Page 70 of Ground Truth

He scanned the field. Everything else seemed to be in order. Hedinger preferred the international version of the game, and his field was constructed to suit his demands.

The event was constructed to simulate bird hunting. The shooter shoots from eight positions in a semicircle. Two houses—the high house on the left and the low house on the right—perched at each corner of the semicircle, hold traps that launch the targets. The traps launch clay targets at two different heights on a specific rotation. The shooter’s goal is to hit all twenty-five of the targets to achieve a perfect score.

The game required skill, accuracy, and speed. The Olympic version was slightly more difficult and could be breathtaking to watch when played by such high-caliber athletes.

Hedinger, aggravated now by Mario’s failures, approached the field and Station 1. With no assistant to perform the service, he opened the first box of shells and poured them into his shell holder. He tossed the box onto the ground.

Mario would show up eventually. When he did, he’d damned well clean up the field.

Hedinger settled into position, stuffed his earplugs into place, and prepared to shoot the first target.

He called for the bird and the trap flung the first target from the high house. He aimed and hit the single to begin the round. Second was the low house single, which he also hit. Quickly, he reloaded two shells.

Before he could begin to shoot the high house and low house pair, he heard a woman scream as if she were being flayed alive.

“What the hell?” Hedinger pulled the earplug from his right ear and shoved it into his pocket. The bloodcurdling screams came from behind the high house.

He stomped in that direction. When he rounded the corner, he stopped abruptly.

The screaming banshee of a woman was stark naked. She was attacking Mario with her entire body. She kicked and pummeled him fiercely and furiously. The screaming stopped briefly while she bit off a chunk of his cheek and spat it on the ground.

Which was the last thing she ever did.

Mario yelped in pain and shoved the woman away from him. He turned his back, trying to stanch the bleeding from his cheek.

She fell backward but somehow stayed on her feet. She was scrawny. Hedinger had seen residential PCV pipes larger in circumference than her arms and legs.

Her brown hair stood up all over her head like it had been glued vertically.

Her face was positively horrifying. Mascara blackened her eyes and streamed down to the purple glitter lipstick surrounding her wide-open pie hole.

She never shut up. The screaming was earsplitting.

“Enough!” Hedinger changed his position, raised his shotgun, and blasted the damned fury’s face off.

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Chapter 36

Instantly, the harpy’s screaming stopped. Hedinger wished he’d taken the time to replace the earplug before he’d killed her. His hearing would suffer for the rest of the day. Something else to feed his anger.

He lowered the shotgun and turned his attention to Mario. The boy was standing with one bloody hand pressed against his damaged cheek and the other covering his gaping mouth.

“You killed her.” His eyes were wide and his tone breathy, incredulous. “She’s dead.”

“Tell me who the hell she was and why she’s here on my field,” Hedinger demanded, in no mood for mollycoddling spoiled, defiant employees.

Mario was also out of uniform, Hedinger noticed. Yet another outrage. He was dressed in sloppy jeans and a ratty oversize polo shirt. He wore canvas shoes on his feet. No socks. Blobs of blood had run from his cheek down his chin and onto the wrinkled turquoise cotton.

Because his back had been turned and she’d been downwind from Mario, none of the harpy’s bloody face had splashed onto the front of Mario’s clothes. He simply stood there, holding his cheek, looking helplessly at the dead woman.

“Mario!” Hedinger bellowed.

As if he’d been called back from a great distance, Mario turned his head slowly toward Hedinger. He said nothing.

“Who was that woman?” he demanded in harsh Italian.

Mario shrugged and explained haltingly. “Her name is Patty, she said. I met her last night over in Grand Turk. She wanted to come here. She’d never seen beautiful Atabei.”

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