Neither Here nor There, page 4
“Hello,” the man said softly, looking into the shadows but not right at Jay, still uncertain exactly where he was. It would take a keen nose indeed to smell Jay, but he was sure that's how the fellow had detected him.
“Thank you,” he said for whatever gift was in the box. It looked like a sweater container you'd slide under your bed up close. The sort of cheap snap lidded plastic storage box you could buy at any discount store.
“Not Bud,” the fellow noted. Not a question, but inviting comment if he wanted.
“Jay,” he identified himself. “Want to stay?”
“Nah, we'd wake Bud up,” He predicted in a barely audible voice. “Harold,” He said, introducing himself with a single word. “See you tomorrow.”
He backed away in delicate little steps, and when he reached the invisible boundary line he seemed so sure of, he turned and walked away normally to his boat. He still did so without any discernible sound, Jay noticed.
After he had paddled away, completely out of sight, Jay got up and took the stiff lid off the box, finding two perfect large cut-throat trout laying inside, with fresh shiny eyes like glass buttons. If he'd simply laid them on the porch bare, the raccoons or something would have probably had them by morning. He put them in the fridge on his way to bed, and made a mental note that the two of them would have been too much for a single person. Harold must have known Buddy had a guest. He had never heard Buddy commonly called Bud before. That was a new one to him.
He was determined to try that stealthy approach sometime when Buddy was gone, and see if he could control his movement enough to avoid triggering the alarm also. That was a pretty slick trick.
Chapter 3
Despite the late bedtime, he was up before Buddy, opening the place up to the morning sun and shut the alarm off. He made a full pot of coffee from his own supplies, and filleted the fish in the sink for breakfast. He seared them in butter that was starting to brown, before reducing the heat and setting them to the back of the stove. A couple of strips of bacon were cooked and draped across the fish, and then he fried potatoes and onions in the grease. Something seemed missing, and after consideration he added a dollop of sour cream on the potatoes. He turned the heat down to hold them until Buddy got up. Setting the table he took time to turn all the forks and spoons the same way in the drawer instead of the random way Buddy threw them back in the tray. He was happy to see the ice cubes were formed already, because he liked his orange juice over ice. By the time he was done Buddy was sitting at the table, with his hair wet from the shower.
“Now, I know you didn't sneak out and catch these trout yourself, so one of my buddies must have been by already this morning. Who do I have to thank for them?”
“Guy by the name of Harold dropped them off, about three in the morning or so.”
“And you heard him? Did he set off the alarm? I didn't hear it.”
“No, if Harold had wanted to slit your throat in the night, you'd have never woken up this morning. He went through your alarm and put the fish on the porch like a ghost. It was very interesting watching him do it. The man moves like a puff of fog off the lake. He didn't make a sound.”
“That's Harold. But the fact you could get away with catching him at it is what's surprising me. I've been in the woods with Harold at night. He can come up on me in the dark when I'm listening and watching for him, and I still don't know he's there, until he reaches out and touches me. There must be a side of you I didn't suspect, if he didn't know you were watching.”
“He figured out I was there when he was standing right at the steps, and I was sitting on the porch floor with my back to the wall. The moon was bright, and I was deep in the shadows. I swear he smelled me, but he still didn't know exactly where I was. He said hello to me though, and introduced himself before going back to his canoe.”
“Well my advice is to not make a big deal of catching him out, just act like that's normal, and you always lurk around in the shadows, waiting for intruders at three in the morning. He probably has a measure of respect for you now, that's pretty hard to get with this fellow. He told me I might as well beat garbage can lids together, when I go through the woods at night. It will serve him right, to think that somebody else can do the cat in the night thing like him.”
“Not that it's any of my business, but why was Harold dragging you around the woods in the dark anyway?” Jay asked.
“We saw each other around the lake a few times, and chatted. We do a little business now, and he watches the cabin for me. I mean, that chain is all show, but nobody is going to be here without him knowing, and if the locals know he is watching they really do leave it alone. All that is needed, out in the country like this, is for him to go to the hardware store and buy a pane of glass or something, and tell the clerk it's for my cabin. By supper time every young dude in the county will know to leave the cabin alone. It's faster than posting it on a big billboard going into town.
“I guess he must like me, because one night he showed up all excited, and said, “Come with me, the local cops are taking the DEA in to raid a local drug lab, and we can watch from the woods.” I'm guessing the guy doesn't have cable or a dish, and has to entertain himself. So, he dragged me miles through the woods, hanging on to his belt behind him, getting slapped in the face with branches, and tripping over stuff. Then, when we get close he whispers in my ear, that now I have to be quiet, and crawl behind him.
“ We crawled up this little rise on hands and knees, and I found every berry bramble and stink weed in the area, but kept up with him, and when we get to the top there's an old barn on the other side with some light showing through the cracks, and a guard out under the trees with a gas lantern burning. There's a couple pickup trucks parked around, not much better than yours. Sorry,” he said, changing tone, seeing the look in Jay's face. “I didn't mean to get offensive there. Anyway – I mean how crazy is that to have a light, so the guard can't see anything past about three meters? Even I know that is stupid. So, we sat there, and I'm suffering ‘cause I gotta pee, and I don't want to make any noise or get it on myself. I don't even want to open my fly because I'll probably rub myself on poison ivy, and I can't stand up, when we hear these trucks coming. They were fuel cell trucks just like mine, but out here at night you can hear the tires on gravel, and hear them brushing against the bushes when they are like a half kilometer away.
“Harold was tapping me on the elbow, like a guy who's taking you to a movie he's seen before, and wants you to know the good scene is real close. The guard runs over to the barn, and bangs on the door with his fist, yelling at the guys inside that the cops are coming. Then he ran over and jumps in his truck to get away. Don't know where the hell he thought he was going. Since the track in was so narrow you could hear the weeds and branches being hit, no way is there room to pass anybody going the other way, even if they cooperated.
“But before he can even start the engine the cops pull in nose to nose with him, and he jumped out and ran in the woods. The big door on the barn slid open, and there's another three or four guys who ran out and headed for the woods blind as can be, ‘cause they have the inside of the barn lit up as bright as your living room. All the cops turned on big spotlights, and jumped out of their trucks. They caught the guys easily, and hauled them back in the door to the barn cuffing them up.
“But one guy was out the door a little early, and he ran uphill to our side instead of the other way, like everyone else, so they didn't see him. He almost ran past us, but he was blind as a bat, and ran straight into a tree and knocked himself senseless. Now if he could have just laid there until he got straightened out, they probably still wouldn't have caught him, but at that point Harold whispered “Stay here,” to me, like I had other plans. Damned if he didn't whip out a plastic restraint just like the cops carry, and ran over and cuffed this guy.
“I was thinking – What the hell do you think you're doing? Because what is he going to do with the guy? But he threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and trotted down to the end one of all these cop trucks with the lights flashing, and the doors hanging wide open. The big door on the barn was still wide open too, with all the cops and perps milling around inside, looking at all these big plastic fertilizer tanks and stuff, with their radios squawking.
“All they had to do to see him was for one of them turn around. Harold stuffed the guy in the back seat of a DEA truck, and jogged back to me in the woods giggling and having a good time. I still wonder if anybody ever asked just who put that guy in the truck, or if they just all assumed one of their other agents did it. So, if Harold ever asks you to party with him, be aware what you might be getting into.”
What can you say to a story like that? I just paid attention to my food, which was pretty good, if I do say so myself. After seeing this fellow move through the night, it wasn't hard to believe the story. It did make me wonder one thing though.
“Do you have any idea how Harold learned to do this stuff?”
“I asked once and he said he was Special Forces. When I tried to pin him down what branch, he said I'd have never heard of them. That's all I ever got. For all I know it might not even be US Special Forces. He isn't real chatty about it,” Buddy said.
“Well he said he'd be around today. I can cook for three, if you think he'd like that.”
“Sure, if he doesn't come, I'll make sure nothing goes to waste,” Buddy promised.
Jay scrutinized Buddy's waist to see if he could make a pun about waste, but he seemed as slim as ever. He ordered the Fajita Feast for two all the time at Mitch's, which came with rice and beans, and sour cream. He always ordered beer and a party size guacamole with the Feast. It came with enough tortillas to feed a small Mexican village for a week, but it still didn't show. If Buddy ever used the university gym it wasn’t when Jay was there. It was a mystery.
A fellow by the name of Chen opened an Oriental buffet a few months ago near the campus, and he'd already come to have fear painted on his face when Buddy would come in his place. Overseas they were doing viral gene alterations that could boost your metabolism, but they are supposed to be illegal in the US. All Jay could imagine was maybe Buddy had a tape worm.
* * *
Most of the morning slipped away getting ready to fish, and they didn't get out in the boat until late, so by the time they came back, the outside cabin light left on was a welcome guide. Jay and Buddy had both caught a few trout, but none were as nice as the pair Harold had left the night before. About halfway back they saw orange flames flare up from the grill on Buddy's porch, so neither was surprised to find Harold sitting on the porch, cutting onions and red skin potatoes into buttered aluminum pouches, to go with the steaks.
Harold just matter of fact explained – “I saw ya coming in, so I fired her up. Thanks for thawing one for me.” Jay noted with approval how he had seasoned the packets before he put them around the edge of the grill. He'd prepared four. One for each of them, but two for Buddy, so he was up to speed there too.
Whatever other skills Harold had, Jay could see he was a serious cook, and a considerate guest to have brought something to contribute. He even knew when to head home, which all too many people don't have any sense about at all. Jay found to his surprise that he just plain liked Harold, without any cautious reservations. It usually took him much longer to decide if he could trust a person. That was a good thing, since Harold could walk through their security system like it didn't exist. It was disquieting how frightening such a smiling, friendly, fellow could be.
The next day, Sunday, they had plenty of fish to eat, so it seemed silly to go for more. It had gotten a little windy anyway, and it wouldn't be so comfortable out on the lake. Buddy got out a book he was working on, and Jay had brought along his computer and wanted to look at the program for driving the laser viewer, though he hadn't brought his machine along.
Harold came by with a basket full of strawberries, and Jay stopped to clean them, because they were dead ripe and needed to be hulled right now. Harold looked at the screen on the computer and said: “Oh, you're doing a little programming.”
“Are you familiar with writing code?” Jay asked.
“If you can't use a computer anymore, you might as well be illiterate in the old sense,” he offered as his opinion. “What are you trying to do with this?”
Jay wasn't sure how much he understand, because most wouldn't, but started describing the frame Buddy had made, likening it to a metal picture frame, or a squared off ring of steel. He demonstrated how big with his hands, and apologized for not having it along. When Jay described how the two planes of lasers created two paths of determinacy, and collapsed one event without disturbing the other it would have been beyond most people, but he asked a couple surprising questions showing he was reasonably up to date on Quantum Theory, and even understood how it related to the latest ideas in Cosmology.
Something was still bothering Harold, and he got up and got another cup of coffee. It made Jay happy to see he liked it. Harold sat with his ankles crossed and got a far-away look for most of the cup, and then put it down on the table with his eyebrows bunched up.
“I follow most of it, but help me with one thing,” he asked.
“Sure what is it?” Jay asked.
Harold made a closed circle with his finger and thumb. “How does the program know if you are looking through the opening here?” Harold asked, pointing to one side with his right index finger. “Or if you are looking there?” he said in counterpoint, indicating the other side.
Jay started to answer, and then shut his mouth. He thought about equivalence and reversible events a little bit, and was embarrassed he hadn’t seen the problem. What he finally said was, “Well crap.”
“Ah, so that does touch on a problem?” Harold inquired.
“If what I'm thinking works out, you've given me the insight to work past the bottleneck I've been experiencing. The way I have it written now is neither here nor there. I should run the numbers for my improved eDrive past you, and we'll be making real flying saucers in no time at all.” Jay predicted.
Harold looked really uncomfortable at that, and assumed a strangely conspiratorial tone and look. “Better not to mess with that,” he counseled, “but this other thing sounds really interesting.”
Jay made a shortcake for the strawberries, counting them out as he hulled them. They came up one extra so he popped it in his mouth rather that have them unequal. He had to serve it with half and half because he hadn’t anticipated needing that much heavy cream. Nobody complained though. He never did get back to the programming, because Buddy and Harold wanted to play cards. It was raining, and blowing hard by the time the game was done, so Buddy told Harold not to be shy to stay, if he didn't want to go back out in that. He accepted graciously, rolled up in a wool blanket from the closet on the couch.
In the morning, on the Fourth, Jay woke to the smell of breakfast cooking. Harold was standing out at the grill cooking on charcoal. Something Jay had never tried for breakfast, although he had done so over a wood campfire in the past. The potatoes had some local herb fresh diced into them, it was subtle but good. Everyone had omelets with some strange things Harold put in them Jay couldn't identify, but they were good too. Harold had obviously been out in the woods early, to collect the mystery ingredients, since they were nothing they had brought from town.
“Jay, since I invited you to come up here whenever you please, I think I should show you something else about the place. This is a perfect day for it.” Buddy said, looking out the window. It had stopped raining early, but there was an unbroken grey cloud cover fairly low. The kind where you can see the swirls and texture in the bottom of it as it blows by.
“Worried about sats?” Harold asked him.
“Yeah even three guys walking in the woods can trigger a look-see now, if they are walking in an area where the computer says people don't usually go. It might take a month for them to check an anomaly, but then that point would probably be marked to watch again.
“I'll still take measures when we reach my site I want to show you,” he directed at Jay, “but it's too hard to hide when you are actually moving around.”
Buddy got a tarp with lines already tied to it. Outside Harold acquired a shovel and rake, and gave Jay a bag with the last day's garbage in it. Jay joked to Harold that his mother taught him never to go in the woods with men carrying a shovel. Jay wished he hadn't, because damned if Harold didn't reach in the small of his back, and offer him the slim pistol he hadn't known was there. There was a little flash of hurt across his face. Maybe Jay had touched on something painful, so he turned it aside as graciously as possible, and said, “The thought is taken as the deed.”
Jay wondered where they were going, but it was only as far as the uphill end of the property, where the lawn had turned to weeds, and there was a little finger of cleared ground that jutted back between the trees. Then the cleared area between the trees took a dogleg at the end, so the cabin was hidden from view. Buddy took one end of the tarp, and Harold the other, and they strung it up between the trees, so it pretty well capped the small clearing. The top of the tarp was digital camo, but the bottom toward them was metalized.
“This is more for aircraft than sats,” Buddy explained, “because with the clouds they don't see very well, but aircraft can fly under them. There's just no predicting when a survey drone will fly by, at random, and they look for almost any kind of activity in the woods now, not just sniff for drug labs.
