Mer Rouge (Part 61)

Dirk stood shirtless in front of the old baroque mirror. His many tattoos faded. The mirror itself was gifted to him by John Pemberton in 63. It was just before their defeat in Vicksburg. The sheriff closed his eyes and considered the old General. Nothing came to mind. All their adventures and campaigns faded into abstraction and the general’s face was nothing more than a scrawl on white canvas. This was also true of Pizarro. And Cortez. And…

He threw on a fresh sheriff’s button up and slicked back his hair. He turned around and noticed the Eunuch standing in his doorway. His arms were crossed and his face sullen. “They broke through the perimeter,” he said.

“I figured they would.”

“The Judge demands a plan of action.”

“Don’t worry,” Dirk said. “I have the butler on standby.”

“The butler,” the eunuch smirked. “Ah yes, the butler”. With arms still folded, he turned around and his guffaws echoed down the hallway. Dirk finished up and proceeded down the stairs. He found the butler standing motionless underneath the front awning in formal attire. Not a bead of sweat present on his brow. “Are you ready for this?” the sheriff asked him.

The butler looked across the barren field and squinted. He took a deep breath and soliloquied with his thick British draw. “I found the Norsemen on the edge of River Ouse,” he began. “First came the arrows. Then came the charge. As they advanced across the shallow waters, their screams were as the howling winds of hell. It wreaked havoc in our ranks. Men were trampled underfoot and the ground thickened into a sea of mud, shit, and blood. Those who weren’t killed in the retreat were mercifully slaughtered by the spears and swords. But they saved the damned for the axes. They hacked at the men and the bones and limbs of the dead were strewn across the field and protruded from the mud. The land I once recognized became a holocaust wrought by some forsaken god. So you see sherriff, I’ve already witnessed hell. And I’ve carried those harrowing screams with me everyday since.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 60)

Hutch and Moses jumped out of the bed and scrambled towards the squad car. Oren was slow to follow. He pulled the sheriff aside and lowered his voice. “Do you think you might be overdoing it?”

“What do you mean?” DuPont asked.

“I mean you just lit two deputies on fire. That’s a bit much.”

“No no no,” the sheriff chuckled. “You see, those guys were castoffs from hell. Cursed to roam the earth forever. I was doing them a favor.”

“A favor?”

The priest overheard the conversation and butted in. “The sheriff is right,” he told Oren. “If they drank from the cursed spring then their souls were already damned.”

“How do we know they did?”

“Well,” the sheriff backtracked, “they worked for Judge Castor. It should go without saying.”

“Agreed,” said the priest. “Don’t worry. Our conscious is totally clear.”

“But you drank from the spring, priest,” Oren retorted. “Do we need to do you a favor by lighting you on fire?”

“B-b-b-b-b-but that’s different.”

“No it isn’t.”

“I’m a man of the cloth, ya see.”

Oren rolled his eyes. DuPont shut the conversation down. “There’s no time for a discussion on ethics,” he said. “We gotta destroy that spring no matter the cost. I reckon we’re only a mile or so away.” He looked toward Moses and Hutch who were digging through the inventory of shotguns and revolvers left in the vehicle. “Do you boys think we’ll run into heavy resistance at Castor’s place?” he asked them.

“Hell, we’ve eliminated every deputy in the parish Sheriff!” shouted Moses from the passenger’s seat. “Except for that shitheel Fornier. It’s probably just him and Dirk left.”

“Well, them and a butler and a big hairless dude,” chimed in Hutch. “But they ain’t shit.”

DuPont nodded. “Good. They seem to be outnumbered then.”

The sheriff climbed into the bed of the Honcho. Chaz remained in the driver’s seat while Oren and the priest joined the others in the squad car. “Chaz and I will lead the assault,” announced DuPont. “Once we secure the house, we’ll blow up that spring and send the others back to hell.”

The rest of the gang nodded. The sheriff slapped the top of the cab and the truck moved forward. The police car, driven by Hutch, closely followed. And as the wind swept through the trees, the vehicles passed by the smouldering pile of ash that was once the deputies and the waning flame clutching for survival was huffed out forever.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Stories No One Should Read! (Again)

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Mer Rouge (Part 59)

They were the last standing deputies of the Moorhouse Parish Sheriff’s Department. They saw the smoke rising above the treeline and leaned against the squad car. “What the hell is goin on?” one asked the other.

The other pulled a big nasty boog from his nose, looked at it, and then flicked it into the grass. “God knows,” he said. “I’m sure Frank and the boys have it taken care of.”

A faint roar echoed through the woods and down the gravel road. One deputy glanced in its direction and scratched his ass. “Reckon we outta call it in?” he wondered aloud.

“Fuck it,” said the other.

Both deputies planted their ass against the squad car and let their own minds wonder. The sun hung high in the sky. One pushed back his Stetson and wiped sweat from his brow. When he did, the Honcho came tear assing down the dirt path. Neither budged. “Who the hell are these guys?”

The Honcho pulled up and Sheriff Fornier rolled down the window. “Howdy boys,” he greeted. “We’re here to see Sheriff Dirk.”

“And you are?”

“Oh come on. You know me. I’m the sheriff of West Carroll Parish.”

The deputy looked at the three men in the bed of the truck. One of them shot. “Does Dirk know yur comin?” he asked.

“Hell. I don’t need to make a reservation to meet a fellow Sheriff!”

“Well I don’t know if you noticed sir, but we’re kinda on lockdown.”

“Oh I noticed.”

“Okay, but we’re gonna need to see some identification first.”

“Sure thing buddy.”

Fornier climbed out of the Honcho and reached into the bed. “Now you fellas hold tight,” he told the deputies. He lifted out the flame thrower and strapped the canisters to his back. The officers did nothing but spit.

“Is that your identification?” one asked.

“Sure.”

The sheriff finished strapping it on and turned the nozzle. A small flame puffed from the firing mechanism. “We just need to see your badge,” one deputy said disinterestedly.

“Aw pig shit,” Fornier said. “Give me a second.”

“No worries sheriff. Take your time.”

“Do you boys mind stepping away from the squad car first?”

The two men shrugged and stepped towards the middle of the dirt road. Fornier pulled the trigger and unleashed a dazzling flame on the deputies. And as they were set ablaze, a puzzled look fell over their faces and they collapsed to the ground and were subsequently consumed by fire. Afterwards, Moses stood up in the bed still clutching to his bullet wound and shook his head.

“Goddamn. Those guys were stupid,” he said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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 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…