Arkansas Assault tt-263 Page 14

  “Don’t be too sure of that,” Fargo said.

  “They speak bravely like Fargo here, Aaron,” Noah said. “But look at their faces. Do you really think they’d sacrifice themselves for you?”

  “That doesn’t mean they’re not friends of mine,” Aaron said.

  Fargo saw the vicious way Noah ruled over his brother. Aaron’s drinking problem had left him with no self-respect. Aaron obviously agreed with everything Noah said. And Noah said everything. He even mocked the notion that Aaron could have any friends.

  “How about it?” Noah said. “What if I seriously offered you a deal like that? I get to kill Aaron here and you three get off the island safely? Would you go for that?”

  Nancy’s contempt for the old man sounded clear and deep in her voice. “He’s your brother. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Your own flesh and blood?”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t say that if you’d had to take care of him the way I have. Aaron always makes it sound as if he’s the wronged one. But given everything I’ve had to do for him, he should appreciate which of us is really getting the short end of the stick. And now I’m going to do both of us the favor of ending his misery.”

  He moved without any warning whatsoever. Grabbed Aaron by the arm, shoved him toward the door. He said, “I’m locking you in so don’t try to help. I thought we’d get this night off to a good start.” He smiled at Aaron. “For once my brother’s going to be an asset instead of a liability.”

  “Please,” Aaron said, imploring the others with his eyes and voice. “Please don’t let him do this.”

  Fargo started toward Noah but the old man clipped off a shot that missed Fargo’s head by no more than an inch. “I really wanted to save you ’til later, Fargo. You’ll be the toughest of these people to hunt down. And therefore you’ll be the most fun.”

  Stephanie had teared up. You could hear her tears in her voice. “He’s your damned brother, Noah. You say he was hard to put up with. Maybe so. But when he’s sober, he’s a decent man. He doesn’t deserve this.”

  “Maybe I was wrong, Aaron. Maybe you really have made some friends here.” Noah shook his head in mock sorrow. “Poor Aaron. Everything always happens too late to do him any good.”

  “You kill him,” Fargo said, “I’ll kill you.”

  Noah said, “Now that’s the kind of spirit I like to see, Mr. Fargo. You’re going to be damned tough in those woods. And that’s just going to make everything all that much better for me.”

  Noah put the tip of his rifle against his brother’s head.

  Aaron was becoming paralyzed with dread at what was coming next. “You can’t do this, Noah. Not even you. I’m your brother.”

  “Outside,” Noah said. “And I mean right now.”

  Fargo was trying to puzzle out what Noah had in mind here. Not a run through the woods. Aaron wouldn’t be much fun as quarry. He’d probably collapse after the first few minutes on the trail.

  The door slammed. Fargo heard a key turning in the lock.

  Then he heard the dogs barking in a different way. As if Noah was holding food out to them—and then pulling it back. Teasing them.

  Then he was at the window with the women, seeing all too clearly what Noah had in mind for his brother.

  21

  Liz and Tom Tillman set off in an old canoe. They put in outside of town so nobody would see them—hopefully not, anyway.

  Liz thought of how romantic an evening like this could be. The croaking of frogs, the song of nightbirds, the silver brilliance of moonlight, the dark majesty of the trees on the shore, the scent of the river cooling off after the day’s heat. Just drifting on the water, not caring about what time it was or where they were going. For a moment some of her old guilt came back. Liz had always been true to her husband. She’d been a virgin on their wedding night and she’d never once cheated on him in any way.

  She’d had some trouble when she and Tom started seeing each other. He was married for one thing. She made him do the right thing. She made him ask his wife for a divorce. His wife said no. These days Tom slept alone on a cot in their spare room. The marriage was in name only. Beyond that, there was the matter of staying true to her husband. At first, her guilt had paralyzed her, nearly destroyed her relationship with Tom. Here she was enjoying romance and her poor husband Richard was dead in the ground. She’d gotten past it for the most part but it had taken time and a lot of reassurance from Tom that it was the proper thing for her to do. Richard would’ve gone on with his life, Tom had reasoned; and so should you.

  But tonight, vestiges of her guilt returned. She was glad they were going to Skeleton Key, resuming the work that had cost Richard his life. She felt a connection to Richard again, which was good; and in case Richard happened to be in heaven looking down, he’d see that Tom had taken it upon himself to help finish Richard’s work for him.

  “I still wish you’d wait in the canoe.”

  “Bring strong man. Leave weak little woman behind.”

  “You know I don’t think of you as a weak little woman.”

  “Then prove it by not bringing it up any more. I’m going on the island with you and that’s that.”

  “This is probably all moot,” Tom said. “I doubt we’ll be able to get on the island, anyway. Not with those dogs.”

  “It’s so twisted.”

  “What is?”

  “Raising dogs to be killers. They’re born innocent and then some sick bastard perverts their whole nature.”

  “You wouldn’t have a guard dog?”

  “If I needed one, sure,” she said. “But I wouldn’t train it to kill except in extreme circumstances—and then just to protect me. Not to kill for the sport of it.”

  “I guess I’d have to agree with you there.”

  For his part, Tom had begun to wonder if going to the island was such a good idea, after all. Noah had become something of a madman over the past ten years. He’d always been angry, willful, and devious. But the way he nurtured his hatreds these days, and the elaborate ways he paid his enemies back. . . . Would Noah kill a woman and his own stepson?

  He knew why Liz was here. She was doing this for her husband. And he understood and admired that. But she didn’t seem to understand the extreme danger they were in. They didn’t have any real idea of what awaited them on the island. They knew about the dogs, but what else might Noah have concocted? They also knew, or at least suspected, that he brought live people to the island. People who never returned. But how did they die? Was it the dogs or something even worse?

  “You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you?” Liz asked softly.

  He was always honest with Liz. He didn’t need to play the brave, tough sheriff. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “So am I,” she said. “So am I.”

  Noah commanded two of the dogs to attack and two to sit by and watch.

  The attackers launched themselves like spears, lean, perfectly balanced, sure of their trajectory. There was little detail to what could be seen of them now. They were blurs more than defined animals.

  Aaron had only seconds to try to escape, and that was hopeless. As if the situation wasn’t dangerous enough, he managed to trip over his own feet and fall to the ground. The dogs adjusted their aim exactly, slamming into him with such force that his entire body bounced off the hard earth.

  And then began the vivisection. Three skilled surgeons working at the same time and with the most deadly sharp scalpels available could not have done the damage the two animals did in the first few seconds of their attack. One animal concentrated on Aaron’s head and upper torso. The other took everything below.

  Blood, bone, pieces of clothing soaked with blood—all gleamed in the moonlight. When Aaron raised a hand for help, you could see that three of his fingers had already been ripped away.

  Barely a minute had elapsed since the attack had begun.

  Fargo ran to the door, began slamming himself into it. At this point, he was as crazed as the dogs. He h
ad no idea how he could help the man. But he couldn’t stand by and watch all this.

  By this time, Nancy was screaming and Stephanie was sobbing and covering her face with her hands. The pitch of her sobs became so shattering that Nancy brought her close in a nurturing hug.

  Nancy had already noted that the other two witnesses—Noah and Burgade—were watching the evisceration calmly. Burgade was even dragging on a cigar. They might have been spectators at a side show attraction.

  Fargo continued to hurl himself at the door. On his ninth attempt, a shot rang out and a large hole was ripped two inches from his head.

  Fargo dove away from the door. Three other shots followed, one on the other. Obviously, Noah didn’t want to be distracted from the bloody spectacle taking place in front of him. Fargo just might get lucky, and break through first. He was strong enough. Best to use a few bullets to dissuade him.

  Fargo scrambled to his feet and went to the window. The dogs’ faces and bodies alike glistened with Aaron’s blood.

  “He’s dead,” Fargo said. “At least that’s something.” He turned away from the window. The rest would be nothing more than watching the animals feasting on dead meat. Fargo was intrigued to see that the two dogs who’d been forced to sit aside were getting more and more difficult for Burgade to control. Audible commands were no longer enough. He had to lash them both with the tip of his bullwhip. They glared at him with the same crazed and frenzied eyes as the two animals now ripping Aaron’s flesh from Aaron’s bones.

  “Noah’s insane,” Nancy said, leading the trembling Stephanie to a corner, where she sat her down. Stephanie had quit sobbing but her hands were still over her face. How tempting to slip away into the fantasy worlds of the people who lived in asylums. And never have to face the brutality of the real world ever again.

  Now, they waited.

  Noah loved to keep people off guard. Knowing this, Fargo figured that they wouldn’t come for him and the women right away. Noah would let the tension build. Not enough to see them die in the most savage way possible. He had to let the terror build beforehand. Let them know bowel-freezing fear and dread. Let them know true despair. And then come with an abruptness that was almost as brutal as the dogs themselves.

  And let the games begin.

  The ultimate game.

  Man hunting man in a forest filled with dangers of its own.

  22

  Burgade was the one who noticed that the dog he called Voodoo was acting strangely. While the other dogs sat close together, waiting on Noah’s command, Voodoo sat off by himself making odd noises and looking in the direction of the dock.

  Burgade knew the dogs better than he knew any human being. For Voodoo to be upset like this, something must be troubling him. Voodoo was the smartest of the dogs. Burgade always paid attention to him.

  Noah stood over what was left of his brother. Pieces of entrails were everywhere in the dust. The dogs had succeeded—not without some difficulty—in separating Aaron’s head from his shoulders. The head, or what was left of it, lay on the edge of the clearing, seeming with its one eye to observe everything that was going on.

  Burgade walked over to Noah and said, “They did a good job.”

  “It’s a terrible thing when a man doesn’t feel anything for his own brother,” Noah said.

  Burgade naturally assumed that Noah—even cold old Noah—was having doubts about having his brother ripped apart by the dogs.

  “I don’t think he ever appreciated one damned thing I did for him,” Noah said. “The only thing he ever cared about was himself. Selfish bastard.”

  Burgade fought a smile. He should have known that Noah wouldn’t have any regrets. He wasn’t talking about what he’d done to Aaron, he was talking about what Aaron had done to him. Nice to know there was something stable in the world—Noah’s unforgiving heart. Not even Burgade could have looked down at the pieces of his brother and not felt regret. But Noah? No problem.

  “Voodoo’s agitated,” he said to Noah.

  “That dog’s always agitated.”

  “I want to take him down around the dock. See if anybody’s tried to sneak onto the key here.”

  Noah pointed his Spencer at the cabin. “I want to start the hunt.”

  “But what about Voodoo?”

  “To hell with Voodoo. Someday I’m going to shoot that noisy bastard and replace him.”

  The thought of shooting one of the dogs did not sit easily with Burgade. His special, if violent, relationship with them made him not only their trainer but protector as well. Yes, funny as it sounded, the dogs needed protection too—shelter, food, and safety from the whims of their crazy old owner, Noah Tillman.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Noah snapped. “Every time I say something about one of those damned dogs, you look like you’re ready to shoot me in the back.”

  Not a bad idea, Burgade thought.

  Noah sighed. “Dammit, I want to get going on the hunt.” He made a face. “All right. Take Voodoo and check things out. But I want you back here in ten minutes.”

  Burgade made a special sound. His Voodoo-only call. The other dogs growled now as they saw Voodoo trot over to their master.

  “I won’t be long,” Burgade said as he set off.

  “You damned well better not be.”

  Actually, Burgade was thankful for this respite from Noah. Even though his boss hadn’t been here long tonight, the tension and resentment Burgade always felt toward the old man was already rolling in his stomach.

  “You going to be all right with them? Alone I mean?” Burgade said.

  Noah sneered. “Why the hell wouldn’t I be? I’m the one that bought them in the first place, wasn’t I? I was the one that trained them before you came along, wasn’t I? Why the hell wouldn’t I be all right with them? They’ll take my command over yours any day, Burgade. And if you think they won’t, let’s just try it sometime. These dogs are mine, not yours.”

  “I was just—”

  “Now get the hell going. And get back here right away. This Fargo isn’t going to be easy. This just might be the best hunt I’ve ever had. And I’m not going to let you and Voodoo spoil it for me. You understand, Burgade?”

  Burgade nodded.

  “Good. Now get your ass out of here.”

  As Burgade started to set off, the other dogs started barking with great resentment at Voodoo. He hunched low and growled.

  Let Noah be the master of the other three dogs. Burgade would be happy to settle for Voodoo. Burgade glanced back at the cabin, glimpsed Fargo’s face in the window. One thing Noah was right about, for sure. Fargo was going to give them a lot rougher time than anything ever had.

  He was going to be one nasty sumbitch.

  Fargo said, “Take off your clothes.”

  “What?” Nancy said.

  “Only chance we’ve got.”

  He explained quickly. She agreed without hesitation, slipping out of her jeans and shirt to reveal the curves and hollows and swells of flesh that he had known all too recently. In the moonlight, she looked pale and ethereal, her dark eyes, her naturally red lips, and the explosion of black pubic hair the most vivid parts of her now.

  Fargo grabbed a chair. Dragged to the spot in front of the door.

  “I’m going to feel awfully damned foolish if he doesn’t go for this, Fargo.”

  “He’ll go for it.”

  “He’s awfully old, Fargo.”

  He sat her in the chair, touching her shoulders as he adjusted her sitting position. Her flesh bedazzled him for a moment and despite the fear and tension of the night, he felt himself surge to arousal.

  “You’ll make him feel young again.”

  “Boy, do you have the gift for bullshit.”

  Fargo laughed. “Now remember, when he comes through that door, you make yourself look as available as possible. I only need him distracted for a few seconds.”

  “Then you jump him from behind the door?”

  “That’s how it’s s�
��posed to work, anyway. Maybe he turns around on me and shoots me in the gut.”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  “And Stephanie, as soon as the door opens, you start your fake crying.”

  Stephanie said, “It won’t be fake, Fargo. This whole thing has really started to overwhelm me.”

  “Well, just remember to start crying.”

  Fargo tried to imagine what it would be like for Noah. You open the door and you are immediately confronted with two images. A voluptuously beautiful girl sits in a chair, her legs parted slightly, the totality of her lush body on display. Your attention is about to settle on that when—

  At the same time, the gunshot-like cries of a woman in great distress can be heard from the corner. Which do you look at? What’s going on here? Is this some kind of setup? But before you can puzzle your way through all the questions, suddenly all such questions are moot. Because here comes Fargo out of nowhere—actually, from behind the door—tackling you around the neck and hurling you to the ground, taking your Spencer away from you as you see the floor coming up to smash your face in.

  I sure as hell hope this works, Fargo thought. “What’s he doing now?”

  “Going to the bathroom.”

  “Peeing, I take it?”

  “Yes. If it was the other one, I couldn’t watch.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “If you manage to get his Spencer away from him,” Nancy said, “remember that I’m the one who gets to kill him.”

  “I thought you wanted to kill Burgade,” Fargo said.

  “Just like a man,” Nancy said. “You don’t listen to anything women have to say.” She paused. “The deal we had, Fargo, was that I got to kill old Noah and Stephanie got to kill Burgade.”

  “I want to shoot him right in the crotch,” Stephanie said.

  “What’s he doing now?” Fargo asked Stephanie.

  “Taking a drink from a bottle of bourbon.”