Keith Landry shut off his headlights and pulled the Blazer into the parking lot behind the high school on the outskirts of town. The blacktop lot ran up to the back of the old brick school where bike racks, basketball courts, and equipment sheds stood. Keith saw that mercury vapor lights illuminated the area, but otherwise nothing much had changed since he and his friends used to meet behind the school on summer nights.
He stopped near one of the basketball nets, shut off the ignition, then climbed out of the Blazer. He put his Glock semiautomatic on the hood, took off his shirt, and threw it over the pistol.
Keith took a basketball out of the rear compartment, and, by the light of the mercury vapor lamps, he began shooting baskets, layups and jump shots, and the sound of the basketball echoed off the building in the quiet night air.
He dribbled up to the net, faked a pass, then jumped and put the ball through the hoop.
As he worked up a sweat, he reflected on the other game he'd come here to play, and it occurred to him that this was not a particularly smart move. He'd lost his temper and had thrown out a childish challenge. "Meet me behind the high school, punk." Sounded good. But given the circumstances, this could turn out to be a fatal mistake. He knew he could handle the class bully with no problem, but Baxter might not come alone as instructed.
Keith hadn't brought his M-16 rifle or his bulletproof vest, wanting to be evenly matched with Baxter. But there was no way of knowing what Baxter would show up with. In truth, it was possible that a half dozen police cars with a dozen men would surround him, and if Baxter gave the order to fire, it wouldn't matter what Keith was wearing or carrying. And Keith had no doubt that Chief Baxter would have a plausible legal scenario worked out for the death of Keith Landry.
Keith took a short break and looked at his watch. It was seven forty-five P.M. He tried to make an informed guess as to Baxter's response to the challenge. If it was true that the boy is father to the man, then Baxter would come, but not alone. However, the picture painted by the Porters was of an egotistical and conceited personality who might very well underestimate his enemy; the type of man who'd like to saunter into the station house with the news, "I just killed a bad guy out at the high school. Send a meat wagon."
He continued playing his solo game as the sky got darker. He decided that if Baxter did come alone, Baxter might never return to the station house. Keith had had a few homicidal rages in his professional career, and he was surprised at how badly he wanted to kill Cliff Baxter. No doubt this had been building in him a long time and had festered inside his soul.
Keith glanced as his watch. It was eight P.M. He looked toward the school, then at the open playing fields and adjoining streets, but didn't see any headlights or movement. He did a series of layup shots.
It occurred to Keith that Baxter's men knew, more or less, what the problem was between the chief and this guy Landry, and knew that Landry had said for Baxter to come alone. So what was Baxter going to tell his men? That Landry was bothering Mrs. Baxter, but he didn't want to meet Landry alone? In the world of male macho, this was about as sissy a thing as a guy could do. Keith realized that consciously or unconsciously, he'd put Baxter in a situation where he couldn't ask for help without looking like a total wimp, so he had to come alone, or not come at all and live with the consequences of his cowardice.
At five after eight, Landry knew that, by the unwritten rules of this game, he could leave. But he stayed, shooting baskets, dribbling across the court, but never getting too far from where the Glock sat on the hood of the Blazer. At ten after eight, he was satisfied that he'd lived up to his end of the dare.
As he walked toward his car, headlight beams appeared from around the side of the school, then a vehicle came around slowly and turned toward him, catching him in the beams.
Keith bounced the basketball casually and continued toward the Blazer.
The car, which he could now see was a police vehicle, stopped about fifty feet from him, the headlights still aimed directly at him.
The passenger door of the car opened, and a figure stepped out. Keith couldn't make him out in the glare, but he looked taller and leaner than Cliff Baxter. Keith put the basketball down, then took his shirt off the hood of the Blazer, and with it, the pistol. He wiped his sweaty face with his shirt and got his hand around the pistol grip and his finger on the trigger.
The man took a few steps toward him, then called out, "Keith Landry?"
Although Keith hadn't heard Cliff Baxter's voice in nearly three decades, he knew this was not him. He replied, "Who's asking?"
"Officer Schenley, Spencerville police." The man continued on toward Keith.
"Who else is in the car?"
"My partner."
"Where's Baxter?"
"He couldn't come." Schenley was about ten feet away now, and Keith saw he was holding something in his hand, but it wasn't a pistol.
Schenley stopped about five feet from him and asked, "You alone?"
"Maybe. Where's your boss? Looking for his balls?"
Schenley laughed, then said, "Hey, he wanted to come, but he couldn't."
"Why not?" Schenley held out the thing that was in his right hand, which turned out to be a folded newspaper. Keith said, "Why do I want that?"
"There's a story in here you should read."
"Read it to me."
Schenley shrugged. "Okay." He unhooked his flashlight from his belt and trained it on the newspaper. He said, "This here is the social column... here it is..." He read, " 'At the Elks Lodge this Saturday evening, Chief of Police Cliff Baxter will be honored by the mayor and city council in recognition of his fifteen years as police chief of Spencerville. Mrs. Baxter, the former Annie Prentis, will join Chief Baxter's friends and coworkers in relating interesting as well as amusing incidents of the chief's career.' " Schenley snapped off the flashlight. "Okay? He would have been here if he could."
Keith replied, "He knew about his party long ago. He could have rescheduled our meeting."
"Hey, don't push it, fella. The man's got obligations. Don't you got nothing better to do on a Saturday night?"
"I can't think of anything better than clocking your boss."
The patrolman laughed. "Yeah? Now, why would you want to do something stupid like that?"
"You tell me. Man-to-man, Schenley."
Schenley grinned. "Well... word is that you and Mrs. Baxter used to be an item."
"Maybe. Do you think that would make the chief angry?"
"Probably."
"Do you think he'll get over it?"
The patrolman laughed again, then said, "Hey, you know how guys are."
"I sure do. Do me a favor, Schenley. Tell the chief that the next time I make an appointment with him, he should notify me in advance when he knows he can't make it."
"I guess he wanted to see if you'd come."
"I already figured that out. He doesn't have to wonder about that. I'm here, and I'll be here, or anyplace he wants to meet me, anytime. His turn to ask."
"You're a cool customer. I'll give you some advice. Don't mess with this guy."
"I'll give you, Baxter, and the rest of you guys some advice — back off. I'm tired of your bullshit."
"I'll pass it on."
Keith looked at Schenley. He seemed a little less belligerent than the two guys in the park. In fact, Schenley seemed almost embarrassed by this whole thing. Keith said, "Don't get involved in the boss's personal squabbles." Keith put his left hand over his shirt, which still covered the Glock, pulled back on the slide and released it, cocking the automatic with a loud metallic noise that was unmistakable. He said, "It's not worth it."
Schenley's eyes focused on the shirt draped over Keith's right hand, and he seemed to stare at it a long time, then looked up at Keith. "Take it easy."
"Take a walk."
Schenley turned slowly and walked back to the car. Keith picked up the basketball and got into the Blazer. He kept an eye on the police car as it turned and went back around the school.
Keith drove across the playing fields and came out onto a road that bordered the school property. He turned toward town and drove past the Elks Lodge, noting that the parking lot was filled, then turned out into the country and headed for home.
"So, Mrs. Baxter will tell amusing stories about her husband. Maybe she can tell them about his wild weasel."
He got a little better control of his emotions and said, "Well, what do you expect in a social column?" He couldn't believe he felt a tinge of jealousy. "Of course she has an official life as the wife of a leading citizen." He remembered again how she'd looked at him on the street when they spoke. "Right. The wives of important men and politicians stand by their man and smile even when the guy is an adulterer, coward, and totally corrupt. Comes with the territory."
He discarded this subject and thought about what had just happened. Obviously, Cliff Baxter felt it important that he show Keith Landry why he hadn't come. Baxter cared what Landry thought of him. This was nothing new; the class bully was uniquely insecure, which was why he persecuted and belittled people around him while puffing himself up.
And then there were Baxter's own men, such as Officer Schenley. They knew something, and they wanted to see how the boss was going to deal with it. Keith suspected that unless they were corrupt to the core, they secretly hated their chief. But they also feared him, and, unless and until somebody bigger and badder came along to deal with the chief, they were going to follow orders. Loyalty toward a bad leader was conditional, but you couldn't count on the troops mutinying or running away. Men were profoundly stupid and sheeplike in the face of rank and authority, especially soldiers, cops, and men in government service. That's what had almost happened to him in Washington.
Keith saw the porch lights of his house ahead and turned into the dark driveway. Well, he thought, tonight was a draw. But somewhere down the road, one of them was going to score a point, and as far as Keith was concerned, the game was already in sudden-death overtime.