“Sweety, you and I are new acquaintances, but so soon a bond exists with us. Listen now. I ask for you to abandon the idea of bagging a gobbler, for a greater objective is the capture of the murderer.”
“Sure. Chameleon, the capture of the killer is the most important thing.”
“Furthermore, encourage the Kid to seek information about Mr. Roscoe Slaughter, such as Why is he here? Why did he buy the property?”
“He is here for one reason; the reason for the purchase of the property might be a horse of a different odor. The reason for that could be as simple as the fact that the country is so beautiful here. Who wouldn’t want to own it?”
“Samantha, maybe he thought he could hide the graves better if he bought it.”
“A good point.”
He grasped both of her shoulders. Staring with his face inches from hers, he lowered his voice. He said that a connection existed between him and one of the four females found buried on the Slaughter property. He knew nothing of the male victim or the other girls. Once apprehended, he believed the culprit’s throat must be cut and a piece of rebar driven through his perverted head; however, as a Christian vigilante, he could do nothing until the facts proved his guilt. Pausing for a moment, he continued by saying his plans included shadowing the Kid’s activities. By assisting their cause, of course, he would appreciate something in return.
He rambled. He concluded his remarks by asserting that nothing limited his ability to camouflage himself as any object or person. Examples included a doctor, police officer, or ditch digger.
His head twisted to the right. “He should return anytime. English sparrow, huh?” He chuckled, rolled from under the overhang, and disappeared.
“Goodbye, Chameleon.” Hoping for another message, Samantha eavesdropped into the howling wind, but the gusts carried only snow and the fading shuffle of his feet. “Come back. Let me see your face.”
Did the Chameleon come, or must she confront the fact of insanity? If not, everything may have been a dream. She might wake up a poor little sick girl dying in a hospital instead of freezing to death while having the time of her life.
“Footsteps?”
“Kid, how pretty your ugly, charismatic face is to me!”
He flopped to his knees and lowered his body, letting the air mattress and bag roll forward.
“Put this stuff where, Kid?”
He brought his right arm up to use his trigger finger to point. “As far toward the back as possible.” Sucking wind, as if the Almighty no longer made air, he pointed again. “Give us enough room to turn over.” Taking aim at the valve stem, he tossed the pump. “Use this. Move your blood. Do you sense your fingers and toes?”
“Yes, but imagine thousands of pins sticking into them. Kid, you will never understand the sensations sweeping me. I love you…Dad.”
He pulled a .38 special from under his coat. “Spiffy came halfway to carry the sleeping equipment. From now on, I’ll have a flashlight or two. One round fired will tell him I’m got here okay, and he’ll return to the truck.” Stepping outside, he shot the revolver.
“Samantha, we sleep together in this queen size. The bed came special-made. The length is eight feet. For warmth, we snuggle deep inside where our breath will add heat. The manufacturer rates this equipment good down to ten below zero. Now, as best you are able, hop outside to use the bathroom, even if the snow flies worse than ever, because this is going to be a long night.”
“Kid, why didn’t you say, ‘It’s a dark and stormy night’?”
“Huh? That’s for amateur writers.”
With thumb and index finger, she stroked the card. “Kid, the Chameleon called on me tonight.”
“Forget the trip outside,” said the Kid. “Unless you really have to go, crawl into this sack. Soon, with my help, warmth will overtake you, we’ll be okay. Above all, remember. The Kid sticks—”
“Think I harbor hallucinations, huh?”
“Snuggle in with me.” He removed his shoes. He slid into the bag.
“You believe I’m delusional? Explain this quilt and this.” She thrust the Chameleon’s identification in front of his face. Her action hit with the strength of an electrical current. He rose and bumped his scalp against the low-hanging ridge. He held the card behind the candle. “Samantha, I’m so sleepy…” He slunk into the bag like a squirrel into his den, and blackness swallowed him.
“I’ll be back in a moment. I’ll blow out the light. I have many things to let you in on, and questions to ask…” she began, but he snored.
Feeling safe from the bitter cold, Samantha snuffed the flame. Once the darkness was total, the situation confounded her. She blinked several times, but this exertion caused no stimulation of the senses. The black void would stay until dawn.
With heat gliding across her, the tingling stopped. On her good foot, wiggling her toes caused warmth and perspiration. She pulled her wool toboggan over her ears, squirmed deeper, and fell asleep.
Chapter 13
Samantha awakened and scrambled to uncover her left wrist. To light the watch face, she pressed the switch. The time was 4:05 a.m.
His snoring resembled a chainsaw using a bad spark plug. Sputtering. Running smoothly. Sputtering. She hesitated to wake him. Nevertheless, she bumped him on purpose. He did not rouse, but his snoring smoothed. To shock him awake, with her fingers in the shape of cats’ claws, she latched on to his shoulders. She shook him.
The Kid left dreamland.
“What…?”
“Wake up.”
“Why? You cold?”
“I’m cozy, but we need to talk.”
“What’s time is it, for gosh sakes?”
“How’s Dad?”
“Fine. Go to sleep.”
“No silly! I asked you a question. What did Dad say?”
“Nothing, I talked to Andrew. He said Floyd and Warren had gone on a call. What time is it?”
“You didn’t know Andrew always gets out of work. Didja? Me and Floyd have to do…Are there bears around here?”
He thought: Appease her. She has information. “Tell me something about the Chameleon.”
From memory, she narrated the account of the teenage girls and one man rotting in their graves on the Slaughter property. She cited words and muscle movements of the mysterious Chameleon.
“Now Kid, what do you know about Mr. Slaughter? I’m not afraid of bears, Kid.”
“No, little scamp, you told me nothing except bull doo-doo.”
“Well, he’s on our side. The items you probably assume are also correct. Do you care if I carry a phone? Is Jennifer okay?”
“What does a telephone have to do with the Chameleon?”
Singing to the tune of “When Johnny Comes Marching Home,” she demonstrated a stellar performance with her soprano voice, “Read between the lines again, hurrah, hurrah. Listen between the lines again, hurrah, hurrah. Think between the lines again, hurrah, hurrah.”
“Okay, Madame, your recital demonstrates the most creative way a person has used to give information and at the same time keep their word. When day breaks—”
“You didn’t answer me about Jennifer.”
“She’s all right. When day breaks I’ll count out three C notes. Buy a cell. I’ll bet you memorized his number. I gather Mr. Hawk doesn’t want you to own one. I’ll square the situation with him. I’m so glad we took this trip—”
“Does this place have many bears?”
“Enough. Let’s go back to Roscoe. Four girls found in graves would make you say he is a child molester, but the authorities discovered one murdered businessman who maintained the reputation for carrying large amounts of money. Hmm, a poor pervert who needs to rob to live.”
“Catch the murderer. Forget the turkey if you want to. Find out everything about Mr. Slaughter.”
“Oh, now I’m supposed to be Sherlock Holmes, among other things.”
“Touch her, Kid,” said Wolfgang.
“You’re familiar wi
th a lot of people in North Carolina and Virginia. Heck, the killer has to be him, or someone in Mr. Slaughter’s neighborhood.”
“I’ll consider the situation later. Let’s discuss the Chameleon. Hmm, interesting, yet you received no hint as to his identity.”
“None whatsoever. Kept his mask on, too.”
“Samantha, we must discuss our departure tomorrow.”
“No, wait. I want to talk.”
She likes you. Fondle her.
“Shoot.”
“I played as a child like any other— dolls, crayons, sandboxes. However, at thirteen, I experienced my first period. I bawled. I realized I had become a woman. Anyway, pressures at school, and worst of all, the unexpected death of Mom, the cancer attack...” She cried. He listened. He sensed her wiping her face. She continued with a nervous voice. “I developed depression or possibly a case of blues in high gear. Listen to me. I’m a virgin.”
“Samantha, stop.”
“Get real. Be a man. Mature a little. I’ll be fortunate to live two years. Today I’m fine, but at some time, I’ll go downhill. The decline will be fast or slow. Maybe resembling a roller coaster. Should I try a boy?”
“Samantha.”
“Help me.”
“All right, young lady, in most states, the age of consent is eighteen. I think. In Mexico, fifteen. Yeah, I believe’s correct.”
“Yup, good answer, Kid. Excuse the expression. If I jump in the sack with someone, count on the fact he won’t be a loser.”
You’re no failure, Kid, whispered Wolfgang.
“Kid, we’ll chat regarding sex fixation in minutes or sexation. How? How? How in the name of good judgment do you manage to see yourself as anything but a winner?”
“Because I lack the kind of success that leads somewhere.”
“Kid, some bull doo-doo. I refuse to believe a line like that. If you don’t mind, please explain.”
“Samantha, note well. All of my money I inherited. They taught me the ways to generate more. I have never created anything.”
“Have you considered the state baseball championships?”
“The titles didn’t take me anywhere.”
“Where did they need to go?”
“Into some area that will allow me to create something else. Albert Schweitzer became a doctor—-he went to Africa and built a hospital. Look at you and me. You are my daughter. I’m your Dad. Nobody on earth is as close as us, and to think, I didn’t like the idea of taking you hunting. I believe inspiration might come out of our relationship regardless of our hunting success or some role we play in pursuing a murderer. Maybe it’ll be the million dollar idea.”
“Please listen. You hold everything!” She screamed; she sobbed. “Someday, you will grasp the fact—-few winners exist like you. You possess hang-ups, lots of them besides the doppelganger thing. Right now, let’s talk about sex.”
“Samantha, perhaps there are some further aspects of being a loser that need discussing.”
“No, what’s the feeling when you fondle Jennifer?”
“Samantha!”
“C’mon Kid! How long before you finish?”
“May I make one final comment so we’ll both be through?”
“Oh heck, sure Kid, shoot.”
“The act is overrated. Samantha, what’s the time?”
“Four-thirty by my watch. Today I gained control, but yesterday, I pulled the trigger. Stick with me. I’m sure I won’t get a turkey. Help me to enjoy these days. I’d better take the tranquilizers twice daily. Don’t forget. Worry more about catching the killer.”
“I’ve got problems, too. I blame myself for my sister’s death. Perhaps I earned the doppelganger, the alcoholism and other things.”
“Tell me what happened to your sister.”
“Me and Faith’s job was to clean the welding shop on Saturday mornings. Dad had given us permission to go swimming after we finished. While he cut the grass and tidied the yard with a weed eater, I cleaned the bathroom, since she cleaned that area last week. Faith swept up the metal filings and placed them into a barrel. I collected the cut pieces of metal and put them into the scrap bin. We made sure the safety caps were tight on the acetylene tanks. Dad entered and we passed inspection.”
The Kid paused.
“Though late May, the temperature had climbed to ninety, but the water registered in the fifties. We left the shop and ran to the pond. I waited for her at the deep end. She arrived, and we dove into the cold water to race to the other side. I swam maybe twenty yards and looked back. She had disappeared into the murky ten-foot water. I looked for an hour and realized no hope existed for Faith.”
He closed by telling her he had dreamed twice about himself, Faith, and her playing outside the welding shop.
A strong gust of wind whistled throughout the forest. From nearby, either a small tree or large limb fell.
“Two more hours of total darkness,” said the Kid. “Spiffy’ll be making his way here. He should appear in an hour. So, we speak of a departure about eight. How’s the ankle?”
“As long as I don’t try to move, there’s no problem. It’s swollen as stiff as a board.”
“Maybe no fracture, just a severe twist.”
“About yesterday things grew out of hand for me. I went bonkers. Today begins something new for me. Sure, I accept all the help you and Spiffy will give me to reach the truck.”
“Bonkers yesterday? I remember you sprained your ankle. Nothing else happened.”
“Oh, Kid. Oh, Kid.” Deep sobs burst from her. Moments later, with her fist she pounded his upper body. As she weakened, the thumps waned. She pressed her face into his chest, while the weeping ebbed. She slept. He made her a fresh pillow with the Chameleon’s blanket and eased her away from him.
Daybreak came. The raging wind modified, but the stinging chill worsened, while orphan snowflakes fell.
The Kid remained awake, pondering whether his Maker had deserted him. He thought about last night and realized Samantha would be the key to his million-dollar idea, but would she let him publish their experiences?
His owl ears detected the crunch, shuffle, and struggle as someone approached. The feet, lacking rhythm, left the Kid no means to determine if Spiffy produced those sounds, since the snow and ice changed the normal gait of the trekker.
The Kid’s steady fingers searched for the black handle of the stainless steel .38 special.
“Kid?” called Spiffy.
His hand recoiled from the revolver, he whispered. “Spiffy, good job, you’re right on time, too. Any problem with the compass reading?”
“No compass. Followed the orange tape. How’s Samantha’s ankle?”
The Kid turned toward her. He thought: What a sleeping beauty, with her chest rising and falling so gently.
Glancing back at Spiffy, he shrugged. “She has a bad sprain, maybe a break.”
“Can she walk?”
“Not sure. Anyway, can you carry her most of the way?”
“Say the word. I’ll lug her piggyback, no problem, I know you’re still weak.”
“Spiffy, stick with me to help this young woman harvest a turkey, and I’ll buy you a new car.”
“Kid, what if she fails to hit the mark when the bird comes close?”
“Spiffy, let’s say win or lose, you get that prize. Besides, Spiffy, all she’s going to receive is one chance, maybe. I hope the memory will be enough for her. I see no chance this girl can learn the skills to nail a gobbler. Now, wake her, Spiffy.”
After three hours and six rest stops on the south side of large rocks and trees, the party reached the car Exhausted and snow-caked from the knees down, weaker than rotten tobacco string, they sprawled alongside the vehicle for five minutes.
With an order from the Kid, they loaded up. Spiffy crumpled into the front seat with a copy of The Old Man and the Sea, and with two blankets, Samantha folded in the back. The Kid dropped the truck into drive, slammed the heater wide open, punched the four-wheel
transmission button, depressed the gas pedal, and the red pickup purred and lunged through the foot of snow.
The outside temperature indicator on the rear view mirror registered minus two degrees.
Plugging in his phone, the Kid called Ervin. Receiving no answer, he left a message for Ervin to call the drugstore across from their rooms and place an order for a fresh supply of tranquillizers. He tried Jennifer’s cell. She answered while eating a pizza at Dirty Larry’s. They talked while she demolished a large pepperoni. He understood enough words to get the message. He hung up and called Warren, and they talked for thirty minutes; he closed by saying he’d call back if her leg was broken.
He rang the desk at the motel to inquire if an employee had a teenage female to spend the night with Samantha. The clerk told him his daughter was sixteen, but he would not allow her to take the job. In reply, the Kid stated that the pay was one hundred dollars; likewise, the father would also receive this amount. The man agreed to ask his child to assist.
He turned to Spiffy. “Tonight we rent motel rooms in Danville. We give Samantha some off time. Hmm, we check out other things, too. Oh, you ever eat pizza in the morning?”
“Jennifer does, huh?”
Chapter 14
Samantha lay on the bed while the Kid and Spiffy loomed over her.
The Kid knelt to manipulate her foot.
“Ouch! Trying to be funny?”
“Samantha,” he smiled. He swallowed a lump. “You’ll face some tough situations before you put a big boy in the leaves. Stiffen those lips. Furthermore, don’t ever ask me again if I’m joking.”
“I might.”
“You might, huh? Well you might need to become mentally and physically tough. You might need to lift weights. You might need to...”
The Kid’s phone rang in Spiffy’s pocket. Spiffy answered. “Kid— Alotta.”
The Kid reached for the phone with his right hand while holding up his left to Spiffy and Samantha. “Alotta, doing okay?”
“Not exactly. You haul your tail up to Virginia with an unhealthy Native American girl to hunt for turkeys, but I’m not invited. Did she shoot a turkey?”
“No, who gave you the story?”
“Privileged info. Since it’s you, Jennifer told me.”