Page 36 of Final Ride

He left Tammy bleeding from her cracked skull—limp and almost dead on the floor of the fishing shack—and ran to the door barely hanging on its hinges to let Cleo in.

“Cleo, get in here and take a chunk out of Tammy.” Bobby yanked the door open, and Cleo ran in growling. Right behind Cleo stood Tammy’s boyfriend pointing a gun at him.

Willydrove north from the hotel not knowing quite what he was looking for. He broke speed limits thinking he had catching up to do, but he didn’t know with who.

By chance he happened to spot the black Wrangler with the huge Newfie dog in the front seat. He was positive he’d seen thatJeep with the huge dog at the hotel. It made him think that it wasn’t the police who arrested Tammy at all.

Somebody was following her.

“That guy with the dog might have taken her.” He talked to George and Gracie in the back seat of his truck. “Do you think that might be Tammy’s old boyfriend with the dog that did the damage to her leg? What was that dog’s name again?”

His dogs couldn’t give him an answer. Willy made up his own mind to find out and he followed the Wrangler north towards the border.

They weren’t many miles from the crossing point when the Wrangler turned off the highway onto one of the winding river roads.

Willy followed along a good distance behind and when the Wrangler turned on a dirt path that led to a fishing camp, he waited on the road until the guy took Tammy out of the hatch and went inside.

As soon as the old boyfriend went into the shack and closed the door behind him, Willy pulled in behind the Jeep and cut the engine of his truck.

Before he jumped out, he reached across the console and took Tammy’s gun out of the glove box. Willy made sure the gun was loaded before heading for the shack.

“I’ll shoot him if I have to. I have to save Tammy.”

He let George and Gracie out to run free and hopefully distract the killer black dog as he ran to the door of the shack.

Willy was halfway there when the black dog ran to the shack and scratched on the door to get in. He hung back so the dog wouldn’t attack him.

The boyfriend jerked the door open, the dog ran in, and Willy was ready.

He pulled the trigger.

Bang.

Bobby was surprised to see the old guy standing there with a gun. Even more surprised when the old fart pulled the trigger and shot him. A horrible shot even from that close.

The bullet nearly missed him, but not quite.

It sizzled through the skin in Bobby’s side and made him bleed like a good thing. It hurt like a fucker and the pain made Bobby groan. He clutched his side but had nothing handy to stop the bleeding. His head got all dizzy and he figured he was either gonna puke or pass out.

“Cleo,” Bobby mumbled, and she took over.

Cleo jumped on the old guy before he had a chance for the kill shot. She clamped her iron jaws on the old guy’s left leg, tore through his pants and took a huge chunk out of him.

He hollered as he fell to the floor and Cleo had him then. She went after his other leg, and he was toast.

Bobby kicked the gun out of the old fucker’s reach worrying that other fishermen or cottagers had heard the shot and would be doing their fuckin’ duty and pressing the 911 icon on their phones.

“Be right back,” he hollered to the old guy.

For good measure, he bashed Tammy over the head one more time with his tire iron, picked her up and ran out the back door.

Her hands and ankles were zip-tied, and she’d drown in a matter of minutes. His life-blood leaking out his side, he barely had the strength to carry Tammy to the river.

Fighting to keep from passing out, Bobby relied on sheer willpower and adrenaline to carry Tammy’s weight.

He let out a sigh of relief and sank to his knees when he dropped her off the end of the dock. She sank like a stone and disappeared into the deep water.

“Bye-bye, Tammy. This is for Ray, you murdering bitch. I been waiting too long for this.”

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