Trail of Terror, page 47
“Put your hands up, drop your knife — it’s over!” Joe yelled furiously.
The killer halted and stared at him silently.
“Put your hands up! Do it now asshole,” Joe repeated.
He didn’t move or react. The two were only ten feet apart. Too close for comfort.
Rachel screamed in horror and ran out from behind the boulder, lifting her spear to stab him. No way she could allow him to hurt Joe Bird.
Just as she was about to thrust the spear into one of Bailey’s vital organs, she saw a blur out of the corner of her eye as a man appeared out of nowhere. The guy leaped onto the killer’s back, grabbing him around the neck with his arm, placing him in a chokehold to bring him to the ground.
She quickly backed away and watched the two of them fall to the ground. Then another man suddenly emerged from the other side of the nearby trees to assist.
The cavalry had arrived!
“Get him with your stun gun!” the choker yelled desperately. He had locked his hands together so there was no way for the killer to break the choke hold. — “Zap his ass, Stick — do it!”
Stick removed his stun gun from its holster and ordered Wahnetah to get back. Wahnetah released his grip and rolled away from the killer. Stick then pressed the stun gun against Bailey’s body and delivered three healthy doses of nine million volts each time to his rib cage in rapid succession.
Bailey’s body went ridged every time he was shocked, and he convulsed; after the third shock he finally became unconscious and remained still.
Joe crawled over, looked into Bailey’s eyes and checked his pulse, and announced, “he’s still alive.” He turned to his cousin and said, “That was amazing, you clamped down on him like a monkey on a banana with that chokehold.”
“I wasn’t really trying to choke him, although the thought crossed my mind,” he admitted with a shrug. “It was a sleeper hold meant to compress one or both of his carotid arteries and the jugular veins, without compressing his airway. He probably would have gone unconscious after 30 seconds, but the stun gun is really what rung his bell — thanks to Stick.”
Stick finally spoke up, “I think we need to get some restraints on this guy pretty quick before he wakes up…otherwise, we’re going into round two with this ape and I don’t think that’s an all-around good idea.”
“Yeah, best we avoid another mother of all battles, there might not be any need for a trial. I don’t think an ordinary pair of cuffs is gonna fit him,” Wahnetah said, as he rolled Bailey over on his stomach and pulled his wrists together.
Joe chuckled, “I got just the one’s that’ll fit perfectly,” and withdrew a standard pair of Smith & Wesson carbon steel handcuffs that had two extra chain links for restraining large prisoners when there was a problem bringing their arms together. He tossed them to his cousin, who quickly snapped them over the killer’s wrists.
Stick produced a roll of gray duct tape and began to tape Bailey’s legs together, starting from his ankles up halfway to his knees.
Joe raised his eyebrows at him, “Isn’t that a little bit of overkill?”
“Oh, hell no. I just want to make sure this sonofabitch doesn’t get up and start playing Godzilla on us again.”
“He’s in cerebral ischemia and has a temporary hypoxic condition in the brain,” Rachel pronounced. “He’ll be okay and back to normal once he regains consciousness in a few minutes.”
“That’s exactly what I was afraid of. But I was more worried about us and Otis than him, ma’am — you a nurse?” Wahnetah inquired.
“No, I’m not a nurse, I’m a doctor damn it! Why does everyone think I’m a nurse around here!” she huffed, crossing her arms.
“Long story,” Joe laughed, then introduced Rachel and Marcy to Wahnetah and Stick. Then he asked Rachel anxiously, “Do you know anything about dogs? Can you look Otis over and see if he’s seriously hurt?”
“I know a little bit, actually their bodies aren’t all that much different than humans — functionally that is. Let me get my trauma kit and look him over.”
She walked over where Otis lay on the ground. He lifted his big head and whined when Rachel approached, but didn’t get up. She knelt and began to treat him just as if he was a regular patient. She checked his temperature, his heart and pulse rate, then examined his head, neck, trunk and legs carefully looking for signs of strains or breaks. She quickly focused in on his abdomen and ribs.
She stood up and announced, “Just as I thought — he has several broken ribs, from being struck so many times. He’ll be okay, but he’s in pain. We should get him under cover and out of the weather until help arrives…I doubt he’s going to be able to walk out on his own.”
As if on que, thick dark clouds started rolling through the mountains, turning the day almost into night and the sky glowed an eerie green. It began to rain heavily.
They carried Otis on a makeshift stretcher to an area under the rocky overhang, where Rachel gave him a mild anesthetic that she was sure would ease his pain. It took the effort of all three men combined to drag Daemon Bailey to another spot under the overhang. They laid him on his side.
Wahnetah, Stick and Marcy gathered some wood and built a small campfire under the protected ledge just as it began to pour down rain.
They all huddled around the small campfire, as it cast flickering shadows against the inside of the rocky overhang and boulder.
Joe sat back on the ground and gulped down water as a number of strategies rolled through his mind. He said to the two women, “I have to commend you both for escaping like that. It was pretty gutsy.”
Marcy chimed in, “Yeah, I don’t know which is worse: Escaping to survive or surviving to escape…when I get out of here, I’m going to buy a six pack and stick to the beach — no more hikes for me. There’s still something to be said about sitting inside at a desk on a sunny day. Sorry Rachel, but our hike has turned into a real Kafkaesque nightmare.”
Joe wore a camo T-shirt that was taut across his chest. He was dripping in sweat and soaking wet. The veins in his forearms rippled and his biceps bulged, and Rachel had never really noticed before how big his neck was. His torso narrowed down at the waist giving his body the chiseled look of an Olympic sprinter and his thighs bulged.
He caught her staring and Rachel looked quickly away.
“We’ve got to stop meeting this way, Rachel,” Joe chuckled.
“Why?” she managed a grin. “Don’t you want to see me?”
“Oh yes,” he agreed with enthusiasm. “It’s just that meeting under these circumstances is definitely not the way toward better mental and physical health,” he joked, bleary-eyed. He flexed his right hand and swollen fingers a few times, “I think I might have broken some knuckles from punching him in the face.”
Rachel smiled wanly, as she inspected his swollen hand. “I wish I had some ice to stop the swelling. She looked up into his eyes and said, “Thank you, Joe — for coming, that means a lot. You saved our lives.”
“Well, it wasn’t just me, all three of us did it,” he replied, embarrassed. He thought for a few moments, “You know what us Native Americans always say, don’t you?”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Fill your life with experiences, not things. Have stories to tell, not stuff to show the people you care about,” he said.
Rachel was speechless and couldn’t think of anything to say. So far, the whole experience had been like a dream. She was really afraid she was going to wake up at any moment and discover the man of her dreams was only an apparition.
“Well, your secret sexual fantasies are out in the open now,” quipped Marcy. “What are you two — teenagers?”
Wahnetah looked over at Stick, grinned and waggled his eyebrows, then tossed some more wood onto the burning fire.
CHAPTER 75
Joe Bird and Archie Wahnetah stood several feet outside of the rocky ledge out in the open, their dark eyes surveying the threatening sky and surrounding mountains. They were both reading the sky, just as their ancestors did for thousands of years. They were particularly interested in the ominous black and greenish thunder clouds and squall line rolling like one big tidal wave in their direction. The weather front was filled with vicious cloud-to-cloud and cloud-to-ground lightening that lit up the entire sky every few seconds. The thunder of the storm sounded like munitions exploding in Iraq. It reverberated across the mountains and shook the ground.
“What do you think?” Joe asked. “Doesn’t look like we’re going anyplace soon. Appears as if an apocalypse is headed our way.”
“It doesn’t look good, brother.” Wahnetah agreed. “But you can’t always tell how severe a thunderstorm is by looking at it. They do not conform to any rules of behavior. This one has Individual cells moving in different directions, but the whole system is moving directly at us…you think there’s any help coming?”
“Nope,” Joe confessed. “I received a text message on the sat phone a few minutes ago from SBI Agent West. He said there was no way he could get his response team out in this kind of weather, unless it was life-or-death.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“I messaged him back that we had Bailey in custody and the situation was under control. I gave him our GPS coordinates and said we were in a safe location…no major injuries except for Otis. Told him I’d try to find out what happened to the other German woman.”
Wahnetah replied, “Good luck with that.”
“It might take some special encouragement on my part.”
Wahnetah just nodded slowly, knowingly.
+++
A parade of largely nameless faces drifted in and out of focus. Daemon Bailey peeked through his one good eye partially open with a somewhat detached interest, as he drifted in and out and heard rumblings in the background.
The serial killer slowly regained consciousness over the next several minutes. He had no idea where he was, then he slowly began to recall what had happened. He kept his eyes closed and tried to move his arms and legs, but they moved very little. He began to panic and struggled against the restraints and to sit himself up, but to no avail.
Bailey lay on the ground very still and slowly assessed his situation. He felt like he’d just woke up from one of his many dreams, only he knew this wasn’t a dream. He was now a prisoner and his anger began to resurface.
Rachel and Marcy sat close together as far away from the killer as possible, but still under the protective rocky overhang.
After several minutes, the serial killer opened his eyes and slowly looked all around. Bailey watched Joe like he was in a poker tournament looking for an indication of his opponent’s next move.
Joe stared deadpan at the killer for several minutes, then resorted to police procedure and read Bailey his Miranda Rights.
“I want to know where the other German woman is,” Joe said calmly. “Her name is Hanna. What did you do with her and where is she?”
Bailey acted bewildered and said, “I don’t know who…”
“Wrong answer. Now where is she — what did you do with her?” he repeated, only louder. Joe couldn’t believe how high-pitched the killer’s voice sounded — almost like a woman.
Bailey’s demeanor vanished and he snarled, “I don’t know who you’re talking about!”
Stick said calmly, “There are ways to improve your memory, numb nuts.”
“It’s for me to know, and for you to find out,” Bailey snickered.
“I guess here’s where we get out the thesaurus and look up synonyms for ‘human garbage’,” Joe sighed. “See, I don’t like men who hurt women and little girls. I really, really don’t like them.”
Daemon Bailey raised his eyebrows and smirked, “She’s alive — but not for long, let’s make a deal.”
“No deals, I don’t do deals,” Joe responded.
Joe silently congratulated himself. Up to this point, he hadn’t been positively sure of the connection between this maniac and the other two German women until this very minute. Now he had a confession and several witnesses. Thanks for confession, asshole — see you in court with your new custom shackles.
Rachel suddenly surprised everyone, she stood up and walked over to where Joe stood and whispered into his ear, “Maybe we should negotiate a deal with him.”
“I don’t trust this psycho any further than I can throw him. There’s no advantage or percentage to wishing and hoping the sister is still alive and okay,” Joe pointed out testily. “It may even be too late already, every minute counts when it comes to the difference between life and death.”
Bailey could hear snippets of the conversation, enough to know a deal might be in the works. “What kind of deal would that be?” Bailey asked with a suspicious glint in his good eye.
Wahnetah also heard the conversation from nearby and piped in, “There’s no reasoning with this dickhead — he’s totally insane.”
“I am not crazy!” the killer screamed in a violent tantrum at the top of his lungs. “I’m special, mama told me I was special…no, wait…maybe I am insane. One second, I have to talk to myself about this, hold on!”
Wahnetah whirled his index finger in a circle around his right ear a couple of times and said, “See, I told you he was nuts.”
Rachel replied curtly, “Well, let me complicate things further for you both. I know he’s insane from a medical perspective. From a legal point of view even a junior lawyer could get him off by reason of insanity.”
“What do you mean?” Joe asked turning to her, not quite sure he heard her correctly.
“I’m certain he has an advanced case of syphilis — probably got it a long time ago when he was a child or a teenager, I suspect,” she said.
“What — are you sure?” he asked. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It meant the guy would probably spend the rest of his life in a mental institution at taxpayers’ expense.
“About as sure as I can be — 90 percent certain.” She explained, “He displays the classic symptoms of general paresis from Meningeal neurosyphilis.”
“What does that mean?” Joe asked impatiently. “I really don’t care to hear about his bad childhood stories anymore.”
“It’s an advanced form of syphilis that can appear decades after a person is infected, and it can cause dementia,” she described. “Common early symptoms are memory problems — particularly remembering recent events — confusion, reduced concentration, personality or behavior changes, restlessness, aggression, and panic.”
“Well I’m not playing Dr. Phil with him,” Joe cracked, “not my job.” He knew all the notes to that insanity defense tune via his own brother, and it pissed him off. He’d seen defense lawyers in courtrooms try to use it too many times in capital murder cases and it grated on his nerves. “How can you be so certain?”
“When he tried to assault Marcy, she saw his penis and it was covered in abscesses and sores,” she answered.
Joe, Wahnetah and Stick all turned their heads toward Marcy at the same time.
“It was on accident, I assure you — don’t even think it!” she yelled, raising her hands in protest. “He’s not my type.” Then she flashed the men her middle finger in a double entendre and scoffed, “His dick was only this big, guys!”
“If you say so, ma’am,” Stick grinned.
Joe rolled his head slowly. His muscles were sore, a result of the violent impact with the killer and the huge rush of adrenaline and endorphins that had surged throughout his body. He considered several ways to get Bailey to talk, but only one he figured would work.
“I’ll just have to convince him a tad to tell us where she is,” Joe announced calmly as he pulled his Smith & Wesson spring-loaded SWAT knife from his side pocket. He pressed the release switch and the blade opened with a loud SNAP!
He walked over and bent down in front of Bailey, flashed the wicked looking knife in his face and said, “I’m only going to ask you one last time…where is the German woman named Hanna — tell me what you did with her, where is she?”
Bailey started to whine, “I want a lawyer, I’m entitled to a free lawyer — you just said so. I’m not talking to you until I get a lawyer!”
“Well, let’s just pretend I’m your lawyer numb nuts, talk to me,” Joe grinned, giving him his menacing flat black eyes, making him hesitate for a second.
“Go to hell!” the serial killer screamed, “get out of my face.” Then he spit in Joe’s face.
Joe wiped the spit from his face, then punched Bailey in his broken nose with his big fist. “You need to mind your manners,” he warned the killer.
“You hit me!” Bailey sobbed.
“That’s right, glad you noticed — very astute, kind of gives me an edge in situations like this. Even makes up for a serious lack of formal academics,” Joe replied casually.
Then Joe’s hand lashed out in a blur, embedding the knife a full three inches into Bailey’s kneecap. He left the knife-handle sticking out of the killer’s leg.
Bailey screamed like a terrorized little boy, “Eee-ahhhhh – stop it you’re hurting me father!”
Joe was shocked, but he demanded again, “Where’s the woman? You better talk or I’m going to stab your other leg too. You’ll need crutches just to stand up and take a piss. And forget about walking right ever again — your choice!” Joe knew, in the back of his mind he’d probably feel bad about stabbing Bailey, but that probably would be at a much later time in his life. Probably never he figured.
The killer whined in a little boy’s voice, “She’s chained up in my cave daddy. I didn’t hurt her none. He started sobbing, “I swear!”
“Where’s the cave, son?” Joe said, taking his cue.
“You know, the highest one on the side of the mountain overlooking the big damn — over in Fontana,” he cried. Drool mixed with blood flowed out of both sides of his mouth.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“Why don’t you ever believe me daddy… please don’t hurt me anymore,” he sobbed.
