Mer Rouge (Part 58)

The Honcho came to a complete stop at the property entrance. Rifle shots lit it up until DuPont and the others sprung up from the brush to return fire. They raced toward the Honcho unleashing bullet after bullet until their guns were depleted. Hutch carried Moses to the bed of the truck and climbed inside. Oren and the priest were close behind. The sheriff, with the chamber of his .38 empty, pulled out the .44 and fired. The sniper was in clear view. The bullet struck the sniper on his cheek, blowing it clean off and exposing his teeth, and he recoiled. DuPont climbed into the cab and ordered Chaz to step on it. It was probably three hundred yards from one side of the field to the other. The sniper attempted to readjust to hit his moving target but he gave himself up. Everyone in the bed of the truck saw him shift closer to the road. “I’m out of bullets!” Oren yelled.

Moses, struggling with his gun wound, saw the sniper and thought. “I can hit him,” he shouted. “Gimme something sharp!”

Oren looked past the mounds of dynamite and found a discarded harpoon. He didn’t know how it got there. “Here!” he said, handing it to Moses.

Moses stood up in the bed and cocked his left arm with a harpoon in hand. The sniper swiftly shifted into a kneeled position and placed the scope squarely on Moses’ head. He was too late. As the Honcho sped past, Moses hurled the harpoon and speared the shooter right through the chest. The object hit him with such force that it blew him back several feet into the brush.

“Goddamn old man!” praised the priest. “How did you learn that trick?”

“Just saw Apocalypse Now,” he said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 57)

Hutch grabbed his downed comrade and pulled him into safety. The others were all hidden behind the treeline. “I’m alright! I’m alright,” Moses reassured Hutch.

“A rifle round went clean through your shoulder! I gotta stop the bleeding!”

“Don’t worry about it!”

Squatted behind a tree, the sheriff reached for his .44. He peeked out through the sweltering heat waves and scanned the flat grassland. “Did anyone see anything?!” he shouted.

“Man I didn’t see shit!” Hutch yelled.

DuPont squinted harder and deduced that the shooter had to have been posted up in the treeline on the other side of the field. He shook his head and spat. “I should call in an airstrike,” he said.

“That’s not an option,” Oren told him. “Radio Chaz. Tell him we’re calling it off.”

“No!”

“Sheriff, between the explosion and rifle shots, they already know we’re here! We should abandon this route and find another way in!”

“There’s no time.”

“Sheriff,” the priest interjected. “He may be right. That rifle shot was from a Mauser SP66. There’s only one man I know of who uses that weapon.”

“The nine?” Oren asked.

“You betcha.”

“I don’t give a goddamn if it’s Lee Harvey Oswald up in them trees,” said the sheriff. “This is the only way in!”

DuPont poked back out from his position. Rifle rounds rained down on him kicking up mounds of dirt and grass. He swiftly took cover. “Fuck!” he yelled.

“We appear to be trapped here, sheriff,” the priest said while gnawing on a carrot.

“We ain’t trapped here!”

DuPont looked away from the direction of the sniper and towards the east just off of the judge’s property. He could see the cloud of dust barreling towards them with the beat up Honcho leading it. He had seconds to think. “When Chaz rounds the corner,” he said to the others, “fire every round you have towards that treeline.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 56-I’m just trying to get through this story)

The deputy walked a few yards from the road and stepped behind a tall southern pine. He barely managed to get his pecker out before a knife slid across his throat. Piss and blood sprayed every which way. DuPont let the body drop and he knelt down. The five remaining deputies were facing the opposite direction. The priest meanwhile, covered in camouflage from head to toe, drew his Walther with a silencer. He fired one shot and it barely grazed his target’s ear. “The hell was that?” the deputy cried out. With little time to consider his options, the priest popped out of the bushes and ripped off three shots at the officers. All of them landed and killed their targets. The priest was shocked. The remaining two scrambled to reach for their weapons before DuPont hurled his Bowie knife into the back of one. He screeched and collapsed dead to the ground and the last man hopped into the squad car and squealed away.

“Fuck!” DuPont shouted.

The priest lowered his Walther and closed his left eye. The vehicle was a hundred yards away. “Fire goddamnit!” urged the sheriff. The priest pulled the trigger and the bullet smashed through the rear window. A car ramp was inexplicably on the side of the road and the vehicle went up it and into the air and crashed upside down in the grass.

Then it exploded.

“That was close,” DuPont said.

“That was one hell of a shot!” Oren shouted to the priest as he climbed out of the brush.

“Where the hell did you get that Walther, padre?” asked Moses. “What the hell else are you hiding under that cassock?”

“It always helps to be prepared,” said the priest.

Oren glared at DuPont and spat. “One hell of a body count you’re stacking up, sheriff,” he said.

“There’s no time for justifications,” he barked. He pulled out his walkie talkie and radioed Chaz. “All clear,” he told him. He reholstered the radio and placed his hands on his hips. He glared at the car explosion. “It’s only a matter of minutes before they see the smoke.”

Then a rifle shot rang out and struck Moses on the shoulder.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 55)

The gravel road was about a hundred yards away. It’s entry point was guarded by a half dozen deputies. DuPont lowered the binoculars and radioed to Chaz. “Stand by,” he ordered. Hidden in the treeline, the priest threw on his camouflage smock. “Is that standard issue in the Orthodox Church?” Oren asked him.

The priest nodded. “Yes. Strangely,” he said.

DuPont met with the men huddled together in the wood. He pulled out a .44 Magnum and checked the cylinder. “There’s six guards,” he announced. “We’ll maybe have a minute to take them all out before the other deputies are alerted. Chaz is on standby with the dynamite.”

“If attacking them don’t alert the others, that .44 sure will,” the priest said.

“Will we have to kill em?” Hutch asked.

“Oh yeah,” said the sheriff. “BIG time.”

Oren shook his head. “Hutch and me never killed no one. So you guys go on ahead.”

Moses slapped him on the head. “Fool! And you think I have?!”

“Oh I know YOU have,” the priest interrupted.

Moses thought. “Ohh yeah. I’ve killed a lot of people actually.”

“Alright, the Priest and I will take the lead. The rest of you follow,” DuPont declared. “Remember, this is like Loc Ninh. Keep your eyes peeled and your weapons ready.”

“None of us were there, sheriff,” Oren said.

“Shit, I was,” the priest told him. “Got my testes shot clean off. Of course, that was last year though.”

“Enough,” DuPont barked. “We’ll ride the treeline then take cover in the grass,” he said. Then he unsheathed his Bowie knife and gave it a long hard look. “I’ll take out the first guard. Once first blood is shed, you must move quickly. No hesitation. If you hesitate, you’re dead.”

“Except for me and Moses,” the priest said. “But yeah, the rest of you would be fucked.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 54)

The two deputies sat on foldout chairs and whittled away at small sticks with their pocketknives to pass the time. It was almost midday. While the sun cast down an intolerable heat, one reached into an old Coleman cooler then dug through the ice. He pulled out a Miller then cracked it open and drank. Then he spat. “This is some bullshit,” he bitched to his partner.

“Beats the hell outta workin.”

“For you maybe. I’d rather be at the house.”

“Pokin the wife?”

“At least I got somthin to poke.”

A slight wind swept through the trees and kicked up a flock of crows. The men looked up. Seconds later there was a cracking of dead brush and two men with shotguns appeared through the wood. The deputies leapt up from their seats to get a better look. One called out. “Halt! This is private property!”

The two men changed directions and slowly approached the deputies. Decked in camouflage, it was apparent to the officers that these men were hunters. Feet away, one of them apologized. “Forgive me. We didn’t realize we was trespassing,” he said.

“Well, you are. So you best turn right around.”

“Mind if I ask who the owner is?”

“Yes I do mind.”

“Shit fellas. We was just chasin a buck. Didn’t mean to cause no trouble.”

“If you don’t go back the way you came, there’s fixin to be trouble.”

The hunter nodded. Him and his buddy turned around and walked back toward the tree line. The deputies drew their service pistols and followed them. Not a word was exchanged during the escort until the other side of the treeline was reached. A deputy gave his final warning. “Come back through here and I’ll put a bullet in ya. Ya hear?”

Three more men with daggers appeared from the rear of the deputies. They plunged them into their backs and their attackers swiftly covered their mouths to muffle the screams. They collapsed to the ground. Two of the attackers dragged the bodies away and the hunters wiped away the camouflage from their faces. They weren’t happy with the other three.

“I think you went a little far there, Sheriff!” Oren yelled.

DuPont resheathed his dagger and waved him away. “There was no other option,” he explained. “Two dead men means two less guns we have to face. Now we just have to find a way to get that dynamite inside.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 53)

The deputy stuffed the contents back into the billfold and placed it where he found it. Dirk finished his business with the other deputies and strolled back to the cruiser. He opened the door, hiked up his pants, and plopped down in the driver’s seat. He noticed that he left his wallet in the car. “Shit,” he said under a muffled breath. Then he picked it up and placed it in his front pocket. After starting the engine and making a u-turn, they headed back in the direction of the Judge’s mansion. Fornier picked his teeth in the passenger’s seat. He rolled down the window and threw the toothpick into the wind. Then he rolled it back up and stroked his chin.

“Say sheriff,” he said, “remember that time when all us boys went gambling in Gulf Port? Remember that whore we picked up?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well why didn’t you fuck her?”

Dirk lowered his shades and glared at his deputy. “Why are you bringing this up?”

“Well,” Fornier continued. He made sucking noises between his teeth. “I guess it just made me remember that I never met your wife.”

“You know I don’t have a wife, Forn.”

“Shit. Why not?”

Dirk stammered. “Because, you know, filing for a marriage license would raise a lot of questions. I don’t even have a birth certificate.”

“Hell, Dirk, you know that the judge would take care of that for ya.”

“Sure, I guess I just haven’t had the time.”

“Just haven’t had the time, huh?” wondered Fornier. He loaded his lip with a heavy pinch of Copenhagen. “You’re old as dirt, Dirk. I’m sure you’ve gotten plenty of strange through the years.”

“That I have.”

“Let’s just hope your boys in the Klan never find out about Alajandro.”

The sheriff slammed on the brakes. He reached for his pistol but Fornier already had his drawn and pointed at his eye socket. “Now listen here you cocksucking queer,” the deputy said. “These guns might not do us a bit of good but it’ll be enough to put you out of commission. And I’ll tell everyone we have a homo in our ranks! That is unless we can cut a deal. So listen good: I’m no longer a second fiddle in this outfit, ya hear!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 52)

He sulked in the passenger’s seat. Dirk didn’t say a word to him as they rolled around the large country ranch dotted up with flame retardant grass. He reckoned every sheriffs deputy was on site. But Morehouse parish was safe. It was Sunday. The time for crime wasn’t today unless it was an attack on the Judge’s land. Yet Fornier was still pissed at the Sheriff. His leg wound hadn’t healed and the rising sun was threatening to scorch the earth. Dirk was driving. He lowered his shades and looked to his deputy. “Hot one ain’t it?”

Fornier said nothing.

“The hell is wrong with you?”

“You shot me all to hell Dirk.”

The sheriff raised his shades and gazed out the windshield. “The mayor was standing there. I had to do something,” he reasoned.

“You’ve always treated me like a piece of shit.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I relieved you of death.”

“But I’m not treated as one of you.”

“You gotta understand,” Dirk said. “We’ve been around a long time. Things work different between us. You still know your mother and father. Ours have been dead for centuries.”

“Doesn’t give you the right to shoot me.”

“You fucked up Forn. Hell, even you can admit that.”

Fornier didn’t reply. The cruiser rolled up to the estate entrance and Dirk climbed out the driver’s seat. The deputy sat there. Meanwhile Dirk whistled into the thicket and two deputies sprung out with their faces painted by camouflage and the sheriff stood with hands on his hips and discussed the day’s business. The Oak Ridge Boys were playing on the radio. Fornier relaxed in the air conditioned cruiser and looked at the empty driver’s seat. Dirk’s billfold fell out of his pocket and was resting between the seats. He picked it up and looked at its contents. Inside was an old folded tintype photograph of a well dressed man of no more than thirty. In the handwriting below it read the name Alejandro Caballero. Also in the wallet was a handwritten note in Spanish. Fornier barely understood it. But he understood enough to recognize the handwriting and the opening line: mi amante, Alejandro.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 51)

The eunuch stood with his large hands and arms folded. His golden robes sparkling in the candlelit room. Dirk observed him. “The Judge is disappointed,“ the eunuch said.

“It’s an entire sheriff’s department against a few men,” Dirk told him.

“Their poor decisions could lead them here.”

“We’ll find them before they do.”

The judge laid onto the old organ. The haunting sound startled Dirk. The decrepit old man lifted a chalice and drank from it. “I’ll gladly hear any input you may have, judge,” Dirk said to him.

The judge lowered the chalice and wiped his mouth. He looked to his eunuch. “The judge will speak through me,” the eunuch said. But the judge again laid onto the organ.

The eunuch bowed his head. “Forgive me sire,” he begged.

The judge stood and stretched his black velvet jacket. He cleared his throat and approached Dirk. It was the closest the sheriff had ever been to the old man. His eyes were gray. His teeth yellowed and crooked. And he smelled like an open grave. “Do you know how long I’ve been around?” he asked the sheriff. His voice barely registered above a whisper.

“A long time, judge.”

“And for all of it to end because of a priest.”

“And a Roman soldier,” the eunuch interrupted.

“I have every officer surrounding the perimeter. There’s no way they’ll break through,” Dirk said.

“Do you have any idea how resourceful the priest is?” asked the judge.

“Yes sir. We’ve met before. In Seville.”

“Then why didn’t you recognize him?”

“Because I figured him long dead. I hadn’t seen his face in centuries.”

“Foolish,” the judge said. “The same could be said of you and me.”

“Yes sir. But the way I saw him. I couldn’t believe he was still alive.”

The judge approached an old wooden chest. He opened it and removed the sword and armor of the old conquistadors. He removed the pork pie hat and placed the helmet on his head. “You were in Peru, weren’t you?” the judge asked.

The sheriff thought the old man looked ridiculous. “I was,” said Dirk.

“Then we must learn from our old master Pizarro,” the judge continued. “As with our hearts, we must prepare this place as a fortress. For there will be no other.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 50)

He loosened the knob. The flame grew brighter and he unleashed it on the shack. A bright torrent of fire covered the shanty building and the wood cracked and popped before it collapsed in on itself. The priest was livid.

“What the hell?! I was living in that!” he shouted at DuPont.

“I’ll tell you boys what, when we’re through with this operation here, all y’all better stay the hell outta Louisiana,” the sheriff retorted. “If I see any of y’all again, I’ll kill you. If any of y’all claim I helped ya, I call yall a liar and then I’ll find ya and kill ya. Understood?”

There were no responses.

“Good,” DuPont continued. “Now the first rule: only I get to use the flamethrower.”

“Then what the hell are we gonna use?” asked Moses.

“Excellent question!”

Without missing a beat, Deputy Chaz came rolling down the dirt path in the beat up Honcho. Oren couldn’t believe his eyes. With all the windows busted out, Chaz parked in front of the gaggle and shouted at DuPont. “Hey Sheriff!” he said. “I couldn’t find a vehicle big enough to transport all this dynamite. So we just fixed the cab and threw all of it into the bed of this truck. Goddamn! Honchos are one hell of a vehicle!”

“Well boys,” the sheriff announced, “you have your answer. We’re gonna take this dynamite and blow the shit out of Castor’s house and collapse that cursed spring once and for all.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 49)

There was a faint cracking and the man fell to the floor. Looking down at the corpse with its head unnaturally contorted, the patient assessed the officer’s size. It wasn’t a perfect fit. In fact if it wasn’t covered in blood, the other officer’s uniform would have been a better fit. But he knelt down and stripped the dead cop of his clothes. He checked himself in the mirror. Now donning a Monroe PD outfit, the patient strolled out into the hospital corridor while twirling his baton. As he calmly whistled towards the elevator, he tipped his hat to various medical staff passing by. Then he recognized his nurse walking toward him. When she looked up and saw his face, he already had a gun to her side. “Scream and you’re dead,” he told her.

Her face whitened as he nudged her toward the elevator. Inside, she asked him where they were going. He said nothing to her. The doors opened into the lobby and he motioned her to walk forward. Outside, the squad car was parked near the entrance. He opened the backseat and handcuffed her inside. Then he proceeded to the driver’s seat, started the engine, and drove out of the parking lot and in the direction of Mer Rouge.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked him.

The driver didn’t acknowledge her.

“Please let me go,” she pleaded. “I have two sons. They’re twins.”

The driver looked up from the road and glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “I was a twin,” he said to her. “I never knew my mother and father. My brother and I were raised by beggars and horse thieves on the Milove steppe. We should have died there. But salvation came in the form of a golden eagle as the Roman legions swept through our fields. Most of the people were killed, but our caregivers saved themselves by selling us into slavery. My brother and I were taken many miles away. Away from the sea of grass we called our home and into the land of the civilized. They taught us the way of the sword and the arrow and they made us soldiers in the greatest army in the world. That bought us freedom. It bought us celebrity. And ultimately it bought us immortality. Many years have passed since. I don’t know how many. The difference between now and so many years ago seems no different than today from yesterday. I don’t know how many lives I’ve lived. Seen how many people I have loved die. You think that death is the worst possible outcome. But there are worse things than death.”

She sat in petrified silence. Occasionally she’d stare out the window and take in sights she had seen so many times before. She’d wonder if she’d ever see them again.

Many miles down the road, the driver turned the squad car down a concealed dirt path. A mile or two away from the main road, the car stopped near a thicket of southern pine. The driver climbed out of the front seat and opened the rear passenger side door. But he didn’t let her out. He walked several feet away and dusted away mounds of dead pine on the ground. Underneath it all was a buried locked wooden crate and he knelt down and opened it. He took out two swords and the golden roman eagle. Then he lifted the empty crate and sat the eagle on top of it. Taking one of the swords, he remained knelt and lowered his head to pray. She watched him the entire time. He was silent. Motionless. Minutes later, he lifted his head and dropped the other sword into the crate pit and reburied it. He stood up and walked back to the car. He opened the front passenger’s side door and placed the sword and eagle in the front seat. Then he undid the handcuffs and let the woman out.

“Please don’t,” she said.

“Be thankful that this is your only life,” he told her. He tipped his hat and got back in the car. He started the engine and roared back toward the main road.

TO BE CONTINUED…