chapter 113
AS MOON PIE finally made it back to the road that exited the Corps of Engineers property, his cell phone rang. When he saw that it was Levi calling, he was relieved. He wiped sweat off his face and answered, “Hey, man, where the hell are you!”
Levi could hear Moon Pie’s voice, but the connection was poor. “Listen, I’ve got the money.”
Moon Pie couldn’t hear Levi. He said, “Levi, I can’t hear you, so shut the hell up and listen to me. I’m bad hurt. Where are you?”
“I’m near the Holiday Inn. The cops are all over your trailer. Don’t go there!”
Moon Pie was still driving and hadn’t turned the radio down. He only heard something about cops at his trailer. What he said was, “I’ve lost a lot of blood, I…I need a…I’m goin’ to the hospital!”
“I can barely hear you! Where are you? How bad are you hurt?”
Moon Pie was getting weaker and having great difficulty focusing on anything. Everything seemed to confuse him more the harder he tried to concentrate.
“I’ll call you when I got better service!” Moon Pie yelled in frustration and hung up.
Moon Pie was now taking short, quick breaths and was getting colder. He turned the heater and blower to high. He rounded a bend, and through the dim fog, he saw the gate about two hundred yards ahead. Once his tires finally hit pavement, he knew that he’d make it to the hospital.
His glance down to check his injury was not quick. His mental acuity and reflexes were sluggish due to blood loss. The problem, besides the obvious, was that he couldn’t recognize it.
When he finally looked back to the road, he saw a vehicle pulling up to the gate facing him. By the time he stopped, he was about eighty yards away.
He was trapped because the only other way out that he knew was several miles down the road he had just traveled and most likely impassable beyond where he had turned around. For what seemed like a long time, Moon Pie just stared straight ahead at the bright headlights. He couldn’t make out any details of the vehicle.
At the gate, the game warden was surprised to see a vehicle coming out of the public hunting area, especially at ten thirty at night. Damn spotlighters! he thought, flipping on his dash-mounted blue light. He radioed the county dispatch his location and that he was approaching a suspicious vehicle.
The game warden assumed that it was meat hunters. Because the economy had gotten so bad, a fresh-killed deer would bring fifty dollars cash in some communities. A good group of night hunters, under the right conditions, could kill five to ten deer each night. If it was just a couple of teenage boys, he usually could put the fear of God in them. He hoped for that.
He took a deep breath. He knew he was in a position of strength. Not only did he have the authority of the state behind him, but he also had the training and the experience, and his truck was blocking the only exit of the property for miles. He noticed that the gate chain was hanging loose. That a*shole cut it, he thought.
Moon Pie could see only the bright headlights in front of him. He wanted to continue forward. He could tell he didn’t have the time or the strength for a chase. He pulled his pistol with the intention of shooting his way out if necessary, but he was too weak to hold it, so he rested the weapon on the side mirror with his left hand and eased his foot off the brake pedal, slowly rolling forward.
The game warden smelled trouble. He grabbed his binoculars, but the lights were so bright that through the fog everything was magnified and it looked as if it were snowing. Dammit!
He used the push bar on the front of his truck to bump the gate open, then slowly eased toward the suspicious vehicle. He stopped his truck just inside the gate so that the metal posts on either side provided an even wider barricade. The trucks were now only forty yards apart. The warden used his binoculars again.
“Shit! That looks like Jake Crosby’s truck,” he said aloud.
Moon Pie was eyeing what appeared to be an open spot to the right of the gate. He revved the engine and grinned deliriously. Either he was going to shoot the gap or he was going out in a hail of gunfire.
The warden flipped on the mounted spotlight, and Jake’s truck was completely illuminated. He hoped that it would blind or disorient the driver. He slipped out of his truck, ran behind it, and then ran into the woods on his right side so he could identify the driver of the other truck and better assess the situation. Once he was into the woods, he saw the pistol resting on the mirror. He pulled his weapon and trained it on the driver as he crept toward the truck. The driver had been revving the engine, but now the truck was idling, stopped in a mud hole. The warden took three cautious steps toward the truck and noticed that the driver’s head was slumped forward, leaning on the steering wheel. What the hell? he thought.
At twenty yards, the warden trained his pistol on the slumped head and gripped the pistol tightly enough to activate the laser sight. A small, bouncing red dot appeared on the side of the driver’s head. He yelled, “Drop the gun and get out of the vehicle!”
There was no response and no movement. Again he yelled, “Drop the pistol! Get out of the vehicle right now!”
Still there was no movement in the truck or by the driver, which was very disconcerting.
The game warden had decided that he would give one more verbal warning and then he would approach the vehicle, ready to shoot the driver in the head if he moved a muscle. At that moment, a state trooper pulled up behind his truck, and more blue lights popped on. Their bright, fast, erratic pattern reflected off everything.
The warden, still sighting on the driver’s head, eased closer to Jake’s truck. At ten yards, he loudly ordered the driver out of the vehicle. There was still no movement. At this distance, he could tell that the driver was not Jake Crosby. This guy had long, stringy hair. Keeping his pistol trained on the driver’s head, he quietly slipped up to the driver’s side of the truck, and with snake-fast reflexes he grabbed the pistol free. The slumped driver never twitched. Upon securing the pistol, the warden once again ordered the driver out, and when he didn’t respond, he snatched open the door, and Moon Pie, along with two additional handguns, fell out onto the muddy road.
As the state trooper approached, weapon drawn, the warden kicked the two guns out of reach and did a quick look inside Jake’s truck to ensure there was no one else there.
The warden recognized Moon Pie, but his ashen color was shocking. When he saw his bloodstained shirt, he knelt down to feel for a pulse. He used the barrel of his weapon to push the bloody shirt back to reveal the wound.
“Gunshot! Call an ambulance! We got a gunshot victim.”
The trooper called it in using his shoulder mic while the warden handcuffed Moon Pie. He knew better than to trust a dead snake. Administering first aid never crossed the mind of either officer. With Moon Pie secure, the warden quickly searched the vehicle and checked its tag.
“This is Jake Crosby’s truck,” he said excitedly and then stood over Moon Pie. He shook him while yelling, “Moon Pie! Wake up! Wake up, you sumbitch! Where’s Jake Crosby! Where’s Jake!”
Not getting any response, he left Moon Pie lying handcuffed, facedown, on the cold, muddy ground and ran to his truck to radio in the details and request assistance.