Even When You Win... Read online

  Matt watched our reaction, and then explained, “Baby monitor on her belt. Didn’t you hear it?”

  I nodded. “I didn’t make the monitor connection, but I did hear what sounded like a child’s whimper.”

  Liz walked back into the room with a bright eyed tow-headed child in her arms. “Meet Eddy, folks.”

  “Oh,” Jan said, “He’s lovely, and you named him after Matt’s father?”

  “Actually it’s Edward, after both our fathers,” Matt said. “Mr. Ed had a long run in both our growing up years.”

  “I’m thinking lunch,” Liz said. “Could I interest you folks in eating with Eddy here? He’s on a schedule and brooks no delays.”

  Jan stood, “Can I help?”

  “Sure, come on.”

  “I need some fresh air, Jim. Want to step outside?”

  We walked down the street a ways, stopping at a walking bridge that spanned the ravine across from his side of the street. “This is one of the entrances to the campus,” he said. “You, of course know about Cornell’s suicide rate...”

  “I’ve read about it.”

  “It’s a collision between frustration and opportunity. Kids come to Cornell because they’re smart enough, only some of them find out that here they’re really pretty average. Some of them can’t handle that, and then we have all these walking bridges forty feet or so above rock-strewn streams that are barely a trickle most of the time...”

  “It’s a beautiful campus, though,” I said. “I used to come here every year when I worked in Lake City to meet with juniors interested in journalism careers.”

  “Ever recruit one?”

  “Nope. We couldn’t compete with the big newspapers. Nobody’s ever been too smart to be a good reporter; and I always knew that the least of these kids would be smarter and better prepared than the best of my youngsters... but these kids were slated for big city journalism, not my area of interest or expertise.”

  “I have colleagues who would love to hear that from a news guy like you.”

  “The ones I met had big enough egos without my help.”

  That brought a big laugh from him. “There’s no shortage of egos on an Ivy League campus, especially in the faculty lounges.”

  “How did you end up going to the birds?” I asked.

  “I was always attracted to birds, but after Dad took me hunting it all became about game birds. I was enthralled by the way the ducks and geese work to decoys – they’re so gregarious they often can’t help themselves. But then there are the birds that only get together in groups because of weather or mating, like pheasants and grouse. And all the colors, and the way the feathers work – hell, from flight to migration, what’s not to wonder at with birds?

  “And as I studied, I discovered more questions, more wonder, than answers. You know the old saying, ‘Do what you love...’”

  “And you’ll never work a day in your life,” I completed.

  “Here I am, Lord.”

  I got it. I could have said it, too when I was his age. His outspoken passion was inspirational.

  We got back to the kitchen just as lunch was ready, and afterwards, Jan and I made our departure with plenty of time to drive back to Syracuse, catch a plane to San Diego with a connection in Chicago.

  As I was at the counter upgrading the FBI seats to first class at my expense, I heard Jan whisper something I didn’t catch. Then I heard it again, “Jim!”

  I turned my head to look at her, but she was staring past my back in the other direction, “Look, it’s him! Quick.”

  I turned my head but I couldn’t see anyone that would have caused that reaction from her. I turned back to her.

  “You missed him,” she said. “He went around that corner before you could see him.”

  “And, he was who?”

  She frowned, “I wish you’d seen him; I think it was a guy at the restaurant last night, you know, the guy who was watching those two with their straws? The guy who didn’t have a ball cap?”

  “That would be quite a coincidence,” I said, looking again in the direction she had indicated before. There was a steady stream of people walking by. “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure; I sure wish you’d seen him too.”

  I turned my attention back to the clerk, and completed the upgrade for both flights. She ran my card, and I looked again in the direction of the missed man. I turned back to sign the slip, and gulped a bit at the up-charge, but then I remembered how tired I was beginning to feel. “It’s necessary,” I thought to myself.

  It was worth it too.

  Chapter 22

  We had plenty of time to make the plane change in Chicago, so while Jan attended to her own affairs in the women’s lounge, I called Richards. He didn’t seem surprised to hear from me, and he didn’t seem to be in his usual rapid-fire mood. I realized I had caught him at home.

  “What’s up?” He asked after I identified myself.

  “Not much, but I am wondering if you have us under surveillance.”

  That caused him to pause for a second, “No. Why do you ask?”

  “I think we might be is all.”

  “Tell me why.”

  I told him about the clean-cut guy at the restaurant in St. Louis who may have shown up in Syracuse.

  “But she’s not sure?”

  “She doesn’t miss much, Archie. If I had to bet, I’d bet someone’s keeping an eye on us. I had hoped it was you.”

  “Not us, but I can arrange it when you land in San Diego.”

  “No, don’t bother. I can imagine a train of people following us around... I’ll deal with it if it becomes a problem.”

  The bartender was making a question with his hands. I shoved my glass in his direction and was rewarded with a smile.

  “While I have you on the phone, I’m curious about your gut reaction to the people you’ve met,” Richards said in almost a polite voice. I had trouble associating that voice with an FBI agent, and then he said, “Excuse me a second,” and I heard him talking to someone else. It took only a couple of seconds to realize he was talking to his children. I hadn’t even considered the fact he might be married with a family – FBI agents in my experience didn’t inspire homey visions of child care or memories of polite telephone manners.

  “Sorry about that; I’m babysitting for my brother’s kids... they’re pretty cool. I’m now on tap for s’mores on the patio... In any event, what’s your take so far?”

  I explained as best I could the overwhelming evidence of nice people living nice lives. “In summary, we can’t see any of these people threatening Ed and Rita.”

  “Maybe it’s someone they know and they don’t suspect. We’ve got a team going through their lives and the lives of their extended families – paper chase stuff, no physical contact of course – and while we’re not yelling ‘Eureka!’ we’ve found some interesting stuff. I expect you’ll have a lengthy report in your computer when you wake up tomorrow morning.”

  I looked at my watch... it was after seven on Friday night and I could feel the fatigue in my every pulse. “It might be noon, Pacific time before we get up.”

  He chuckled. “I hear that; when are you meeting with Peter?”

  “Two o’clock. Our flight back to St. Louis leaves at seven tomorrow night.”

  “And I won’t expect you at our offices on Sunday before nine a.m.”

  I snorted, “Good luck with that...”

  He laughed back at me, and then turned serious, “Believe me, you’ll be welcome when you get here, and I’ll have coffee, but we’re on a short time table. You can sleep after we’re done.”

  I took a sip of my drink and made sure he could hear the rattle of my ice cubes before I answered.

  “I understand the need for speed, Archie. We’ll do our part, you can count on that.”

  “Well, just don’t fall down trying to catch your flight.”

  “I can see my gate from here. We won’t be late.”

  “That fits with ev
erything I’ve heard about you two, and I am counting on that vaunted interviewing skill to give us a real lead in this mess. I have a terrible feeling that whoever is behind this is deadly serious.”

  “I know that feeling, too. I’m just wondering if any of these kids have anything to do with it.”

  “That’s what you’re going to find out. Uh-oh, my natives are getting restless, I’ve gotta go.”

  I waited, but I didn’t hear a click. “Jim?” He asked.

  “Good night,” I said. And then I heard the click. I was musing over his sudden show of humanity as Jan sidled up to me at the crowded bar.

  “Hey, sailor; you’re not going to get too far ahead of me, are you?”

  I motioned to the bartender that I needed another drink for her, and he nodded. “No, dear, but you’ll never guess what Agent Richards is doing right now... on a Friday night in St. Louis.”

  “Watching a baseball game?”

  “Babysitting for his brother’s kids.”

  “No kidding?”

  “And he said good-bye before he hung up the phone.”

  “Maybe I should make this a double.” She rolled her eyes and picked up her drink. “Who’da thunk it?”

  I slept all the way to San Diego – the wonders of First Class – and was barely awake in the hotel shuttle to the El Camino Hotel and Spa in Ocean Beach.

  I changed my watch to match Pacific Time, but I couldn’t do anything about my body clock. My eyes were open and ready before the sun had even hinted at Saturday morning in California.

  I pried myself out of Jan’s sleeping clutch and got up as quietly as I could. In minutes I was in the hotel courtyard stretching. I asked the athletic-looking young woman at the desk if it was permissible to run on the beach in front of the hotel.

  “As long as you go north and then only until you hit the fence that marks private property.”

  “How far is that?”

  “Couple of miles, I’m told.”

  “You’ve never been there?”

  “Running?” She shook her head. “Nobody’s ever chased me in that direction.”

  The sky was just turning gray as I stretched and began my workout. I figured two miles up and two back might be just right, especially in the sand.

  I hadn’t been in San Diego since my first three months in the Navy, and that had been more than 40 years ago. I had no idea of where anything other than the ocean was in relation to where I was.

  But I hadn’t walked more than ten minutes before memories of those times so long ago washed over me. I kept my focus on my core, on my breathing, and I fought off the nostalgia attack.

  I stayed with my routine: Walk, practice forms, run, practice forms, walk... I guessed two miles was pretty accurate as I saw the fence in the distance, and I had a real nice sweat going when I found myself back at the hotel a little more than an hour and a half later.

  I stretched using a picnic table, and then went inside in search of coffee. Armed with a pint, I returned to the table to watch the rest of the dawning of the day.

  I had to stand in line to get my refill, and I ordered two cups, one black for Jan, and turned to head for my room when I came face to face with a guy wearing a tan seersucker sports coat and a straw hat with a feather in band. He had a newspaper folded over his right hand, but I could see the barrel of the handgun poking out from under the comics.

  “Mr. Stanton? Don’t be alarmed; I need you to come with me and talk to somebody, and then you can get on with your day.” He motioned to my left, towards the street with his gun. “Just follow my friend here,” he said nodding to another guy standing to my left, “and I’ll be right behind you. Nice and easy, okay?”

  His ‘friend’ looked to be my height but weighing something in excess of three hundred pounds. He was quite a sight: Bleach blonde crew cut, chiseled face sticking out of a massive set of shoulders without benefit of a neck, a sports coat stretched over a white tee shirt that left more than two inches of wrist showing above massive mitts for hands. And all this topping off the wildest pair of Zubas I’d ever seen.

  “Really?” I said in wonder. “Zubas? Guys like you out here are still wearing Zubas?”

  “Give me a break,” the monster grunted without looking back at me, “I got only a minute’s notice to be here; I’m dressed, okay?”

  We walked out of the hotel, and I sat my two coffees on a bench just outside the door. “You can take them with you,” the gunslinger said. “If you’re as smart as we think you are, you’ll be done inside twenty minutes.” I ignored him and kept pace with my leader.

  “Sammy,” the guy behind me chided his buddy, “our friend here is no fashion critic; he’s a martial arts guy. That’s right isn’t it, Mr. Stanton?”

  Sammy answered without turning his head, “Which one is it? Kung Fu? Karate?”

  I didn’t know where this was headed and kept silent. In fact, I didn’t know anything, but I figured I’d be a lot smarter in twenty minutes even if I was taking my new knowledge to a grave. You think like that sometimes, especially when people are pointing guns at you.

  As we waited a second for a string of slow moving vehicles to pass us, the gunslinger answered, “Oh, no, Sammy. It’s nothing as violent as that. It’s t’ai chi, isn’t it Mr. Stanton?”

  Sammy never took his eyes off his surroundings, but I could hear him scoffing as he answered. “That dancing shit? Really? You guys back there still doing those pussy forms?”

  The last vehicle cleared us, and we walked across the street to a long, black car with dark tinted windows. The car was idling to keep it cool inside. As we approached, the rear door opened. Sammy pulled it all the way open and gestured for me to get inside. I paused, but the guy with the gun didn’t prod me. He was well trained, keeping well out of my reach.

  I bent down and saw a man sitting on the far side of the car, smoking using a cigarette holder. He was a nattily dressed thin man with raven black hair. I took in his black linen slacks, cream colored turtle neck and a darker cream jacket. His shoes were black and white saddle shoes, like golf shoes without the fringy thing protecting the laces. I felt a blast of arctic air hit me as the door opened, and I smelled his cigarette.

  “Get in, Mr. Stanton; we need to talk,” he said. I noticed he had rings on both his hands; one looked like a diamond the size of a shooter marble. The word “tout” sprang unbidden to my mind.

  I got into the car and the door closed behind me.

  “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name...”

  “Cut the crap. You bet your ass you’re at a disadvantage, and I’m here to help you get up to speed.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Tell me why you’re nosing around with the Sweet family.”

  I put on a surprised expression, “It’s a job. We’re writing a story about how sudden winnings such as the prize this family won impacts a family. It’s an interesting angle...”

  “Cut the crap,” he said again, this time piercing me with eyes that were as black as any I’ve ever seen. “You write novels; your wife owns newspapers; you don’t do free lance work.”

  “Not normally, but this isn’t normal,” I said. “I went to high school with the Sweets. They were a year or more behind me. When I heard about their sudden winnings, well, it just started me thinking and then I thought, ‘What the hell?’ You know? So we decided to see if there was a market for this kind of story, and it turns out there is. It’s a fun project, and it will pay for all the travel and stuff, so why not?

  “What’s your interest?”

  He physically relaxed, and I allowed myself to think I might have a chance.

  “I have no interest personally. I have a friend who has a friend who knows a guy who has a financial interest in how the Sweets handle their fortune. This guy got wind that you were nosing around, got curious about you and when what he learned didn’t look quite kosher, he asked his friend for advice; and here I am.

  “You on the lev
el here, Stanton?”

  “I am.” I said in as matter-of-fact a tone as I could muster.

  He shook his head and looked out his window as he spoke, “You better be, see; if it turns out you aren’t, then I’m going to be embarrassed.”

  He turned those eyes back on me, “You’ll hate it if you embarrass me. I promise.” He turned back to his window, and made a ‘flicking’ gesture with his hand that I interpreted as a sign to leave.

  I grabbed the lever to open the door, and as it moved, Sammy yanked it open so that I almost fell out onto the street. He snorted as I got my balance and scrambled out of the car.

  The guy with the gun said, “See? No sweat, no strain. Now we’ll just walk you back to your coffee.”

  With Sammy in front and the gun in the rear, we retraced our steps back towards the hotel, but as we approached the driveway, Sammy diverted us toward the beach. “My coffee,” I started to say, but the giant snarled, “Forget it.”

  I followed him down the sidewalk a few yards until the big guy stopped and turned, “I don’t like wise guys with smart mouths.” I turned to look at the gunslinger, but he wasn’t there. I turned back just in time to find Sammy’s left fist bearing down on my nose. I turned my head and his hand grazed my ear instead and still almost knocked me over. I turned on my left leg and instinctively ducked right into the path of his right, this time to my left shoulder blade.

  Pain erupted in my brain, but it didn’t stop my next two moves, which landed me on my left arm and hip with my right leg reaching full extension as my heel connected with Sammy’s right knee.

  His knee shattered and he went to the ground with a muffled scream as I vaulted and rolled back to a standing position over him. I considered a side kick to his temple or a stomp on his right hand that was propping him up, but decided to back away only to find myself up against the gunslinger.

  I didn’t feel the barrel of his gun in my back, so I stomped on the top of his left foot and found the crunch of all his tarsal bones as satisfying as the feel of my elbow burying itself into his solar plexus with its accompanying whoosh of air in my ear. I turned and found him bent double and struggling to retrieve his weapon from his jacket pocket. I brought both hands down on his collar bones and watched him collapse in a heap.