“Who was I going to tell?” she shouted. “Jesus Christ, don’t you think I know I’m just a hood ornament to this bunch? I’ve tried to talk to my mother about Dad’s shenanigans but it’s like talking to a sock puppet. I’ve tried, at various times, to do something with my life. Nobody would hear of it!” ‘Just enjoy your life,’ they’d always say. My parents, my husband, all my friends. Art’s daughter, my best friend, she’s a physical therapist. She does things. Even she told me to travel, study fashion, ‘enjoy life’. I found some gold. Me. I dug it out with my bare hands and a crowbar. I sold it. I banked the money. I did it. It wasn’t even about the money. It was that the money came from me. Shit, I’ve never wanted for money. I have $4 million in the bank. Clay has $80 million. But I got mine with my bare hands. Hell…I stole it from my own niece. She can have it. If I’ve broken laws, so be it. I’ll face it and pay the price. But, from this day on, I’m going to create a life in which I do something and you three can be a part of it…or not. Your choice.”
“Of course we’re part of it,” Gene choked. “We love you, honey.”
“I do, too,” Clay Wright said quietly, “although, at the moment, I’m really wondering why.”
“Jesus,” I chuckled, “I’m gonna puke. I’m outta here. Mr. Kasten, get out your passport and get packed. You and I are going to Oregon and then to Italy.”
“Why…why are you going?” Kasten asked, bewildered.
“Because Alicia’s dad should have a friend present.” I rumbled, “And that is not a request.”
Snapshots, images frozen in my mind and unlikely to ever fade:
A weary, bewildered 70-ish couple on a broad plank porch of a bed ‘n’ breakfast in Joseph, Oregon. Dawning pain and realization and then fresh grief etched upon his pleasant face, her faded beauty.
The blooming of a fresh hope as they discover that suddenly, miraculously, they have a grandchild…and that their long-lost son remembered them fondly, after all the empty years.
The stunned, almost frightened expression on their faces as they read that their son has left them over $5 million in his will. The sunlight in her sweet face and the shimmering tracks of her tears.
Endless driving to Portland with all conversation exhausted in the first hour.
Airplanes. Meal carts, Scotch in tiny bottles, brief glimpses of Chicago, New York, Amsterdam, and Rome. Smaller plane to Solano. The taxi driver’s fractured English.
A tiny, perfect child in a velvet dress, with shiny black shoes and red bows in her pale blonde hair. The waxing and waning of Joe’s face and then Joanna’s in her tiny visage.
“Are you my grandpa?” she says in a tiny, musical voice, her vowels drenched in Italian.
“Yes, I am,” Gene Kasten says quietly, almost unable to speak.
More planes, this time with coloring books, crayons, and dolls of many kinds.
Driving from Portland, her tiny eyes wide and astonished.
Two grandmothers—the very grand one from Spokane, the truly grand one from Joseph—fighting back tears as their grandchild gravely repeats what her Italian nanny had taught her to say: “Hello, I am Alicia and I am very pleased to meet you.”
Three men seated on a broad plank porch, sipping Scotch whisky from jelly glasses. To toast their miraculous new privilege and challenge. One matches toast for toast but is lost in bleak and desperate memories as countless as the ocean of stars spinning across the perfect blackness of the Oregon night.
Another sunset. In the fading glow of a brilliant day, eight people huddled awkwardly before a neat, rectangular hole in the rock-strewn hillside.
“I’m no minister,” I say quietly, “and I’m not sure he would have wanted one, anyway. I do know that he had seen enough of life to realize that there was more to it than simply being a ‘good soldier.’ I won’t pretend to know him, and yet I did. I knew the same things he knew: How incredibly fragile life is and how easily it is taken, the meaning of honor and duty, and the loneliness of knowing these things that almost no one does.”
“I also know that this place was, for him, what our most cherished loved ones are for most of us. It’s hard to think it, but the choice he made was the right one for a man who was - finally, after a lifetime of denying the very concept - well and truly home.”
“There is no justification possible for what he did at the end of his life. There is also no justification for what was done to him.”
“I commit him to his land, trusting God to know, far better than us, where Joe’s soul should find its rest.”
“Go in peace, Joe. We’ll see you again on the other side.”
I thanked Gene and Abigail for coming. Gene had asked to be there, seeing as Joe had entrusted such a large part of himself to them and the Reijnens. All four of them were searching for answers to the jigsaw puzzle of Joe’s life.
I stood quietly and pondered the sunset, while watching the Reijnens cling to one another as they picked their way slowly down the hillside. They hadn’t said much since arriving and I marveled at their quiet dignity and strength in the face of such a bewildering, life-long tragedy.
I insisted that Clayton Wright attend and blackmailed him into agreeing to answer questions afterwards. He showed up looking surly and hurried but, by the end of the “service,” had gone quiet and thoughtful.
I sidled up next to him as we all made our way down the hill.
“Past coming back on you, Doc?” I asked gently.
“Yeah,” he allowed. “A bit. Surprisingly, I’m ashamed to admit…I took to him in the field hospital because…because he sorta broke my heart. He was so…sweet, somehow; this blank page on which everything was a delight and a miracle. I take it his childhood was sorta boring, from what he said, but he had blossomed in Laos. He started to discover the world. That’s what we talked about, those nights in the ward; not the state secrets the Langley assholes were so obsessed with. He asked me about L.A., the Rocky Mountains, Wales, Alaska, women, the Dodgers…”
“I…I sorta loved him, then. He was the kid brother I never had…and I forgot that, over the years. He became this anonymous voice on the phone. I haven’t seen him in 12 years. Now…now, I never will.”
“What’s going to happen with the Feds?” I asked.
“Well, they don’t believe that the woman who showed up in Joe’s surveillance, time after time, could turn out to be my sister-in-law and I didn’t know it. They’re digging hard but there’s just nothing to find. For the rest of it…I did my job. They admit that. They even agree that I was right to hammer down on Katja.”
“Well, that’s my main question – and it’s really none of my business but I’d just like to know – how did he wind up involved with her? It doesn’t seem like they’d…run in the same circles,” I sighed.
“Joe never came right out and told me,” he said quietly, “But I pieced it together…maybe. He was assigned to take out Serge Dageneau, that much I do know. It was in Valreas, France. The French government agreed to look the other way but wouldn’t help, so Joe was on his own. Dageneau was holed up in a small hotel, in a nice room with a view and he finally unclenched enough to sit out on his balcony. Joe was all set and about to do the deed when the girl came out and sat down next to him. Apparently the family resemblance was unmistakable. Joe hesitated. Then he packed it in. He called me and told me all about it. I freaked and called Langley. They ordered him back in. I screamed bloody murder. They sent a guy in to prod Joe. He was there for clean-up, at a nearby hotel. He and Joe went to the room where Dageneau was staying. That’s a far as I know. Somehow, in the mess that followed, the other guy decided to clean up the whole thing – Degeneau, his daughter, and Joe. Joe…left by himself. Our other guy never came back. They found what they assumed to be Dageneau’s body a week later, in northern Spain, burned beyond recognition. They didn’t get a sniff of the girl for two years. Joe resurfaced ten days later, in Marrakesh. Obviously, Joe and…Katja spent some time together. DNA tests were c
onclusive. Alicia’s his daughter.”
“I…I didn’t know about the plan to have Simmons take out you and Joe, I swear it. I can understand - sorta - why they’d eliminate Joe but you…they tell me Simmons decided to do that on his own.”
“Simmons didn’t know it,” I smiled, “But that was destined to backfire on him, ambitious little vermin that he is.”
Clay Wright looked at me strangely and then shook his head.
“At any rate, it’ll all work out. My marriage…that’s another matter.”
“Well, good luck, Doc,” I said, offering my hand. “Maybe you don’t need the marriage?”
“Maybe not,” he sighed, “but I need Alicia. I’ve got some stuff to make up for.”
He walked on ahead to catch up with the parents. Jack and Aaron drifted over to me.
“You coming into Spokane for dinner at Art’s, right?” Jack asked.
“Sure,” I chuckled. “Never pass up free grub and Art drinks very good Scotch.”
In the car we chatted about everything that had gone on at the end of the business with Joanna. Jack had no idea that I had called Aaron from the road and asked him to burgle Clay Wright’s Mercedes. Aaron allowed as to how it was easier than he thought but wasn’t something he ever wanted to try again.
“My heart felt like a hummingbird on a caffeine binge,” he laughed. “That was intense, now that I’m thinking about it. How did you know it’d be in the seat-back?”
“Only place to put it where it wouldn’t be obvious,” I shrugged. “It could have just slipped under his seat but Jane might have found it. And he wouldn’t travel anywhere without it.”
At Art’s we sat down to dinner with him, six of his associates, Bettijean, Sera and her fiancé, and the current Mrs. Art.
The food was excellent, as always, and the wine was a Masi Amarone ‘90, which held me spellbound. The conversation was lively and wide-ranging and I enjoyed it all. But I was quiet throughout and wound up on the back terrace by Art’s pool, with a liberal shot of Laphroiag and my wandering thoughts.
“Want some company?” Aaron asked.
“Park it, Amigo,” I smiled.
He slouched into a cast-iron chaise lounge after correctly figuring that the aluminum ones weren’t going to hold him. He had a beer in his hand in one of Art’s frosted pint mugs and it looked like a shot glass in his vast grip.
“You were pretty quiet during dinner,” he said softly. “For you, I mean.”
“So were you,” I replied. “What’s on your mind?”
“Oh…stuff,” he said dismissively. “It sounds bad to say it, I guess, but I had a really great time doing this stuff with you guys.”
“Why would that sound bad?” I chuckled. “Jesus, Aaron, you think I don’t enjoy my work?”
“I guess I just figured, since so much of it is about dealing with trouble…or causing it…”
“Oh, yeah,” I smiled, “some parts of it are tough to stomach, but that’s why you have to take the long view. Have you done any good? Did you leave the situation better than you found it? Did the bad guys get what was coming to them? If you get yes to those questions, you win; but, you don’t always win in a way you like. I didn’t win in this case. Joe died. If I’d been better, faster, smarter, maybe he’d still be alive. But, I didn’t lose, either, because Alicia got her family and I got to kick Simmons’ ass. I broke even. I’ll take that.”
“I’ve been wondering if I could…” he said shyly.
“If you could learn to be an investigator?” I grinned. “Sure you could. Hey, if it were brain surgery, I wouldn’t be doing it… But, I gotta tell ya, if you were to ask me, I say don’t do it.”
“Huh? Why?” he sputtered.
“Aaron, I’ve gotten to know you about one on a scale of ten, but I feel pretty safe in saying that you don’t really like being the town bully and you’d like very much to stop. Am I wrong?”
“No,” he admitted.
“So, why go into a line of work that involves so much physical confrontation? You’ve been there, done that. Do something else for a change.”
Jack came down the walk and dragged up a chair.
“Mind if I join you?” he smiled.
“I think you just did,” I sighed.
He and Aaron laughed and sipped at beers.
“Our boy Aaron has had so much fun at private eye camp that he doesn’t want to go home,” I smiled.
“Good,” Jack nodded. “Shows he’s using his head. Getting out of Kettle Falls would be a good first step.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Aaron nodded. “I think I may go back for my G.E.D. and try to get into Eastern Washington.”
“Bad idea,” Jack sighed.
“Huh?” Aaron grunted.
“How you going to pay for it, Aaron?” Jack asked.
“Well…get a job, I guess,” he shrugged.
“Doing what?” Jack snorted.
“Jesus, Jack,” Aaron growled. “Why don’t you just hire a brass band to celebrate how fucking unemployable I am, okay?”
“Well, you gotta be practical,” Jack mused. “I just think the University of Maryland would be a better choice.”
“Now, how the hell am I going to afford a big Eastern school when I can’t afford a little state school?” Aaron huffed.
“It wouldn’t cost you a dime,” Jack said quietly. “Tuition, books, and fees all paid for and your job would take care of everything else.”
“What fucking job?” Aaron fumed.
“Your new job as my staff photographer.”
Aaron froze with his beer halfway to his mouth. He started to say something but Jack held up his hand.
“You’ll be thinking this is some sort of charity,” Jack smiled. “Well, homey don’t play that. My original guy is retiring and he’s agreed to mentor you for six months. After that, and after all that same time studying for your G.E.D., you’ll get the company’s college scholarship grant and enroll at Maryland. We’ll work your job around school.”
Jack turned his chair to face Aaron’s and leaned in toward him.
“Look, I know leaving Kettle Falls will be hard, even though you want to, because it’s all you’ve ever known. But, sometimes, when your life is going the wrong way, the best thing to do is just step outside your life. I know you can do this, Aaron. I saw the pictures in your trailer. You have what I look for in my employees: heart. I don’t care that you don’t have formal training. My current guy taught himself and now he’s one of the top photographers in the country.”
“This is a chance to change your life, Aaron. Here’s what you’d get paid.”
He handed Aaron a slip of paper from his pocket and nodded encouragement. Aaron opened the note, took a long look, and lowered his head, his eyes filled with tears.
“Nobody…nobody ever took a chance on me, before,” he murmured. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
“Of course you can,” I smiled, patting him on the back. “You’ll be surprised at how quickly you’ll learn.”
“I’ve just…never been anything but big,” he sniffed.
“Who knows, Aaron,” I said quietly, tapping him on the side of his head. “I think maybe you might be pretty big up here, too.”
“So,” Jack smiled, “we got a deal?”
Aaron stuck his hand out and Jack took it warmly.
“Deal,” Aaron laughed, “deal, deal, deal.”
Jack reached into his pocket and fished out two checks.
“For your work on this mess, boys,” he said, with a flourish.
I took a look at mine and counted five zeroes to the left of the decimal before I looked back up at him.
“Jack, I can’t take this,” I snorted. “This is…absurd.”
“It’s what I thought the job was worth,” he smiled, “and it’s non-negotiable.”
I sighed, shrugged, and pocketed the check.
“The man’s a realist,” Jack said to Aaron.
“So am I,” Aar
on laughed and tucked the check into his wallet.
Back in Seattle, my first order of business, as always, was to mend fences with Clyde, who soldiers on good naturedly when I’m away but doesn’t like my absence one bit, and lets me know it when I come back. It took a two-hour walk, a chopped beefsteak, and my leftover pasta from dinner to get back in his good graces. It’s a worthwhile effort because Clyde’s good graces involve unconditional, completely uncomplicated love and acceptance. That don’t exactly grow on trees.
I took Clyde to the office with me the next day. He loves it but I don’t do it too often because my days are so unpredictable. He wouldn’t mind, of course; he never does. We have to jump and run in 60 seconds, he’s at the car before I am. The guy’s blind, a little hard of hearing, and, oh, yeah, he’s a dog, but he always knows exactly how to get back to the car.
If I were half as smart as him, I’d have branches in Paris, London, and Hong Kong.
I had just wrapped up a call to my harried broker who, after years of minimal activity on my behalf, suddenly had the boat sale, Jack’s absurd largesse, and the wholly unforeseen $1.6 million bounty the British government had been offering for the capture of Katja Saren. Calvert hand-delivered the check when he picked up Joanna and I carried it back to Seattle as though I had a live cobra in my shirt pocket.
Over the strenuous objections of my broker, I sent half of it to Joe’s folks to help with Alicia’s college fund. I wanted Joanna to have done the decent thing for the kid, even if she’d never know it. With the $5 million from Joe, neither his parents nor Alicia would ever have to worry about money again.
Besides, how many jet skis does one guy need?
The broker faxed over some forms and I sat quietly, with a steaming cup of Torrefazione’s brilliant bittersweet chocolate cocoa, to try and figure out exactly what kind of parlor tricks were about to be done with my ill-gotten gains.
When the phone rang, I groped for the receiver and answered absently.
“Tru…uh…Truman North,” I muttered.
“Did I wake you?” the voice began in a tone that obviously indicated he was hoping like hell he had.
“Nope,” I replied, dragging my attention away from the brokerage proposal. “Just playing with money.”
Call Me Joe Page 28
