Down at the Twist and Shout Ch. 05

Gina waited until his attention was fully fixed on rummaging through their stuff piled in the trunk, whining and complaining continually as he searched, before closing in behind him and taking careful aim at the back of his head. Perhaps some sixth-sense, some instinct of self-preservation finally kicked in, but even as he began to turn his head, Gina fired, squeezing off three rounds, one each in the back of his head, at the base of his neck, and between his shoulder-blades. Carlo never felt a thing as his lifeless body pitched heavily forward into the trunk, to lie motionless, half in and half out of the trunk, which suited her fine; if she'd shot him in the car, or even by the roadside she'd never have got his bulk into the trunk unaided; now, all she had to do was swing his legs over the trunk lip, cover the body with the blanket she'd bought for that very purpose, and close the trunk.

Gina smiled happily; that pointless fat fuck was out of the way, his wife and her hick brother didn't know her and couldn't identify her, and she had two hundred grand to spend as she pleased, with no Carlo to claim it and throw it around like he'd been planning on doing. Life was good; she had the money, she was free and clear, and best of all, no more Carlo and his pudgy, sweaty hands pawing at her.

*

Johnny called Sheriff Broussard on the untraceable Sat-Phone to get whoever had jurisdiction up there, and arrange for the body to be collected and any next-of-kin to be notified. That done, he reverentially wrapped the body in a tarp and carefully carried it to the shack the old man had lived in, and laid him gently on his bed, securely fastening the door to prevent scavengers disturbing the remains; leaving the body where it was found was the correct thing to do, but protecting the old man's mortal remains from scavengers was the right thing to do, in Johnny's mind, not leaving it out like random roadkill. A shocked and outraged Mélette was all for trailing and killing whoever had done it, but Odélie reminded her they had a rendezvous to make, and most likely the killers would show up there in due course, and then they could hand them some bayou justice for what they'd done to a helpless old man. Mélette gave in with bad grace, seeing the sense of her words, but promising herself the man who'd done it was going to die the way he'd made that poor old man die; screaming in agony and begging for mercy.

Justine was silent, pale and shocked at the turn of events; so far this odyssey of hers had been a big adventure spiced with a little danger, bad guys getting their just deserts, and a certain amount of fun and games; now it was real; innocent people were being killed over her, and it jarred her in a way nothing and no-one ever had before. Johnny saw her withdrawing, guilt and horror plainly written on her face, already blaming herself for what had happened, and he gathered her in, along with Odélie and Mélette, hugging the three girls, letting them cry out their horror, grief and anger. Justine cried for what she'd caused, for what that poor man had gone through, and the sudden understanding that more was yet to come, and it was all because of her

" Husha, now, y'all be still, we gonna fix this, we gon' fin' them paralanguas done this an' we gon' take somep'n back for what they done here, you got my word; I swear on my mama's heart we gon' make them pay, so y'all hush now, we gotta leave this place now, an' when we catch up wi' them there gon' be a reckonin', I promise you; you-all my baby-girls an' I never oncet lie to y'all, so you better believe it!" crooned Johnny, swaying as he rocked the three girls. His voice was soothing, calm, but Justine could feel the deep rage bubbling inside him; what had happened here, the senseless, cowardly way it had been done, had angered him almost beyond bearing, and his promise to give a reckoning for what had been done was no idle threat, she knew him too well to believe that for a single second.

For a heartbeat Justine found herself pitying the men who'd done this, because when her Johnny-Bear caught up with them they were going to pay with their lives; forget the law, this was a true blood-feud now, and she knew, from what Johnny had told her, the law of the feud was simple; you get back what you dish out, you repay an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life, old-school, pure and simple. Johnny had promised it, and she knew vengeance and retribution was going to happen.

*

The trip up the Atchafalaya River Bayou Chene branch was everything Johnny had said it would be. The normally sluggish, slow-moving bayou was deceptively swift and choppy, swollen from recent heavy rains further up the watershed, the tricky, swirling currents and eddies would have swamped a pirogue in seconds; it took all of Johnny's skill and watercraft savvy to keep them making headway against the current that first day, finally mooring-up for the night under a thick canopy of foliage in a deep little inlet out of the main current. Johnny had jumped ashore and tied-up to a sturdy tree bankside of the eroded, crumbling levee, then started to build a fire, while Mélette had taken her bow, quiver, and a reel of high-tensile fishing line and slipped off into the gathering gloom of the forest canopy.

Johnny had a nice blaze going in a depression shielded with flat stones, all but invisible from just a few yards away, when she returned with a pair of fat catfish, and a brace of rabbits, which she and Odélie began skinning and dressing while Johnny gutted, skinned, and filleted the fish. Justine kept watch with Mélette's Remington ready, her ears and habits now attuned to the normal night noises. Johnny grinned to see her looking so competent and vigilant, completely at-ease with the long-gun, and a far cry from the city-girl who'd started out on this trek just days earlier. Justine caught him watching her, and so she smirked naughtily and licked her lips suggestively, making him grin and duck his head to hide his smile from the other two girls.

After their meal of fried fish and roasted rabbit, followed by a dessert of California raisins, dried apricots, and a juice-box, they got ready for bed. Johnny tried to claim first watch, but Odélie overrode him.

"Li'l Jean, you'all spent mos' all day at that wheel, I reckon you need what rest you got comin'; me 'n' Mellie gon' bed down a li'l way out, it too close in that cruiser, an' I wanna be out an' about in case someone decide to come sneakin' up. You look bushed, pair o' you get some sleep in the for'ard stateroom, Mellie an' me be fine out here. Go on now."

Justine didn't object too loudly; most of the stateroom was actually a bed, and after days on the ground she was feeling the need for a mattress. Johnny looked doubtful, but Mélette kissed his cheek and swatted his butt.

"Go on, now, we sleep out six days outta seven, this where we live, you 'n' Justy go get some proper rest, we be fine."

*

And so the pattern for their journey up the Bayou Chene loop of the Atchafalaya River was set; during the day, they made as good time as they could against the current, moored-up at night in a sheltered creek or inlet for the night, and rotated the watch so it didn't fall to just one or two people, Johnny made sure of that.

Justine's first solo watch was a creepy, eerie experience. The silence of their mooring site was at first almost deafening, with just the occasional splash of a fish or 'plop!' of a frog leaping into the shallows to startle her, and the reasonably well preserved levee was still high enough to limit her line of sight and give her the creeps over whatever imaginary swamp-creatures like the ones Johnny had told her of when she was younger were peering at her over it, but then she began to tune into the ambience, to realize what she was hearing. She wondered at the almost subliminal background sibilance of the wildlife, the soft cheeping, burping, and clucking of frogs, the rustling of small animals moving through the undergrowth, the constant, low-level white noise of millions of stridulating crickets away somewhere in the swampy woods, and the buzzing of countless of insects going about their lives. When it all began to make itself felt, she marvelled that she'd actually thought they were moving through a sterile, soundless, lifeless landscape; on the contrary, they were surrounded by busy life living on the very edge of hearing.

Justine was beginning to feel once more that this part of their journey was almost idyllic, that they were in the clear, when it all came to an abrupt halt. Three days after they'd set out from Lake Palourde, and one day out from the Basin Bridge rendezvous, just after dawn, as they were preparing to cast off, Johnny froze, as did Mélette. When Justine would have asked what the problem was, Odélie clamped a hand gently around her mouth.

"Sshh, don' say nothin', an' don' move; someone up ahead!" she whispered almost inaudibly in her ear.

Johnny and Mélette were both casting around, like hounds on the trail, then Mélette grabbed his arm and pointed slightly West of North, holding up two fingers. Johnny nodded, and gently, but firmly, pushed the girl behind him. He looked up at the two girls in the boat and made a patting gesture.

"You pair, get down real silent, like; someone's on the trail ahead of us, least two of 'em, mebbe two hundred yards up that way, I mo take a look," he whispered. "Mel, you-all come with me an' keep me covered, Odie, you an' Justy stay back, stay down, an' cover us both; you still got that handgun, baby?"

Justine nodded, her face pale but set, and Johnny smiled tightly.

"Remember, if you gonna fire, point it away from you, safety off an' cock it, you know how, then put yo' finger on the trigger on'y when you ready to fire; that gun got a real light set-trigger, jes' hold it tight, point yo' han' an' squeeze, don' yank, the trigger."

Justine nodded again, flashing him a quick smile, and Johnny nodded approvingly, before cat-footing along the bank, keeping to the underbrush and out of sight as much as possible. Mélette flitted through the trees behind and to one side of him, covering him with an arrow nocked and ready.

*

Johnny and his shadow threaded through the trees, keeping to cover as much as possible, following the faint scent of cigarette smoke that had alerted them both. Two hundred yards or so along the bank, they both stopped dead, crouching in the cover of a clump of lilac bushes, watching the two men squabbling on the river bank.

"I dunno, they said lay-up by the bridge 'case they tried to cross, you see a bridge around here anywhere?" grumbled one, a tall African-American man in jungle camo fatigues with what looked like a standard, military-issue M4 carbine with a 3-D sight and a Glock 26 compact in a MOLLE tactical holster. The other man, sitting on a stump with what looked like a Ruger Hawkeye Compact hunting rifle with a sniper scope held carelessly across his lap and a cigarette between his lips, grinned at his companion, his mirror shades flashing blankly in the morning sun.

"GPS says this is the Atchafalaya River, Mac, but look here; the map shows it splitting down at some place called 'Bayou Chene' south of here; I think we're on the Bayou Chene branch, not the main river channel, that's where the bridge is. You wanna head north an' lay-up on the main channel, near the bridge itself? Scuttlebutt says they're heading that way anyway, we should wait for them this side of the bridge in case they try to do an end-run around the teams watching the pilot channel; gotta be worth a shot, that's a million-dollar bonus on top of what we're already gettin' paid."

Mac smiled nastily.

"Maybe we should; that girl they say headin' this way supposed to be a real looker; might be able to have a little fun with her once the big bastard's out of the way!"

His companion shook his head sadly.

"You lay a finger on that chick and Joao Ribeiro's gonna cut our dicks off an' hammer them up our asses; he's a crazy, sick fuck, he wants her intact, not you all over her, and I'm gonna make sure that happens, you getting this? That ole geezer said there was prolly two gals travellin' now with Bastine, there was a picture of them in his shack, they look like they'd be worth grabbin', so if they're along, you an' me can have some fun with them, but the gal with Bastine is strictly outta bounds, got that? You touch her, I'll shoot you myself, I ain't about to tangle with the Ribeiro brothers; keep it in your pants, or take it out on them two other gals, whatever, long as you keep your hands off of the one Joao wants. Far as I'm concerned, we get what we came here for, get our money, an' wait for the next job; there's enough pussy in Baton Rouge to drain your balls properly, wait 'til then!"

Mac licked his lips.

"That blonde one looked real sweet an' tasty; the old man was real reluctant to tell us who they were, but he squealed in the end, I made sure of that; damn, that was fun! If those two gals are along, we're gonna have all kinds of fun with them, know what I mean? Yessir, they're some pretty little gals, I hear tell these Cajun gals know tricks make porn-stars look like beginners, it'd be almost a shame to kill 'em after, seems like such a waste!"

Johnny saw the murderous rage at the big man's words rising in his cousin's eyes; those two had tortured and murdered that defenceless old man, and now they were laughing about it, and their deaths were in her eyes. He held her arm and caught her eye, staring levelly into her eyes until the rage died away, and sanity returned. She quickly squeezed his hand to show she was back together again, and nodded when Johnny pointed at Mac, calm and collected, once again the consummate huntress, and carefully lined up her shot on the big man in the camo gear; he was the most obvious target; with the automatic rifle, he was the most dangerous of the two, and he was gloating over what they'd done, and what he was going to do to her when he grabbed her.

As far as she was concerned, he was less than the vermin underfoot, the world didn't need trash like him, and he was going to die like vermin he was, but her anger never translated to her hands, the lethal compound bow remained stock-still in her hands, the heavy, razor-sharp broad-head hunting arrow pointed unerringly at her target. His companion had a bolt-action single-shot carbine, it would take him time to bring it up, aim, and fire, so Johnny was going to take him out while Mélette took out Mac.

Moving stealthily through the undergrowth, silent as though they were stalking deer, they moved up to maybe ten yards from the two men, easily close enough to take them both out. Johnny's original plan was to launch himself at the man with the Ruger, but as he looked down to check his footing he saw on the ground a large round rock about the size of a softball, rounded and smoothed by years of grinding along the channel bed before flooding had tossed in onto the bank, polished into a smooth, hand-fitting shape, with enough heft to make it lethal in the right hands. He glanced at Mélette, nodded at her to indicate what he was doing, seeing her sudden understanding of his intent, and slowly fitted his hand around the rock, turning and turning it in his hand until he was sure of his grip. They waited until both men were looking away, then, on his signal, Mélette stood and released all in one fluid movement beautiful to behold, skilled and deadly as some pagan Goddess of the hunt, all her anger and thirst for revenge concentrated in her lethally accurate aim even as Johnny stood and threw the river-stone as hard as he could.

Mac died without a sound; the heavy arrow slammed into his head with incredible force, through one temple and bursting out through the other, while his companion didn't even have time to gape before the heavy rock crashed into his forehead. Johnny and his cousins had been hunting small game with slingshots and cast stones since they were small boys, and his aim was as deadly as ever; the man with the mirror shades never even knew what hit him, and he dropped without a sound, dead before he hit the ground, his skull staved-in by the crushing impact.

Johnny was the first to move, taking a step towards the two dead men before he realized Mélette hadn't moved, she stood still as a statue, her bow still held outstretched, and her arm and hand still motionless after releasing the bow string. Johnny looked curiously at her, at her set features and almost deathly pallor, with only her deep breathing to show she was even alive.

"Baby-Girl, come help me, we got to strip these jackals an' dump them in the bayou. Mellie! Whut's wrong, Baby-Girl?"

Mélette started at his words, stared blankly at him, and dropped her bow as she unsheathed her massive Bowie knife with a steely slither.

"Whut you-all doing, li'l gal?" murmured Johnny, and froze at the expression on her face, at the fury burning in her eyes.

"Leave me be, Li'l Jean, I got unfinished business here; you-all go on back to th'others, I mo gut me a brace o' shit-hawgs! I said leave me be, now, jes' git outta here!"

Johnny slowly shook his head, barring her way when she would have headed towards the two dead men. Mélette tried to push past him, but his arm around her held her immobile.

"Lemme go, they gotta pay for what they done, you said there gon' be a reckonin', well here I am! They animals, an' I gonna gut them like the animals they are, so git outta my way; NOW!"

Johnny wrapped his arms around her as she tried to escape him, the Bowie knife falling to the ground as she struggled.

"You ain't gonna do that, Li'l gal, I won't let you; how you gonna make them pay, Baby-Girl? They dead, they already paid the price for what they done; the book say 'take an eye for an eye', we took two lives for one, seems like justice been done; desecratin' their bodies do nothin' but make you no better than them. Don' let the Devil have his way, Baby-Girl, you better'n that. Listen to me, baby! We done what was needful, let the bayou have them; I ain't gonna waste no time givin' them no Christian burial, they ain't got the right; the darkness already got them, they in Hell now for what they done, let the water take them an' that be an end to it."

Mélette stared at him for long seconds, before she sagged against him, and two large tears ran down her cheeks. Johnny hugged her as she sobbed, rocking her and making soothing little noises the way he used to when she was a little girl and the blues came on her. When he sensed the storm had passed, he took her face gently between his hands and looked into her eyes, breathing a sigh of relief that all sign of her killing fury had gone, and only remorse remained.

"You-all better now, li'l gal?" he murmured, thumbing dry her wet cheeks the way he used to when she was little, the memory making her smile for an instant, before her face darkened again.

"Li'l Jean, what have I done? Oh God, I killed a man, I stood there an' I murdered a man in cold blood, what am I gonna do, help me, qu'est-ce que je fait? qu'est-ce que je fai' maint'nant, je suis un tueur, Jean-Bastiènne, j'ai tué un homme, oh mon dieu, mon dieu! (What have I done? What do I do now, I'm a killer, Jean-Bastiènne, I killed a man, oh my God, my God!")

Johnny held the girl tightly as she shook uncontrollably, calming her as the enormity of what she'd just done hit home; she'd taken a life, a human life, it was a mortal sin, she'd taken everything from a man, even any chance of atonement, and it terrified and horrified her. Johnny saw what was happening right away; her Catholic upbringing had come out, and along with the horror and self-loathing came an equal burden of guilt; this was real, it wasn't an exciting jaunt upriver, outwitting the people hunting them, it was no game of bluff and deception anymore, people had died, likely more were going to, and she'd been a willing part of it, a killer, she'd killed a man out of anger and thirst for revenge, no matter that it was needful; now she was paying for her anger and vengeance.