“Maybe he’ll put up for a couple of mine.” The blonde put a finger to her mouth. Her hands weren’t pretty. They were the only thing about her that wasn’t. She smiled. “You want to buy a lady a drink?”
Udell wiped that smile of hers away with one quick slap to the back of her head. She turned on him like a cat, claws bared. This obviously wasn’t anything new. He was ready for her. Udell caught both her hands in one of his and pushed her away like a puppy nipping at his toes. The woman fell hard, crashing her back against the bar before coming at him again. Udell turned his head. His beard was long, his hair was long, and he looked like a biker god come down from hog heaven to deal with a pesky mortal.
“Hey, man.” Mark didn’t raise his voice. “Forget your old lady. I’ll drink with you.”
That stopped the blonde in her tracks. “Why you...” She was headed toward Mark until Udell backhanded her. She gave up. Wanda had a shooter and a bag of ice waiting. Mark gave her credit. The blonde wasn’t slinking away, just biding her time.
“You want to drink with me?” Udell stood rooted to the spot. Mark wondered if he had to consciously think about moving those feet. He smiled.
“Yeah. George Stewart wants you to know something that’s better told over a drink.”
“George wants me to know, huh?” Udell grunted. Mark motioned to a table and got off the stool.
Udell waved away his cohorts. He decided to use his feet. While they moved, his bare arm scrubbed around on his face. Mark didn’t watch to see what came off on it. He told Wanda to bring them whatever Udell drank. Mark took a split second to look the big man in the eye and try to figure out how in the hell a wimp like George Stewart managed to recruit him. He pulled out a chair, straddled it and leaned over the table. It was time for some talking. This was the place Nick had said he would find out who beat him up; this was the man who supposedly would know. Wanda was right there. Tequila for Mark, water for Udell.
“Don’t feel like gettin’ mean yet. I get mean when I drink.”
“Guess so,” Mark said but he didn’t look over at the blonde with the black-and-blue face.
“Now what?” Udell was all ears. Mark looked him in the eye and spoke like a man with a mission since that’s obviously what this big fella responded to.
“George sent me to tell you that the guy you did a couple of weeks ago...” Mark paused for effect.
“Yeah?” Udell narrowed his small eyes.
“He wasn’t what you thought,” Mark finished.
“Yeah?” Udell’s eyes were mere slits.
“George says to tell you he wasn’t just a cop. That guy...” Mark paused again and snapped his fingers like he was thinking. It was all the time Udell needed.
“Yeah, yeah, I know the motherfucker you’re talking about.” Udell didn’t mention Nick’s name but Mark could work around that.
“Okay, so George says to tell you he was FBI. He wanted you to know that everyone in the cell is laying low but to be sure whoever did that guy gets out of town.”
“Yeah?” Udell grinned.
“Yeah. It’s not going to go down good for you or whoever took him out. The guy’s going to live, and they’ve got the whole Bureau on this one.”
Udell nodded sagely. He considered this information. He scratched the flag. There were fifty-two states. Someone made a mistake.
“Man, I got a question.” Udell took a drink from his tall glass of ice water and put it back down with a thud. He crossed his arms on the table and he tapped Mark’s hand with a finger the size of a sausage. His head bobbed. “Who in the hell is George Stewart?”
Days later Mark Jackson would swear a sinkhole opened up, swallowed him and spit him out again. That’s what it felt like when Udell asked that question.
“He’s the one on trial, man. Heads the Independent Militia? That bombing?”
“Oh yeah.” Udell’s head bobbed harder. “Yeah, I heard about that.”
“You jerking me?” Mark demanded under his breath. “George told me I could find more of our people here. You militia or aren’t you?”
Udell’s head fell back. Initials were tattooed on his throat. They weren’t his. Mark didn’t ask who they belonged to. Udell finally had enough and clapped Mark on the back.
“Man, you are funny. Funny. Funny. Hey, Wanda,” he yelled while his big hand held Mark to his seat, “Bring me a bourbon. Bring this guy another one, too.”
“I don’t want to drink. I want to know who I’m talking to here. Am I getting myself in deep here or what? Maybe you’re a plant, too. Maybe you’re in tight with the FBI and you just took out one of your own to make it look good.” Mark put on a good face, afraid but not too afraid.
“Relax, man. I ain’t no snitch. I ain’t no FBI and I sure ain’t no militia. Wanda?” He grabbed her rear when the woman came over with her little black tray then he patted it affectionately. “Your friend here thinks we are government hating, baby bombers. He thinks we hate the government.”
“No kidding?” Wanda’s eyes got as wide as they could, weighed down as they were by her make-up. “Baby, what makes you think that? I don’t hate the government, Udell don’t hate the government.”
“Hey.” Udell called to everyone in the Soft Spot and put Mark in one hard place. “Any of you militia? Any of you wanna blow up the government?”
A chorus of rude and amused noises answered his question. Udell let Mark go and downed his liquor. He lowered his voice and sounded oh-so-concerned.
“Friend, I don’t know what beef you got. I ain’t never met that guy George Stewart, but if I ever meet him, I’m going to take a piece for myself if he’s telling tales on me. I don’t hate the government. Government and me, we go our separate ways. I don’t mess with them, they don’t mess with me. If they try, I take care of it. And the one thing I don’t do is belong to no group. People belong to me. I’m the group.”
Mark swallowed hard. “But there’s a man in the hospital almost kicked to death. Stewart said he was here. Said you guys beat him up.”
“What’s his name?”
Mark shook his head, “George gave me a name, but he thinks it’s bogus anyway.”
“Okay, what’s the dude look like?”
“How in the hell should I know?” Mark pushed his chair back. He’d fight and run if he had to. “Don’t you know if you did someone? All I know is this guy’s in bad shape. Almost dead. That’s all I know.”
“Okay, buddy. You got me. We did a number.” Udell pushed his chair back and planted his feet hard on the ground. He raised his voice. “Hey, Cindy.” The blonde looked up. She had a scowl on her face and love in her eyes.
“Don’t you come near me,” she said, but didn’t mean it.
“Aw, you’ll be begging me tonight.” Before she could answer, he laughed hard and said, “Sugar, you know that guy you were doin’ a few weeks ago. The one I caught with you in the trailer? That measly little wimp?”
“He was a gentleman, Udell. No need to have done all that. Did you hear how he’s doing?”
“Yep. Looks like he’s going to rise from the dead. But here’s the thing, Cindy. You were screwing a fed!” Udell was still laughing when he gave his attention back to Mark. The minute they locked eyes he became deathly serious. “Cindy’s my woman. We may not see eye to eye, and we may play rough, but I love that broad. Ain’t nobody going to take my place. So you go on and find whoever it is you work for and you tell ’em you’re damn lucky to be alive. You tell ’em the government don’t scare me none. FBI or anyone else. Now, ’less there’s something else I can help you with, I think it’s time you be going.”
Mark’s jaw worked. There were things he wanted to say, questions he had to ask. More importantly, there was a scream deep inside him that had to come out. He dug in his pocket.
“Keep your money, man.” Udell was disgusted. “You government types don’t make enough anyway. Guess that’s why you’re so stupid, huh? Always tryin’ to screw whoever gets in your way, and a
lways fuckin’ it up.”
“Mr. Jackson, it’s after midnight. Mr. Jackson, please.”
A nurse hurried after Mark Jackson, stopping when he turned on her, raising a finger to silence her. “I’m going to see Nick Cheshire and I’m going to see him now. You got that? You call anyone—a doctor, another nurse or security—and I will have your job. When I leave you can go in and see if he’s still alive. You got that?”
He didn’t bother to wait for her answer and there was no doubt in his mind that he would be left alone with Nick long enough to say what was on his mind. He made it to Nick’s private room, walked straight up to the bed and kicked it.
“Wake up, Nick. Wake up you shit.”
Groggy, Nick opened his eyes. He was awake in the next instant, understanding the look on Mark Jackson’s face.
“You gave me the name. You gave me the place. Why in the hell didn’t you tell me you nearly got yourself killed for a biker’s woman? You jeopardized two years of work, the Stewart trial, and for what? A piece of ass? What in the hell were you thinking? I oughta kill you myself.”
Mark threw himself away from the bed, understanding Udell’s desire to kill. He took three fast breaths through his nose and put his hands on his hips. He didn’t feel any better. He twirled back, staying close to the bed so he wouldn’t be tempted to raise his voice and let the whole world know what happened.
“I’m out of here, Nick. I will not be back. I will not even know you when you finally get out of this place. You will not have a job. You will not have a friend in the Bureau. You will not have a reference. You will not exist as far as I’m concerned.” He went closer still, his voice molten, the words burning into Nick’s head. “You should have died buddy. You should have died if this is the way you repay me.”
Mark stormed down the hall just as the nurse, finally having decided to try and save her patient, was hurrying in with a security guard. The man in the rent-a-uniform backed up against the wall when he saw Mark. Mark didn’t give them a second look. For him, this place and all the people in it didn’t exist anymore.
At home, Mark sat in the dark in his garage considering his options. They were limited. Putting a hose on the exhaust seemed an excellent one. Mark let his head fall back against the seat and his mind wander. It went to the good times with Nick, to the excitement of the Stewart arrest, Caufeld dead because Nick couldn’t keep his pants on and Mark’s little vindictive mandate. Sometime during the night, as he dozed and worried and finally gave up, it dawned on Mark Jackson that there was one person who might help him out. He was showering when his wife woke up. He kissed her, inquired about the children, made a phone call, and headed for the club.
18
“My word, Jackson! Where in the hell did you learn to hit a passing shot with a left-handed spin?”
The man on the other side of the net had aged a good ten years during the last set. Shaking hands over the net, the two men made small talk as they went toward the clubhouse. Mark wrapped a towel around his neck and was headed for the showers when he saw Abram sitting alone at a table. He had almost forgotten. That’s what a good hard, killer game of tennis could do. It could wipe away all your problems. Unfortunately, they came back.
“I’ll see you next week,” he muttered to the man he had just pounded.
The man whose ego was so sorely bruised nodded and hailed a waitress as he fell into a chair. Mark ambled over to Abram and pulled out a chair of his own. Abram smiled. It was interesting to see Mark here, dressed as he was. In the office he seemed to tower. Here he seemed quite normal.
Upon closer inspection, though, Abram decided it wasn’t just the tennis whites that diminished Mark Jackson, nor was it the smell of sweat. What Abram finally identified was the scent of fear, and that gave Abram the creeps. He hoped to God it was just his imagination.
“That was a wonderful match,” Abram commented convivially.
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to know that if I played tennis I would opt for doubles and I’d be your partner.” Abram sipped his drink and watched Mark. He tried desperately to keep this social. Abram always believed if you didn’t hear about a problem, it didn’t exist. “Do you want something? I can’t recommend the soda. Too much syrup.”
“No, I’m not thirsty. I just need to cool down. Sorry to get you all the way out here, but this isn’t a conversation we should have in either of our offices.”
Abram slipped on his sunglasses. No sense in facing the glare of whatever had brought him here.
“We’ve got a problem, Abram, and I want you to listen close.” Mark used the towel once more as if to wipe away any confusion before he began.
“I don’t quite know how to say this.” His short laugh told Abram they were both in hot water. “I took Caufeld’s guard off him the morning of the day he was killed. We’d had him covered until then, but I’m the one that gave the order to leave him open.”
“I’d assumed Caufeld had dismissed them,” Abram said cautiously, knowing there would be more.
“Yeah, well. The guys on watch know. They won’t say anything. I don’t think anyone will ask about it, but I thought you should know.”
“Eli Warner asked,” Abram said.
“When?” Mark looked sick.
“A few days ago, Mark. Again, I assumed he was investigating the murder since he’d already done so much legwork on Caufeld’s background.”
“Wrong again. I wish I had done something about him earlier.” Mark waved away that wish. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll reassign him now. I’ve got a background that will take him out of the state if he does it right.” Abram grimaced. This was sounding worse by the minute. “Now, I’m not real worried, but under oath my men are going to have to testify that I pulled them off Caufeld, then somebody’s going to ask me why I did that.”
Abram sighed. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why did you do that?”
“Nick Cheshire had the crap beat out of him. He lost a testicle for God’s sake.” Mark allowed a moment of silence. “I loved that kid. I’d invested years in him. I brought him along through the agency.”
“That’s nice, Mark, but I must point out that the question is why did you remove Caufeld’s guard?”
“I figured Nick got done because I’d left him with the militia boys too long while Caufeld deliberated. I was ticked at Caufeld for putting Nick in that position. I figured I’d give those militia boys a chance at him. I never really thought they’d take it.”
“Kudos, Mark. It’s not something I would have done, but obviously it was effective. I hope you can sleep at night.” Abram was appalled, but not surprised. Speak in haste, repent in leisure. Still, Caufeld was dead, the agents silent, there was nothing to worry about for the time being.
“I could sleep if that was all there was to it.” Mark put a fist to his face as if he could punish himself. Instead he put it against his lips then finally let Abram in on his secret. “Caufeld didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Nick. He was screwing a woman married to a biker who gets mean when he drinks. They went easy on the woman.” Mark took a minute for himself. “I can’t believe it. I taught him better, Abram, and he disappointed me. Then I disappointed myself.”
“How did you find out?”
“Nick could hardly talk. I asked him who did it because I wanted a piece of them. He gave me the name of a bar, the name of the man and I figured George Stewart had a cell at the place. I went to check it out, found out there’s no militia action, just this big guy with a bad temper. The woman’s a witness if it comes to that.”
“That’s a gruesome story, Mark, but why are you telling me all this?”
“Because we are both in it, Abram. Think about it. I’m pissed at Caufeld because he’s endangering my agent. You’re ticked off at him because he’s taking away half your case. You played politics when you assigned Kingsley and everybody knows it. Now you’ve pulled her off ’cause Caufeld isn’t hearing the case anymore. All the press n
eeds is a whiff of our extracurricular activities and we’re going to be burned at the stake. They’ll talk conspiracy, Abram, obstruction of justice, endangering a life, tampering with...”
“Yes. I get the point. Fine.” Abram was sitting close now. Their heads were together, and their minds were running a mile a minute. “We’ll have to indict Henry Stewart fast then. Whoever I assign to that prosecution is going to ask questions about Caufeld’s guard. I’ll work to minimize it on my end, and you work on yours and we’ll do it all most expediently.”
“I agree things need to happen fast, but there’s another problem. Henry Stewart didn’t do it.”
Abram groaned, putting his face in his hands. Mark touched his arm. It looked like a friendly gesture, but he growled his orders. “Don’t do that. You look like it’s the end of the world.”
“It’s my opinion that we’re close to it, Mark,” Abram suggested, but lowered his arms anyway. “I made the short list for Caufeld’s vacant seat and I’m not going to lose it because your fraternity brother was on a panty raid. I want to prosecute Henry whether he did it or not. No one will question the indictment. It’s a foregone conclusion, especially now that he’s become so vocal. He’s determined to self-destruct. We’ll help him along.”
“Public opinion won’t put him away. Caufeld was shot with a twenty-two and Henry was found with a thirty-eight. Everything the kid told Lauren was true. We corroborated his story about the fast food. We even found someone who saw him arrive back at the house. No way you can get around that.”
The Mentor Page 26
