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  Wes was smiling, “We want to know who’s using the land, but we always grant permission to those who ask, and we prosecute those who don’t. It’s a James thing,” he said with a shrug.

  Mary and Jean joined us, “Jan’s a nice lady, Jim; I approve, and as your legal advisor, I’d suggest you quit scaring the daylights out of her from here on out.”

  Pete clapped my shoulder, “From all directions, Jim, we’re all singing from the same sheet music.”

  I could appreciate their friendship, but at that moment, I was too emotionally bound up to express it. I limped back to the table where our waiter was delivering our meals.

  There was a moment of silence at the table, and then we attacked the food without small talk.

  We sat over coffee as the table was cleared, “I think we need to talk to Agent Rhodes,” I said to Pete.

  “Why?”

  “Mason said he was there to protect, and I thought he meant me, but he interjected ‘Mark’. He could have meant he was protecting Mark Gardner.”

  “I know, you told me that, but...”

  “What if that’s true? I attacked the guy on the supposition he was there to kill us; I killed the guy, and he says he was there to help, not hurt.”

  “So?”

  “Where’s Mark Gardner? If he’s here ’bouts, why is he in need of protection?”

  Jan piped up, “And why at our house?”

  “Why do you think Rhodes will know any of this?”

  I had no answer to that, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to ask.

  “We’re taking you home,” Pete said. “We’ll pick up your Taurus at my office on the way. Marie?”

  “I’ll ride with you up and back; we have a sitter until 11.”

  “Woo-hoo!” Jan chirped, “Cocktails on the Stanton deck?”

  “I don’t think so tonight,” Pete said, handing the waiter payment for the dinner. “Some of us are not retired, and it’s already going to be a short night.”

  The Taurus was handed to me along with the remaining five shells that were in it when I gave it up that afternoon. I loaded the weapon while Pete drove us home.

  “Let’s take a quick walk-through,” Pete said as he exited the car.

  Jan bent down to Marie’s open window to talk as I keyed in the code on the garage door. Judy was in her pen, and reacted to our arrival in her normal way.

  Pete went straight to the kitchen door, and went inside flicking on lights as he moved. I released Judy and we went out the back of the garage, triggering the yard lights with our movements.

  When I’d hobbled up the stairs to the deck, I saw Pete coming down from inspecting the second story. I let myself in the French doors as he disappeared down the stairs to the basement. He was back in seconds.

  “All clear, Jim; I suggest you button this place up behind me as I leave.”

  “Roger that,” I agreed.

  Chapter 40

  “You want, what?” Pete almost exploded when he heard my request the next morning.

  “I want your folks to take a photo of Mason to the Table this noon, and see if the clients who were intimidated recognize him.”

  “Golly, how did I ever attain the rank of Sergeant without your help?”

  “You’ve already done that, right?”

  “We’ve arranged an array of photos, including your old mate, and including Patrol Deputy Shore’s photo, and we’ll be there by the time folks start showing up. Now, can you leave me alone to do my job while you do your job?”

  “What’s my job?”

  “Waiting or worrying, I’m not sure, but I think you can handle it without my help.”

  I didn’t hear him hang up, but I couldn’t think of anything to say anyway.

  Chapter 41

  I was on the deck, my ankle wrapped in ice and up on a chaise lounge, when Jan brought my phone. “Ray Jensen,” she whispered as she handed me the instrument.

  “Ray!” I said with more gusto than I was feeling.

  “Heard you took a small beating but came out on top at the end. Seems to be a recurring theme in your life.”

  “Not something I look for, believe me. What can I do for you or the Feds?”

  “Pete Boyd told me about your theory that Mason meant he was there to protect Mark Gardner, not you, and he said you were interested in talking to me. He said he didn’t know why you thought I should hear that, but he asked me to give you a call.”

  “Thanks for calling, then. So, is Mark Gardner a known commodity to you or either of your agencies?”

  “I can’t speak on behalf of Homeland, but he’s on an FBI list of suspected terrorists as are two other members of your old unit; I told you that some time ago.”

  “Didn’t make sense then, either.”

  “Why?”

  “Gardner’s a lawyer; if you guys had any real concerns about who he plays with, you could tie him up with the Bar Association, and defang him without having to prove anything.”

  “It wouldn’t be as easy as you make it sound. We would need to prove at least that he’s aware of bad acts and refusing to reveal what he knows under the guise of attorney-client privilege.”

  “Why is it just a guise?”

  “The privilege doesn’t attach when the lawyer is a co-conspirator...”

  “Or an undercover informant?”

  “Why would you want to say something like that? You raise that idea, and you’re as much as ordering his assassination!”

  “But, if he were an informant, and had been for 20 years, he’d be worth protecting...”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “And a guy like Randy Mason would be just the ticket; old friends and warriors hanging around while keeping track of others wouldn’t raise an eyebrow, would it?”

  Jensen was scoffing, “That’s not realistic. As far as I know, Gardner isn’t even in Oregon at this time.”

  “Really? Then why was Mason? Or are you saying Mason came all the way from Florida to protect me? From what, for whom?”

  “Maybe he was here to hit you; makes as much sense as anything you’ve come up with to date. I hope you and Jan are taking reasonable precautions.”

  I wasn’t getting anywhere on this track, but I was certain that he wasn’t being straight with me. “I guess you have to keep your secrets, Ray. I just want you to know that I really thought Mason was here to hurt us...”

  “I know that, and for all you may ever know, that’s the way it was, Jim.”

  We wound up our call, but the way he’d expressed that final phrase kept repeating itself in my brain, like a song that rattles around all day and you can’t quit humming.

  “Midnight At the Oasis my ass,” I grumped to no one there on the deck.

  The following day, I puttered around the house, mostly hobbling on one foot, but my ankle swelling was down and the bruise colors were already shading into the rich tones of recovery. Just after three, I heard the postal truck, and headed for the front porch at a slow, if not limping, pace.

  I was sorting through the haul as I returned from the box. As I decided it consisted of nothing that would make it past the recycle bin in the garage, I was surprised to find Art Truman sitting on the steps leading from the driveway to the front porch.

  “Howdy, Jim. You musta known I’d be along one of these days,” he greeted me in that deep baritone. “You couldn’t leave it alone; had to even involve Norma in your damn fool nonsense. Well, I tried to give you a pass on account of that blood deal, but...”

  He was shaking his head. His legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His arms were crossed, his hands captured in his armpits. He sprawled, totally relaxed. I saw no sign of a weapon, but I recognized how lethal he was in that pose.

  “I read you like a newspaper, man,” he continued. “You think I don’t? I always did. You never fit in, but you worked hard at your craft.

  “I told all the guys that you were never going to let us down, but you didn’t real
ly want any part of our life. It was like you were too good for us. We all hung out with you when we had a chance ’cause you were like a magnet for good-looking women. We figured you for a virgin from the get-go, and I remember Gardner saying he thought you exuded some sense of safety to the gals, so they just flocked to you... No tellin’ how many times us guys were laid thanks to you; just no countin’.

  “And there was that blood deal. Man, I thought we were goners. Shot up, bleeding like stuck pigs, the Corpsman that took me to the chopper had the look of death on his face; I saw it, but then there you were, shirt off, laying between us, your arms outstretched. You never said a word as they just stuck you and started putting us back together again.

  “I’d wake up on the big bird headin’ home, and there you were again, tubes coming out of your arms right into ours. Nurse told me you never even whimpered. They had you signin’ releases that you understood giving so much blood could cause serious health problems, and you never blinked, just signed the form and drank more OJ.

  “You saved us back then, so I thought if I gave you a chance, you could walk away, and I could give the money back, but oh, no; not you.”

  He went silent and there we were, 10 feet or so apart, lost in our own thoughts and memories.

  He let a huge sigh escape, “But today’s today, Jimbo...”

  At that moment, Jan stepped through the front door and onto the porch behind Truman. I saw her Colt in her hand, along side her leg.

  Truman half-turned to look at her, then grinned back at me, “You sure can pick ’em, Stanton; you sure can. Just like that blonde in Florida. You ass, you passed on her, and when she found out you’d skipped, she went a bit nuts and there was old Art with open arms. Man that was sweet, it sure was. We went at it for hours, like she’d never have enough, and we might still be doing it if her old man hadn’t come crashing in on the party. Oh, well.”

  He stood up from the step, his back to me, “I think I just might have to know this lady in a Biblical way...” He made sure I could see his greedy leer. I had nothing to say, so he shrugged, and refocused on Jan.

  “Oh, ho!” He chuckled when he saw her Colt in both hands, pointing at him. He looked away from her, but she held steady, feet spread in the athletic position , left foot ahead of the right, knees flexed; ready. He was shaking his head at me again, “In the end that’s probably the real problem with Boy Scouts like you, Stanton. You’re sloppy. You take things for granted, and you don’t plan. Because you don’t plan, you don’t think about what other people plan. Just plain shit sloppy, that’s what you are.”

  He focused his attention back on Jan. “Honey, I have a big surprise for you, and that’s even after you pull that trigger and find out your gun won’t work... he let another chuckle erupt, “My gun’s for fun, and it works.”

  He hesitated, looking back to me, as if he were considering something. The silence between us was eerie; there were no bird sounds in the woods and even the constant drone of insects seemed to be on break.

  “Added benefits that come with solid planning and dumb ass targets, Jim. Rich kid from Coeur d’Alene goes off the reservation over a small-fry soup kitchen serving meals to illegals, and whacks some do-gooder. I’m in the neighborhood on another job, trying to find the snitch that’s causing so much heartburn in the Nations.

  “Rich old man calls Truman in to make the kid’s mistake look like suicide. That didn’t turn out to be too hard given the level of police work out this way, but then here comes Boy Scout Stanton with his damnable questions, and when you bust the kid on an assault rap, the old man goes berserk. He figured ‘let Truman clean it up.’”

  He said all this with his back to Jan. “’Course I don’t know that it was you ’til I had the contract. That gave me pause. On one hand there’s that debt from back in the day, but on the other, you make yourself an easy mark...” he was turning back to Jan, “and deliver as choice a piece of ass as I’ve contemplated in quite some time... I’m gonna have some fun, but that’ll come after. Or, maybe I’ll let you watch, eh?”

  I knew he was making a move, and I wanted to stop him, but I also knew I was in no shape to act, “So why is Mark Gardner hanging around here, Art?”

  He stopped with one foot on the first of three steps that would lead him to the porch. “Gardner? Here? What are you talking about?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Mason was here yesterday,” I pointed at my ankle, “Earned this in a scuffle with him. Why would they be here? Part of your work?”

  “No way,” he appeared totally baffled. “I haven’t heard...” I could see his mind working.

  “Mason knew your play at the Table yesterday was a ruse to lure me out of my house; knew it before I even heard about it.”

  Truman actually moved one step towards me. “How do you figure that?”

  “Mason said he was here to protect Gardner, I figured your contract was for Mark.”

  “Why?” The question hung by itself and then a sound of awe entered his voice, “No shit, that has to be it... all these years and nobody ever tumbled to Gardner... I’ll be damned.”

  I was confused, “Tumbled? To what?”

  “Just another proof that good things come to those who prepare. Gardner must have caught wind of the contract and thought, because he’s due up here this week, that he was the target... That makes him the informant who’s been causing the movement so much trouble in recent years. Maybe for a long time... I’ll be damned.

  “Nope, I didn’t have a clue about old Mark; how’d you leave it with Mason?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Well, we’ll unravel that in due time, but let’s not take our eye off the prize here,” he sounded like he was talking to himself. He took the next step towards Jan while reaching for a weapon under his shirt tails at the back of his jeans.

  With that first move, Jan, as instructed, shot him. I had only a moment to appreciate her perfect stance. She’d never adopted the “double tap” approach, and the single .380 round took Truman in the middle of his forehead. His head snapped back in mid-stride, and for a second he seemed to hang there before he crumpled into a pile at the foot of the steps as if he’d melted; dead instantly.

  As rapidly as I could, I hobbled around Truman’s body towards Jan. I could see her starting to sag, and reached her in time to cradle her to the porch steps where we sat with my arms around her. She sobbed silently as she fumbled a tissue from her pocket. I took her weapon, put the safety on, and laid it on the porch behind her.

  “You going to be okay, Jan?”

  “I can’t help it. You told me to shoot him if he made a move towards me, shoot him ‘center mass’ you said...”

  “You did it exactly right. You have no idea how lethal that man was; he would have killed us both and never lost a minute’s sleep over it.”

  “I know, but...”

  “What?”

  “I was thinking center mass, like you said, I really was, but I shot him in the face!”

  “I’m going to call the police; please come inside,” I whispered as I hugged her to me, and thought I could feel the adrenaline flowing out of her body.

  Chapter 42

  The police and coroner were gone again, and night was falling when I heard the sound of a stiff brush on concrete. Jan and I were sitting on the deck, and I put my finger to my lips as I limped through the darkening house to the front door.

  I had to fight back a chuckle when I found Shirlee Nelson on her hands and knees scrubbing the final traces of Art Truman from my front walk. Jack was sitting with his back to me, a large shaker on his knee, waiting for her to complete her task.

  “If that’s a batch of Marts, you might as well come in, Jack.”

  “Too damn late for Marts; these are Manhattans,” he grumped.

  Shirlee smiled up at me. “Called Peter Boyd after they all left and asked if you two were in custody or what, and he said he thought you’d appreciate an
y gesture of friendship.

  “He also said Jan might need a friendly face,” Shirlee added, “and I was on my way when I saw this mess, so I had Jack bring down a bucket of soap... Well, that’s done.”

  She was wiping her hands on the tail of one of Jack’s old white shirts she wore, and smiling at me like a fool.

  “Come in, please.”

  Jan brightened immediately at the sight of the Nelsons. Shirlee engulfed her in a hug and sat with her, rocking in silence.

  Jack and I found glasses and served.

  Night settled on our corner of the world, and we counted blessings into the wee hours.

  Chapter 43

  By Monday, we had attended to all the details that go with violent deaths. We’d been interviewed, reported, and we’d signed the transcripts in triplicate. We’d met with the County prosecutor, and we’d been told that our violence had been justified and there would be no charges.

  We had visited Norma Truman on Sunday after she’d returned from church, and she had listened intently as Jan explained the final minutes of Art Truman’s life in as little detail as she could. Norma, however, pressed the questions, and Jan, true to her nature, provided direct responses to each question.

  Finally, as silence threatened to deafen us, Norma stirred herself; “I need coffee; how about you?”

  She pulled a coffeecake out of her fridge, and placed it on the counter. As she fussed with the coffee makings, “Jan, dear, would you please cut the cake?”

  “Plates in the cupboard here, silverware in the drawer there,” Norma pointed with nods and her chin.

  I heard the water running through the coffee maker, and I could see Jan going through the steps of preparation, but I didn’t hear any exchange between the two women.

  I could see boats and sailboards on the river below, white cap waves checkered the scene as sunlight played tag with high, fluffy clouds.

  The two silent women brought the coffee break into the room. Jan handed me a cup and plate. Norma regained her seat before receiving her cup and plate from Jan.

  The three of us sat, sipped, and munched. I was at a loss. I had expected some reaction, but the two women acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had been discussed as they exchanged thoughts about the recipe for the cake, and the benefits and liabilities of coffee versus tea.