by Max Grant
“Speak nothin’ of it. I done forgot all about that thing. Never seen you use it before.”
“Yeah, I used it all right. I beat that punk ‘til he stopped breathing and tossed his blabbin’ carcass down the cellar stairs. He never saw it coming.”
Pa said, “I always thought that boy was a loose cannon.”
“So what if we end up can’t find the place?” the young moron barked.
“Then go find yourself another pile of rocks,” Ma spat. “Just make sure this gets done right. I don’t want to hear about that sorry son-of-a-bitch ever again. Now let’s go over this one more time.”
“Well, the way the Indian told it, you take 66 all the way past Winslow through to Flagstaff. Then you take the Oak Canyon Road south to Clarkville. There’s some mining camp up in the hills called Jerome. Take the road through there and on over the Mingus Mountain down into Prescott. Then you take the road north out of town to this one-horse stage stop called Chino and go a few miles further north up to another stage stop called Paulden. He said there’s a post office up there on the right beyond the meadows. About a mile up is the Verde Ranch. You take the road east and in less than a half-mile you come to the abandoned Pea Vine Railroad track. He said the rubble pile was about a hundred yards south on the east side of the rail cut right across from the cliff they blasted out to make way for the tracks.”
Ma said, “I don’t know. That sounds pretty close to civilization to me.”
“The Indian said there was nothing up there but this no-account post office and some scattered ranches. Quite a few head of longhorn roaming around, but no people. He said the beauty of it is you can get in and out easy without getting lost or getting stuck, and you got plenty of privacy to get the job done on account of the cliff hiding things.”
“Well, OK. I guess that sounds just fine. Awful damn far though.”
Pa said, “That might be a good thing. If they ever do find his ass, they’ll never know who he was or where he come from.”
“I’m not so sure about that. I know for a fact that dumbass been fingerprinted a dozen times. But never mind that. Here’s what I want you boys to do.”
”Get on back to the ranch tonight and get you some sleep. Before sunup, get him wrapped up and into the trunk. Use that old shine car, that hopped-up Ford coupe Pappy left us. And fill up all of the tanks tonight so’s you’re ready to go.
“Pack your lunch and skedaddle at the crack of dawn. I don’t want you stopping anywhere until Lamar gets planted. Keep at it and you should be able to get there before the sun goes down and get a good look at the place. As soon as it gets dark you get about your business.”
“OK, but we need some money Ma.”
“Yeah, what for?”
“When we get done with business we’re gonna git back over the mountain and we need us some money for hospitality. The ol’ Injun told me there’s some mighty fine looking ladies over there in Jerome and we might just not be getting’ back here none t0o quick.’
“Well, that sounds all right. Take your time. If anyone comes around asking for you we’ll tell ‘em the boys went on up to Santa Fe to raise a little hell. Now git!”
I backed away from the window and motioned Yuki down the alley toward the plaza.
“We gotta find that ranch, and this looks like our best chance.”
“What about the sheriff?”
“Not yet. Way too early. I want that shipment to move before any pot gets stirred around here.
“You and I heard the confession and witnessed the conspiracy. One of those boys is going to crack. My bet’s on Earle. He just doesn’t look like he’s up for wet work.
“Wet work?”
“Yeah, what Ma did to her own kin and what they’ll be doing tomorrow. Let‘s assume they do with Lamar what they said they would. We’ll get the sheriff on it later. Those fools are taking that body across state lines. As least some of ‘em are going to hang for it.”
“Here those two come now!” she whispered.
We moved out from the alley and walked to mid-block. The boys crossed the street and hopped into an old Ford Vicky of pre-war vintage. We hustled to our ride parked on the east side of the Plaza and picked them up as they headed south on San Felipe. The boys turned at Central and we followed them east out of town.
Dropping into a broad canyon, they turned off the highway and headed north through the tiny settlement of Tijeras. I pulled over at the Conoco station, gave them a few more seconds lead, and pulled out again.
When we came up over the rise they were lost to sight, but I saw some taillights up on the mesa to our right. We came to a little dirt road with a couple of mailboxes. I figured this was far enough. Yuki scribbled a number off one of the mailboxes and we turned around and headed back to town.
“Well that seems to have bought us some time” I mumbled. “Let’s go see what Reismuller is up to and get Johnny out here. I want you out of town and back to LA before this shipment moves.”
* * *
Yuki was able to get a line on Reismuller at the university’s admin office. She told them she had had the fellow as a professor before and was trying to look him up and pay him a visit. It turned out to be a good guess.
She learned that Karl Reismuller was still affiliated with the university as a guest lecturer, having taught there part-time in the past. They directed her to his business, Advanced Propulsion Systems, located south of Albuquerque in an out-of-the-way little whistle stop called Carrizozo.
We got down there the next morning shortly after business hours. On the way down I went over with Yuki what we were looking for.
The address we had matched a nondescript building of apparent recent construction located on the main drag west of town. It had the appearance of a war-time structure, the kind hastily thrown together by the lowest bidder. It sat back from the road behind a small sun-baked parking lot. A fenced yard was along the south side.
There was a single decrepit old heap baking in a corner of the parking lot, but no other signs of occupancy. I rolled in and parked on the opposite side of the crate, despairing of it actually belonging to one Karl Reismuller, university professor and business owner.
We climbed a low wooden staircase and entered through the double doors into an unlit foyer. Yuki stiff-armed an inner door and preceded me down the central hallway. We passed a couple of rooms that appeared vacant, and a few closed and unmarked doors. Finally she paused at an open door and held up her hand to caution me back.
I watched her rap on the doorsill and call out, “Dr. Reismuller?”
A deep voice from somewhere inside the room boomed, “That’s right. Come on in and take off your clothes. I’ll be right with you.”
Yuki took half a step back, and I could see the color rising from her neck. But she shook it off and charged on into the room.
I could hear him rumble out a long soft chuckle. It must have been an old gag.
He said, “My apologies, Miss, I thought you were one of the students. Dr. Wilhelm Reismuller at your service.”
“That’s better,” she laughed. “I’m Mei-Ling Tan. Dr. Chan of CalTech is an old friend of the family and he suggested I see you. I guess he didn’t tell me quite enough about you.”
The professor chuckled again, and she continued, “I’m currently undertaking my graduate work in electronic control systems and he indicated you might be willing to share some details of your research. My goal is to prepare for a career in the development of avionics and controls for motors and propulsions systems.”
There was a long pause, followed by “Dr. Chan, eh? How is the old boy?”
“He’s doing quite well, I understand. My father and he still get out for the occasional golf game.”
“Yes, yes, well come on in and have a seat. Let me clear some space here.”
I took the opportunity to pussyfoot on by the door and cast a quick glance inside. Reismuller was a large man, tall and beefy, with forearms like lean Virginia hams. His head was a wi
ld frazzle of red hair and beard, and he sported a pair of thick, round-lensed tortoiseshell glasses.
As I passed, he was busy moving books from a chair at the corner of his desk to one of several piles on the floor. He did not look up and took no apparent notice of my movements. I cooled my heels at the end of the hall for a couple of minutes and sauntered on back to the door.
I heard Yuki saying, “…is all very interesting. I wonder if I might have a look at your laboratory?”
“Certainly, Miss.”
I heard the good doctor kick his chair back and I high-tailed it back down the hall to the lavatory. The two of them walked the other way and through a heavy door at the end. After several seconds of silence, I popped out of the loo and hoofed it through the double doors and out into the sunshine.
It was a good half hour and several smokes later when she emerged from the building. I turned my back and strode off to the corner while she made a beeline for the car. She climbed in and sat stock still for a spell, her hands gripping the top of the wheel. Finally she mashed the starter and swung the heap around to pick me up.
Yuki stayed silent as we cruised on down the main drag and caught the highway north. After a few miles she started shaking her head and muttering “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.”
“That bad, huh? What did you find out?
“He is definitely a brilliant scientist, and very capable with his hands, but he is totally lacking in common sense. That place has no security at all. And he has no inventory controls in place either.”
“Why would he need that? What’s he keeping in there?”
“Oh, just a bunch of rocket motors. Solid fuel-propelled missile engines. Lots of them. Small, large and in-between. He has those things stashed on the floor, under benches, up on shelves, and in every other nook and cranny in the place.
“There’s also a ton of solid rocket propellant in there, along with a terrible chemical stench and a bunch of different colored barrels, none bearing any obvious markings. Several of the motors were obviously charged. He told me he tests them out in the desert east of here.
“As far as I could tell they were all prototypes. No two looked identical and he has no pilot production set up. Just a well-equipped machine shop and a lot of metal stock crammed in an impossibly crowded space. And lots of chemicals. I hope his landlord has iron-clad fire insurance, because that whole set up is an accident waiting to happen.
“And the worst of it is that he told me the Pentagon sends military reps around at least every other week to get updated on his work and remove the occasional prototype. They apparently have no quarrel with his arrangement.
“He assured me it was all very top secret, but it was all right for me to look and ask questions because, after all, this was going to be my future field! The guy’s cracked!”
“Well, what did he have for security?”
“Not much. There’s a man door in the back with a lock and dead-bolt on it. That looks all right, but of course it was open. There’s also a roll-up door back there right next to it, and it is broken and bashed in. The lock is broke and the metal is torn. One corner of the bottom was bent in, like someone had pushed their way in.”
“No alarm I take it. Did you get a gander at the back yard?”
“Yeah, I made a play for some fresh air, and walked on out the back door. There’s a fairly large pad out there and a bone yard of old equipment around the fence line. There’s a bunch more barrels out there too. I don’t know what they are exactly, components for the fuel maybe, but there are more than a few different kinds and I didn’t see where he’s taking any pains to keep them safe and secured.
“It’s got the same fence around it, but there’s a big old hole pulled out of the corner of it. You’d think someone would have figured out the place looks broken into! Hell, somebody could just back up to that hole in the fence and load up.”
“That must be what they’ve been doing. Sounds like they could take pretty much whatever they want out of that place.
“I asked him how he keeps track of the merchandise and he just said, ‘The government boys keep handing me new specs, I keep building them, and the government boys keep coming around and taking them away. Don’t know when it’s going to end. Gotta make hay while the sun shines.’”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, Mary and Joseph too.”
“I’m wondering how he’s keeping the paperwork, you know, those specs he’s talking about.”
“Well, I can guess. There were a bunch of thin folders stamped “Secret” tossed on some of those piles in the far corner behind the desk, and more of the same in and amongst the other piles of books. I saw you pussyfoot on by there. You got a look at his set up.”
“Yeah, but the jig’s up now.”
“Are you taking this to the Feds up in Albuquerque?”
“No. I’ve got a different idea. I’d like to play this one out. But Mack’ll know someone we can notify in a few days, ex-military intelligence most likely, and he’ll know which cages to rattle to get this place secured from now on. I just don’t want to be part of the picture once we’ve finished here.”
* * *
We took our time getting back to town and grabbed some lunch at an authentic looking cantina on the southern outskirts of the city. The day was crisp and clear, so we meandered off to the west and spent the afternoon hiking among the petroglyphs on the far mesa. After a few hours of quiet walking and appreciation of the stark scenery, I’d pretty much formulated my plan.
Back at the motel I told Yuki, “I need you to hop some transport back to LA and do one more thing for me.”
I pulled out a sheet of my personal stationary and scratched out a note, addressed it to General Delivery, Tuba City, Arizona. In it I asked Johnny when he got the letter to call my secretary in LA and she’d get him together with me by telephone.
I could see it coming, so I held up my hand and said, “No arguments. I need you to get me in touch with Johnny Eagle. Wait for him to contact you and then tell him to get down here as fast as he can.
“It could get a little rough from here on in, and I want you safely tucked away back home. If my plan is any good, we should be out from under this by the end of the month.”
Had I known!
* * *
That afternoon I put Yuki on the overnight train back to Los Angeles, a Santa Fe express via Flagstaff, and tucked her into a spacious private compartment in the sleeper coach. I hunted down the porter and spoke with him about ensuring her privacy was undisturbed, and left him a bottle of teriyaki sauce with instructions that it find its way to her table in the dining car.
The train was rolling when I made the closest door and hopped off to the depot platform. She looked radiant, but more than a little worried, as she waved to me, framed in the large window of the private compartment. I felt a pang inside as I knew I’d be missing her in the days and weeks to come.
Since we’d met there hadn’t been more than a few days we’d not seen or spoke with each other. And things seemed to have progressed to a new level these past few days where I was starting to think of her less as a secretary and more as a partner, in the business and in my life. Moreover, we had formed an effective team over the weeks since the attempt on Vivian’s life.
But the trail from here on in called for risky action and, no doubt, some extralegal activity that I did not want her involved with. I would be in good hands partnered with Johnny and Mack, and I wanted Yuki home safe and secure ‘til this particular business was wrapped up.
* * *
Next morning I rose late and headed up to Tijeras to keep an eye out for the Clanton boys. Not really expecting them for another day I pulled up into the picnic area off the main highway and got out one of my old textbooks, by Raymond Chandler. Nothing stirred in the next couple of hours so I rolled to the local café. The lunch crowd had left and I staked out a table at the window.
I was just putting away the last of the coconut c
ream pie when the Arkie boys thundered through town in a heavy black Ford. Way it rumbled and squatted heavy on the chassis it had to be the shine car. They must have driven all night. Apparently the whoring hadn’t been all that profitable in the mountain mining camp after all.
‘Them boys’re probably too ugly to get it even paid for,’ I thought.
That noisy car gave me an idea I might be able to scope out the ranch. I paid up and got out of there.
About a block up was the local hardware store. I walked in and spotted the hardware I was looking for in a long rack along the far wall. The countertop in front of it was plastered with photographs of elk, deer, mountain lion, a variety of game fish, and smiling locals. The quarry didn’t look as pleased.
I took my time perusing the merchandise on the rack before settling on a short, sleek lever-action in .357; a tad big of a round for varmintin,’ but close enough for the pose. And I always kept a couple cartons of feed in the glove box with my S&W.
“This good for varmints?” I queried.
“Oh, yeah, but you might do better with a longer barreled .22.”
“I don’t know. I like the feel of this thing. If it don’t do what I want, I’ll just throw rocks at ‘em.”
He chuckled at that one, got the piece down from the wall, and rang up the sale. I added on a decent leather travel case for it and got out of there for less than 30 fins.
Back on the road and on up over the next rise I came to the two mailboxes and spied the dirt track sloping up the alluvial fan toward a narrow canyon in the mesa. I drove on a ways further and around the bend was another dirt road that appeared to angle up towards the mesa. I pulled over and shoved a few cartridges into the carbine before taking the rig up the slope to the mesa.
Up over the rim, the road forked in three different directions and followed a track that meandered through some minor badlands to a rim overlooking a small box canyon in the mesa. The black Ford was parked next to the Vicky alongside an old weathered shack at the center of the biggest assortment of scrap I’d yet laid eyes on during this journey through the Southwest.
