Dead in the Water (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 4) (19 page)

Cal surveyed his options, none of which yielded great odds for survival. Run and hope Johnson is a terrible shot and a lousy tracker, all while counting on being able to evade swamp critters and search parties in a dangerous and unfamiliar environment. Or promise never to print a word of the story, likely enabling him to keep his life but possibly costing him his job as well as dashing Kelly’s dreams. Then there was Johnson’s mysterious plan—a plan he seemed intent on going through with. Staying alive seemed preferable, which kept Cal from darting off into the swamp for the time being.

“And what exactly do you have in mind?” Cal asked Johnson.

Before Johnson could answer, Sanders butted in. “Ssshhh. You hear that?” he asked in a whisper.

All the men froze and collectively held their breaths in an attempt to hone in on the sound Sanders claimed to hear. After a few seconds, the cause of the sound became evident. It was a truck rambling along the road as its headlights bounced up and down on the surrounding woods.

“Can you tell who that is?” Johnson asked in a whisper.

Sanders shook his head. “Not yet.”

But Cal had a hunch his text had worked. Then as the truck turned off the main road and started coming toward them, Cal knew who it was by the sound of the engine.

It was Phil Potter.

CHAPTER 35

DOMINIQUE DIXON LINGERED in the field house following Saint-Parran’s victory over West St. John. He craved the big stage and wanted to close out his high school career with a state championship in the Superdome in New Orleans. He then wanted to experience the roar of a hundred thousand fans celebrating one of his great plays at the collegiate level.

He looked at his phone, smashed to pieces. If he were ever going to hear such a sound, it wouldn’t be from the fans of those cheats at Bryant. Nor would it be at Alabama.
They had to be the ones who did this. Who else knew about what I had on my phone.
But there was far more on his mind than what college to attend or whether or not to leak damning evidence about Bryant University’s football program.

“You all right?” Coach Holloway asked Dixon, the lone player in the locker room.

“I think so, Coach.”

“Tryin’ to decide where to play?”

“Yeah. I’ve just learned a lot in the recruiting process.”

“Such as?”

“Such as I can’t trust anybody except myself.”

“Not everybody’s like that,” Coach Holloway said as he sat down next to Dixon.

“Everybody I’ve met is,” Dixon said. He snapped and unsnapped the chinstrap on his helmet several times. “It’s all about how I fit into their plans.
Their
plans. Nobody has once asked me what I want to do, what my dreams are all about. It’s all about how I can help them accomplish theirs.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I want to escape this place and see the world. I’ve lived in the bayou my whole life and it feels like an island, even a prison at times.”

“What about playing in the NFL? Is that a dream of yours?”

“Of course, it is. But I’ve started to think differently about life these last few days.”

“Because of what happened to Tre’vell?”

“Exactly. I thought life was all about football, family and fun. But I know there’s more to it than that,” Dixon said as tears started to roll down his face. “I miss Tre’vell and I want to live the right way, the way that he lived always lookin’ out for others first.”

“That’d be a great way to honor his memory,” Coach Holloway said as he patted Dixon on the back.

Dixon wiped his face clean of tears and looked up at his coach. “Thanks for listening.”

“Any time. So, what’s it gonna be? Alabama? Bryant?”

“Neither, I’m gonna play at Clemson. They didn’t ditch me after all the stuff that happened yesterday. I actually got a call from one of the coaches telling me they weren’t giving up on me despite the media reports about what happened.”

“You told Coach Raymond that yet? I heard he flew down here just to meet you earlier this week.”

“He’s one of those people I don’t trust,” Dixon said.

“Besides I always wanted to go to Clemson, but it was too far away for Tre’vell. He wanted to stay closer to home. But now that he’s gone, I wanna do what’s best for me— and maybe one day I’ll be half the man Tre’vell was.”

CHAPTER 36

PHIL POTTER PARKED HIS TRUCK and got out. He lumbered toward the two vehicles already parked near the edge of Devil’s Point. A light cast on him by one of the men forced him to shield his eyes.

“You guys throw a party and didn’t invite me?” Potter asked.

Sanders shined the line near Potter’s feet once he spoke. “Don’t you crazy Cajuns know how to mind your own business?”

“It’s my business to know,” Potter snapped as he kept walking toward them.

“Not tonight it isn’t,” Johnson said.

“Oh, Frank, you’re here too,” Potter said. “My two favorite infidels from the state of Alabama. Why don’t you boys just get on back to where you belong? I have a feeling you’re up to know good out here.”

“How’d you know to look for us here?” Johnson asked.

“Anytime Frank Johnson leaves abruptly in the middle of a football game, there has to be somethin’ going on that’s worth seeing. So, I followed you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Johnson said. “We’ve been out here for a while.”

“There are only so many places to go in Toulon Parish if you want to take care of business,” Potter said.

“What makes you think we’re out here having a business discussion?” Sanders asked.

“There’s a guy sittin’ in the back of your pickup, Hugh, and he’s been awfully quiet,” Potter said. “Maybe we should ask him. Who is that anyway?”

“He’s none of your concern,” Johnson said. “Now, I suggest you turn around, head back to your truck, and forget that you ever saw us here.”

Potter heard the click of a pistol and froze. “OK, OK. I don’t want any trouble.”

“If you didn’t want any trouble, you should’ve never followed me out here—if that’s even true,” Johnson snipped.

“Maybe it wasn’t my brightest move, but—what are you guys doin’ out here anyway? Decidin’ Dixon’s fate? Castin’ lots to see who will get him?”

“Dixon’s free to go wherever he wants to go,” Sanders said, “as long as it’s not Bryant University. I’d hate for the young man to make such a mistake.”

“Is that what you said about Tre’vell Baker?” Johnson asked Sanders. “If he doesn’t go to Alabama, he doesn’t go anywhere?”

“In case you haven’t figured it out yet, killin’ ain’t my style,” Sanders said. “But Potter on the other hand …” Sanders let his words hang in the air as if to create a simple inference.

Johnson aimed his light at Potter, who threw his hands in the air. Potter panicked. He started to sprint for his truck. In less than five steps, Johnson fired a warning shot into the air.

“The next one is going to hit you in the back and kill you,” Johnson said. “I wanna hear this.”

***

Cal remained quiet. He wanted to hear this, too. Ever since he saw the note found in Tre’vell Baker’s backpack, Cal had a nagging feeling he’d seen the handwriting somewhere before. He just couldn’t remember where. Was it at Lanette Baker’s house? The Dixon’s house? The bar? The restaurant? He couldn’t recall where he’d seen it—until now.

“Turn around and come back here right now,” Johnson said.

Potter complied as he kept his hands extended in the air. “I don’t want any trouble,” he said.

“Neither do we,” Johnson said. “We just want the truth. Did you murder Tre’vell Baker?”

“Murder is such a harsh word,” Potter said. “I never meant to kill anybody.”

Cal’s mouth dropped. He couldn’t remain silent any more. “What do you mean you never meant to kill anybody?”

“Oh, so that’s you over there, Cal,” Potter said. “I was beginnin’ to wonder if you were pullin’ my leg.”

Sanders shined his light in Cal’s eyes. “Did you call him out here?”

“Maybe,” Cal answered. “But I’m not your concern now, remember?” Then to Potter. “So, tell us what happened.”

“Everyone around here was mad about him announcin’ that he was going somewhere else, even his mama,” Potter said. “One day I was in Café Lagniappe and I ran into Lanette Baker. She asked me to talk some sense into Tre’vell. So I tried, but he didn’t want to hear any of it.”

“So you wrote him a note?” Cal asked.

“Yeah, I wrote him a note just to try and scare him a little bit, maybe make him reconsider what he was doin’. Then I went too far. I had been drinking down at Bons Temps when I left and passed his place. I saw he and Jarvis out fishin’ and decided that I’d just shoot a little warning shot over his head to shake him up.” Potter paused for a moment. “I never meant to hurt him, honest.”

“You shot him in the back of the head and you were just trying to scare him? How do you explain that?” Johnson demanded.

“I—I don’t know. I just aimed in his general direction, but I didn’t think there was any chance it’d actually hit him,” Potter said.

“Dropped him dead right in front of his little brother, too,” Sanders added. “You’re a worthless coward.”

From the rage building in Sanders and Johnson, Cal sensed where this confrontation was headed—and it wasn’t a good place. Potter must have sensed the same thing as he spun around and dashed toward his truck. He made it inside before Johnson fired a shot that blew out Potter’s front left tire. Sanders shined the light on Potter, who put both of his hands in the air in surrender.

“Get back here right now,” Johnson said. “And do it slowly. Keep those hands where I can see them. I wouldn’t want this gun to accidentally go off.”

Potter complied with the demands and kept his hands in the air once he climbed out of the vehicle.

Meanwhile, Cal thought this might be his best opportunity to run. With Sanders and Johnson preoccupied by another nemesis, Cal figured it might be his best chance to make it out alive.

Cal slid over the side of the truck and into the muck. With the ground damp and muddy, he treaded lightly to avoid making a suction noise that would attract attention. As he moved through the woods, he heard more raised voices and shouting before a few punches were thrown. Cal made it about forty yards away before he heard another commotion, this time caused by Potter’s mouth.

“What happened to Cal?” Potter asked. It put the beating on hold as Sanders began scouring the woods with his light. Cal froze. To run would be to give up his only advantage in the moment. If he stayed hidden long enough, they would have to decide between him and Potter—and he was betting that they’d choose Potter. It was better odds than sitting in the truck waiting for whatever punishment Johnson had cooked up for him. If it was anything like Potter just received, Cal wanted no part of it. He eased closer to the ground and shielded himself from plain view by crouching behind a fallen tree nearby.

“You ever play Russian roulette, Cal?” Johnson shouted into the woods. “Well, we’re gonna play Bayou roulette. I’m gonna shoot into the woods somewhere and I may hit you and I may not. Or I could always let Potter here shoot at you. He’d try to miss but he’d probably blow a hole in your head.” Johnson then guffawed over his last statement.

Cal failed to see the humor in it. Nothing was funny about his situation. He remained frozen, flummoxed over the best route to take. Before he could decide, Johnson fired his gun.

“Cal! Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Johnson cried as Sanders waved the flashlight throughout the woods.

Another round and then another. Cal kept track. Four shots had been fired so far. He knew Johnson only had two more if that was his Glock 42 he’d bragged about.

“Cal! We can do this all night,” Johnson said.

Another shot.

Cal prepared to run the instant he heard the next one echo into the night.

The sixth shot.

Cal didn’t wait around to hear Johnson torment him. The codger was likely fiddling around for another clip, if he even brought another one.

“There he is!” Sanders shouted as he kept his flashlight trained on Cal.

Cal scampered through the trees and brambles, branches and limbs slowing his progress and scratching his face. It felt like an endless maze with no exit.
Where is the road? Where is some dry ground?
Cal found none. Instead, his toe found a fallen tree that sent him sprawling face first into the mire. He scrambled to get up before another warning shot ripped through the night.

“I can see you,” Johnson said. “If you make another run for it, you’ll be betting against the fact that I didn’t bring another clip. It’s not a bet you should take.”

Cal raised his hands in the air and turned around.

“Get back over here now,” Johnson demanded.

As Cal began to walk, he felt a sharp pain in his ankle. He hobbled back toward Devil’s Point confident that he twisted his ankle. If he was going to escape now, it would require something more ingenious than a dash through the woods.

Johnson directed Cal next to Potter, who stood a few feet away from the water’s edge. “Tie ’em up, Hugh,” Johnson said.

“I’m not sure I wanna be a part of this,” Sanders said.

“Now you have a crisis of conscience? Please. Tie ’em up or you can join them too,” Johnson snipped.

Sanders wandered over to his truck and grabbed some duct tape and the burlap sack he’d used earlier with Cal. He gave his flashlight to Johnson, who shined it on the two prisoners. Sanders tied both Cal and Potter’s hands behind their backs while he apologized.

“I never meant for it to end up like this, Cal. Honest,” Sanders said.

“Spare me,” Cal said. “You’re starting to sound like Potter.”

“Shut up! All of you!” Johnson said. Then to Cal, “I promise to make this quick for you.” Without a warning, he shot Cal in his left leg.

Searing pain washed over Cal’s lower extremities; blood spouted from the wound and soaked his pants. Before Cal could figure out what was going on, Sanders ran toward him and jammed the burlap sack over Cal’s head, turned him around and kicked him in the back with his foot, forcing him into the water.