B.J. stepped close to her and slapped her hard on the cheek. Then he gripped the top of her blouse and ripped it halfway off. The parting material made a sound like a hoarse whistle.
Carver took a step toward them. Junior raised the Uzi, looking as if he wanted to use it. “Stay right fuckin’ there, tough man. You wanna watch, don’t you?”
Carver took a deep breath. It was all he could do not to strike out with the cane and hurl himself at Junior, try for the Uzi so he could open up on B.J. But Junior kept just the right distance between them. The drug trade, or maybe the military, had taught him how to restrain someone with a gun. Unable to move, Carver couldn’t look away from what was going on beneath the branches of the tilted tree.
Beth kicked furiously at B.J. and he laughed. He caught a leg and hoisted it suddenly so she fell on her back, on her bound wrists. He unzipped her Levi’s and worked them down around her ankles so she couldn’t kick. Then he tore off her bikini panties, looked thoughtfully at them, and stuffed them in his pocket. He pulled off the rest of her blouse except for a few tatters, and removed her bra with an odd gentleness. Then he yanked her Levi’s the rest of the way off, sending her muddy shoes flying, and stood back in triumph as if to admire his work.
Junior rubbed his crotch with his free hand. Under his breath he said, “Gonna be fun for sure.”
B. J., breathing hard from his efforts, stared at Beth and said, “Ain’t such a rough bitch now, are you, nigger?”
Beth said, “Fuck you, you backwater bumpkin!”
B.J. shook his head. “Jesus, ain’t you somethin’? Don’t you fuckin’ know what’s gonna happen to you?”
Beth was quiet. She sat with her knees drawn up to partly cover her breasts. The moonlight highlighted her long, lush body and made her look as vulnerable as she was. Her painted toes curled down into the mud. She was gazing at Carver, something tight inside her controlling the terror that was in her eyes.
Junior moved around in front of Carver and waved the Uzi. “Walk on over there,” he said, as B.J. swaggered across the clearing to stand behind him.
Carver hobbled along the narrow path until Junior said, “Far enough. Now ease on over to your right, ’neath that tree. In deep amongst them big roots.”
Water seeped into his shoes as Carver obeyed. He could hear the soggy ground squishing beneath his soles. His cane found little support and was almost useless.
Then he was leaning in the gnarled wood jumble of cypress roots, trapped as if he were in a grotesquely distorted cage.
Junior wedged in close behind him. Carver could feel his warm, anxious breathing, smell his sour breath. Junior had eaten onions lately, drunk beer. B.J. had the Uzi now. He settled down in a sitting position on a horizontal stretch of exposed root.
Carver could barely move; Junior was pressing him from behind, and an elbow of hard wood was digging into his stomach.
B.J. and Junior had spent time here before and knew the place as a vantage point. From the tangle of thick cypress root they could see through the darkness to where Beth sat curled beneath the tree, her shoulders hunched and her hands bound behind her. She was motionless, her head bowed, as if what was happening had finally caught up with her and mercifully sent her into shock.
Carver heard what sounded like Junior licking his lips. Felt a revulsion and hatred he hadn’t thought possible.
B.J., as wily as Junior, kept a safe distance with the Uzi. Stark shadow turned his bony face into a death’s head. Still breathing hard from struggling with Beth, he pressed a thumb to the side of his nose, blew noisily, and flicked snot away. He wiped his hands on his pants and glanced in Beth’s direction. Back at Carver.
He said, “Now we settle down an’ wait. Pretty soon, somethin’ll come.”
31
What came into the clearing was something long and wet and gleaming dully in the moonlight. First a blunt snout, then a pair of bulbous eyes, then the rest of the alligator. It made no sound as it slithered from the tall saw grass and lay still, peering at Beth, who hadn’t yet noticed it.
“Bitch didn’t even scream nor make any noise,” Junior whispered.
B.J. said, “She surely will scream. ’Gator musta been watchin’ us all along from the dark.”
“It’s a big’n,” Junior said, admiring the alligator. “Least nine, ten foot long.”
There was a faint splashing sound, and another, much smaller alligator eased into the clearing. The moon sent shimmers off its rough, wet flank. It bared its rows of pointed teeth, a ghastly ivory grin in the faint light.
Beth must have heard the splashing. She raised her head and looked at the small alligator, which was no more than three feet long. Her body grew rigid and, legs pumping, she scooted back against the tree. She wriggled in a final attempt to free her hands, then sat staring at the small alligator. It stared back at her.
Carver whispered, “Christ, don’t let this happen!”
Junior said, “What’s this? You beggin’, tough man?”
“Call it that if you want,” Carver said. “Don’t let her die this way. Please!”
“Gonna be some sight to see,” Junior said.
B.J. said, “Shut the fuck up, both of you.” A hoarse command.
The large alligator seemed to notice the smaller one. It suddenly raised itself on surprisingly long, bent legs and hissed loudly. Beth’s head jerked around. She saw the huge creature and her eyes widened. Her mouth gaped. She tried to scream; Carver could see her throat working. But she made no sound. The huge ’gator hissed again and switched its tail.
Beth thrashed against her bonds.
Encouraged by her desperate movements, the big alligator started to drag itself toward her in a terrible lizard waddle. It seemed to be moving slowly, but it was covering ground fast.
Junior pressed his thick body against Carver and prodded the base of Carver’s skull with the rifle barrel. “No noise now, tough man, lest I-”
His body gave a slight jerk. He said, “What the shit?. .” and began convulsing against Carver. The rifle barrel slid off to the side like an errant compass needle.
Carver was aware there’d been a shot. He turned and looked into Junior’s glazing eyes, feeling something warm and wet against his back. He knew it was blood; he could smell the coppery stench of it.
B.J. said, “What the hell’s goin’ on?” He moved out from the tangle of cypress roots. Carver saw that the big alligator had been frozen by the sound of the shot.
B.J. caught sight of Junior, who’d slumped to an awkward lean. He stared at him in disbelief, then at Carver. “You motherfucker!” he screamed, and bared his teeth like the alligator. Apparently he thought Carver had somehow wrested the rifle from Junior and shot him. He leveled the Uzi at Carver.
Carver yelled, “ ’Gator! ’Gator!”
B.J. only half believed him, but had to chance a backward look.
Another shot sounded from the blackness of the swamp.
B.J. spun around, then staggered out into the clearing.
There was a third shot, like a dull handclap muffled by the thick night, Carver saw B.J.’s head jerk to the side and back, as if he were trying to flip his hair out of his eyes. The Uzi discharged half a dozen chattering rounds into the ground.
Carver had grabbed the rifle and eased himself out from in front of Junior’s inert bulk. Junior, propped upright in the tangle of thick roots, seemed to be watching him, drooling in the shadowed, yellow light.
Carver trained the rifle on B.J., but the lanky swamp man had survived his brother by only a few seconds. He lay on his back with his arms flung wide and his legs splayed out, as if he’d dropped lifeless from high up.
The staccato bark of the Uzi must have scared the alligators back into the swamp. The clearing was empty except for Beth, who was staring numbly at Carver, not comprehending. The whites of her eyes showed all the way around her dark pupils. There was a horror in those eyes that tore at his heart.