reserved, was charismatic enough to win the fans over and rock the interviews where he threatened maiming mayhem for his next opponent?
She slowed and made a right turn on a dirt road.
“How much farther is this place?” I asked. “Are you sure it’s still accessible?” Dirt roads leading into swamps didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. “We’re not going to get stuck out here?”
“Relax already.” Mom waved her hand dismissively. “We’ll be back in plenty of time. I don’t want to miss it, either. Dad’s taping the pay-per-view, too.” Mom and Dad were two of Frank’s biggest fans, taping every broadcast. They’d even hung a signed poster of him in trunks and wearing his title belt in their tobacco shop, the Devil’s Weed.
“If you say so,” I grumbled. Mom was not the best when it came to time management, so I knew I was going to have to keep an eye on the clock and nudge her along.
About twenty minutes later we were definitely getting into the swampy area nearer the lake. The road narrowed until there was barely room for our car. Less than a foot from the side of the road on either side was murky water and marsh grasses. Spanish moss hung from the huge limbs of massive live oaks. She was driving slower now. I couldn’t get over how silent it was out there. Finally, she turned into a dirt driveway with a rusted metal mailbox on the side of the road. The door hung open, and the little plastic red flag was hanging at a weird angle alongside. Mom didn’t speed up, and dust rose behind us in our wake. I saw an alligator’s head in the water alongside the road and shivered a bit. I’ve never been a fan of swamps, and that long-ago Southern Decadence weekend when I first met Frank, I’d been kidnapped by some very bad guys and taken out into a swamp to their camp. I’d had nightmares about that experience for quite a while afterward. Even though it had been eight years, I still got squeamish around swamps.
Eventually, though, the driveway turned back toward I-12, and the swamp was left behind a bit as we moved into a thick pine forest. Everything was so silent that the tires sounded really loud crunching on the dirt beneath us. “This is their hunting place?” I said, barely above a whisper.
Mom nodded. “We used to come out here a lot when we were in high school, you know, to drink and get laid and all the stuff teenagers do.”
“You don’t really think she brought Mike here, do you?” It seemed a little too pat to me. “I mean, wouldn’t this be the first place the cops would look? She doesn’t strike me as the type who’d make it this easy for the cops.”
“I told you it was just a hunch, Scotty.” She shook her head. “It certainly isn’t hurting us any to check it out. And you have to admit, if you were going to kidnap a tiger—this would be the perfect place to hide him, isn’t it?”
We went around another turn in the driveway, and a small cabin came into view. There was a beat-up, rusted Chevrolet Bel Air parked next to the little building. A big propane tank stook just a few yards away from the house. The cabin, raised about four feet from the ground, had a screened-in front porch.
Mom nodded. “Someone’s here.” She grinned at me. “I told you.”
“Maybe we should just get out of here,” I replied, still whispering. “I don’t have a good feeling about this, Mom. Really, let’s just turn around and get out of here.”
Mom pulled up right behind the Chevrolet with its Idaho plates and turned the engine off. “We’ve come all this way—we might as well see who’s here.” She unbuckled her seat belt and gave me a look. “You can stay here in the car if you’re afraid.”
I hate it when she does that.
With a sigh I removed my seat belt and opened the car door. I stood up and stretched, my vertebrae popping as I arched my back. I walked over to the Chevrolet and looked through the dirty windows into the backseat. It was filled with empty food
She slowed and made a right turn on a dirt road.
“How much farther is this place?” I asked. “Are you sure it’s still accessible?” Dirt roads leading into swamps didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. “We’re not going to get stuck out here?”
“Relax already.” Mom waved her hand dismissively. “We’ll be back in plenty of time. I don’t want to miss it, either. Dad’s taping the pay-per-view, too.” Mom and Dad were two of Frank’s biggest fans, taping every broadcast. They’d even hung a signed poster of him in trunks and wearing his title belt in their tobacco shop, the Devil’s Weed.
“If you say so,” I grumbled. Mom was not the best when it came to time management, so I knew I was going to have to keep an eye on the clock and nudge her along.
About twenty minutes later we were definitely getting into the swampy area nearer the lake. The road narrowed until there was barely room for our car. Less than a foot from the side of the road on either side was murky water and marsh grasses. Spanish moss hung from the huge limbs of massive live oaks. She was driving slower now. I couldn’t get over how silent it was out there. Finally, she turned into a dirt driveway with a rusted metal mailbox on the side of the road. The door hung open, and the little plastic red flag was hanging at a weird angle alongside. Mom didn’t speed up, and dust rose behind us in our wake. I saw an alligator’s head in the water alongside the road and shivered a bit. I’ve never been a fan of swamps, and that long-ago Southern Decadence weekend when I first met Frank, I’d been kidnapped by some very bad guys and taken out into a swamp to their camp. I’d had nightmares about that experience for quite a while afterward. Even though it had been eight years, I still got squeamish around swamps.
Eventually, though, the driveway turned back toward I-12, and the swamp was left behind a bit as we moved into a thick pine forest. Everything was so silent that the tires sounded really loud crunching on the dirt beneath us. “This is their hunting place?” I said, barely above a whisper.
Mom nodded. “We used to come out here a lot when we were in high school, you know, to drink and get laid and all the stuff teenagers do.”
“You don’t really think she brought Mike here, do you?” It seemed a little too pat to me. “I mean, wouldn’t this be the first place the cops would look? She doesn’t strike me as the type who’d make it this easy for the cops.”
“I told you it was just a hunch, Scotty.” She shook her head. “It certainly isn’t hurting us any to check it out. And you have to admit, if you were going to kidnap a tiger—this would be the perfect place to hide him, isn’t it?”
We went around another turn in the driveway, and a small cabin came into view. There was a beat-up, rusted Chevrolet Bel Air parked next to the little building. A big propane tank stook just a few yards away from the house. The cabin, raised about four feet from the ground, had a screened-in front porch.
Mom nodded. “Someone’s here.” She grinned at me. “I told you.”
“Maybe we should just get out of here,” I replied, still whispering. “I don’t have a good feeling about this, Mom. Really, let’s just turn around and get out of here.”
Mom pulled up right behind the Chevrolet with its Idaho plates and turned the engine off. “We’ve come all this way—we might as well see who’s here.” She unbuckled her seat belt and gave me a look. “You can stay here in the car if you’re afraid.”
I hate it when she does that.
With a sigh I removed my seat belt and opened the car door. I stood up and stretched, my vertebrae popping as I arched my back. I walked over to the Chevrolet and looked through the dirty windows into the backseat. It was filled with empty food
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