Deadly Pedigree - By Jimmy Fox Page 0,58

like more gun than rural duty required. “Get out of your car, Mr. Genealogist.”

“What’s this all about?”

“You good at asking questions, ain’t you? Les us take a stroll on over behind that there building. Careful, now: I get nervous when people look at me like that.”

The young man, slightly taller than Nick, had short blonde hair, a thin fair face, and a paunch that strained at the khaki uniform he wore. The patches on his short-sleeve shirt told Nick he was a deputy with the sheriff’s department of a nearby, otherwise unremarkable parish. His nametag read “Chirke.”

Chirke? Sounds familiar. Nick tried to find the name in his overcrowded memory. Thinking helped keep the panic at bay. This wasn’t going to end well, he feared.

They walked through piles of old garbage and a graveyard of refrigerators. The squawk of the patrol-car radio faded into the hiss of unseen life as they entered the dense pine forest. A breeze now and then disturbed the canopy of needles far above them but didn’t do anything for the oppressive heat.

They descended a slope to a small bayou running through fallen trees and clay banks. On level ground now, beside the bayou, they stopped on Chirke’s command.

A good place for a shooting, Nick realized. That slope will block much of the noise of the shot, and no one from the highway can see. He had always hoped to have a glorious epiphany before death; instead, his mind was now merely a camera.

“Okay, Mr. Genealogist. Turn around. I got to shoot you in the front ’cause you went for my gun. That’s after I done found the drugs in your car and you took out runnin’ for the woods, you understand.”

“You’re a descendant of Gershom Chirke, aren’t you?” Nick said. Gershom Chirke sold Ivanhoe Balzar the inferior land.

For a moment the man was rigid in astonishment; then his eyes narrowed.

“Well, what my cousin Sharla been sayin’ ’bout you ain’t far wrong, I guess.”

Ah, Sharla, the Mata Hari of Cane River country.

“You been pokin’ your nose in everybody’s business. You even been pokin’ Sharla. There’s some folks ’round here don’t like any of that kind of bizness. My family’s some of ’em.”

“Got a lot to hide, don’t you, Chirke? Like, for instance, the fact that the land you sold to the state for the highway wasn’t really yours. What did you do, forge a phony deed from Ivanhoe Balzar selling the land back, giving your family title again? That’s how I would’ve done it, maybe.” He was guessing, desperately hoping to buy some time, for what he didn’t know. But he’d hit a raw nerve.

“Them Balzars don’t know how to work land! Never did. They just lazy niggers, thas all. My great-great-granddaddy gave one of ’em a chance, and look at ’em today.” Chirke had said more than he’d intended. “Well, it don’t matter, anyhow, ’cause you ain’t gonna tell nobody. I’m gonna shut you up, but good.”

A mound of forest carpet above them exploded, and what looked like some huge, winged animal pounced on Chirke. Nick went for the gun. It fired twice, as loud as a cannon. A large black hand covered Chirke’s face. In the ensuing frenzy, Nick gave a few punches and took a few from a flailing Chirke. Then he had the gun.

The owner of the black hand used Chirke’s eye sockets as if they were bowling-ball holes and dragged the deputy down to the ground. This man–or bear, as it seemed to Nick–draped in a camouflage cape, was now on top of Chirke, pummeling him. After a rapid series of head blows delivered by Nick’s rescuer, Chirke was still.

Shelvin–for that’s who Nick’s resuer was–stood up, winded, and looked at the bloodied deputy on the ground. “He ain’t dead.”

“Do you know him?” Nick asked.

“Uh-huh. We live on his uncle’s land for next to nothing, ’cept our votes whenever somebody in his family hereabouts runs for something or other, and they always do. Gerald here thinks he tough shit. But he ain’t much out from under his white sheet, if you know what I mean. I been looking for a chance to do that.”

“Thanks, Shelvin.”

“Ain’t no big thing. Enemy of my enemy must be my friend. Right, Mr. Genealogist?”

“The name, as you know, is Nick. What were you doing up there, covered up with pine needles and leaves? How did you–”

“On my way to see one of my women; she live close by. Seen your cars over there, decided to look into it.