Nelson Demille Page 14

  Keith rolled down the passenger-side window and pushed Billy's head out." Get sick outside.

  Billy made a gagging sound but couldn't get it out. Oh . . . stop the car . . .

  Keith found the old Cowley farm, which had the family name painted on the barn. He pulled up to the dark farmhouse and parked behind an old blue pickup truck, then wrestled Billy out of the car and onto the front porch. The front door was unlocked, as Keith suspected it would be, and he half carried Billy inside, found the living room in the dark, and threw Billy on the couch. He walked away, then came back, arranged him a little more comfortably and pulled off his shoes, then turned to leave again.

  Billy called out, Keith. Hey, Keith.

  Keith turned. Yeah?

  Great to see you, man. Hey, it's great . . .

  Keith put his face in front of Billy's and said in a slow, distinct tone, Get your act together, soldier.

  Billy's eyes opened wide, and, in a moment of forced clarity, responded, Yes, sir.

  Keith walked to the front door, and, as he left, he heard Billy call out, Hey, man, I owe you one.

  Keith got in his Blazer and pulled onto the county road. Parked on the shoulder was a Spencerville police car. Keith kept going, waiting for the headlights to start following him, but they didn't, and he wondered if the police were going to finish their business with Billy. He considered turning around, but figured he'd pushed his luck enough for one night.

  About halfway back to his house, Keith picked up another Spencerville police car that followed him with its bright lights on.

  Keith approached the turnoff for his house and stopped. The police car stopped a few feet behind him. Keith sat. The cops sat. They all sat for five minutes, then Keith pulled into his driveway, and the cop car continued down the road.

  Obviously, the game was heating up. He didn't bother to put the Blazer behind the house, but parked it near the porch and went inside through the front door.

  He went directly upstairs and took his 9mm Glock from the cabinet, loaded it, and put it on his night table.

  He got undressed and went to bed. The adrenaline was still flowing, and he had trouble getting to sleep, but finally entered a state of half-sleep that he'd learned in Vietnam and perfected in other places; his body was at rest, but all his senses were placed on a moment's notice.

  His mind took off in directions that he wouldn't have allowed if he'd been in full control of his thought processes. What his mind was telling him now was that home had become the last battlefield, as he always knew it would be if he ever returned. That was the great subconscious secret he had been keeping from himself all these years. His memories of Cliff Baxter were not as dim as he'd indicated to the Porters, nor as fleeting as he'd told himself. In fact, he remembered the bullying bastard very well, remembered that Cliff Baxter had jostled him more than once, recalled Baxter's heckling from the stands during football games, and very clearly remembered Cliff Baxter eyeing Annie Prentis in the halls, at school dances, at the swimming pool, and he recalled the incident at an autumn hayride when Baxter put his hand oil Annie's butt to help her up into the hay wagon.

  He should have done something about it then, but Annie seemed almost unaware of Cliff Baxter, and Keith knew that the best way to enrage a person like Baxter was to pretend he didn't exist. And, in fact, Baxter's rage grew month by month, and Keith could see it. But Cliff Baxter was smart enough not to step over the line. Eventually, he would have, of course, but June came, Keith and Annie graduated, and they were off to college.

  Keith never knew if Baxter's interest in Annie was genuine or just another way to annoy Keith, whom Cliff Baxter seemed to hate for no reason at all. And when Keith had heard that Cliff Baxter and Annie Prentis had married, he was not so much angry at Annie or Cliff Baxter as he was shocked by the news. It had seemed to him that heaven and hell had changed places, that everything he believed about human nature had been wrong. But as the years passed, he came to understand the dynamics between men and women a little better, and he thought he understood the processes that had brought Cliff Baxter and Annie Prentis together.

  And yet, Keith wondered if things would have been different if he'd called Baxter out, if he'd simply beaten the hell out of the class bully, which he was physically capable of doing. He thought about doing now what he'd failed to do in high school. But if he chose a confrontation, then a fistfight in the schoolyard wasn't going to settle it this time.

  At about midnight, the phone rang, but there was no one there. A little while later, someone was leaning on his car horn out on the road. The phone rang a few more times, and Keith took it off the hook.

  The rest of the night was quiet, and he got a few hours of sleep.

  At dawn, he called the Spencerville police, identified himself, and asked to speak to Chief Baxter.

  The desk officer seemed a little taken aback, then replied, He's not here.

  Then take a message. Tell him that Keith Landry would like to meet with him.

  Yeah? Where and when?

  Tonight, eight P.M., behind the high school.

  Where?

  You heard me. Tell him to come alone.

  I'll tell him.

  Keith hung up. Better late than never.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Keith Landry shut off his headlights and pulled the Blazer into the parking lot behind the high school on the outskirts of town. The blacktop lot ran up to the back of the old brick school where bike racks, basketball courts, and equipment sheds stood. Keith saw that mercury vapor lights illuminated the area, but otherwise nothing much had changed since he and his friends used to meet behind the school on summer nights.

  He stopped near one of the basketball nets, shut off the ignition, then climbed out of the Blazer. He put his Glock semiautomatic on the hood, took off his shirt, and threw it over the pistol.

  Keith took a basketball out of the rear compartment, and, by the light of the mercury vapor lamps, he began shooting baskets, layups and jump shots, and the sound of the basketball echoed off the building in the quiet night air.

  He dribbled up to the net, faked a pass, then jumped and put the ball through the hoop.

  As he worked up a sweat, he reflected on the other game he'd come here to play, and it occurred to him that this was not a particularly smart move. He'd lost his temper and had thrown out a childish challenge. Meet me behind the high school, punk. Sounded good. But given the circumstances, this could turn out to be a fatal mistake. He knew he could handle the class bully with no problem, but Baxter might not come alone as instructed.

  Keith hadn't brought his M-16 rifle or his bulletproof vest, wanting to be evenly matched with Baxter. But there was no way of knowing what Baxter would show up with. In truth, it was possible that a half dozen police cars with a dozen men would surround him, and if Baxter gave the order to fire, it wouldn't matter what Keith was wearing or carrying. And Keith had no doubt that Chief Baxter would have a plausible legal scenario worked out for the death of Keith Landry.

  Keith took a short break and looked at his watch. It was seven forty-five P.M. He tried to make an informed guess as to Baxter's response to the challenge. If it was true that the boy is father to the man, then Baxter would come, but not alone. However, the picture painted by the Porters was of an egotistical and conceited personality who might very well underestimate his enemy; the type of man who'd like to saunter into the station house with the news, I just killed a bad guy out at the high school. Send a meat wagon.

  He continued playing his solo game as the sky got darker. He decided that if Baxter did come alone, Baxter might never return to the station house. Keith had had a few homicidal rages in his professional career, and he was surprised at how badly he wanted to kill Cliff Baxter. No doubt this had been building in him a long time and had festered inside his soul.

  Keith glanced as his watch. It was eight P.M. He looked toward the school, then at the open playing fields and adjoining streets, but didn't see any headlights or m
ovement. He did a series of layup shots.

  It occurred to Keith that Baxter's men knew, more or less, what the problem was between the chief and this guy Landry, and knew that Landry had said for Baxter to come alone. So what was Baxter going to tell his men? That Landry was bothering Mrs. Baxter, but he didn't want to meet Landry alone? In the world of male macho, this was about as sissy a thing as a guy could do. Keith realized that consciously or unconsciously, he'd put Baxter in a situation where he couldn't ask for help without looking like a total wimp, so he had to come alone, or not come at all and live with the consequences of his cowardice.

  At five after eight, Landry knew that, by the unwritten rules of this game, he could leave. But he stayed, shooting baskets, dribbling across the court, but never getting too far from where the Clock sat on the hood of the Blazer. At ten after eight, he was satisfied that he'd lived up to his end of the dare.

  As he walked toward his car, headlight beams appeared from around the side of the school, then a vehicle came around slowly and turned toward him, catching him in the beams.

  Keith bounced the basketball casually and continued toward the Blazer.

  The car, which he could now see was a police vehicle, stopped about fifty feet from him, the headlights still aimed directly at him.

  The passenger door of the car opened, and a figure stepped out. Keith couldn't make him out in the glare, but he looked taller and leaner than Cliff Baxter. Keith put the basketball down, then took his shirt off the hood of the Blazer, and with it, the pistol. He wiped his sweaty face with his shirt and got his hand around the pistol grip and his finger on the trigger.

  The man took a few steps toward him, then called out, Keith Landry?

  Although Keith hadn't heard Cliff Baxter's voice in nearly three decades, he knew this was not him. He replied, Who's asking?

  Officer Schenley, Spencerville police. The man continued on toward Keith.

  Who else is in the car?

  My partner.

  Where's Baxter?

  He couldn't come. Schenley was about ten feet away now, and Keith saw he was holding something in his hand, but it wasn't a pistol.

  Schenley stopped about five feet from him and asked, You alone?

  Maybe. Where's your boss? Looking for his balls?

  Schenley laughed, then said, Hey, he wanted to come, but he couldn't.

  Why not?

  Schenley held out the thing that was in his right hand, which turned out to be a folded newspaper.

  Keith said, Why do I want that?

  There's a story in here you should read.

  Read it to me.

  Schenley shrugged. Okay. He unhooked his flashlight from his belt and trained it on the newspaper. He said, This here is the social column . . . here it is . . . He read, 'At the Elks Lodge this Saturday evening, Chief of Police Cliff Baxter will be honored by the mayor and city council in recognition of his fifteen years as police chief of Spencerville. Mrs. Baxter, the former Annie Prentis, will join Chief Baxter's friends and coworkers in relating interesting as well as amusing incidents of the chief's career.' Schenley snapped off the flashlight. Okay? He would have been here if he could.

  Keith replied, He knew about his party long ago. He could have rescheduled our meeting.

  Hey, don't push it, fella. The man's got obligations. Don't you got nothing better to do on a Saturday night?

  I can't think of anything better than clocking your boss.

  The patrolman laughed. Yeah? Now, why would you want to do something stupid like that?

  You tell me. Man-to-man, Schenley.

  Schenley grinned. Well . . . word is that you and Mrs. Baxter used to be an item.

  Maybe. Do you think that would make the chief angry?

  Probably.

  Do you think he'll get over it?

  The patrolman laughed again, then said, Hey, you know how guys are.

  I sure do. Do me a favor, Schenley. Tell the chief that the next time I make an appointment with him, he should notify me in advance when he knows he can't make it.

  I guess he wanted to see if you'd come.

  I already figured that out. He doesn't have to wonder about that. I'm here, and I'll be here, or anyplace he wants to meet me, anytime. His turn to ask.

  You're a cool customer. I'll give you some advice. Don't mess with this guy.

  I'll give you, Baxter, and the rest of you guys some advice—back off. I'm tired of your bullshit.

  I'll pass it on.

  Keith looked at Schenley. He seemed a little less belligerent than the two guys in the park. In fact, Schenley seemed almost embarrassed by this whole thing. Keith said, Don't get involved in the boss's personal squabbles. Keith put his left hand over his shirt, which still covered the Glock, pulled back on the slide and released it, cocking the automatic with a loud metallic noise that was unmistakable. He said, It's not worth it.

  Schenley's eyes focused on the shirt draped over Keith's right hand, and he seemed to stare at it a long time, then looked up at Keith. Take it easy.

  Take a walk.

  Schenley turned slowly and walked back to the car. Keith picked up the basketball and got into the Blazer. He kept an eye on the police car as it turned and went back around the school.

  Keith drove across the playing fields and came out onto a road that bordered the school property. He turned toward town and drove past the Elks Lodge, noting that the parking lot was filled, then turned out into the country and headed for home.

  So, Mrs. Baxter will tell amusing stories about her husband. Maybe she can tell them about his wild weasel.

  He got a little better control of his emotions and said, Well, what do you expect in a social column? He couldn't believe he felt a tinge of jealousy. Of course she has an official life as the wife of a leading citizen. He remembered again how she'd looked at him on the street when they spoke. Right. The wives of important men and politicians stand by their man and smile even when the guy is an adulterer, coward, and totally corrupt. Comes with the territory.

  He discarded this subject and thought about what had just happened. Obviously, Cliff Baxter felt it important that he show Keith Landry why he hadn't come. Baxter cared what Landry thought of him. This was nothing new; the class bully was uniquely insecure, which was why he persecuted and belittled people around him while puffing himself up.

  And then there were Baxter's own men, such as Officer Schenley. They knew something, and they wanted to see how the boss was going to deal with it. Keith suspected that unless they were corrupt to the core, they secretly hated their chief. But they also feared him, and, unless and until somebody bigger and badder came along to deal with the chief, they were going to follow orders. Loyalty toward a bad leader was conditional, but you couldn't count on the troops mutinying or running away. Men were profoundly stupid and sheeplike in the face of rank and authority, especially soldiers, cops, and men in government service. That's what had almost happened to him in Washington.

  Keith saw the porch lights of his house ahead and turned into the dark driveway. Well, he thought, tonight was a draw. But somewhere down the road, one of them was going to score a point, and as far as Keith was concerned, the game was already in sudden-death overtime.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The next several days passed uneventfully, despite the schoolyard incident. No police cars passed by, the phone didn't ring in the middle of the night, Baxter did not call to reschedule their showdown, and all was quiet. This was meant to be unnerving, the calm before the storm. But Keith was not unnerved.

  At seven o'clock one morning, Keith walked across the road to the Jenkins house and found the family at breakfast, where he knew they'd be at that hour. Seated at the kitchen table were Martin and Sue Jenkins, a couple in their late thirties, and a teenage boy and girl, Martin Jr. and Sandra, both in high school.

  Sue invited Keith to have breakfast, but he said coffee would be fine. They talked about the weather, which was definitely cool now, the coming harvest
, the possibility of rain, and the Farmer's Almanac prediction of a harsh winter. Sue thought the almanac was idiotic, but Martin put great faith in it.

  The two kids excused themselves to do their chores before school and left.

  Keith said to the Jenkinses, I know you've got chores, too, so I won't be long.

  What can we do for you? Martin asked.

  Well, I just wanted to let you know about that horn honking a few nights back.

  Heard it. Saw it.

  I got into a little scrape with the Spencerville police, and they were doing some payback.

  Martin nodded.

  Sue said, They have no business out here. I called them that night, but the desk sergeant said he didn't know anything about it, so I called Don Finney, the sheriff, and he said he'd check it out. He didn't call back, so I called him again, and he said nobody at police headquarters knew anything about it.

  Martin added, We were going to call you and see if you knew anything, but I figured you didn't.

  Well, as I said, they got themselves riled up about something.

  The Jenkinses didn't ask what, nor would they ever ask, but Sue added, Don is some sort of kin to Cliff Baxter, and they're two peas in a pod, as far as I'm concerned.

  Keith said, I'll try to see that it doesn't happen again.

  Not your fault, Sue said. She added, Those people are getting out of control. Citizens ought to do something about it.

  Probably. Hey, the corn looks good.

  Real good, Martin agreed. Good all over the damned state. Gonna be a glut again. Lucky to get two dollars a bushel.

  And that, in a nutshell, Keith thought, was the problem with farming. Supply always outstripped demand and prices fell. When he was a boy, about ten percent of the American population were farmers. Now it was about two percent, and farmers were a rare species. Yet production kept rising. It was sort of a miracle, but if you had four hundred acres, like the Jenkinses and most family farms did, your overhead ate up your sales. In a bumper year when the prices were down, you broke even, and in a bad crop year when the prices were up, the yield was down, and you broke even. It was the kind of job you had to save up for. Keith said, Sometimes I think I'd like to give farming a try.