Priscilla smiled wickedly and picked up the phone.
In his private pickup truck Clete picked up the sleazy young pusher out on the road where he had said. Johnny climbed in and lit a cigarette.
"I guess I don't have to ask what this is for," Johnny said, blowing a thick cloud of smoke and handing the sheriff a small packet. "DesirЋe Mitchell?"
"Denning now, but shut your face," Clete said sharply. "What makes you think it's for her?"
Johnny chuckled. "Just guessed. Where we going?"
Clete spurred the pickup along the road. "I might need your help for something." He nodded his head at a burlap bag on the floor. "We're going to create a need for a twenty thousand-dollar bounty on that dog's head."
"How's that?" Johnny asked, reaching into the bag and coming out with a strange object. It was a garden cultivating tool used for raking flower beds, a five-clawed affair, but it was obvious that the ends had been sharpened on a grinder to a razor-like sharpness. There was also a plastic bag full of what looked like animal hair and – shock horror – a large dried animal's foot that looked like it came from a dog. "What's this?"
"That's a little instrument for making tooth marks on livestock."
"What kind of hair is this?"
Clete grinned. "Dog hair. German Shepherd dog hair, and a foot for making a few tracks."
"Oh," Johnny grunted, understanding nothing. "What's it all about, then?"
Clete shook his head scornfully. "I think you've been getting high on your own supply," he said. "We're going to go out an kill a few cows with the tool and leave some dog hair on the carcasses. Got it?"
"Yeah, but why?"
Clete shook his head disdainfully. "I've been trying to talk the town council into putting a price on the dog's head. So I kill a few of their cattle, councilors animals too, and they'll be happy to do it. Then we'll do it again until they raise it to twenty grand. Councilors aren't so apathetic when it's their cows that are getting ripped up."
"Oh, yeah," Johnny said quietly. "How stupid of me not to guess."
"So we're going out in the fields. I can tear the throats out of a few animals. I can hunt the dirty bastard down, and then I won't have to go for the reward on you."
Johnny jerked back. "Geez, you wouldn't do that, would you, Clete?"
"Not if I don't have to," Clete said enigmatically, pulling to a stop next to a fence. He got out, picked up the bag of "tools", and started moving. Johnny followed suit, chucking away his cigarette butt. "Pick that up," Clete said. "I don't want any evidence that we were here." The sheriff started walking across the field, toward a distant group of cattle. "Of course, I'll be called out to investigate and the forensics will turn up some dog hair, and if we can't get a price on that fucking dog's head after that, than the councilmen are dumber than I thought."
"Well, what am I doing here?" Johnny groaned. "I'm a businessman. What if someone sees us?"
Clete spat at a cow pie. "I've checked the area out and there's no one around."
"What about our prints?"
"There's lots of farmers prints around here. Just don't step in any cow shit or mud puddles. Remember, I'll be running the investigation anyway, so we'll only find what I want to find."
"But what do I do."
"I just want you to hold a few cows' heads still while I rip out their throats."
Johnny looked at Clete in disbelief. "You'll get blood all over me."
"You can buy new clothes, no problem. Nobody else can know about this – nobody – so you're elected."
"Damn!" Johnny complained. They were nearing the group of cattle and he didn't relish wrestling with the stupid, dirty animals. "I like the drugging and fucking DesirЋe Mitchell better," Johnny said. "She's the hottest, sweetest pussy I've ever fucked. I'd like to have her again."
Clete stopped, his eyes hard. "What are you talking about?"
Johnny grinned. "Yeah, before the dog came and got to her, she caught us planting the shit. To cover up for being there, we had to do something, so I had the guys hold her. I licked her cunt and then slipped it to her. Tightest, sweetest pussy I've ever had. Pretty pussy, too. Looks like a baby's cunt with butterscotch hair on it. She cried at first, but then she turned on and that little twat just clamped down on old Willy."
The drug peddler was getting so wrapped up in his memories that he didn't notice the change coming over Clete, but had he watched his companion closer, he would have seen the jealous rage growing, turning the whites of his eyes red and causing his powerful, weight-trained body to tremble. Johnny was still laughing when Clete moved so suddenly there was no time to defend himself, even if he had been strong enough to fight off the bull-like, iron-armed black man.
Clete's hand closed on Johnny's thick head of hair while the other hand, armed with the five-pronged claw tool, moved in a lightening-fast arc. The sharp steel prongs bit deep into Johnny's neck, tearing through flesh, blood vessels, and cartilage. As his blood sprayed out of the two carotid arteries, Johnny's face registered a look of horror and surprise, the mauled vital parts of his throat dangling down onto his shirt. Raging, Clete struck out again and again, and after Johnny fell, yet several times more.
"You raped my Dezzy, you son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!" Clete screamed over and over until the fury had passed and Johnny lay still and open-eyed in death.
Clete stepped back, regulating his breathing. Johnny had paid dearly for the assault on his beloved DesirЋe.
The sheriff looked around. No one left now to help him with the cows. But who was to care. Now Lobo had a human victim to answer for. Panic would set in and Clete thought about the reward. Twenty thousand? Make it fifty, at least.
Chuckling to himself, Clete Anderson went to work putting down some dog tracks and attaching a discreet amount of dog hair to Johnny's clothing. After what had happened to Nancy, everybody would just eat it up. What he had left here would be plenty evidence enough against Lobo for a serious bounty hunt. The thing was, Clete knew just how to catch the wild, raping dog. All he needed was something to attract the animal.
And he knew the perfect bait.
DesirЋe Denning. What was more important, the girl or the money?
The money.
CHAPTER FIVE
DesirЋe could cry. Mark had left without a word to her. She'd wanted so much to discuss Priscilla Devereaux's phone conversation with him, and especially give him the opportunity to say something concerning Nancy Pace that would clarify the auburn-haired girl's malicious intimations. God knows, it wasn't that she'd readily believe such vicious gossip, nor wanted in the least to doubt his fidelity, but she hadn't the courage to broach the subject. She'd never seen him so distant, so guiltily ignoring her.
The lovely, honey-blonde, young bride could hardly believe it when he'd left her so coldly, his heavy footfalls pounding along the hallway until the outside house-door closed and his car started up. He must have seen her back stiffen as she listened on the phone, and the way her eyes darted at him when she heard what Priscilla had to say.
Well, she could be thankful for Carol and Rodney's being here, at least. She still had to see them tomorrow, where they were staying with her parents over at her erstwhile home, while Mark was away and Priscilla's snide phone call had aroused such doubts in her mind. She didn't want to be alone while her beloved – unfaithful? – young politician husband was away.
Confused and nearly in tears, DesirЋe dressed. She hardly knew what Priscilla Devereaux expected of her, forgetting whether she'd been invited to dinner or not. Mark's actions had upset her so. Nevertheless, she had to go, had to know more no matter how horrible it would be, and she dressed accordingly, the striking Priscilla Devereaux's emphatic statement constantly repeating itself in her mind: "It's time you learned a few things about your handsome husband, DesirЋe darling. And don't tell a soul that you're coming here."