They drove into Spencerville, and Chuck commented, "Hey, there's the police station. This is some coincidence, ain't it? I mean, you comin' all the way from New York and windin' up here where this kidnapping happened. Not a bad-looking little town. Where's this lawyer's office?"
"In his other house. Turn over here."
Keith directed Chuck to the north side of town, and, within a few minutes, they were on Williams Street. Keith had no expectation that Annie and Cliff Baxter would be there, sitting around trying to iron out their differences. They were in seclusion, and Williams Street was not seclusion. The van passed the house, and Keith saw the white Lincoln in the driveway, but there was no other sign that anyone was home, and no obvious sign that the house was being watched. He said to Chuck, "Pull over here."
Chuck pulled over to the curb.
Perhaps by now, the Spencerville police knew that Keith Landry had escaped from the hospital, and if they did, their first thought would probably be that Landry was fleeing the state. But their second thought might well be that Landry was headed back to Spencerville, though they'd think that was a long shot. Still, they'd be on some sort of alert and would probably stake out the farm. But Keith knew there would be two places they wouldn't expect to see him: the police station and the Baxter house.
Keith got out and said, "Be about ten minutes." He took his briefcase and walked to the Baxter house. It was a cool morning, and there was no one on the porches, and no one visible on the street at all. He walked up the driveway and headed toward the rear. If anyone was watching from a window, the blue trust-me suit and briefcase gave off a message of respectability and legitimate purpose.
There was a kennel at the end of the yard, but Keith couldn't see or hear any dogs.
Keith walked up to the rear porch, opened the screen door, and tried the knob on the back door, but it was locked. He looked in both neighboring yards and at the windows of the surrounding houses, but didn't see anyone through the high hedges. Holding the screen door open with his leg, he drove the corner of his briefcase through one of the windowpanes, reached inside, and unlocked the door. He slipped quickly inside, closing the door behind him.
Keith looked around the kitchen, noting its cleanliness and orderliness. He opened the refrigerator and saw that it was nearly empty, which was probably not the way it usually was. Clearly, the Baxters were gone and were not coming back for some time.
He opened the basement door and went down the stairs. He found the den and turned on the lights. A few dozen animal heads were mounted on the walls, and he noted the gun rack that could hold twelve rifles or shotguns. It was completely empty.
He went upstairs again and glanced into the dining room and living room, again noting how clean and tidy everything was. He opened the coat closet in the foyer and saw that there was only one man's civilian trench coat and one police uniform topcoat and two ladies overcoats. All the casual and cold weather outerwear was missing.
Keith went upstairs and glanced into a boy's bedroom and a girl's bedroom, then into a room that was a home office. He went into the office and rummaged around, pulled some Rolodex cards, then left. He found the master bedroom and opened the two closets. Again, only dress clothes hung on the poles, and whatever casual and outdoor clothes and footwear there may have been were gone. In Cliff Baxter's closet were four neat police uniforms — two summer and two winter, along with the accessory shoes, hats, and belts. The bureau drawers were pulled open, and most of the underwear was gone. Keith had a pretty good idea where they had gone, and by the looks of what they'd taken, Baxter intended to be away a long time, perhaps forever. Most important — if her missing clothes were a true indication, it appeared that Annie was alive and that he intended to keep her alive.
Keith went into the master bathroom and saw that the medicine cabinet was open. There was a bloody towel on the sink, blood in the washbasin, and on the counter were a box of gauze, a bandage roll, and a bottle of iodine. On the floor was Baxter's tan uniform, the trousers stained with dried blood.
An inch or so to the left or right, Keith thought, maybe a half inch deeper, and he'd have severed the femoral. Better yet, if he'd reached Toledo Airport an hour earlier, they'd be in Washington now. And if he hadn't gone with Adair to Washington on Thursday, he and Annie would be in Rome by now. And so on and so forth. It didn't do any good to dwell on the bad timing; the important thing was that he and Annie were alive and fate had given them one more chance to be together.
He picked up Baxter's bloody trousers from the floor and went back into the master bedroom. Like most of the house, it had sort of a country look — oak furniture, hooked rugs, chintz curtains, and dried flowers. It struck him that Annie, despite her bad marriage, or perhaps because of it, had taken a great deal of time and trouble with the house, the small details, the touches of hominess and warmth. He supposed she did it out of pride, or out of a need to present a normal setting for her children or her friends and family, but also out of a longing for a life and a marriage that in some small way reflected the surroundings she'd created of home and hearth, peace and caring. Keith, for some reason, found it all very sad and troubling.
There was no great need to be here, he knew, and the risk probably outweighed whatever information he could gather. But he knew he had to come here, to be a voyeur and peek into the lives of Cliff and Annie Baxter, two people who, more than any others, had so profoundly changed and influenced his life.
Cliff Baxter, who as a schoolmate had never been invited into the Landry home, had very recently broken into it and, in some way, Keith reflected, that violation was more flagrant than Baxter's burning of the house, or even what had happened in the motel room. Keith had no intention of burning the Baxter house down, because it was filled with Annie's things and her children's things. But he felt that he had to leave behind some evidence of his presence, some mark of contempt — though not, he thought, for Cliff Baxter to see, because Keith had decided that Baxter would never see this house again. But he wanted to do something for himself, and for the record.
Keith examined his handiwork in the living room. Sitting in the wing-back chair was Baxter's bloody uniform, stuffed with towels and linens, and protruding from the neck of the uniform shirt was the stuffed head of a wolf.
Keith told himself he wasn't crazy, that the blow to the head had not affected his judgment. But neither was he the same man he had been before Cliff Baxter came crashing through the door of the motel room. Keith stared at the wolf head atop the uniform. The white teeth and the glassy eyes mesmerized him for a moment, and he knew that to kill that thing, he would have to become that thing. Clearly, his better angels had been chased away, and he felt the dark wolf rising again in his heart.
"You get what you needed?" Chuck asked.
"Yes."
"Off to Lima?"
"A few more stops first."
Keith directed him out to the commercial strip and into the parking lot of a 7-Eleven. Keith took sixty dollars out of his pocket and handed it to Chuck. "Take this for now."
"That's okay, John. I know you're good for it."
Keith put the money on the dashboard. "You just never know, Chuck. Go get yourself something to eat. You have some change?"
"Sure." Chuck handed him a pocketful of loose change, and Keith got out and went to the phone booth, while Chuck went into the convenience store. Keith took one of the Rolodex cards out of his pocket and dialed. He wasn't feeling appreciably better physically, but mentally he was much better, sure she was alive, though not letting himself think of what she was going through.
"Hello?"
"Terry, it's me."
"Oh, my God! Keith, Keith, where are you?"
"I'm on the road. Where is Annie?"
"I don't know. They came back to Spencerville, she called me and said they were going away to spend time together and talk it out. She said they were going to Florida."
Keith knew they hadn't packed for Florida. "How did she sound?"
"It was all a lie. Damn him, he probably had a gun to her head. That bastard. I called the police here in Chatham, but they said they can't do a thing without proof, and I should call Spencerville..."
"I know. Terry, listen, I'm going to find her and bring her back. Tell me where you think they really went."
"Grey Lake."
"I think so, too. Did she give you any clue on the phone?"
There was a silence, then Terry said, "Yeah, she said something... something about driving through Atlanta on the way, and afterward I remembered that Atlanta is also the name of the county seat in Montmorency County in Michigan on the way to Grey Lake. I think that's where they really went, but I called up there a few times and only got the answering machine. So I don't know..."
"Okay. I think that's it."
"Larry wants to drive up there..."
"No. Baxter is armed and dangerous. I'll take care of it through the local police up there."
"The police won't do anything, Keith. She's his wife. That's what they keep telling me."
"I'll take care of it."
"What happened? I thought you were about to get on a plane?"
"It's a long story, but basically we were stopped by the police."
"Damn!"
"Right. But she was all right when they took her away."
"I don't think she's all right now. My father has been hounding the state police, and he's gotten a lawyer, but... I can't believe that bastard could just kidnap her..."
"When did she call you?"
"Monday night, about six. She said she changed her mind about going with you and that she and Cliff were home and they'd spent the day together at home, packed, and were about to drive to Florida. She said she'd called the kids at school and told them everything was fine, and that she and their father were going on vacation. But I called her kids after I heard from her, and they said they never heard from their mother — it was their father who called early in the morning. So then I called Annie back, but the damn call rang at police headquarters, and I asked them what the hell was going on, and they said the Baxter calls were being automatically forwarded... so then my father went to the police station, and they told him Cliff and Annie went to Florida. It's all a lot of bull."
"Okay, do me a favor — don't rock the boat anymore, and tell everyone the same thing. I don't want to spook him if he's up there. Okay?"
"Okay..."
"What does the house look like, Terry?"
"Oh, jeez... I was only up there a few times... it's an A-frame, dark wood, set back a ways from the lake."
"What side of the lake?"
"Let's see... north side. Yes, north side of the lake, and you can only get to it by a single-lane dirt road through the woods."
"Okay. Tell Larry I said hello. I'll call you both tonight from Michigan."
"Promise?"
"You know I will, Terry. Hey, I'm sorry..."
"No, don't apologize. You did the best you could. That bastard is the devil — I swear he is."
"I'll bring his tail and horns back for you."
She tried to laugh. "Oh, God... I'd kill him myself if I could... Keith?"
"Yes?"
"If she can't be with you, she'd rather be dead than be with him. I'm frightened for her."
"I told her we'd be together again. She knows that."
"I pray to God you're right."
"Speak to you tonight." He hung up and took another Rolodex card out of his pocket and dialed.
The operator gave him the charge, and he put the coins in and heard it ring.
An answering machine picked up, and Cliff Baxter's voice said, "You reached Big Chief Cliff's lodge. Ain't nobody here. If you know where the fish is bitin', or the deer is hidin', leave a message."
The machine beeped, and Keith was tempted, but hung up.
Keith took another Rolodex out of his pocket on which were the mobile phone numbers of Spencerville's ten police cars and the beeper page numbers of all fifteen officers. He dialed a beeper number, hung up, and waited.
The phone rang, and he picked it up. "Officer Schenley?"
"Who is this?"
Keith could tell that Schenley was calling from his mobile phone. Keith replied, "This is Keith Landry."
There was a pause, then Schenley said, "How'd you know my beeper number?"
"Doesn't matter. Are you alone?"
"Yup. Cruising. Looking for you, as a matter of fact."
"Well, here I am."
"Where?"
"Let me ask the questions. Do you have a friend on the city council?"
Again, there was a pause, then Schenley said, "Maybe."
"That's my friend, too."
"I know."
"I need some help."
"I guess you do. I'm surprised you're alive."
"Do you want to help?"
"Hold on. Let me pull over." A minute later, Schenley said, "Okay. Listen, Landry, there's a warrant out for your arrest."
"For what?"
"Well, this and that. All bullshit. Signed by Judge Thornsby here, who'll sign anything Baxter shoves under his nose. But there's no state warrant for kidnapping. On the other hand, we just got a message that the state police are looking for you as a witness."
"Witness to what?"
"You know to what. To what happened at that motel."
"Were you there?"
"No. Baxter wouldn't take me on that kind of thing, and I wouldn't go. But I was on the desk that night." He added, "I didn't like what I saw."
"What did you see?"
"Well... damn, I'm a cop, Landry, and you're a fugitive..."
"Are you sleeping well?"
"No."
"Schenley, you understand that Baxter has broken the law, and that when it hits the fan, everybody goes down with him. He doesn't care about you or the men."
"I don't need convincing."
"How do the men feel?"
"Scared. But happy he isn't here."
"Does he call?"
"Maybe. If he does, he only calls Blake."
Neither man spoke for a few seconds, then Schenley said, "Okay, about two A.M. Monday, I'm on the desk, and Baxter gets in from Toledo with the three guys he took with him — no names, okay? And with them is... her. He brings her into the station house, in cuffs for God's sake, and puts her in a cell. He's got blood all over his pants, down his left leg, and he's limping, and you can tell he's in pain, and his right eye's got blood in it, too, like somebody smacked him or poked him, and he's swearing like a trooper. Anyway, then he leaves with one of the guys, and the other two stay there. One of the guys tells me you tried to knife the chief in the balls. Then, about an hour later, Baxter comes back with his Bronco, and he's in civvies now, and he takes her away in cuffs. I saw that the Bronco was packed with clothes and stuff, and Baxter's three dogs were in the back."
Keith nodded. "Where did they go?"
"I don't know. I heard something about Florida. But I know I saw him turn south on Chestnut Street, and I remember wondering why he wasn't heading east to pick up a highway."
"Because he made a stop at my place first."
"Yeah... I know. Sorry."
"Has anyone gone out to the Porter house to look for me?"
"Yeah. Ward's out that way. The Porters aren't home, but Ward cruises by once in a while."
"How many men in a car?"
"One. We got to cover a lot of ground. They think you're heading back this way. They got all the honorary deputy sheriffs out, too, and they also called out the mounted posse. They haven't done that in about five years since a kid went missing. There's about twenty deputies out in their private cars, and maybe twenty mounted posse. Hey, if you're not in Spencer County, don't come."
"Thanks. I won't." Keith asked, "Did she look all right?"
Schenley didn't reply immediately, then said, "As well as can be expected." He added, "She had a bruise on her face... you know, when she was in the cell, I wanted to talk to her, but the other two guys were there, and I felt about as bad as I've ever felt. She just sat there, no crying, no screaming, just sort of, like, above it all — very classy lady — and when she looked at me and the other two guys, there wasn't any, like, hate or anything, just sort of like... she felt sorry for us..."
"Okay... thanks. I'll remember the favor if it ever comes up in court."
"Thanks, Landry. This is a damned mess. I can't understand how these three guys, who I thought I knew, could do what they did."
"When we know that, we'll have solved most of the world's problems." He added, "I'll put in a good word for you with Pastor Wilkes."
Schenley laughed, then said, "Hey, for your information, Baxter had a homing transmitter on your Blazer."
Damn it. He asked Schenley, "What color is his Bronco?"
"Black." He gave him the license plate number and added, "Hey, let it go, Landry. Stay away from here. They're looking for you, and Baxter's long gone."
"Yeah, but maybe I'll head for Florida, too."
"He'll kill you next time. The other guys with him say they had to pull him off you before he killed you."
"Thanks again." Keith hung up and got back into the van, where Chuck was drinking a Big Gulp and eating a donut.
Chuck said, "Got extra donuts here."
"Thanks. Make a left."
"Sure thing." Chuck pulled out of the 7-Eleven and made a left on the commercial strip. He said, "This ain't the way to Lima."
"No. Make another left at that light."
"Sure thing. Don't mean to be nosy, John, but I get the feeling something's bothering you."
"No, I'm fine, Chuck. In fact, that phone call just restored my faith in the human race."
"Yeah? Sorry I missed that."
"But don't miss your turn. Left here."
They headed south into the country.
Keith thought about what Schenley had said and what Terry had said. Obviously, the call that Annie had made to Terry on Monday night was not made from Spencerville, but from Grey Lake if Schenley's chronology was correct, and it probably was. If Baxter had left Spencerville about three A.M., he'd have been at Grey Lake about nine or ten A.M., with a side trip to burn down the Landry house. Baxter had called his children from Grey Lake in the morning, then made Annie call her sister much later, probably after he realized that all the news reports about the Baxters being reunited and in seclusion needed to be verified by Annie to at least one family member. Also, the Florida story had to be put out. Again, Keith thought, Baxter was not only vicious but cunning. A bad combination.
Keith had no idea what was going on at Grey Lake, but he knew it wasn't a reconciliation. He tried to take some comfort in Annie's assurance that she could handle Cliff Baxter. But in truth, after what Baxter had seen — his wife and her lover naked in bed together — Keith was certain that Baxter had snapped. If he was even halfway rational, he wouldn't have kidnapped his own wife and left such a mess behind; he would have stayed around to protect his job, his power, and his reputation. But obviously the man knew he was finished, and with that knowledge, whatever social control he'd managed to maintain up to now was gone.
But he wouldn't kill her. No, but he'd make her wish she was dead.
Keith directed Chuck to an intersecting highway, then gave him a few other directions. Chuck asked, "How do you know this place so good?"
"I was born here."
"No shit? Hey, you're a Buckeye! Give me five, John!"
Keith felt compelled to solidify the camaraderie, and they did high fives.
A few minutes later, they approached the Porter house. Keith could see for a good distance in all directions, and he didn't see any police cars, or in fact any vehicles, not even the Porters' car in their gravel driveway. "Pull in here, Chuck."
Chuck pulled into the drive, and Keith said to him, "Thanks, buddy. This is it."
"This ain't Lima."
"I guess not. There's the sixty, and here's twenty more. See you next time I'm in Toledo."
"Hey, thanks."
Keith opened the door and got out. He said, "I love this van."
"Ain't she somethin?"
Keith moved quickly to the back of the house. There was no one in the herb gardens, but the back door was unlocked, and he went inside. He called out, but no one answered. Keith put his briefcase on the counter, locked the back door, then went around to the front door and bolted it.
He went back to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and took a bottle of orange juice and a bran muffin, which he ate as he drank the juice straight from the bottle. He finished both and felt his stomach heave, but managed to keep it all down. He was definitely not well and was operating on pure adrenaline and hate.
He had no idea where the Porters were, or when they'd be back, but he was actually glad they weren't around.
At some point, the Spencerville police, or the sheriff, or the posse, or the deputies, or somebody would come around again, and he had to get moving. It was nearly three hundred miles to northern Michigan, and he needed a rifle, a car, clothing, and the other odds and ends of the killing game.
He went into the front foyer and started up the stairs, then heard a knock on the front door.
Keith went quickly to the living room and peered out the window. Parked in front of the house was a Spencerville police car.
There was no one in the car, so the question was, How many cops were around the house? Schenley said only one in each car. There was another, more insistent knock.
Keith didn't have to answer it, of course, but if it was one of the men who had accompanied Baxter to the motel, Keith wanted to say hello and maybe borrow the car and the shotgun in the car.
He peered sideways out the window and saw Kevin Ward, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt, not looking very alert.
Keith went to the front door and opened it. "Hi."
Before Ward could react, Keith delivered an uppercut to Ward's groin, then as Ward doubled over, Keith pulled him inside, kicked the door closed, and delivered a powerful hand-chop to Ward's neck. Ward crumpled to the floor, semiconscious.
Keith took Ward's handcuffs and cuffed his right wrist, then snapped the other cuff to the radiator's steam pipe. Keith unbuckled Ward's gun belt and pulled it off.
Ward was coming to now, and Keith said to him, "You looking for me?"
Ward lay on his side, and it took him a few seconds to realize he was tethered to the steam pipe. He stared up at Keith and said, "You fucking..."
Keith drew Ward's service revolver, aimed it at Ward's head, and cocked it. "Where's your boss?"
"Fuck you."
Keith fired into the wooden floor in front of Ward's face, and the man actually levitated off the floorboards.
Ward shouted, "Florida! He's in Florida!"
"Where in Florida?"
"I don't..."
Keith fired again into the floor near Ward's head, and again Ward bounced, then yelled, "Stop! He went... I think he went to Daytona. Yeah, to Daytona."
"Where in Daytona?"
"I... he never told us."
"Okay. She with him?"
"Yeah."
"Did you have fun at the motel?"
"No."
"Looked like you were having fun."
"I was scared shitless."
"Not as scared as you are now."
"No. Hey, Landry, I just follow orders."
"Every time I hear that, I want to kill the guy who said it."
"Give me a break. You got me down. I told you what I know. Hey, for all I care, you can go down to Daytona and kill the son-of-a-bitch. I hate him."
"And he's not real happy with you either. You saw his wife naked. You better hope I kill him, or you have a career problem."
Keith holstered the revolver and climbed the stairs before Ward started to think about that. With any luck, Ward knew that Baxter was at Grey Lake and would call Baxter to say he'd been a good boy and sent Landry off to Florida. It didn't matter that much either way, but you never passed up an opportunity to play the great flimflam game.
Keith found the master bedroom, which had a very lived-in look, with clothes strewn around, the bed unmade, and every object out of place. He got down on the floor and reached under the bed, hoping that Gail had taken him literally and put the rifle there, but he couldn't feel the carrying case. He looked around the room. In truth, the rifle could be on the floor, and he wouldn't see it amidst the junk. He went around to the other side and looked under the bed, but aside from the clutter, there wasn't anything resembling a canvas carrying case.
A voice said, "Looking for this?"
Keith straightened up and saw the muzzle of the M-16 rifle resting on the edge of the mattress. Keith stood and said, "Hello, Charlie."
Charlie Adair dropped the rifle on the bed and said, "You look like shit."
"Thank you. You, too."
"Did I hear you assaulting and abusing an officer of the law downstairs?"
"He was that way when I found him."
"That was very clever — getting the Florida story out of him, and you know that's not where they went. You're very good in the field. I always thought your real talents were wasted behind a desk."
"That's what I've been saying." Keith had no idea how Charlie Adair knew that Baxter and Annie had not gone to Florida. For that matter, he had no idea how Charlie had wound up in the Porter house.
Adair looked around the room. "With friends like these, you don't have to raise pigs."
"They're good people."
"They're left-wing radicals."
"Don't check out my friends, Charlie. I don't like that."
"These are the kinds of friends I have to check out."
"No, you don't."
"Actually, they are nice people."
"How'd you get onto them? Or should I ask?"
"You shouldn't. You should tell me."
Keith thought a moment, then said, "Telephone records."
"Bingo. You haven't made many calls since you've been here, so it was easy. Don't be impressed."
"I'm not." He asked, "Where are the Porters?"
"Running errands. Hey, I never saw a man in an Armani suit step out of an iridescent van. Who was that guy?"
"Chuck. From Toledo Airport."
"Ah. Good. He coming back?"
"No."
"You're without transportation."
"I have a police car. Where's your transport?"
"I just clicked my heels, and here I am."
"Charlie... I already have a headache. What can I do for you?"
"That's not the question, Keith. Ask not what you can do for your country, but what your country can do for you."
"That's not how it goes."
"Unfortunately, Keith, that's exactly how it goes in Washington, the big tit of the world. Your country is here to help you."
"With no strings attached."
"I didn't say that."
"I don't really have time for this."
"A little time with me will save you a lot of time later. Hey, can we get out of this sty? I think I saw a clean spot downstairs."
Keith took the rifle off the bed, and, carrying Ward's gun belt and holster, he followed Charlie into the upstairs hallway, where Charlie picked up the carrying case with the scope and ammunition. It was just like Adair, Keith thought, to materialize out of nowhere, brandishing a rifle that could just as well have been in its case — Charlie Adair was all show, mostly drama and comedy, but one day, for sure, tragedy.
They came down into the front foyer, and Charlie went over to Kevin Ward on the floor and stuck out his hand. "Hi, I'm Barry Brown from Amway."
Keith almost laughed as Ward actually put out his left hand and shook with Charlie.
Charlie said, "I have some stuff that'll make that uniform look like new again. I'll be right back. Stay there."
Keith and Charlie went into the kitchen. Charlie washed two glasses in the sink and said to Keith, "There's fresh tomato juice in the refrigerator."
Keith got the pitcher out and poured two glasses. Charlie touched his glass to Keith's and said, "Good to see you alive."
"Good to be alive, not good to see you."
"Of course it is."
They drank. Charlie smacked his lips. "Not bad. Needs vodka. But maybe you shouldn't drink. You really look like shit. I guess Chief Baxter got ahold of you."
Keith didn't reply.
"Let's go out back where we can talk."
They went outside, and Charlie sat in a lawn chair, looking out over the gardens. "Beautiful."
Keith remained standing. He said, "Charlie, I'm on a schedule."
"Right. Okay, I won't be too cryptic. Here's what I know. You got back here from Washington on Saturday, missed your rendezvous with Mrs. Baxter, but by Sunday night you were both gone, according to what I've pieced together. By about nine P.M. Sunday, the whole fucking state of Ohio was looking for you on suspicion of kidnapping, but for some odd reason, the FBI wasn't notified of a possible kidnapping with probable flight across state lines. The next we hear from the Ohio police is that they've found your naked and battered person in some fuckarama out by Toledo Airport, sans Mrs. Baxter. You're in Lucas County Hospital with a mild concussion, and so on and so forth. Mr. and Mrs. Baxter are reunited and are on a second honeymoon in Florida. So I fly out to Toledo on Monday morning and look in on you, but you're still out cold. I get a local FBI guy to keep an eye on you so that Mr. Baxter doesn't return to retrieve your balls, which they tell me are intact, then I come out to Spencerville and do some old-fashioned snooping. By Monday night, I've had bean curd with the Porters, and we've become great buddies despite our political differences." He looked at Keith and said, "I went out to your place, of course. Sorry."
"It's okay."
"I don't think so. So you want to find him, kill him, and get her back."
Keith didn't reply.
Charlie continued, "Anyway, I'm staying out at the local mom-and-pop motel, and this morning I get a call from the FBI guy at the hospital, and he's all upset to have to tell me you gave him the sliperoo. I'm impressed. Not with the FBI guy, of course. I mean, the last time I saw you Monday morning, you looked like you couldn't get into any trouble. So I get a federal marshal to go out to the sister's place in wherever the hell that is and do a stakeout, then I get all kinds of phones tapped, courtesy of a federal judge in Toledo, and I come here to the Porters', taking a chance that you'd show up. Meanwhile, I've got a federal writ of habeas corpus in my pocket in case some of the locals pick you up. All I have to do is fill in the blanks. Isn't this wonderful? I can do anything I want. But I'm on the side of the angels with this one, buddy, so any minor abuse of federal power can be forgiven." He added, "We take care of our own, Keith. We always have."
"I know."
"I'm here to help."
"I know you are, Charlie. But I don't think I need your help."
"Sure you do. You need a car, clothes, and some good hunting gear."
"Why do I need that?"
"To go up to Michigan. That's what you told Terry on the phone."
Keith shook his head. "You're a piece of work. You know that? Look, I'm not going to sell my soul for a pair of boots. I can handle this myself."
"Let me apprise you of your situation. You have a cold-cocked cop in the front foyer, no car, no home, damned few friends, not much if any money, every cop in this county is looking for you, you're wearing a silk suit and tight shoes, you're walking with a slight wobble, my friend, and your only decent weapon, discounting the cop's peashooter, is that M-16, which is really not your property, but Uncle Sam's, and I might just take it with me."
"I wouldn't try that."
Charlie took out a pack of cigarettes. "The Porters said I could smoke here. They smoke grass." He lit a cigarette and said, "Isn't it a great feeling to be part of a big, powerful, omnipotent organization?"
"You tell me. Is that what you need to feel good about yourself?"
"Actually, yes. You, too."
"Wrong. Hey, I thought you were on my side. Remember? Dragons on my shield, rats in the cellar?"
"That was Friday. This is Tuesday, and you're vulnerable again."
"Wrong again. I'm on a pure quest, Charlie. I'm a knight again, and I'm going to rescue the damsel in distress from the monster. This is a good fight, and knights always do this alone. Fuck the king and all the king's men. That includes you."
Charlie thought a moment, then replied, "Okay. I get it. No strings attached, but I'm not letting Sir Keith go up there without the things he needs. I'll just supply what you need for the mission, and you go up to Michigan and take this guy out, then you get yourself to... let's say Detroit. The downtown Marriott. I'll book a room. If you don't show up by this time tomorrow, I'll assume it didn't go your way. If you do show up, you and Mrs. Baxter and I will celebrate. No strings."
Keith didn't reply.
Charlie continued, "I told the people in Washington you had personal matters to take care of. All they want from you is a yes or no by Friday. Gives you time to think about it, if you're alive tomorrow. If you're dead, I'll tell them you're terminally inconvenienced. Anyway, after you get out of here, you're on your own. Just like old times, when I kissed you good-bye at some fucked-up border crossing or airport. But I have to feel that I've given you every advantage before you leave. Just like old times, Keith. Let me do that for you."
"Why?"
"I like you. I didn't like Chief Baxter. I don't like what he did. I want you to be happy. A happy man makes happy decisions."
Again, Keith didn't reply.
"If nothing else, think of the Porters. They have a cop in the foyer. I'll take care of that for you and for them."
"I'll take care of that." Keith asked, "Where are the Porters, Charlie?"
"Running errands."
"Where are they running errands?"
"Antioch. I sent them away. Hey, they were telling me about the Antioch rules of sexual conduct. I laughed my ass off. But it's not funny." He added, "Actually, I like them. They promised to vote Republican next time. You want another juice? I'll get it."
"No. You have to get going."
"Okay." Charlie put his juice glass on the ground and stood. He took an envelope out of his pocket and said, "I have a thousand dollars for you."
"I don't want Uncle's money."
"It's my money. Personal."
"No, it's not."
"Well, it's an advance on your pension check."
"Keep it."
Charlie shrugged and put the envelope back in his pocket. He said, "Self-reliance, chivalry, and knighthood are dead, Keith."
"Forgive me for sounding pompous, but they're not dead while I'm still alive."
"Then they'll be dead by tomorrow. Okay, I tried. Good luck, my friend."
They shook hands, and Charlie Adair walked away, across the yard and through the herb gardens, then disappeared into the cornfield, like some sort of ethereal nature sprite, which was the effect Charlie was looking for, Keith knew. Keith liked a man with style, but sometimes Charlie overdid it a bit.
Keith kept watching the wall of corn, and sure enough he saw the tall stalks start to move, then flatten as Charlie Adair drove out of the cornfield in a gray Ford Taurus.
Charlie went through a flower bed and across the lawn and stopped near Keith. "I'm at the Maple Motel."
"Good choice."
"No choice. Hey, she must be a hell of a lady."
"She is."
"Is she as good as what's-her-name in Georgetown?"
"I don't remember what's-her-name in Georgetown."
"Well, if she's that good, then you owe her a better chance than you're giving her."
"I have to do it without your help or any help from Uncle. Keith will learn how to handle problems on his own."
"As you wish." Charlie added, "You created the fucking problem."
Keith didn't reply.
Charlie said, "I mean, really, Keith, a guy who slipped in and out of East Germany a dozen times can't even get the fuck out of Ohio? Jesus Christ."
"Don't bait me. I'm not in the mood."
"You don't have to prove anything. You fucked up, now you need help. No big deal. Your problem is that your ego is too big. You never were a team player, Keith. I'm surprised you weren't killed or fired long ago. Well, you've cheated death all over the world for too many years — don't get iced here."
"Thank you for your concern."
"Fuck you, Keith." Charlie hit the gas and drove away, across the yard and out to the street.
Keith had the strong suspicion that he hadn't seen the last of Charlie Adair.