PROLOGUE

Hot, pulsing, terror was so intense from the four men standing near the edge of the ’gator hole it overrode the smell of damp, rotting vegetation and stagnant backwater. The tall man could feel it radiate toward him as he waited on the bank with his captive close to the edge of the dark brown water. He smiled.

A middle-aged Hispanic man, bound and gagged with electrical tape, rolled his dark eyes wildly in all directions, his long black hair flipping as his head moved from side to side. The tall man pushed him to the ground and took a switchblade knife from his pocket, flicked it open, grabbed the man’s bare foot and sliced open the big toe as easily as if he had been cutting a piece of tender steak on a diner plate. Blood spurted onto the ground, then steadied into a drip.

Effortlessly, using his right hand and arm, the tall man grasped the victim around the waist and held him up and over the water at the edge of the gator hole, while using his left hand to hit the water with a long stick.

“We’re waiting for my pet,” he told the four men. “He shouldn’t be too long because he knows he can depend on me for a meal.”

 “Jesus,” one of the men breathed into the humid night air.

The tall man, dressed in black jeans and black T-shirt, eyes the color of old pewter in the uncertain moonlight, turned to stare at the man who had spoken.

“Never let me hear you again take the Lord’s name in vain. If you do, you’ll find yourself in a similar position.” He voice was calm and even. “Is that understood. Justice is mine, said the Lord, and I am his emissary.”

The offender gulped audibly and managed a shaky nod.

What appeared to be a dark stationary log stirred and the snout of an eleven-foot alligator started moving, disturbing a leaf on top of the water. Senses aroused, the ’gator started its hungry way toward the gator hole, piloted by the leaf caught in the movement of the water.

The tall man waited patiently, now using both hands to hold the struggling victim over the dark water, apparently without any strain on his muscles. Drops of blood from the victim’s toe silently hit the water, like polluted raindrops.

Suddenly a prehistoric head made its way around the slight bend in the current the leaf still leading the way. The tall man waited until the beast was directly under him and he lowered the bound victim toward the gator’s open mouth. Intensified breathing of the four spectators filled the small clearing. The man smiled as the ’gator made a gulping sound, then grabbed the victim’s bound ankles and started spinning around in the water. It continued twisting as the tall man pitted his strength against that of the ’gator. The victim’s bones snapped and he hung limp, as the gator continued until flesh began to tear loose from the man’s torso. His muffled moans filled the silence until he fainted. For another few seconds the man and beast struggled for the prize. Laughing out loud, the man released his victim and then ’gator, victim and leaf disappeared beneath the dark surface of the water.

“My friends.” His voice was soft, almost gentle. “You have just witnessed what happens to anyone who is a traitor to our organization. I’ve explained that I will not tolerate any disloyalty and he was foolish enough not to believe it. But do not be too concerned for him. The gator is a very considerate diner. He will not eat him immediately but will let him ripen for a day or two.”

One of the men on the bank vomited.

CHAPTER ONE

Palmetto City, Florida

Taylor, County

On a morning in early fall, the sun was gradually burning off the early morning haze over the inlet from the Gulf of Mexico. Local people were already up and moving. School buses blinked their red and yellow way down the unpaved country roads, picking up half-awake children.

In Dorkey’s Diner, newly appointed Deputy Amy Donovan sipped her coffee and studied the greasy breakfast menu. Sergeant Tom Williams, with whom she was working partnered shifts that week, placed his large index finger on a piece of dried egg stuck to the scratched plastic covering the handwritten limited choice of food. The inked writing had run a little where moisture had leaked under the covering, so the reader had to occasionally guess at some of the dishes.

“Look, you don’t have to read the menu, just look at the bits of food stuck to it and make a decision that way. Then you’ll at least know what color food you’ll get.”

Amy laughed and looked around. The place was crowded with mostly local fishermen eating heavy breakfasts of fried or scrambled eggs, biscuits covered with gravy, grits, hash brown potatoes and thick slices of ham with red-eye gravy. They talked, laughed and drank coffee from old chipped mugs.

The aging waitress, Mazie, her ample hips stretching her brown skirt until it was in danger of bursting at the seams, shuffled toward them. Her feet slapped across the floor, in flat brown shoes with portions cut out on the front insides to allow her bunions freedom from pressure. Mazie’s bunions were the subject of much speculation at Dorkey’s. The local people thought she should go into the Guinness Book of Records because her bunions were grotesque in size and shape. The one on the base of her right foot had a knobby growth on the side.

“Mazie, your bunions have bunions,” one fisherman told her. “Maybe we should cut them off and use them for bait?”

Mazie ignored such remarks and told anyone who would listen, “My daddy and momma had bunions, bad bunions, and I ain’t no different. God gave ’em to me and I gotta accept that.”

“Why don’t you have them cut off?” one sympathetic woman asked.

“No way. I ain’t going through all that pain. ’Sides, I ain’t got the time or money. Gotta work. My old man ain’t able to do nothing since he got hurt on that there shrimp boat. Somebody’s gotta pay them bills.”

But when it came to her hair, she had a different viewpoint. Mazie’s hair balanced her feet. It was the work of a local beautician and each week she had it teased, piled high and covered with hair spray until it was rigid as plastic, impossible to brush or comb. It was the color of shiny egg yolks that had been fried sunny side up. Part of her weekly salary and tips went into this creation. When she was low on cash and couldn’t afford the bleach job, dark roots mingled with some gray hair that showed through, but as soon as she had a few dollars, Mazie was off to the hairdresser.

Now she stood in front of Amy and Williams and shifted her weight to the foot that hurt the least. “What’ll you have?”

Amy was watching Dorkey, the only name she had ever heard the owner called, as he filled orders. His big fleshy hands moved with quick precision from years of practice. Not a movement was wasted. Amy was impressed with his efficiency. Dorkey was a bulky man, who filled most of the space in the cooking area. His totally bald head was shiny with sweat that he wiped away with the back of his right arm. Amy breathed deeply, taking in the heavy smell of fried foods and coffee that hung like a curtain about to drop and smother her.

Williams leaned across the small table in the booth and tapped her hand. “Hey, you gonna wake up and order?”

“Sorry.” She smiled at Mazie, her teeth white and even. “I was daydreaming. I’ll have the French toast, bacon and a side of sausage, with more coffee, please.”

“How do you eat so much and not gain weight?” Williams asked, while Mazie looked at Amy’s slim figure and gave a deep sigh. Then she shuffled back to Dorkey.

Before Amy could answer, a deep, self-assured, almost cocky, voice behind her, asked, “May I join you?”

Amy shrugged. She resented the intrusion before she even saw the man. He was incredibly good-looking, obviously of Latin descent. Tall, broad-shouldered, flat stomach, with dark hair. One lock dropped slightly over the right side of his forehead. The officer had high cheekbones, and a firm mouth over white teeth that contrasted nicely with his tanned skin when he smiled. He wore his uniform as though it were an extension of his skin. In spite of her initial resentment, Amy found herself staring.

“Sure Rod, when did you get back?” Williams greeted him.

“Last night. Had some family business to take care of in Miami.” He sat down beside Amy, who was forced to move over in the booth as she realized she took up less space than the bulky Williams on the other side.

Williams nodded toward her. “Lt. Michael Rodriguez, this is Amy Walker. She comes to us from Miami with a degree in criminology and she is divorced.”

Amy glared across the table at Williams, who immediately regretted his remark. But before he could apologize, Rodriguez raised one well-shaped eyebrow and smiled. “Miami? My hometown. How could I have possibly missed you?”

A flush of resentment colored her face. What a jerk!

Amy had been very careful about the men she dated since her divorce several years ago from a three-month marriage to a college classmate. When they had married, her parents had just been killed in a car crash, and she was looking for roots. However, her ex was a good-time boy and when Amy discovered he was doing drugs, she realized they could have no life together. They had parted and Amy seldom thought of him. Since that time her dating had been selective but casual. She had no desire to repeat that mistake.

Now she stared at Rodriguez, who, with his swagger, reminded her of her brother-in-law, Don. Amy couldn’t stand him, either. She particularly resented men who came on with and “aren’t you lucky I’m here, wench,” attitude.

She shrugged and without looking at him, said coldly, “It’s a big place, Lieutenant. I guess I was just lucky.”

“Uh-oh,” Williams said, softly.

Rodriguez stopped smiling and sat up straight. “Sorry, I guess that came off pretty macho, didn’t it?”

Amy didn’t answer.

“Yeah, Rod’s good at that. Thinks he has to turn on all women,” Williams said dryly, looking at Amy, as he tried to make amends for his remark about her marital status.

“Oh, hell.” The lieutenant held up both slim hands. “I’m really sorry. That was totally uncalled for. Hope you’ll accept my apology.”

Amy shrugged.

Williams quickly interjected, “I hadda investigate a domestic out on River Road yesterday. The husband beat the shit outta his wife. He’s in jail sleeping off his drunk, and I’ll bet anything by this time she’s down bailing him out. Probably saying she’s sorry she had him arrested, that he really didn’t mean to hurt her.”

Mazie returned with a coffeepot and filled their coffee cups. She smiled at Rodriguez, obviously forgetting her bunions as she waited for him to order. Ugh, Amy told herself. Bet he has several belts on which he keeps notches.

Williams took a deep swallow of coffee and choked, his broad face turning red as he coughed. “Hot,” he gasped.

“Well, why don’t you sue Dorkey for serving your coffee too hot?” grinned Rodriguez. “You might end up with a million bucks.”

Amy looked around the diner with its worn furnishings, windows that hadn’t been washed in years, and down at the chipped coffee mug in her hand. She smiled.

“Better settle out of court for $100,” she told Williams, avoiding the lieutenant, although she was very aware of his body so close to her. She tried to move closer to the corner of the booth.

Williams put down his cup. “You know, I hate domestic violence worse than anything. These women get beat up all the time and then go right back to the same bastard. Claim they love him and he didn’t mean it. They swear he won’t do it again. And as soon as he gets drunk again, he starts banging up on the wife and kids. They aren’t gonna change.”

Amy looked at him with flat eyes. “No, they aren’t. Not until some drastic changes are made in society.” She made little circles on the tabletop with the tip of her slightly bent spoon. “There aren’t any easy answers. You arrest the guy, but what happens? Serves some time, maybe, or gets to put in community service hours. Then he goes right back into the same old pattern. And the woman doesn’t know how to get out of the abusive situation, mostly because of three things; economics, lack of education, and kids.”

She didn’t add that sometimes educated women were caught in the same web, but she had reason to know it happened. She was passionate on this subject whenever she thought of her sister. Carlotta had gone back time after time, claiming Don really loved her and didn’t mean to hurt her. He was always sorry. Look at the gifts he always gave her. Amy’s sister had a degree in psychology, and still couldn’t see through the bastard’s lies. And now she was pregnant. Amy shivered and she felt Rodriguez lean back and stare at her.

“Something wrong?” he leaned closer.

Amy drew back and shook her head.

“Not really. Somebody just walked over my grave.” She laughed lightly.

“Oh, don’t say that.” Mazie’s face was full of concern as she put their food in front of them. “That’s bad luck for sure. Last time I heard that said, the man who said it was run over by a tractor the very next day when he was out in the tobacco field.” She shifted her weight to the other foot. “It was his own tractor, too. Don’t you go tempting no fate, ma’am. Like as not something could happen.”

Mazie moved slowly back to the counter to get the coffee pot for refills, her head still shaking as she mumbled to herself.

Amy smiled at Williams. “Guess I’ll have to be extra careful if Mazie’s predictions are correct.”

They ate in silence, Amy vaguely uncomfortable when Rodriguez’s shoulder brushed her own as he reached for the salt. She finally pushed her plate back and nodded at Williams that it was time to leave. Rodriguez stood up to let her out. In spite of her best efforts, she brushed against him and saw the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Williams kept his face impassive as he watched them, and then stood up.

“Let’s go.” She walked out the door without saying good-bye, remembered she hadn’t paid and turned back handing Mazie a $20 bill.

“Keep the change,” she told a pleased Mazie. “Have your hair done.”

Amy walked rapidly toward the squad car.

Williams climbed behind the wheel. “What’s the matter, you don’t like Rod?”

“I never gave it much thought,” Amy lied. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

Williams hid a smile as they pulled out of the parking lot.

Then a disembodied voice crackled over the radio. “Got a 32 in a trailer in the Blue Heaven Trailer Park. Some neighbor called in about a man and wife fighting. Mobile Home No. 15 on Sunshine Drive. Maybe some gunshots, they weren’t sure.”

“Got it. I’m 1041,” Williams told the dispatcher and turned the car toward the Blue Heaven Trailer Park.

“Oh no, not another domestic.”

About Marjorie Doughty

Marjorie Doughty attended St. Mary's College in Southern Maryland, was editor of a weekly newspaper in Lexington Park, Md. She served as interim editor of the English-language section of the Vietnam Press when she lived in Saigon, rewrote the Vietnam Report (a booklet on living conditions for Americans in Vietnam), and taught English for one year in the Vietnamese-American Association in Saigon.

After evacuation from Southeast Asia she was director of education for the YMCA at Eglin Air Force base, working with resettlement of the Vietnamese refugees.

In the States she started a newsletter for the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars at the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C

Later, Marjorie was a feature writer for LaFemme, Orlando's largest woman's newspaper; wrote for newspapers in Gainesville and Live Oak, Florida. In the Florida Keys she wrote for several weekly newspapers and then was a feature writer for the Coastal Magazine, a daily Internet newspaper. In addition to this book, Marjorie has published an autoiography, Memoirs of an Insignificant Dragon, available on amazon.com and b&n.com; published REenactment and Gator Hole and is presently working on  two more novels.