Chicken Fight, Part Five

Cars were already lighting up in the parking lot as we reached the Honda. I felt like I was watching a Roman coliseum empty after the last match between the gladiators and the lions, not knowing who’d triumphed. We passed a kid in his twenties, cursing. “Two hundred dollars! How did that bitch . . .” He pounded a fist in the air.

“Calm down.” The girl next to him held his arm, her face flushed with excitement. “Let’s go get a drink.”

Two guys pushed and punched each other, laughing. An old man in a wheelchair smiled as a young woman drove him through the crowd.

The woman who’d kicked the chair over in front of me danced in a circle, waving a wad of money around. “I won! I won!” Her boyfriend smiled, his hand on her shoulder. She leaned over to kiss him, and they started making out between a pickup truck and an Audi. “Get a room!” someone yelled.

            Suddenly Hector was in front of me. “You won!” He stuck my slip in my face. “Go back in and get your money!”

            Kristianne? “Uh, you take it.” I glanced inside the car. Rachel was pulling her seatbelt. “Rachel isn’t feeling well. Thanks for bringing us.” I opened my door.

“Hang on.” It was Milo the MC, right behind me—with Harvey Duff.

“That’s him.” Duff pointed. “And her.”

Milo looked me up and down. “We need to talk.”

            “Not really.” I pulled on my door. “We’re leaving.”

            “We can’t have people talking about this.” Milo hadn’t looked that big standing down in the pit, but he had broad shoulders and thick arms, and a prod dangled from a loop around his belt. He wore a black windbreaker over his gray T-shirt. “Especially not any reporters.”

            I groaned. “First, I’m not a reporter. I’m a private detective. But second, Jared Burroughs died here, and his widow and children want to know why.”

            Milo shook his head. “He signed a release form. They all do—”

            A release? Great. “Do you have it handy? I’d like to show it to his wife.”

Milo clenched a fist. “They all know what they’re—”

            The Honda’s horn blared. Loud and long.

            I jumped. Two men and a woman darted away from the car.

“Shut that noise off!” someone shouted.

            Rachel was drawing attention from what was left of the crowd. Smart.

            I dove into the car. Rachel shot the locks as I straightened my feet out and turned the key.

My heart pounded as I pressed the gas. Rachel kept tapping the horn as I backed up, trying not to hit anyone as I twisted the wheel in a tight turn.

The crowd was scattering around us. Milo grabbed at my sideview mirror as I wheeled around and shifted into drive, turning on my brights.

“Watch out!” Rachel punched my arm. “Stop laughing!”

“I’m not . . .” Actually I was. Laughing like a maniac as weaved through the few remaining people trying to get to their cars. “Okay, sorry.” I forced a deep breath and leaned down, heading around the front house. “Let’s just get out of here.”

            A pickup truck swerved ahead of me and darted forward toward the gate. I honked my horn.  

Then fists pounded on the back door. Hector? The Honda’s body shook. I hammered at the horn and looked over my shoulder.

            Kristianne. She grabbed at my rear door handle, her eyes lit up and desperate. Get me out of here!

“Don’t slow down!” Rachel grabbed at my hand. “Keep going!”

“Just two seconds—” I unlocked the doors.

Kristianne slid into the back seat. I locked up again.

“Who the hell?” Rachel twisted around in her seat. Her eyebrow rose as she checked out Kristianne’s fighting outfit.

Blood stained her arms and dripped from one of her legs. She unzipped her vest, breathing hard in a slim blue sports bra, and kicked off one of her boots. “I’m Krissy.” She gasped. “Those guys are crazy.”

“Yeah.” I could see the gate ahead. “I bet twenty dollars on you.”

“Oh, I bet you did.” Rachel punched my arm, still peering back. “What are you doing here?”

“Hector . . . said there was some reporter here trying to make trouble.” Krissy rubbed her foot. “I saw Milo back there. Just get me out of here. Who are you anyway?”

“Tom Jurgen. This is Rachel. Long story.” I gripped the wheel, looking for a gap between cars. “So what’s the problem? You were fine fighting the chicken a few minutes ago. Didn’t you get your money?”

“Five hundred dollars! But I almost got killed!” She pulled a boot off. “Jesus Christ, when they said giant chickens, I thought . . . I don’t know.” She laid back, her leg bleeding all over the seat. “I did Ultimate Fighting one time on TV.  But all those assholes betting on the chicken? That’s messed up.”

“Just let—” A red sports car ahead of me zoomed ahead of me through the gate. “We’re almost—”

Then Hector’s minivan came up behind me. The gate slammed shut. I crushed the brake. Damn it! I shifted into reverse, but Hector blocked me.

We were stuck.

“Call the cops.” I clutched the wheel, trying to think.

Rachel patted her pocket. “I already did.”

A fist pounded on my window. “Stay in the car.” I unlocked and pushed the door open.

“We just want to talk.” It was Milo, holding one of the prods, two chicken wranglers behind him, plus Dulcie, he blonde in the cutoffs.

“Okay, fine.” I lurched out, hands up, and pushed the door closed with my butt. I heard Rachel slam the locks shut.

Hector jumped out of his minivan. “Sorry, man. But you were asking questions.”

I leaned against the Honda, my blood cold. “People know we’re here.”

That was a lie, actually. I usually tell Rachel when I’m going out somewhere, but she was here with me. Still, I had to say something. “Sharon Marmont is Jared’s wife’s lawyer. I’m not very scary, but you don’t want to meet her in a courtroom.”

Milo stood in front of me. “Jared signed a release. He knew what he was getting into.” He peered through the back window of the Honda. “Just like her.”

Kristianne lifted her middle finger at him.

I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. “You don’t really think a piece of paper is going to protect you, do you? You’ve got people fighting giant chickens and getting killed! Do you really think you can keep this thing going forever?”

“We can work this out.” Milo pointed his prod at me. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

I leaned against the Honda’s hood, adrenalin fighting with exhaustion. “I think we’re way past stupidity on both sides here. Why don’t we just—”

Dulcie pulled Milo’s arm. “Hey? What’s that?”

“What’s . . . ” Hector turned around.

Shadows moved across the grass. A squawk filled my ears. What the—

Oh hell. The giant chickens were loose.

A big red chicken like Achilles rushed toward us, faster than I thought any chicken could ever run. Three or four more followed, wings flapping, feathers flying, clawing the grass as they spun and squawked in the night air.

The red chicken was in the lead. One of the wranglers jumped out of its way. The other wrangler tried to jab his prod at the chicken’s chest, but it swerved and pecked its sharp beak at the wrangler’s shoulder.

The wrangler dropped his prod and ran, clutching his arm as blood dripped over his jacket.

Dulcie cowered behind the minivan, screaming.

Milo swung around as a big orange chicken—Kull—loped across the grass, one wing raised like a bird of prey poised to kill.

“Get them!” Milo ordered “Round them up! Come on, we’ve got to—”

Kull leaned back and scraped a claw across Milo’s T-shirt. Milo staggered, and then jabbed his prod like a sword at Kull’s throat, but Kull swung a wing and then leaned down and jabbed its beak into Milo’s chest.

“Ahh!” Milo shrieked. “Goddamn it—goddamn . . . it . . .”

He sprawled on the dirt, gasping on his side. Kull lifted a foot and pounded its claws down into his body, cackling like a banshee. I thought I heard a rib crack.

I ducked down and pressed myself against the Honda’s rear tires. Milo’s electric prod was just within reach. I crawled forward.

Kull roared, head high, throat shaking. It stepped back, blood covering its claw, and then lifted its other leg as I grabbed for the prod.

The orange chicken slammed its claws down at Milo’s face.

I lifted the prod. How did this work? I found a button, pressed my thumb down, and then jabbed it at Kull’s leg.

The chicken screamed. It lurched back and whirled around, then fled, leaving bloody footprints in the grass.

I pulled myself up next to Milo. “You—are you …”

His eyes flickered. “Go to hell.”

Then his head dropped. Oh god.

Dulcie sobbed behind the minivan.

A siren blared and blue lights flashed through the air.

“Open the gate!” The order came through the squad car’s loudspeaker. “Right now!”

I sat next to the Honda, trying to breathe. I heard the snick-snick of a shotgun.

Then the gate slid back.

“Okay, what’s the deal?” That came from an African-American cop built like a linebacker, shining a flashlight across the ground.

“We called!” I stood up and held my hands high. “There’s chicken fighting going on in here! And gambling. And giant chickens.”

“Giant what?” The female officer stalked forward, holding a shotgun.

A huge black chicken charged around the minivan, knocking a wrangler to the ground. It lunged forward, screeching in rage—or terror.

The shotgun blasted. The other officer fired his handgun. Blood spurted from the chicken’s chest. It reared back, one leg high, and then it flopped down on the ground, clawing at the dirt.

The female officer stared in wonder. “What the hell?”

“You didn’t have to kill it!” Jay jumped out from Hector’s minivan. “I let you in! I let them out! You didn’t have to kill any of them!”

I looked down at Milo’s body. “He didn’t have to die.”

“He didn’t have to do any of this!” He waved an arm back toward the barn. “I knew when people showed up and started asking questions I was about to get blown. Ever heard of an environmental group called Red Watch?”

Oh hell. “Yeah.” I swallowed. “They may not be your best defense right now.”

“Everyone shut up!” The female cop raised her shotgun to the night sky again. “Hands on the cars. Now!”

I leaned against the Honda, arms and legs wide. Rachel got out and helped Kristianne clamber from the back seat.

She cocked her face at me as the female cop patted her down. I shrugged.

Not my best night ever.

“I ran across Red Watch on another case a couple of years ago,” I told Dr. Neral at my next weekly appointment. “They’re a fringe group, but they’ve got members and money. They knew about Duff’s work, and somehow Jay managed to infiltrate the chicken ranch.”
            “What happened to the chickens?” Dr. Neral had listened attentively to the whole story. I wondered if he’d start prescribing medication for hallucinations.

            “Animal Control rounded them up. I don’t know what happened to them after that.” I shrugged. “Makes me wonder about eating Chicken McNuggets lately. And I love McNuggets.”

            The police had managed to keep the giant chickens out of the papers, and the media just reported on the illegal cockfights and gambling. The wranglers and Dulcie weren’t in any hurry to talk about any of it.

            But Milo was dead. And Harvey Duff had disappeared. I didn’t know how hard the cops were looking for him.

            Vandella Burroughs had listened to my report. At first she didn’t believe it, but Kristianne was willing to talk to her. She called and thanked me the next day. She wouldn’t get any money out of the results, but at least she knew how her husband had died. I hoped that gave her some closure. For whatever that was worth.

            “How do you feel?” Our time was winding down.

            I shrugged again. “It felt good to be working. I’m glad Rachel was there.”

            “Well, we can talk about it more next week.” Neral made a note on his laptop. “Do you have anything coming up?”

            I stood up. “Tailing a cheating spouse. Pretty routine.”

I hoped.

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