belt.
âWhere the hell exactly are we?â
âIâd guess one and a half, maybe two miles off the sand road. Not too far from the coast.â
âThere a name for this place?â
âMmmhmm.â Jarold nodded. âStrawmanâs Hammock.â
Barrett paused. He had heard of the Hammock. There were all sorts of stories. Ghosts, bogey men. Witches.
You donât behave, youngâun, Iâm agonna take you down to the Hammock, leave your black ass onna stump!
Barrett followed Jaroldâs lead to debark from the Jeep.
âLooks like itâd be a hunterâs paradise,â he remarked.
âNo,â the warden disagreed shortly.
âNo? Why not?â
ââCause hunters have got lazy, Bear. They wonât get off the road fifty yards if they can help it. And nobody stalks game on foot anymore. Not even bowhunters. They just get in their blinds or up a tree and wait for it.â
âIf you leased this land somebodyâd hunt it. Theyâd put in roads. And blinds.â
Jarold nodded. âPaper mill in Perry wants to do just that. They been tryinâ to buy this land, what I understand, for months. But thereâs some legal problem with title, or squatterâs rights. I donât know the details.â
Barrett gazed over the pond.
âMaybe our man just came in to fish.â
âHeâdâve had to know there was a pond,â Jarold pointed out. âOutside aerial photography, I donât know how heâd find this one.â
âAccident, maybe.â Barrett slapped a gnat off his face. âOr maybe he was just exploring.â
Jarold remained quiet.
âSomething botherinâ you, Jarold?â
âThis ainât the first fellah took a sudden interest in exploring Strawmanâs Hammock. I was driving out this way a month, maybe a month and a half ago, on the Suwannee side, and I saw where maybe four or five vehicles had pulled off the road and into these woods. I followed the tracks right to this pond, pretty sure it was this pond. If it is, thereâs a shack on the other side. Some old cracker shack.â
âSounds like a place for hunters to me.â
The warden shook his narrow head. âNuh uh. You find hunters camping, youâre gonna see things. Thereâs gonna be a latrine. Someplace to bury the skinnings. Usually toilet paper or beer cansâthey never clean up right.
âBut this place looked scrubbed. I didnât see a soda can or a campfire, much less any sign of field dressing. But I did find a condom.â
âCondom?â Barrett fell in beside Pearson as the warden stepped out to follow the waterâs edge. âLong way to come for poontang.â
âLong way for anyone,â Jarold agreed without looking back. âAnd there mustâve been three ⦠four vehicles come in here. I thought, well ⦠if you wanted to have a party ⦠be hard to find a place much more out of the way than this.â
âProbably.â Barrett found he had to stretch to keep up with the game warden. âBut Jarold ⦠you donât mind ⦠Iâm mostly interested in Mexicans.â
Again without breaking stride or looking back, Jarold pulled what looked like a credit card from the breast pocket of his olive green and handed it back.
âItâs a phone card,â the warden tossed over his shoulder. âThe migrants, they all get âem. To call back home, I guess. Or Texas.â
Barrett took the card. âYou found this at the shack?â
âWays off from it. On the way back to the county road.â
It was a Sprint calling card. Barrett pocketed the item.
âWe should be able to see who made the purchase. See where they called. But unless the place is being used nowââ
âOh, itâs being used,â Jarold said. âIâm just about positive of that. I just donât know forâHold up.