Scorpion by Ken Douglas Page A

he had to do was endure. Sooner or later the car would stop and sooner or later he’d get his chance. Nobody fucked with Earl Lawson. He felt an erection building. It happened every time he sighted in on an animal, every time he pulled the trigger, every time he dealt death. It was getting hard. It was starting to throb. He was going to get even. Oh yeah, somebody was going to die.
    The car came to a skidding stop, throwing him against the dead man. The scraping sound of the screeching tires echoed through the trunk sending icicles shivering up his spine, but he met the cold terror with hot fury, clenching his teeth and firming his resolve. The car banked quickly right and his head smacked into the hard metal of the jack. He blacked out again.
     
    When he came to he was bent over a round bar or tube, like a dead outlaw slung over a horse. Hands hanging down one side, feet over the other. He heard the rushing of the river and he knew where he was even before he opened his eyes. His hands were flopping below his head, swaying in the brisk breeze. His feet were on the other side of the fence, the safe side. His legs were bound together at the ankles, the ropes were tight, cutting off the flow of blood to his feet. Eyes wide, looking down, he saw the Guadeloupe River. He was just above the rapids.
    The afternoon sun was blazing overhead, his view was excellent. He grabbed a breath through his mouth, the tape was gone. He felt the blood rushing to his head. He tried to move his hands. They were heavy, he flexed his fingers, felt the pain. The back of his head was throbbing, his erection was gone. The fence rail was digging into his stomach.
    He reached behind himself, stretched out his right arm and wrapped his fingers around the lower rail. He was about to pull himself up when he felt a hand on his leg. Someone was untying the ropes. He felt the fumbling fingers between his legs. He wanted to shout, to tell the man to pull him up first, worry about the ropes after he was on the bridge.
    Relief flooded through his legs the instant the ropes came off. “Thank you,” he called out as he pulled himself up toward the rail.
    “ Sorry, Earl,” Jackson said. Earl felt his friend’s strong hands grab him by the ankles and lift his legs into the air and over the rail. He held on to the lower rail as his legs came arcing over, bound for the river below. He screamed against the jerking pain that shot through his right arm, but he managed to hold on with that lone hand, dangling above the river, face even with the concrete bridge and his deputy’s feet.
    “ Jackson!” Earl cried out, grabbing onto the rail with his other hand.
    “ I am mighty sorry about this, Earl. I truly am, but sometimes things just get out of control.”
    “ I thought you were dead,” Earl said, looking up and into Jackson’s eyes.
    “ The river is going to kill you,” Jackson said. He leaned over the rail and smiled down at Earl. “Sorry, buddy.”
    “ Jackson, we’re friends,” Earl shouted up to be heard above the river.
    “ Yeah, Earl, we were, but the cash sort of got in the way.”
    “ There’s plenty for us both. There always has been.”
    Jackson ignored him and leaned lower over the rail. For a second Earl thought he was going to pull him up, but instead he grabbed onto his right hand and tried to pry it loose. That was a mistake. He should have stepped on the fingers, like they do in the movies, but he didn’t and that gave Earl his chance. Rattlesnake quick he whipped his left arm over and grabbed Jackson around the wrist. The weight of his body pulled Jackson into the fence, slamming his stomach against the bar as he flayed out with his free hand and grabbed onto it for support.
    “ Pull me up,” Earl said.
    “ No!” Jackson clenched his abdominals against the rail to support himself.
    “ Come on, Jackson,” Earl said. His erection was returning.
    “ You’re going,” Jackson said, and now that he had his balance he was able to