Prologue
Cameron
Parrish, LA – 1986
The bar was dark and heavy with tobacco smoke and the smell of stale beer. Two men sat at a small corner
table and watched a semi-nude and semi-attractive middle age woman try to wrap herself around a brass pole. The slow thump-thump
beat of the music was depressing to normal people. The woman wrapped around the pole was depressing to normal people. The
bar was depressing to normal people, but the people in this bar were not normal. They were the downtrodden, the losers and
life’s derelicts mixed in with those in hiding—hiding from the law, hiding from IRS, hiding from a bullet to the
head. It was a bar for people who wanted to forget and to hide.
One man in the bar didn’t fit although he wasn’t
noticed. He wasn’t a loser, he wasn’t hiding, and he certainly didn’t want to forget. The woman around the
pole was of no interest. His interest was the two men at the corner table; two men who had been in hiding in Mexico for almost
eight years before returning to the US and getting jobs on a menhaden boat in Cameron. Two men, who had hidden in Mexico,
robbed and killed in Mexico, and had on several occasions almost been killed in Mexico. Their names were Ricky Kingman, the
leader, and Teddy Rose, the simple minded follower. Now, back in the US they used aliases and forged ID’s as they were
still wanted in the US for rape and murder.
The
man who watched them knew all of this and much more. They had been in his daily thoughts for twelve years. He had researched
them for six years and followed them for the last six months. He knew they were living in a rented travel trailer behind an
abandoned service station—he had been in it. The man could have called in the authorities and had the two taken down.
It would have been simple and clean but he knew the wheels of justice turned slow and mistakes were made. No, he had a score
to settle, a very big score. His work and research had been done in such detail that it could have been a textbook study for
the FBI or CIA. The evidence of their guilt was conclusive beyond a shadow of doubt.
The man had been coming into the bar for the last two weeks just to observe Kingman
and Rose. He had gotten to know a waitress named
Linda and she thought she had gotten to know this man who said his name was Doug—it wasn’t. Women were drawn to
the man who at 6’-3” had broad shoulders, a small waist and a very muscular body. His face was strong and handsome
with a military style haircut and penetrating blue eyes. Most noticeable was how the sleeves of his polo shirts strained to
surround his huge biceps. Although handsome he had the look of someone you didn’t want to cross, and in this case looks
were not deceiving.
Linda passed by with a try of
drinks and smiled at him. He smiled back and nodded for her to come to his table. She nodded and went on to serve the drinks.
Several days before, he asked her confidentially if she knew anything about Kingman and Rose. She told him that
she knew nothing about them and didn’t want to know anything about them, and this was the same for the other waitresses.
Linda said they were dirty and smelled like sweat and rotten fish. She did tell him that they had asked her where they
could by some drugs and she brushed them off. It was with this bit of information that the man’s plan came together.
Linda came to his table after serving her customers, put her arm around his shoulders
and bent over to whisper in his ear.
“Whatcha need handsome, another beer?”
“Yep, and a favor”
“Anything” and she let that sink in for a couple of seconds before
saying “just ask.” He took her hand
under the table and slipped a one hundred dollar bill into it.
“Linda, take this for your trouble and go over to those two men and tell
them that I can supply them with drugs. Tell them you know me and I’m OK.”
There
was a shocked look on her face. “You can, you are into…..”
Doug held
up his hand. “No I can’t but I want them to think I can. Now let’s keep that just between us.” He
smiled and gave her a wink.
“OK”
she said with a hesitant smile. Then she turned and with a swish of her pretty hips was off to see the two men. He watched her talking to the men and saw them turn and look
at him. She delivered the message quickly then vanished into the kitchen. The men talked for about a minute then got up and
came over to his table.
“I hear you got something for sale and that pretty little waitress says
you are OK to deal with, so what you got?”
Two ice cold blue eyes locked onto Kingman
and in a matter of seconds his bluster was reduced to fear of this man. The man nodded at the chairs and the two men quickly
took seats. Their stench filled his nostrils and he was repulsed to be sitting at a table with them. When Rose opened his
mouth the man saw two rows of rotted teeth.
“What are you looking for?” He asked.Kingman leaned across the table and his greasy blond hair
fell around his shoulders.
“Coke,
nose candy man, that’s the shit we want.”
“How much money you got?”
“A couple hunnard”
The man rubbed his chin. “You know
the old Zapata plant just inside the jetty’s off of Davis road?”
“Yeah,
I know where it is.”
“OK, give me forty five minutes and meet me on the old
dock behind the plant. Drive in with your lights off.”
“Yeah, right we’ll
be there. By the way what’s your name case we need you again?”
“Well…my
name is not in the phone book boys but you can call me The Swimmer that’s what my friends call me. If you need
me in the future you can find me here.”
It was almost a full moon on a clear night
and that was part of the plan. The old abandoned plant had been carefully selected by the man who had called himself The
Swimmer on the spur of the moment. The former Navy SEAL thought the name fit. He didn’t realize that he
had just coined a name for himself that would be around for many years to come. His attention now was on the job at hand.
He was about to vindicate a death and exorcise the demons that had haunted him for the last twelve years.
The now abandoned two story plant had a gravel drive on the front and right side and a dock on the rear waterside
that could accommodate several large menhaden trawlers. Four overhead doors and one pedestrian door opened from the plant
to the dock. Fifty five gallon drums were stacked two high on the left of the dock and several were scattered around in other
areas. Mixed in were various pieces of rusted equipment that had been pulled out of the plant and left on the dock.
The Swimmer had left the
bar and drove directly to the abandoned plant. He parked his rental car on the opposite side of Davis Rd. from the plant and
in an area of scrub and brush that effectively concealed it. He had picked this spot earlier in the week as it also gave him
limited cover for the ¼ mile walk to the old plant. He knew the lock on the door from the dock was broken and would
allow access inside to watch for the arrival of Kingman and Rose. He pulled on surgical gloves, got out of the car and made
a stealthy walk from concealment to concealment just in case someone may be in the area. When he reached the plant he quickly
slipped around the right side to the dock. Even this old dock still had wood that leached creosote, and that smell mixed in
with the heavy salt air and marsh smells resulting in a not at all unpleasant waterfront aroma.
He
pushed on the door and it creaked open. Old machinery was scattered about but the moonlight through the rows of industrial
steel sash allowed him to pick his way through this now familiar derelict maze. He had picked a window in a front office that
gave him full view of any approach to the building. In about 20 minutes he saw a car approaching. It slowed then cut its lights
and turned onto the gravel drive leading to the plant. The car eased along the drive with little sound except for the crunch
of gravel beneath its tires. Then in attempt at concealment the car turned and parked beside an old dumpster. The doors opened
and the interior light showed that it was Kingman and Rose. The two slipped from the car and moved close to the side of the
building. They hesitated for a few seconds and then started to inch toward the dock area. The Swimmer followed along
with them on the inside wall as many of the glass panes in the windows just above his head were broken and he could hear much
of their conversation.
“He ain’t here yet.” said Rose.
“Nah,
not yet but he’ll show.”
“I still think we should kill him and take the dope.”
“Rose you are a god damned dope. The girl knows the whole story. He’s found dead, she runs to
the cops and we’ll be in jail by tomorrow night. Nah, we’ll pay for this then maybe next time kill him.”
The Swimmer heard this
exchange and smiled. They had just made his job a lot easier with that bit of intelligence. They slipped along the outside
wall until they got to the dock. Feeling out of sight and safer they walked around the dock while looking and talking in more
normal tones. When they walked to the end of the dock where the drums were stacked The Swimmer slipped out the door
and stood beside an old 2000 gallon cooking vat and behind one of the 55 gallon drums. Now he had them between the drums at
the end of the dock and any escape.
“Good evening again gentlemen.”
The startled men saw The Swimmer standing next to
this big vat, behind a drum and holding a pistol with silencer. They looked for a few seconds before speaking.
“What’s with the gun swimmer?”
“Well it’s one of
me and two of you and since I don’t know you I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have any funny ideas about
not paying for this stuff.”
With his left hand The Swimmer pulled a ziplock bag
from his jacket pocket that held about a quarter cup of baking soda and flipped it on top of the drum.
“Look man we don’t do that kind o’ shit. Sure we like a little dope but we just work on
the boat, have a little fun, no rough stuff and no guns—know what I mean?”
OK,
OK prince charming put your money on the barrel head as they say, pick up your stuff and get out of here.” The Swimmer
pointed to the top of the drum.
“Sure man.” Kingman reached in his jacket pocket
where he had two one hundred dollar bills along with a small 380 caliber cheap handgun. When he pulled out the money the gun
came with it and fell to the dock. The Swimmer pointed his weapon at Kingman.
“Well
well, just look at that, prince charming, Mr. no rough stuff has a gun after all. All right oyster brains kick it over here
to me.”Kingman tried to stare the man down
but it didn’t work and he kicked the gun in his direction.
“What about you rotten
gums, you got a gun?”
“Man I don’t need no fuckin’ gun, I got
this.” He pulled a switch blade out of his pocket and the blade flew open. Just as quick The Swimmer put a
round through the hand holding the knife and the man dropped to the deck screaming in pain. The screaming was not part of
the plan. Even though they were in a deserted area screaming was not good and a quick decision was needed. In a split second
the decision was made and then acted upon. A second round entered Rose’s forehead and the screaming stopped as he crumpled
to the dock.
“Now Mr. Kingman what about you?”
Kingman’s
mouth dropped open and he stumbled back a couple of steps. The Swimmer came from behind the barrel with the gun pointed
at Kingman’s head.
“My name’s not Kingman swimmer, you’ve got the wrong man.”
“Ever hear the name Emily Meadows Kingman.”
Kingman’s eyes went wide. “NO, NO, you’ve got the wrong man!”
“No Kingman, I’ve
got the right man. I’ve followed you for years. I know you better than you know yourself.”
“Who the hell are you swimmer?”
The man who called himself The
Swimmer spoke very slowly. “I’m Buck Meadows, Emily Meadows son.”
Kingman
eyed him for a few seconds in silence. His brain was in overload, trying to compute. For some reason the fact that Rose had
just taken a bullet in the head hadn’t made an impression. All he saw now was the kid of the woman that had put him
in prison—the woman he raped and slaughtered when he got out of prison. This was an amateur looking for revenge. Amateurs
make mistakes. Hate and anger make people make mistakes. He could roll over this kid if he kept his wits. It was all being
computed in his brain in a split second and it was all in error.
“So you are the son she
talked about, well let me tell you this sonny boy the bitch had it coming, she….”
He
saw the expression change. The expression on the face of this man called The Swimmer had become terrible and frightening.
It was like nothing he had ever seen. In that fraction of a second he knew he had said the wrong thing. He had spoken too
quick damn it, he had spoken too quick and said the wrong thing. In that split second he knew he was a dead man.
The round hit dead center of his forehead, the second in his cheek, the third and fourth in the side of his
head. Kingman dropped to the dock twitching. Meadows stood still for a few moments before he walked to the two men and nudged
each with his foot. He saw that both were quite dead. He had avenged his mother’s brutal murder. The demons that had
been bottled up inside of him for 12 years were being released even now. It was time to move on with his life.
He had just murdered two men in cold blood. They were two worthless pieces of trash that had murdered many
innocent people, but it was still two men. He had taken the law into his own hands becoming jury, judge and executioner and
it felt good. He was calm; he had removed the threat of this despicable trash to harm others. Yes it felt good, so good that
he knew at that instant that it was just the beginning.
