away from me and fell into the wet leaves.

  I was going to make for it when I heard the cocking of a rifle, looked around, saw Elephant standing just inside the line of trees. He had me in his sights. The hood was wetly plastered to his face, and I could see the outline of his nose and mouth beneath the material, clinging to him like wet baking dough.

  He reached up and swept the hood off his head. He was grinning at me. “You nigger-lovin’ piece of shit. I’m sending you to the devil.”

  I was still on one knee, waiting for the end, when suddenly there was a roar and a flash of red light. Elephant seemed to take a football kick at the sky with his right leg, only the leg was twisted funny and it went out longer than a leg ought to. The kick pulled his ass out from under him, and he came down with a scream that made my spine knot up.

  Behind him, lying on the shore, looking as if he had just crawled through hell with the lights off, was Leonard. He was lying on the ground, holding Bear’s shotgun.

  I ran over to where Elephant was screaming and got hold of his rifle. I nodded at Leonard, said, “Stay low,” moved back into the woods, out of the line of fire, scouted for Kevin. He wasn’t where he had been. I glanced across the marsh, saw him making for one of the cars.

  I got a little higher ground, and watched him run. He got in one of the cars and backed it around quickly. I jerked up Elephant’s rifle, took out one of the headlights, but Kevin kept turning about. I fired and took out a tire, but he kept going, blubbering along the wet highway on the rim.

  I collected my Winchester and went to examine Elephant. His right leg was all but gone, cut off at the knee except for a few strings of muscle and flesh. He was screaming and howling like a dog with ground glass in his belly.

  I went past him, on down to Leonard. Leonard was starting to lose his grip, slide back into the water. I tugged him to higher ground, said, “Where’s the other one?”

  “If he didn’t drown,” Leonard said, “he’s still down there stuck between roots. I choked him out. Bound him up with my belt.”

  I took Elephant’s rifle and the shotgun and tossed them in the water near the bank. I slung the Winchester off my shoulder.

  “I wanted to kill him, Hap, but I didn’t because I knew it would disappoint you. Same with the other fuck.”

  “Killed either one of them, you’d have been justified,” I said. “And to hell with me being disappointed. Cantuck’s here. He’s been hit.”

  “I heard,” Leonard said. “Guess I was wrong about him.”

  I left Leonard on the bank with the Winchester, went back to Elephant. I got hold of the white sheet he was wearing, pulled it over his head while he screamed and cussed me. I said, “You can let me tie up this leg, what’s left of it, or you can try and give me shit and bleed to death.”

  He didn’t answer, just screamed and groaned, but he lay back and I used the sheet to tie off his leg above the wound. The sheet turned red immediately.

  I went back to Leonard. Leonard said, “How is he?”

  “You may have killed him anyway,” I said. “He’s bleeding like a leaky water hose. I got to get to Cantuck’s radio, call in some help.”

  “I don’t think he’s got any help back where he’s from,” Leonard said.

  “Then we’ve got to do different.”

  I went down in the water and found Bear, his arms bound behind his back with a belt that was looped around a root. He had slipped down into the marsh so far it was washing under his nose. He was still unconscious. I unfastened the belt, got hold of him and pulled him out of there. On shore, I ripped off his white tunic, tore it up, tied his arms behind his back, bent his legs up and tied them to his wrists.

  Leonard grunted and groaned as I helped him to his feet. But his sounds were pretty well muffled by Elephant screaming and rolling about in the wet leaves. He hadn’t stopped that for a moment.

  Leonard nodded toward Elephant. “He Draighten or Ray?”

  “Can’t say as I care,” I said.

  Elephant stopped rolling. Just lay there, shivering, holding his hands above his chest like a dog lying on its back with its paws up.

  We started for the highway.

  24

  When we finally made it to Cantuck, he was on his feet. He was leaning against the side of his car, his gun in one hand, his other hand over his eye. Blood was running from under his palm, through his fingers, and the rain was washing it away as fast as it came. Still, the blood had managed to stain his khaki jacket and had dripped onto his pants.

  He said, “I got glass in my eye.”

  “We’re going for a doctor,” I said.

  “Go to LaBorde,” he said. “You don’t want to go back way we come. There’s no hospital fifty miles beyond Grovetown.”

  “There’s an asshole in a bad way out there in the woods,” I said. “He doesn’t get a doctor soon, he’ll die. He’s one of the guys jumped us in the cafe. One with a big ass. There’s another one out there tied.”

  “Draighten,” Cantuck said, then sagged to his knees and began to pant.

  “Hang in, Cantuck.”

  I opened the back door of the car, assisted Leonard inside, got Cantuck up and helped him. He was wobbly and heavy, and I was so weak from injuries, the swimming, the fighting, that now, with the adrenaline gone, I was feeling more sore than ever and sick to my stomach.

  I put Cantuck in the front passenger seat, stumbled to the pickup, got hold of the dead man Cantuck called Leroy, boosted him on my shoulder, thumped him into the bed of his truck.

  The keys were in the pickup. I started it, backed it off the highway, tossed the keys underneath it, staggered to the car they’d left. The keys weren’t in it, but it was unlocked. I put it in neutral, went to the rear, gathered my resources, pushed it toward the marsh. It nose-dived into the edge of the water where it was shallow and stuck its tail in the air.

  I climbed into Cantuck’s car, felt so weak suddenly I had to put my head on the steering wheel, let it rest there for a moment. I said, “Chief, you got to call help for those bastards.”

  I removed the microphone from the rack and gave it to Cantuck. He mumbled through a call to a LaBorde emergency crew, gave them the location.

  I couldn’t wait for them to arrive. I was too sick and scared that the bastard who had driven away on the bad tire would come back, or reinforcements would arrive. Cantuck was bad off with that glass in his eye, and Leonard had gone deathly quiet. I looked back at him. His eyes were closed. He was breathing badly.

  I cranked the car, flipped on the heater, pulled on the lights, took a deep breath, pulled onto the highway. The rain was still coming down and the
sky was black as midnight, but Cantuck’s motor was better than Leonard’s had been, and so were the tires, and that was some kind of comfort.

  I wondered about Draighten and Ray, but I didn’t wonder too much. I couldn’t. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want any of this to go the way it had, but there wasn’t any undoing it. I told myself if it bothers you don’t think about it. Think about the road, the yellow line in the headlights. Hold this thing in the lane and don’t pass out. You pass out, it’s all over. Hold on, and don’t pass out.

  Cantuck fumbled the microphone into place, leaned back with his hand still over his eye. In the green light from the dash his face was streaked with blood and some of the blood had dried and it looked like a big birthmark.

  “The eye’s gone black,” Cantuck said.

  “It’s all right,” I said, as if it really were.

  The rain pummeled so hard the wipers were near useless. My breath was dry and hot and my body jerked with nervous tension.

  And so it went, the seconds crawling along, me looking through that windshield at the rain and the stormy darkness, watching and listening to those pathetic wipers working so hard and doing so little.

  Rain on the windshield. Rain on the glass.

  When I awoke, I felt as if I were still behind the wheel of Cantuck’s car, but I was in bed and three weeks had gone by. It was still raining and had pretty much rained the full three weeks. Lakes were swollen, rivers were overflowing, some areas were flooded out, and the news said the dam near Grovetown looked ready to go.

  I was lying in bed looking at the window glass, watching rain bead onto it, beginning to realize that’s what I was doing and that’s why there were no windshield wipers; I was lying in bed, shaking off the last bad vibes of a dream.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d dreamed I was in Cantuck’s car. Ever since that night, especially that first of two nights in the hospital, I’d had a series of dreams and none of them were very comforting. For a time, before all this Grovetown business, I was having a recurring dream about screwing this beautiful Mexican woman I had seen in a magazine. I guess I was dreaming about her then to get Florida out of my head. I had animated her in my mind and made her ravenous for my root. I was such a stud in my dreams she couldn’t get enough. I liked the way she screamed and grunted and called me baby in that sweet high Spanish. Even if in the end she was nothing more than a paper memory in my head, a pillow in my arms.