The Cypress Trap

Chapter 7

Scut shook the flashlight. The light reappeared and he shined it in Owen’s face. “I’m givin’ you a chance to just hand it over and keep things simple.”

“I don’t know what yer talk’n about.” Owen waved his hand, pushing the light out his face. “You want money? I got seventy-five, maybe a hundred dollars in my wallet.”

Owen reached for his back pocket as Scut returned the light to his face. “We don’t want your money, old man.”

“Then whaddya want?” Owen raised his voice. Cujo growled again. Owen shrank back, but pushed the light away. “I don’t know what you want.”

Rayanne had her pink sweatshirt back on and stood up. “Scat, wait. Do you own a black van?”

“It’s Scut.” He eyed her and grinned. “And, yeah. Maybe.”

“You’ve been following us?” She took a step toward him beside her husband. “I saw it on the Interstate and then in town and then again at cabin a mile or so from here.”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah, we been track’n you all day. But if you tell your husbby to give it back, we’ll leave you in peace.”

Owen was clearly becoming frustrated. “I don’t know what you want. This mechanic in town suggested we come out here. Said we could use the boat ramp--”

“Look.” Scut cut him off. “I don’t care about your boat. I don’t care about your wallet. You got someth’n that don’t belong to you and I’m just askin’ – nicely – for you to give it back.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

The group fell silent. Rayanne watched her husband. Finally Scut shook his head.

“We ain’t lett’n you leave till you give it back,” Scut said. “Besides it’s dark and when the sun goes down, that little dirt road that got you here gets all kinds of dangerous and…” He looked over at Rayanne, and his grin widened. “Freaky.”

Owen side stepped in front of his wife, blocking her from the teenager. “Is that a threat?”

“Naw, old man. We’re cool. It’s all… swell.” The teen sounded like he was mocking him.  “In fact just consider yourself our out of town guest.” He handed Owen his vodka bottle. “Have a drink to new friends.”

Owen took the bottle. He looked at it hesitantly then he took a swig and choked. He threw down the bottle and wiped his mouth. 

All four teenagers laughed.

“You see. We’re friends now,” Scut said, picking up the bottle.

 “Dropp’n F! Get outta here. Leave us alone.” Owen balled both his fists and took a step closer toward Scut. Cujo growled and leaned forward, ready to pounce. The growl was deep in his throat, almost a rumbling. It watched Owen, and there was something bitter and calculating in the dog’s eyes. 

Rayanne didn’t like it and reached for her husband’s arm. “Owen, don’t.”

Scut shook his head, slowly. “That’s not very hospitable, you know.”

“I’m not telling you again.” The veins in Owen’s neck bulged and he raised his arm, pointing at Scut. Rayanne squeezed his arm tighter. “Don’t egg them on, Owen. You’re making it worse.”

Cujo barked, snapping his jaws. The furious echoes made it sound as if there were a whole pack of dogs surrounding them, hidden in the trees. Scut held up a hand toward the dog, as if giving it a signal. “Listen to your little lady, Owen.”