Arkansas Assault Page 12

  He stood holding it now with a reverence that was almost mystical. There was still enough little boy in him—in all men—to speculate on what it would have been like to be an Indian warrior in the days before the white man, when such warriors had free reign over the entire country. He could easily picture himself in a loincloth and war paint.

  Then, reality returned and he realized what he’d actually be doing tonight.

  Killing his own brother.

  “It’s good to see you holding that rifle, sir. It suits you very well.”

  Manuel was an ass-kisser, no doubt about that. But for once, Noah fell victim to Manuel’s flattery. Noah fancied that the rifle suited him very well indeed.

  Incarceration, like death, has its own stench.

  There is something about holding men and women against their will that saturates a room with its own odors. You can scrub and clean all you want but the smell remains.

  When Burgade led Fargo and Aaron into the log cabin where the prisoners were kept, Fargo was struck by the apparent cleanliness of the place—and the odors that no amount of cleanliness could get rid of.

  He was in handcuffs and leg irons.

  And so were the two young women who stood before him.

  Sun-bleached hair, long, tawny, supple bodies that spoke of strength and animal pleasure, the two girls could easily have been twins—the same azure blue eyes, the same elegantly tilted noses, the same large carnal mouths. And the same full, nipple-hardened breasts that pushed against the work shirts they wore with their jeans.

  They appraised Fargo with open lust. These were very lonesome ladies.

  “I’m Nancy Tolan,” the first woman said. “I’m the oldest by a year. I know we look alike when you first see us but my eyes have some green in them and see this?” She indicated a long white scar that trailed the right side of her jaw. “Stephanie doesn’t have a scar. At least not here.”

  Stephanie laughed. “I’m younger by almost two years. You can tell me because I’m missing half of my little finger.” She held up her left hand. Her little finger, as she’d said, had been cleaved clear off. “The first night we were here, Mr. Burgade wanted to show us what a big, strong man he was. So he cut off my finger. I’m sure he’s proud of himself. We’re sure proud of him.”

  Burgade’s tolerance for mockery was low. He crossed to Stephanie and slugged her. Not slapped—slugged, the way he would slug another man in a bar fight.

  The astounding thing was that Stephanie absorbed the punch. She might have been rocked back an inch or so on her heels but for the most part she took the punch without moving. Her eyes even showed some slight amusement. She didn’t want to give the bully Burgade any pleasure at all.

  “Notice how we talk?” Nancy said. “That’s Mr. Burgade’s idea, too. He makes a monthly trip into New Orleans and spends his time in whorehouses there. He says the girls have a certain way of talking—they always sound like geishas in Japan—always friendly and in awe of the menfolk and eager to do whatever those menfolk want to.”

  “You want what your sister got, Nancy?” Burgade said.

  “I’d rather have that than have you try and rape me again.”

  Stephanie giggled. “Thank God for alcohol. A lot of men can’t get up for the occasion, if you know what I mean.”

  The women used the only weapon they had. Scorn. They constantly reminded Burgade that he wasn’t much of a man if he had to control women by shackling them. And they suggested—or at least their tone did—that someday they might get a chance to pay him back for all the physical pain and degradation he had inflicted on them.

  “He’s afraid we’ll tell poor old Noah that he tried to rape Nancy,” Stephanie said. “Poor old Noah wants us kept for himself. He’d kill poor Mr. Burgade if he ever managed to get the job done, right poor old Mr. Burgade?”

  So Nancy got what Stephanie had gotten—a balled fist colliding with the front of her lovely face. But like her sister, Stephanie wore the blow like a badge of honor, one more way of demonstrating to Burgade that he might have their bodies in shackles but that he’d never shackled their spirit.

  “One of these days, Noah’s gonna get tired of you two,” Burgade said. “And then he’s gonna let me do what I want to you. And that’s when I’m gonna cut you both into little tiny pieces.”

  Stephanie laughed. “You say the sweetest things, Mr. Burgade.”

  He scowled at them, angry and impotent in the face of their cool contempt.

  He then scowled at Fargo and Aaron. “Welcome to Skeleton Key, boys. I’m gonna split you up into teams, one fella, one girl, and then you can explore the island to get used to it.”

  “What if we try to escape?” Fargo said.

  “I’ll answer that one for you,” Nancy said. “The dogs are trained to kill anybody who approaches the water.”

  “And Burgade here is the only one who knows the command to make them back down,” Fargo said.

  “Exactly,” Burgade said.

  With that, glaring at the women and clearly wishing he could smash them in the face again, he went out slamming the door behind him. Then you could hear him locking it.

  “Pig,” Nancy said as the crash of the door sent echoes through the walls.

  “Someday we’ll have him in chains,” Stephanie said.

  Nancy shook her lovely blond hair. “Maybe not, Sis. I think tonight’s the night old Noah kills us.”

  Aaron laughed. “My brother would take great offense at being called ‘Old Noah’ all the time.”

  “Well,” Nancy snapped, “if it offends you, Mr. Tillman, why don’t you get the hell out of here?”

  “Go easy on him,” Fargo said. “Noah plans to kill him, too.”

  “You’re old Noah’s brother?” Stephanie said.

  “That’s right. And I’ve been a burden to him most of his life. Tonight he’s going to pay me back.”

  The women went over and sat on their respective bunks. They moved as swiftly as the leg irons would permit.

  “You do a good job with those irons,” Fargo said.

  “Well, after all the time we’ve spent in them,” Nancy said, “we’re used to them.”

  “This place is damned clean,” Fargo said, mincing around in his irons. “Can’t believe they’d spend so much time on it.”

  “Believe it or not, old Noah sees that we’re fed well, exercised well, and live in pretty nice surrounds.” Stephanie reached under her pillow and pulled out the makings. “He wants us to be in good condition when he decides to stalk us through the woods and kill us. More sporting for him that way.” She nodded to the tobacco and papers she had. “Anybody want a smoke?”

  Both men said yes.

  They sat on the cot nearest the ladies.

  “You make a mean smoke,” Fargo said. Nancy had tucked it in his mouth and lit it for him. The rest he had to do on his own, giving himself a quick lesson in how to smoke while manipulating a pair of tight handcuffs.

  “So you know this island pretty well?” Fargo asked.

  “Not as well as old Noah and Burgade do,” Nancy said.

  “Anybody ever survived their hunt?”

  “Us. But that’s because old Noah decided to keep us around for a while.”

  “He’s a damned good hunter,” Aaron said, watching his own cigarette being rolled. “I have to give him that.”

  “And nobody’s ever figured out how to slip past the dogs?” Fargo said.

  “They aren’t dogs,” Nancy said. “They’re devils from hell. I know that sounds dramatic but I half suspect it’s true. They’re a lot craftier than most of the people I know.”

  “I’d rather be killed by old Noah than by those dogs,” Stephanie said.

  Nancy said, “We saw a man get ripped apart by them one day. By the time they finished with him, he looked like a side of beef. There wasn’t enough of him left together to even tell he was human.” She shuddered at the memory.

  “They ever threaten to turn on Burgade?” Fargo said.<
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  The ladies thought it over.

  “Once, the one named Hellion turned and snapped at him,” Nancy said. “Burgade cracked him with the whip across the back. Put a real deep wound in him. That’s the closest I’ve ever seen the dogs getting after Burgade.”

  “Noah trained those dogs himself,” Aaron said. “I couldn’t stand to see or hear the way he raised them. He beat them ’til they bled. They were dangerous even when they were puppies, the way he treated them. By now they’ve got to be crazed. Burgade can’t be any better for them than Noah was.”

  When Aaron got his cigarette, he lay on the fourth cot.

  Fargo laid down, too. “We had a long night, ladies. What we need is a little sleep.”

  Stephanie laughed. “I can think of a couple of things I need, Mr. Fargo.” She stared unabashedly at his crotch. Even as exhausted as he was, close proximity to these two made it impossible for his manhood to rest. It bulked up the tight area of his pants.

  Nancy was no different. “I was noticing the same thing you were, Sis.”

  “God, ladies, I really do need a rest.”

  Aaron rumbled. “I need sleep. How about some silence?”

  He rolled over, his back to the three of them.

  Both gals stuck their tongues out at him and then grinned at Fargo.

  Nancy winked at Fargo. He wasn’t sure why but in the next few minutes he learned that Nancy knew her sister very well. Both Stephanie and Aaron fell asleep.

  Nancy put a shhh-ing finger to her lips and then tiptoed over to him, making as little noise as she could given the situation.

  “We’ll have to be very quiet,” she whispered in his ear.

  She began by leading on tiptoes to the east corner of the cabin where he managed to work her jeans down to the middle of her thighs. She faced away from him and was able to spread her legs just enough that Fargo could ease his large and eager rod into the moist and magnificent opening to her womanhood.

  He had never before trysted with so many restrictions on him. He couldn’t move too quickly or their shackles would make noise. He couldn’t speak or moan. And she had all the same restrictions.

  But he found it very satisfying. He reached up under her blouse and cupped his hand over one of her breasts, both of them surging when contact was made. And the excitement of this moment helped them find the right pace that both of them could share and enjoy.

  He quietly worked himself far up inside her, her round buttocks working against his body, only enhancing his desire. She was able to turn her face so that his tongue could slide into her mouth. The increasing urgency pushed even him further up inside her and her muscles there contracted, driving him to the brink of sanity.

  They pressed together so tight that when release came he fell against her and continued grinding into her. She didn’t want to stop and he didn’t, either.

  Finally they slid to the floor and lay on their backs, a sweaty pile of purely pleased humanity.

  Fargo was awakened by the violent barking of the dogs. They’d been barking on and off, but from some distance, so he’d been able to pack in three hours of sleep. But this barking was right outside the door of the cabin. He jerked up from deep sleep, momentarily disoriented.

  The sisters and Aaron Tillman were just waking up, too.

  “I wish I had a gun,” Aaron said grumpily, rubbing sleep from his face. “Right now I’d kill those dogs even before I killed Burgade.”

  “I don’t think you could kill those dogs,” Nancy yawned. “Even if you had two guns. I’m not sure anything could kill them.”

  Stephanie laughed. “Except maybe Burgade’s breath.”

  “Now there’s a weapon I hadn’t thought of,” Nancy said.

  Fargo admired the dialogue. Most prisoners would have long ago—and understandably—sunk into depression and silence. You could only live like this so long before captivity broke you physically and spiritually. But the sisters’ bright chatter spoke of their bravery and determination to survive this experience.

  Burgade came in. “Aaron and Stephanie. You’re going out first. Walk over here now.”

  “Maybe it’d be easier if you’d just shoot us right here and get it over with,” Aaron said.

  “That’d be fine with me. But your brother wouldn’t get his fun if I did that. And one way or another, we all need to keep your brother happy. Now shut your stupid mouth and get your ass over here.”

  Fargo watched as the shackled couple made their way to Burgade who stood frowning and impatient, his rifle cradled in his arms as if it were his infant.

  When they reached him, Burgade handed Stephanie a key and said, “Take the shackles and cuffs off both of you and then give me the key back.”

  “You’re not afraid we might jump you?” Aaron smiled.

  “First of all, you haven’t got the guts. Second of all, this rifle would cut you in half at this range. And third of all, even if you got past me, the dogs are right outside.” And right on cue, the dogs started barking again, sounding both vicious and hungry.

  Stephanie unlocked the shackles and the cuffs and handed the key to Burgade, who then went to the door and whispered three words in Indian dialect that silenced the dogs instantly. Fargo was impressed. The sonofabitch not only spoke so low it was just about impossible to hear him; he also spoke in what sounded like an Indian tongue Fargo had never heard before.

  Burgade waved his rifle at Aaron and Stephanie. “Outside.”

  “Those dogs’re settled down now?” Aaron asked, obviously afraid.

  Burgade grinned. “I guess you’ll find out soon enough, won’t you?”

  They went outside. The dogs didn’t bark. Nor did they attack. You could hear Burgade laying out the plan for exploring the island.

  But Fargo wasn’t paying much attention. He was too busy thinking of ways you could escape dogs whose sole purpose was to kill on command.

  18

  While his deputies circulated among the crowds on this Fourth of July afternoon, Tom Tillman spent his time asking questions. He made them as subtle as he could, as if he really wasn’t asking questions at all but just sort of passing the time. But at least one person must have gotten suspicious about his queries because at around four o’clock a seldom-seen sight appeared like an apparition in the front doorway of the sheriff’s office. Noah Tillman himself.

  Tom was manning the front desk so he could help folks who stopped in looking for help. Kids got lost, old people got sick from the heat, honest folks inevitably got cheated by various small-time confidence men who always worked crowds like this. And on and on. Tom wanted people to have a good impression of the town so he was as hospitable and patient as he could be.

  When Noah saw him there he said, “You shouldn’t be sitting out here, Tom.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  The coldness of the exchange said a lot about their feelings toward each other. They hadn’t liked each other for a long time. And each deeply distrusted the other. They spoke like rivals who had to work together rather than like father and adopted son.

  “Now you should be smart enough to figure that out, Tom.”

  “Go ahead and tell me, Noah. I guess I’m too stupid to understand things most of the time.”

  Noah sighed. “I didn’t come here to argue, son.” He always called him son when he wanted to cut the tension. “And all I meant was that since you’re the high sheriff, you shouldn’t be doing a deputy’s work. It doesn’t look right for the sheriff to be sitting right out front.”

  Tom had to smile. Noah’s pride was so excessive it was comical. He was always aware of everybody’s status. And he sure didn’t want his son, even his adopted son, to be doing the lowly work of a deputy.

  “What can I do for you, Dad?” Tom didn’t try to disguise the ironic tone of “Dad.” Noah had never been a father. He’d just never quite taken to the lad and the lad in turn, after several years of trying, decided that he would never take to his adoptive father, either.

 
; Noah took a seat. He took off the fancy straw hat he was wearing and fanned himself. “It’s a hot one.”

  “It sure is.”

  “The town sure looks nice. Be sure and tell the mayor I think he outdid himself this year.”

  “You ever going to get around to telling me why you’re really here?” He hesitated and then added, “Dad.”

  “You’ve got a tongue on you like your mother’s. She was always tryin’ to cut me down, too.”

  “Maybe she was just trying to make you tell the truth for once.”

  Noah stared at him. “You’re an ungrateful bastard, you know that? All I’ve done for you. All that my name got you.”

  Tom rolled himself a cigarette while Noah threw out some more accusations and grief. After he lit his cigarette, Tom said, “Somebody told you I’ve been asking questions today about Skeleton Key. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  “What the hell right do you have to go around snooping into my private business?”

  “There’s a rumor that some people have disappeared. Skeleton Key always comes up. There are a lot of rumors about it.”

  “Rumors? Hell, Tom, haven’t you figured it out by now? When you’re rich and powerful the way I am, everybody resents you. And so they start rumors. I once heard that I used to have carnal knowledge of sheep. And don’t smile, boy. That was a very serious rumor for a while.” He shook his head. “Skeleton Key is a perfectly innocent place. If you want to know, I go there to relax. Nobody gets to pester me there. Including all our relatives who’re always asking me for financial help.”

  “If it’s so innocent, why all the secrecy?”

  “No secrecy, Tom. No secrecy. The island’s there. I’m there. Everybody knows that. That’s no secret.”

  “If it’s that innocent, how about letting me look it over?”

  Noah scowled. “Hell, no. Why should I? Aren’t I entitled to a little privacy?” But he didn’t wait for an answer. “Damned right I am. And I intend to keep it, too.”