The Devils Punchbowl

A wave of nausea rolls through me. ?They already hit her with that,? I stammer, recoiling at the thought.

?They weren?t trying to help her. They were having a party. If you hit the cervical spine as hard as you can, death should be instantaneous.?

I look down at the dog, then back at Kelly.

?You wanted to come,? he says, shining the light in my eyes. ?If you want to finish it, finish it.?

This is not like Kelly at all. Whenever we?ve worked together, he?s always been ready and willing to do whatever dirty work was

required. I?'ve never completely understood the dynamic between us, or what motivated him to go beyond what I consider the call of duty. He?s always operated by a private code, one I thought I understood. It?s as though together, we function as a complete man?a rational mind capable of enforcing its decisions with implacable force. But in the past, I realize now, Kelly?s willingness to kill has always been demonstrated while he was protecting me or my family. This situation falls outside those parameters. In fact, letting the dog die in agony is probably the safer choice, from that perspective. But I can see that Kelly feels for the animal. Is he testing me? Is the iron fist performing a gut check on the mind that wields it? Or is he trying to find out whether I'?ll let my emotions override my reason? Knowing there?s no sure answer to any of these questions, I walk to the tree and lift the bat, certain that the last person who did so was the one who battered the helpless dog into what huddles at my feet now.

?Wait,? says Kelly.

I stand over the shivering dog, waiting to feel the bat taken from my hands.

?Danny thinks he?s got something. Uh-huh?Right?How far?? He checks his watch, then says, ?Shit, we can do that. We?ll come in the boats?. No, no, if you drop us in close enough, they?ll hear the chopper. Stay well clear. If they leave before we get there, try to get a license plate, but don'?t let them know you?re there. I'?ll radio our coordinates en route?. Right. Out.?

?What?s going on?? I ask.

?Danny saw something suspicious earlier on the FLIR, down past where the VIP boat turned around. He went back and checked it out. It?s a big metal building, and it?s throwing off heat. There?s a couple of SUVs out front with men sitting behind the wheel like drivers waiting for people.?

?What do you think it is??

?Tonight?s dogfight. I think they tried to pull a fast one on us. They knew we might be following the boat, so they handled transport a different way.?

?Where are they??

?An island. About five miles downriver.?

?Five miles??

?Yeah. If we dig in, we can make it in twenty or twenty-five minutes.?

?Won?t the fight be over by then??

?Not necessarily. A single dogfight can go two hours or more. But we don'?t have time to waste. Put the bat back, and let?s move.?

?Damn it, Kelly, just shoot the dog. We can throw her in the river. They?ll never know.?

?Bullshit. Dogs aren'?t like cats to these people. They were punishing this dog, probably for losing a fight. They know she can?t move, and when they come back, they?ll expect to find her here, dead. Come on.?

Kelly takes two backward steps, but he doesn?'t turn away. I feel the weight of his gaze upon me. There?s a pregnant tension between us, but I won'?t kill a helpless creature because a man is testing me. Stepping over the dog?s rump with my left foot, I brace my foot against a tree root, then grip the bat?s taped handle with both hands and raise it over my right shoulder. The terrier lifts her head, trying to look back at me, but before her eyes find mine I swing the bat with all my strength, aiming for the neck, where the spine meets the skull. In the adrenaline- flushed second that the bat completes its arc, instinct tells me to shut my eyes, but I keep them open, knowing that to look away could result in more torture.

The bat doesn?'t ring on impact, but it jolts my arms and rattles my spine down to my pelvis as a wet crack like a boy stomping on a sodden limb echoes through the trees. The awful whistling has stopped. The dog lies motionless. I stumble back to the other tree, lean the bat against it, then march past Kelly toward the river.

As I wedge my knees through the cockpit of my kayak, he walks into the shallow water and looks down at me. ?You did the right thing. But I think that?s enough for tonight. I should take it from here.?

Thrusting my legs forward, I set my feet against the pedals, jerk the lanyard that flips down my rudder, and push away from the sandbar. ?I'?ll see you down there.?

CHAPTER

32

Walt Garrity takes a sip of ice-cold Maker?s Mark and gazes around the vast gaming floor of the

Magnolia Queen.

Most casino boats are floating barns filled with slot machines and few table games, but the

Magnolia Queen

is magnificent, harkening back to the days of the floating palaces that cruised the river after the Civil War. The

Queen

has a three-hundred-foot salon built in the style known as steamboat Gothic, with Gothic arches, stained-glass skylights, gilt pendants, and eight massive chandeliers. There are hundreds of slot machines, yes, but there are also table games of every type.

Walt spent the first part of the evening putting on the same kind of show he?d given on the

Zephyr

last night, making a spectacle of himself at the craps table and tipping everyone beyond all reason. He?s stayed with Nancy because since their scene in the RV they?ve had a certain understanding about the sexual component of their relationship that he doesn?'t want to explain to a succession of prostitutes.

She stands a few feet away, losing wads of Penn Cage?s money at the blackjack table. Nancy doesn?'t seem to mind Walt?s frequent absences, so long as the flow of chips and alcohol continues uninterrupted. She probably assumes that a man of his age is making repeated trips to the restroom. In fact, Walt has conducted a casual but very thorough inspection of Golden Parachute?s floating casino. This is the second time they?ve been aboard the

Queen

today. They

first visited it after lunch, then spent some time on both the

Zephyr

and the

Evangeline.

Walt was glad to learn that the opulence of the

Magnolia Queen

would justify J. B. Gilchrist?s spending most of his time in Natchez aboard her, and not the lesser boats.

During his first visit, Walt twice saw Jonathan Sands?the first time coming down the escalator from the upper deck where Walt now knows Sands?s office is, and the second in the cashier?s cage, talking to some employees. Despite his bespoke suit, Sands moved like an alert and graceful animal padding through a herd of less sentient creatures. Most of the gamblers on the boat blunder around like shoppers in a mall, their eyes on the slot machines, the tables, or the young women that seem so plentiful. Sands?s eyes miss nothing. He actually made eye