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…

Mer Rouge (Part 48)

Simon and Simon quietly played on the old black and white television set. The brother’s eyes shifted back and forth from a shirtless Gerald McRaney on the screen and the two simpletons slightly sloshed over as they engaged in a game of poker. His left wrist was handcuffed to the bedside railing. A nurse rolled in with a tray for the patient and the two bumblefucks watching him. She set up the table and raised the patient’s bed. She lifted the lid and a plume of steam rushed out. It was steamed squash and broccoli with a side of chocolate pudding. The nurse gave the patient one eating utensil. A singular metal fork. The two officers were provided with superior food. Cheeseburgers and Coke. “I’ll be back in an hour,” the nurse announced. The officers waved and she rolled out her cart.

The door closed and the patient reached for the fork and buried it under his blanket. He ignored the food and feigned interest in the television. An officer looked up from his plate and shouted at the patient. “Hey buddy! Are you gonna eat your lunch?”

“I ain’t hungry,” the patient said.

The officer shrugged and shoved the burger into his face hole. Afterwards, one took a flask and poured whiskey into their cokes. “Ready for another ass whoopin?” he asked his partner. He shuffled the deck of cards.

Underneath the covers, the patient bent back three of the fork prongs with his right hand. His left hand was exposed. He pushed back his food tray and adjusted the blanket. The entire bed was covered, including both guard rails. The patient slowly moved his fork in hand across his body and jammed the remaining prong into the keyhole of the handcuffs.

“Shoowee!” one officer cried out. “That burger is going right through me!”

He excused himself from the card game and rushed out into the hospital corridor. The remaining officer looked at the patient. “Hey! Hands where I can see them!” he barked. He stood up and tugged the covers off the bedrails. The patient’s left hand was still handcuffed. Satisfied, the cop picked up the TV remote and faced away from the bed. “Do you actually like watching this shit?” he asked the patient. He flipped through the channels until finding Cannon. “Now here’s a good ass show!” he declared.

Before he turned around, the patient had the fork prong jammed into the officer’s posterior auricular vein. Blood spewed onto the walls. And with his left hand, he crushed the officer’s throat and he gently helped the corpse drop to the ground. Not a sound was made. As blood pooled around the body, the patient dug through his belt and pulled a pair of keys. He rushed to the window and opened the blinds. He was four stories up and with no way out. He stood by the door and waited for the other officer. And when he came, he saw his partner’s bloodied body on the floor. But as he reached for his radio, the patient lurched at him from behind and broke his neck.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 47)

Alone in the cave, he took the flask out and emptied it in his mouth. Then he patted on his leg to test the pain. Feeling content, he stood up and hopped up and down thrice. With his leg fully healed, he sat back down and rested his back against the cavern wall and rested his eyes. Then the mayor strolled down the stairs and side eyed him. Dirk wasn’t far behind. The sheriff reached to his belt and pulled out his 9mm. With his eyes shut, Fornier hardly noticed the men.

“How’s your leg feeling?” Dirk asked him.

“Much better,” the deputy said without looking up.

Dirk aimed the firearm and fired a single round into Fornier’s thigh. The deputy screeched and writhed on the cave floor. “Goddamnit Dirk!” he cried and cried.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” the sheriff said. “One officer is dead and every inmate escaped! How the hell does that happen?!”

“I did the best I could!”

“Who was it?! The priest?”

“Yes!”

“And who else? He couldn’t have acted alone.”

“I didnt see anyone else!”

Dirk shot him again, this time blowing his ear clean off. Fornier’s screams were horrid and intolerable as they echoed down the cavernous halls. The sheriff lowered his gun. “Ahhhgghh for fucks sake Dirk!” the deputy cried while blood squirted from his head.

“I’m not stupid!” Dirk yelled. “The precinct was torched! There had to be someone else!”

“Alright alright! The Nine! It was the fucking Nine!”

“Those two assholes?! Were they with the priest?!”

“I dont know! I think I got one of them killed!”

“No shit?”

“No shit!”

Dirk reholstered the pistol. “Well shit,” he said. Then he stood with hands on his hips. “How did they find you?”

“How the hell would I know Dirk!”

The mayor interjected. “Your cousin was killed over in Vicksburg a few days ago. In a fire no less. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

“It was a coincidence!”

“In a fire? Like hell it was,” Dirk said. “I’ve always wondered about you Fornier. Was you moonlighting?”

“What do you mean sheriff?!”

“I mean was you dealin? Like profiting off the spring?”

“God no! You know I’d never do something like that!”

Dirk faced the mayor. The mayor shrugged. The sheriff rubbed his face and scratched his head. “So you’re telling me you killed one of the Nine. There’s only one left?” he asked Fornier.

“Dirk, I’m almost certain I killed him dead. That fire got him good.”

“And what about the other one?”

“We got a few good licks on him but I can’t be certain if we got him.”

“The last surviving member of the nine,” the Mayor said. “We’d be better off facing the entire legion of them. Those men have been around for close to two thousand years, Dirk.”

“I know that.”

“And the last one won’t go down without turning this place into a pit of hell.”

“To say nothing of the priest.”

“So we don’t have long to prepare,” suggested the Mayor. Dirk nodded. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small cloth. He tossed it at the blood soaked deputy and spat. “Get yourself healed and cleaned up,” he told Fornier. “We don’t have long.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 46)

Hutch found an old faded porno laying in the grass on the south facing side of the church. He picked it up and knocked off the spiders, grass, and other critters that burrowed its way into the pages and thumbed through it. A few feet away, Oren had the windows rolled down and the driver’s seat eased back in the Toyota. He heard Hutch strolling his way towards his corner of the yard and he lifted his head. He saw that his brother was all smiles as he glared at the full bushed woman from the December 1981 issue of Penthouse. Oren knew that issue well. He called out to Hutch. “Get in the car man!”

Hutch was slightly startled and promptly dropped the magazine. “Shit! I didn’t see you there bro!”

“Just get in!”

Hutch shrugged and strolled to the passengers side. He opened the door, sat his rotund ass down and took out a cigarette. “Whatchu thinking man?” he asked his brother. But Oren inserted the keys into the ignition and started the car. “I’m thinkin we’re gettin the hell outta here!”

Oren laid on the gas, kicking up a cloud of rock and dirt. But just a few meters down the dirt road, Sheriff DuPont stumbled into their path. Oren slammed on the brakes. The Sheriff didn’t budge an inch as he glared at the brothers through the windshield. He slowly approached the driver’s side and he ordered Oren to roll down the window. He complied and the officer leaned forward and rested his forearms on the sill. “So uh, you boys just goin for a Sunday drive?” DuPont asked.

“Yessir,” said Oren.

“Nosir,” said Hutch.

“Well I reckon that would be alright as long as yur back n about thirty minutes,” the sheriff explained. “The problem is that this is an illegally obtained vehicle. Now don’t worry. I get it. This is unusual circumstances. But after we’re done with this little operation here, we’ll need to get the car back to it’s rightful owner, see. I hope you understand.”

“Yessir.”

“Now I’m supposin that yur Oren Waites of Utah, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then I got some excellent news for ya. I got that Honco of yours in impound.”

“You do?”

“Oh yes. Still runs like a charm too, I’ll tell ya. Sure the cab and windshield are busted up, but I got the gas tank patched up. Now mind you, you’re gonna have to pick it up come tonight. Else I’m gonna have to charge you impound and towing fees, ya see.”

Oren swallowed hard. “Okay, I understand,” he said.

“Good,” said the sheriff. “Now why don’t you turn this piece of shit around and pull up to the shack down yonder. We’re fixin to head out soon.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 45)

The priest gave everyone a cup of boiled peanuts and a shot of bourbon. Hutch took one look at it and passed. “I ain’t touching this crap,” he said. Moses dug his fork around in the cup and shrugged. “Better than the shit we ate on the inside.”

Sheriff DuPont raised an eyebrow and glanced at the priest. “You know that no one likes this shit down here, right?”

“More for me then,” the priest said.

Oren sloshed his fork around in the cup and gave up. “I’m gonna go take a nap guys,” he announced. He excused himself from the table and found a shaded corner of the yard. DuPont lifted his bourbon glass and sipped. “So uh, where do you come from priest?”

Peanut juice dripped down his beard and he wiped it away with a cheap napkin. “I’m not sure you’re ready to have that conversation yet, Sheriff.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means he doesn’t remember where he comes from,” Moses spoke up.

The priest looked up and glared at Moses. The sheriff’s eyes shifted back and forth between the two men. “You don’t remember?” he asked.

The priest sat down his cup and picked up the bourbon. “What do you know about Judge Castor, Sheriff?”

“Almost nuthin. Except he’s been around forever and he’s always trouble.”

The priest nodded. “That sounds about right. What say you, Mo?”

“How the hell would I know?” Moses spat.

“You seem to be a man that’s been around a while,” the priest said. He casually sipped on his drink. “You never crossed paths with this devil?”

“I only know what the sheriff knows.”

“Uh huh,” the priest shrugged. He downed the bourbon and slapped the glass on the table. “Well Sheriff, to answer your question, the judge and I go way back,” he continued. “At times we was allies. But not no more. And that’s all I can say about that.”

The sheriff drowned his shot of bourbon and then smirked. “Gimme another shot of that, will ya?” he said. He stood up and straightened himself out. “I gotta piss,” he announced. And he excused himself from the room.

Out of earshot, the priest began replenishing everyone’s drinks. Then he looked at Moses. “So I guess Mount Hebron wasn’t the end of your story, huh?”

“The hell you talkin about old fool?”

“C’mon. You’re amongst your own here. How old are you? Two thousand? Three thousand years old?”

Moses guffawed. “Well first off father. You should know the good book better than that. It wasn’t Hebron. It was Mount Nebo.”

“I don’t give a goddamn what it was. Just who the hell are you and why was ya in Mer Rouge?”

“I ain’t nobody, preacher man. A better question is just who the hell are you?”

The priest drowned another shot and then he poured another. “Drink up,” he ordered Moses. “We’re fixin to find some truths this mornin’.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 44)

He dragged his dangling foot through brush and shallow swamps before resting on a downed southern pine. Ahead of him, he could hear the soft humming of passing vehicles. He took his canteen and poured the remaining few drops down his throat and then threw it on the ground. Then, after hearing some shimmering beneath the needles, a squirrel popped up beneath the deadened brush and he shot it. He skinned and roasted it over a piddly fire while the black night above morphed into a faint blue. The meat made him sick. He vomited and passed out and the rising dew put the fire out. He awoke thirty minutes later and found his foot semi reattached. Some of the gunshot blasts to the neck and chest partially healed. The recovery process was working faster than expected but not fast enough. After spewing the remaining bits of rat meat from his throat, he reached for a tree branch from the downed pine and used it to lift himself. He marched in the direction of the street hum.

It was a couple in a burnt orange Volkswagen van that saw him first. He was limping southbound in the direction of Monroe when the tires squealed. The man hopped out of the vehicle and approached the broken figure in a stricken panic. The man nearly heaved. The figure’s eyes were swollen shut and his scalp half burned and his clothes charred and bloodied. “Oh my god sir! Are you okay?!!” the man yelled.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Get the fuck out of my way,” the brother told him.

“Darlene! This man is in shock! Help me carry him to the van!”

“No goddamnit! I said I’m fine!”

The woman sprinted in their direction and grabbed the brother by the legs. The man slid his hands under his armpits and despite his protest, they carried him to the back of the van. “Don’t worry sir! We’re gonna get you to a hospital!” the man said as he jumped into the driver’s seat.

“Fuck you! Just let me out!”

“Darlene! Give him some water!”

Darlene opened a canteen of water and the brother kept pushing it away and it spilled all over the floorboards. “Just stop the fucking car!” the brother demanded.

The driver turned around momentarily to assure the injured man that he was in good hands. But the van drifted into the northbound lane and smacked a large Peterbilt head on. Hours later, the brother woke up in a hospital in Monroe. He looked under the covers and realized the gunshot wounds and numerous broken bones were fully healed. Even his burnt scalp returned to normal. He would have got up and left if it weren’t for two large Monroe PD officers flanking him on both sides. Then the doctor came in.

“Glad to see that you’re awake,” the doc said. “You were the sole survivor of a horrific car accident and we have a lot of questions for you.”

“Is it still Sunday?” the brother asked.

“Yes it is.”

“Thank Christ,” he said and began pulling out IVs.

“Lay back down sir.”

“Why?”

The large burly officer to the right laid his hand on the brother’s chest and pushed him back on the bed. “First off,” the doctor said, “who are you? We found no identification on your person.”

“What difference does it make?”

“Because you came in here with multiple gunshot blasts to the chest and neck. Your lungs were punctured and filled with blood. You had multiple fractured and broken bones consistent with a car accident. And your brain was swelling to the point where it was oozing from your ear holes. And now look at you. It’s just hours later and you’re good enough to walk out. That doesn’t seem unusual to you?”

“Good genes I guess, doc. What can I say?”

“You were also carrying a .380 ACP, a few shotgun shells, and we’re burned all to hell,” a Monroe officer spoke up.

“It’s Louisiana, sir. Is that a crime down here?”

“We’re gonna be keeping you overnight,” the other officer said. “Until we get to the bottom of this.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 43)

DuPont let Hutch finish pissing and then he made the escapee hug the tree. The sheriff handcuffed both of his wrists and ordered the prisoner to not make a sound. A few feet away, three bundled cylinders just barely a foot in length were laid in the grass. DuPont reholstered his revolver and strapped the cylinders to his back. Hutch grew concerned. “Uhh, watchu got there officer?” he asked. But the sheriff twisted a few valves along the hose connected to a firing mechanism held in his right hand and a small flame popped up at the end of the hose. “Don’t go nowheres,” DuPont told Hutch. Then he marched toward the shack.

Inside, the Priest was relentlessly cackling over Moses’ comments. All seemed to be at ease until the sheriff gently pushed open the door. Every eyeball turned to that small flame at the end of the hose. After a few moments, the priest looked into the eyes of the man holding the hose. “Sheriff DuPont,” he said. “Glad you could join us for Sunday service.”

“Do you usually invite escape convicts to your services?”

“We’re all children of God ain’t we?”

The sheriff twisted the valve further and the flame grew larger. “I know what you are,” DuPont said.

“I don’t know what this is about but I’m sure there’s a more civilized way to handle it.”

“Old folks used to talk about you,” DuPont continued. “They said that Methuselahs still walked among us. That some kind of holy water meant for consumption from the gods can turn men immortal. They said they can only be stopped by the power of the flame. I used to say bullshit. And that whatever happens in that godforsaken Morehouse Parish was none of my business until it spills over into my parish. And now it has. I know you was behind that motel fire. And you was most certainly behind that explosion off Kurtzy Road. And it was you at the Morehouse Jail fire this mornin’.

The priest nodded. “Yes, Sheriff. You are correct. You are correct in more ways than one.”

“I know I am.”

“Good. Then you should know that there’s something in Mer Rouge that needs to be stopped. You can arrest all of us and handle the matter yourself. Or we can all take care of this problem right now. Of course, your third option is you can light us all on fire.”

“I think I’d rather be arrested,” Moses interrupted.

“I just gotta know one thing,” DuPont said. “Are you one of them?”

“I am.”

“Then we all head out to Judge Castor’s this morning.”

“Even me?” asked Moses.

“Do I have to go too?” chimed Oren.

TO BE CONTINUED…