Private Eye Four-Pack, page 50
I thought about Chick passing up the shot on the buck, how he tried to talk three guys in a parking lot out of a fight when he knew he could take them without breaking a sweat. Thought about his ever-present grin, then about the world-weary hurt that flickered like a silent movie behind the laughing eyes. I didn’t owe these guys an explanation. “We got a deal or not?” I asked.
Candless looked at Morrison. Morrison said, “If it’s good enough. And you can deliver. I’ll see what I can do.”
“But it had better be good,” said Candless. “Or all bets are off. Now, what have you got?”
“Chick knows where the dreamsicle chemist is.”
EIGHTEEN
Special agent Morrison of the FBI used my phone to make a couple of calls to his superiors. His people were satisfied. If we produced the chemist, the Bureau would do what it could to reduce its monitoring of Chick Easton. The CIA wouldn’t like it and would probably conduct unauthorized surveillance of Chick, but it would do so without the assistance of the FBI. Morrison admitted there was a certain amount of tension, even jealousy, between the two agencies. As for the DEA, it had not been participating but was aware of the arrangement.
They left and I drove into town to see about Chick. I stopped at a fast-food restaurant and bought four sandwiches. They smelled great. I figured Chick would be hungry. Thirsty, too. I bought a bag of ice and put it into a cooler along with the six bottles of Carta Blanca Chick had purchased.
I got into the Bronco and pointed it to the highway. Sandy had called before I left the cabin for town. The station told her I’d phoned.
“I can get off a couple of days early,” she had said. “Karen can cover me. How about starting our reconciliation a little early?”
I wanted to see her. But I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of resentment. Three months I’d waited. Three months in limbo, wondering. Then she decides it’s time to reconcile. I loved Sandra Collingsworth, of that there was no doubt. But I’d started something I’d have to see through. Make sure Chick turned in the chemist. Then there was Tempestt. Where did she fit in my feelings? First, get Chick loose of the CIA, then figure out my next step. Soon, though. Colorado called.
“Sounds good to me,” I said, careful to conceal my irritation. “Got something to do, then I’ll head back.”
“What have you got that could keep you away from me?”
Good question. “Something that has to be done.”
“Not the Red Ryder thing again,” she said. “Where you right some wrong that makes no difference in the overall scheme of things.”
“Makes a difference to me.”
“There it is,” she said. “The thing that confuses me and makes me feel alone. And yet, I know it’s part of you. It fascinates me, but it puts me on the outside. You can’t fix everything, Wyatt. When are you going to learn that? It’s not a perfect world.”
“Darn,” I said. “I was afraid of that.”
“You’re being evasive. You won’t allow yourself to be touched in certain places. Won’t let anyone in. Not even me, sometimes.”
“I’m sorry.” Guilt over Tempestt tugged at me. “That’s not my intention.”
“I know you mean that. But at the same time maybe you’ll never be able to control it. I’m just selfish and jealous. When the quest becomes more important than me.”
“Sometimes I feel the same way about your job,” I said. “Sometimes I become every cliché about machismo, and goofy romanticism. I’m not fair when I protect you from the things I see and am involved in. It’s condescending. I know that. But I’m drawn to things I should avoid. I wouldn’t call it a quest. It’s more a need to finish things before moving on. Don’t know what to do about it. It’s just the way I am. It’s not much, but it’s me.”
“And,” she said, “if you weren’t that way, you wouldn’t be the man I love.”
“Marry me, Sandy.”
She was quiet, then said, “Come home so we can talk about it. It can’t be done over the phone.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“My heart is ready. But, I’m…afraid, I guess. Maybe I can’t live up to your standards. To your expectations.”
“You exceed them.”
“I’ll bet you say that to every girl who has beautiful golden tresses and a sunbeam smile.” I detected a catch in her voice.
“Brunettes with dusky jewels for eyes, too,” I said, my voice husky.
“Damn you, Storme. You get your rickety old bones back here soon, or I’m going to return some of Robert Redford’s calls.”
“Nobody likes a pushy broad, sweetheart,” I said, in a pretty good Bogart impression.
“Nobody except you, anyway,” she said. “You require direction. And keep working on the Bogie, you’re getting closer. At least, now you sound like Bacall instead of Glen Campbell with a lisp.” She laughed, pleased with herself, then became serious again.
“I need you, Wyatt. Things aren’t going so well for me right now. It seems as if there is always something that comes between us. My career, your aversion to society…”
“I don’t object to society, it’s society’s definition of civilization I have problems with. But if I have to put up with civilization to have you, I’ll do it.” I noticed I was pacing the hardwood floor.
“I can’t ask you to do that. I can’t lock you in a cage.”
“It isn’t that bad,” I said.
“Are you kidding? You’re like a dog on a short chain. You pace back and forth”—I stopped pacing—“become moody and reticent. Knowing you’ll make that sacrifice makes it harder to decide. You think too highly of me.”
“No. I see you as you are. And what I see I like. I don’t have you on a pedestal or in an ivory tower. I’m not the White Knight, and I’m not some hormone-crazed teenager. I don’t have any illusions about commitment.”
“But I do. I need my illusions. You’re so sure of things. I’m not like that. Sometimes I am like a young girl and things frighten me. I want to see things, experience things, and sometimes I get the feeling you’ve seen too much. Things I wish you hadn’t seen. Things you need to share, but won’t. I need you. Your understanding. Your love.”
“You have it.”
“You say it too easily.”
“I mean it. You know that.”
“Yes. I know it. It’s frightening how much you mean it,” she said. “Come quickly, Red Ryder.”
I told her I would and hung up. Hung up without mentioning Tempestt, which didn’t make me feel better about myself. I didn’t understand her reluctance, though I knew she wanted to be with me. I loved her. Needed to be with her. I wanted to go back, knew I was risking separation if I stayed, but was torn by wanting to see this thing through. A good man had died, maybe Jill Maxwell, too, and Chick was in jail and being shadowed by the CIA. I had a chance to help him out of that situation.
My sense of order was offended by the intrigues of Paradise County. I hated to let go. I hate to fail. Hate to quit before it is finished. Win or lose, I was going to get in a last lick, a final attempt, regardless. That stubbornness had saved me in Nam, made me in the pros, but at times it was almost a curse, when it would gnaw at me and whip me on. Sandy thought I wouldn’t let go, but the truth was I couldn’t let go. It was, perhaps, beyond me.
En route to the jailhouse I ate one of Chick’s sandwiches. He wouldn’t miss it. I debated whether he would miss two, but by then I had arrived at my destination. Another opportunity lost due to indecision.
I parked the Bronco in the lot and walked into the Paradise County sheriff’s office. George Fairchild was already there, in a striking gray suit with a subtle glen plaid design, rep tie, and a burgundy pocket handkerchief. His hair was ivory white and his strong chin and slim waist made him appear younger than his sixty years. I was glad to see him.
“Hello, George,” I said.
“Wyatt,” he said, turning to greet me. We shook hands. “You look like you could still be playing.”
“And you look like you could still beat me at tennis.”
“That’s not much of an accomplishment, the way you play.” He smiled, but then his mouth shrank to a thin line and he shook his head. “You’re not going to like this, Wyatt.”
“Couldn’t you get him out?”
“That part was easy enough. The whole arrest is a sham. Ridiculous. They have nothing on him. But you didn’t tell me about the sheriff.”
“A jewel, isn’t he?”
“His ignorance of constitutional procedure is unsurpassed. I’m afraid I was too late to prevent…that is, when you see your friend, you will—” I didn’t have to wait. We were interrupted by the entrance of Sheriff Baxter and Chick. Deputy Simmons had Chick in tow.
I didn’t like what I saw.
Chick had a bruise over one eye. The eye with the apostrophe eyebrow. The right corner of his mouth was cut and swollen. The left ear was an angry red. Still, he smiled when he saw me, the swollen corner making it a lopsided grin, as if he were a kid returning from the dentist.
“Wyatt,” he said. “Good to see you. Knew you’d ride to the rescue. Couldn’t resist, could you? Had a little problem at the senior prom, though, as you can see.”
My stomach knotted and I felt heat up the back of my neck. “You do that, Baxter?” I asked.
“Had to,” he answered, unconcerned. He picked at his back molars with a toothpick. “He was drunk and got outta hand. A shame.”
“He was handcuffed and cooperative when you brought him in.”
“Got violent,” said Baxter, looking at the toothpick. “Ain’t that right, Deputy Simmons?”
Simmons looked at me, then down at the floor. “Yeah,” he said, not looking up. “That’s what happened.” He didn’t seem eager to agree. The heat in my neck welled into a boiling knot.
“Two minutes with the badge off, Baxter,” I said. “All I want. All I’ll need.”
“Sounds like a threat to me, Storme. Better watch that. End up in jail yourself.”
Fairchild put a hand on my chest. “Let me handle this, Wyatt. I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. But right now that won’t help anything.” I swallowed my anger, but it burned in my gut like bad whiskey. Fairchild turned to Baxter.
“You have abused the powers of your office, Baxter. In all the years I have been practicing law I have never witnessed anything so clumsily brutal and actionable. Your Gestapo tactics will not be tolerated. I will advise Mr. Easton to file charges and to litigate for damages. Unbelievable! Where have you been during the past century?”
“Look here,” Baxter said. “Your client, as you call ’im, resisted arrest, and I had to restrain him. So I don’t have to listen to this shit.”
“You do have to listen and, by God, you will listen.” George’s Wasp chin was thrust forward and a vein stood out on his temple. “I am unimpressed by your pathetic backwoods lawman act. This episode will cause you more legal trouble than you will ever have time with which to deal.” Fairchild turned to Chick. “Mr. Easton, you should file charges.”
“Naw,” Chick said, eyeing the sheriff. “Me and the sheriff, we understand each other. Isn’t that right, Lester? Just doing your job, weren’t you?”
“Just doing what I had to do,” Baxter said.
“See? You do what you gotta do, and I do what I gotta do. Y’know?”
“You’re free to go,” Baxter said. “So hurry up and move on. I’ve got more important things to do.”
There was no reason to stay, so we left. As we pushed the door open to leave, Chick hollered back to Baxter, “See you around campus.”
Outside, Chick thanked Fairchild. “Appreciate you coming down. What do I owe you?”
“There will be no charge,” said Fairchild. “Glad to do it. But you should follow my advice and litigate. I’d be more than happy to represent you. He should not be allowed to get away with this.”
“You’re probably right,” Chick said, smiling. “Maybe he won’t. But thanks for the offer. I’m hungry, Storme. Let’s go throw down.”
“Got something in the truck,” I said.
“You’re my boy, Stormey.”
I thanked George, and he drove off in a red Lincoln. “Who was that masked man?” asked Chick. I told him. “You had the Chiefs’ legal rep shake me loose? For free? How’d you manage that?”
I told him about George’s daughter and the guy who’d been annoying her.
“And you asked him to stop,” said Chick.
“Politely, though.”
“Occurs to me I don’t know what it is you do besides hunt.”
“Lot of that going around,” I said.
He smiled.
Back in the Bronco, Chick wolfed down the sandwiches. “You should see the crap they serve for breakfast. I think they scrape it off the floor of the drunk tank.”
“Got something else for you,” I said. “In the cooler. Much as I hate to contribute to your vices.”
He reached into the backseat and opened the blue-and-white cooler. He pulled one of the bottles from the ice and opened it with the seat belt clasp. “Storme, you are a beautiful person.”
“You get violent last night?”
He tilted the dark brown bottle and swallowed, then said, “The day I can’t take the Baxters of the world with both hands tied, or cuffed, behind my back, I’ll turn in my Hulk Hogan tear-jersey. Besides, it’s bad business to tag a lawman in his own lockup. Even if the cop’s dirty like Baxter. It’s okay, though. Every dog has his day.”
“What happened, then?”
“He was taking me back to the lockup and I asked to see the honeymoon suite. He didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. I said I thought fat guys were supposed to be jolly and he sapped me. Turned my knees to Jell-O and I couldn’t focus. Grabbed me by the hair and smacked me around. Wasn’t expecting it. My fault. I know better. The deputy, Simmons, stopped it. Good thing, too, because I was just getting ready to snap my handcuffs and show him the red S on my T-shirt.”
“You okay?”
“Been hit harder.”
“What did he ask you?”
“The usual crap. What was I doing in Paradise? How long did I know the sheriff? How long have I known you? What did you tell me about the marijuana field?”
“I thought they were satisfied about the marijuana. That they had suspects. One of them dead.” I told him about my conversation with Browne.
“Interesting that Baxter was asking, then.”
“You think he’s involved in any of this?”
“Maybe,” Chick said, fishing in his pocket for a cigarette. “Son of a gun. Baxter copped some of my Camels. Can’t trust anybody.” He pushed in the car lighter. “If I was running a pet shop I wouldn’t let Baxter clean the pens. Sooner or later he’d have shit on everything and everybody. He’s a biological stain with arms and legs. Smart operator like Roberts wouldn’t let him inside. But he might use him. Which is what may be going on. He’s mean and stupid, but I don’t think he’s in on anything big. They may slip him a few bucks now and then.”
I related all the things that had transpired in the last eighteen hours—waltzing with the Sultan, the calls to Browne, and the visit from the feds. I left out the part about Tempestt. I also mentioned the call from the mystery man and my two o’clock appointment.
“Boy,” he said. “Leave you alone for a few minutes…I’ll go with you. Watch your back.”
“He said alone.”
“Never know I’m there. It’s a sucker move to go in without backup. You’re not exactly a favorite son around Paradise.”
“Hasn’t been for lack of trying,” I said. “Okay. Be good to have you watching me. But try to arrive in the nick of time if I need you.”
“Always. So, they think the guy you wounded did the sheriff, then his partner dusted him and hit the road?”
“That’s the way they read it.”
“You believe that?”
“I will if you will.”
“Neither do I. So, who do you like for it?”
“There are three people with different reasons to want the sheriff dead. Roberts is poised for a big move. Be nice to have an honest sheriff out of the way and a buffoon in his place. Winston hated Kennedy for burning him in public, and he’s not the type to take it lightly. We haven’t really considered the third man. Baxter. Sheriff’s dead, and he runs unopposed for county sheriff.”
“What a prize.”
“Does seem pretty weak,” I agreed.
“Then there’s the fourth possibility,” said Chick. “Maybe the druggie really did smoke the sheriff.”
“No. I saw the guy. No way he takes the sheriff.”
“You think the other three are connected to each other?”
“Paradise is small enough. But I don’t know. You’re right about Roberts. He’s too smart to let Baxter in on anything big. But your arrest was arranged for some reason.”
I fumbled with the radio dial. Couldn’t find anything. Switched it off. “The government guys told me some interesting things about Roberts.” I explained the convoluted events by which Beauchamps became Roberts. “They also told me what the rocks I had may be.” I told him about dreamsicle and its implications.
“Which explains why Dr. Drugenstein is here.”
“Who?”
“The skip I’m looking for. Prescott. The feds know he’s here?”
“No. They just know there’s a chemist involved. Somebody to cook the junk.”
“Anything else?”
A traffic light suspended by cable turned red and swayed in the autumn breeze. I stopped the truck. “Told them we could deliver the chemist to them.”
“Why’d you do—” He stopped, looked at me, took a drag on his cigarette. “Had to, didn’t you?”
I looked straight ahead. “Yeah.”
He chugged the beer and got another one from the cooler. He opened it and took a long pull. The light turned green and I pulled into the midday traffic, cars going different places with different people inside them. Regular people. Going to the supermarket, to the weight-loss center, to lunch with old friends, to doctor appointments, to pick up the kids. People with normal lives. Married. Home by five for a cup of coffee and the evening news with Peter Jennings. Real life. Domestic life gets a bad rap. I wished I was with Sandy going somewhere, anywhere. Or nowhere. I wanted a peaceful life. Wanted to be anywhere but Paradise chasing shadows and murderers. I searched the console and found a Jimmy Buffett tape. I put it in and Buffett sang about a cowboy in the jungle.
