King of the Horseflies Read Free Page B

probably the best shot out of the bunch, though they won’t admit it. As for his credentials, he would tell you that he could shoot a flea off the tip of a dog’s nose from 100 yards away. W2’s the only serviceman of the bunch, being in the army 15 years ago; he still demands respect, and most of the time, he gets it. This is mainly the reason he is trusted with not letting a fugitive merely perambulate away with whatever it seems he needs so desperately in that bag.
    W2 sits down at the edge of the falls, guarding the bag until the crew can get a hold of it.
    Carver peers through the trees, looking up at W2 guarding the sack as if the bag itself would grow legs and walk away. He needs his pack as if his life depended on it. One of the reasons he wants it back is because one of its contents was one of the only things he woke up with the day he found himself in the desert. The other was a small tattoo inscribed just below his waist line on his left hip. Carver.
    “Carver!” the sheriff begins to scream. “I know you’re out there. We made the mistake of not searching your bag before.” Sheriff Willy holds the bag into the air while looking around the forest. “We won’t make the same mistake twice!” He turns around and tosses the bag to his deputy. “Search through that, will you, Ricky?”
    “You think he’s watching, sir?” the deputy asks.
    “If what I’m thinking serves me right, he’s looking at us right now,” answers the sheriff.
    Carver makes his way through some dense trees and thickets trying to get a better angle on what the hunters are doing. He breaks through and watches.
    The deputy begins to remove miscellaneous objects that one would take along if on the road. It entailed a small tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush wrapped in a paper towel, a hairbrush, an aluminum cup, a lighter, a solid black v-neck t-shirt, a pair of brown cargo shorts, and a razor. All of the contents were flung and dumped on the wet and muddy ground.
    “That’s everything, sir,” Ricky shouts. The sheriff, still looking around in the woods, reaches for the bag.
    “Let me see that thing.” He stretches the bag open and angles it so more sunlight can illuminate the interior. As he examines it, he notices that a whip stitch that is normally used to quickly repair broken seams was used on the inside.
    “What do we got here? I need a knife!” the sheriff shouts. The mechanic runs over and hands him a pocket knife.
    “Here you go, Sher!” He hits a button on the side of the knife, and the blade snaps open. He reaches inside and splits the stitches like he is gutting a hog. He tosses the knife back to the mechanic. Jerry flinches as he catches the knife.
    “What the heck? You almost stabbed me,” the mechanic shouts.
    Sheriff Willy opens the seam and reaches inside. “I got something,” he says. He wiggles the item back and forth and struggles to pull it out. The Sheriff reaches in with both hands and rips open more stitches to get whatever is stuck inside out of there.
    “What the heck is this?” He pulls out a shiny, black, semi-metallic stone that is smooth on one side and jagged on the other. One of the hunters spouts, “Is that a lump of coal?”
    “Looks like it,” says the mechanic.
    “Could be Kryptonite,” says Ricky.
    “That ain’t no damn Kryptonite, you idiot, and we damn sure ain’t chasin’ Lex Luthor,” says the sheriff.
    “Looks like it could be valuable the way he got it all tucked up all under there. I say we take it back to town and see what Mr. Travis thinks it’s worth,” he whispers to his crew. “Carver, we found your good luck charm in your bag! I say we call it even. Let’s just say you bailed yourself out and we received payment in full.”
    The mechanic replies, “Hell no, I want to get that son of—.”
    “Calm down, you’ll get your chance, trust me. If this thing is worth this much to him, as I think it is, he’ll come to us,” says the sheriff.
    “I hope you’re