by Alan Cook
"The hotel's about the only place and we can do better. You haven't eaten until you've tried Heather's good hearty soup."
"We'd love to stay for lunch," Arrow said in a loud voice. "I'll help Heather in the kitchen while you two go over what Karl's done on the website." She disappeared through the swinging door, the soul of domesticity, and we could hear her complimenting Heather on her kitchen.
Michael looked at me in relief as he cleared his papers off the table.
***
"James was the leader of our gang, if you want to call it that. He was the one with all the ideas, some of them pretty daft. Ned was his best friend. They shared everything, including Elma."
Michael stopped to eat a spoonful of soup, which was indeed both good and hearty. He and I each had a glass of beer. Arrow and Heather drank tea, although I knew by now that Arrow detested it.
"I was younger than Elma," Heather said, “but I always thought she was a wild one. Two boyfriends at the same time and then running off to America all my herself."
"She's quieted down a lot," Arrow said. "Raising three kids will do that to you."
She and Heather laughed together; Heather had also raised three kids. Suddenly the two of them were best buddies. Arrow had apparently convinced Heather that she was sweet and innocent, in spite of the fact that she was traveling abroad with somebody who wasn't her husband or even her intended.
Heather jumped up from the table and scurried into the kitchen.
"I understand that James invented something called The Game," I said, attempting to steer the conversation.
"Aye, The Game," Michael said. "James liked to play games that he was good at. He was always looking for an edge. I remember one time I played it..." He stopped and glanced at Heather, who had just returned with a lamb dish.
"Let's hear what you have to say, Michael McTavish," Heather said, placing the dish in front of him. "Don't stop on account of me. I already know enough about your sorry youth to convince your father to disinherit you."
"Small loss that would be," Michael said. "Well, this was before you were in the picture, Heather. You were still a skinny child..."
"You were no Adonis, yourself."
"There was this girl I had my eye on..."
"And who would that be?"
"Nobody you would remember. If you wish to hear my story, woman, then let me tell it. James knew her and promised to fix me up with her if I won The Game. The penalty if I lost was to run through the center of town with no clothes on."
"I don't remember that."
"If you were smart you were snug inside by the fire. It was a miserable day, rain and wind, and few people were about. I almost caught pneumonia."
"If I had seen you naked I would have had more sense than to marry you."
"I take it you lost The Game," I said, smiling.
"Yes. I had practiced, but at the last minute James changed the rules and I had to throw for different squares. That was like James."
"Elma said that a boy got killed as a result of The Game." Arrow said this casually, as if to make conversation, but she stole a glance at me as she said it.
"Killed?" Michael had a puzzled expression.
"Was that the Stewart boy?" Heather asked. "As I recall he fell onto the rocks."
Arrow and I looked at each other again, but we kept quiet.
"Dickie Stewart," Michael said, as if remembering. "He was part of the group. One day he took it into his head to climb the cliff from the beach. He must have slipped. It was very sad."
"Did he climb the cliff as a penalty for losing The Game?" I asked.
Michael took a sip of beer, then another. After a few more sips he said, "As I recall I was laid up in bed at the time—influenza I think it was, and I don't know the details."
"But you must have talked to the other boys," Arrow said, with a tinge of disbelief.
"I don't recall that. I went to Dickie's funeral, of course, even though I was still a bit rocky. By the time I had recovered the affair was over and forgotten."
"Perhaps there are other members of your group still here who would know what happened," Arrow said.
"Why is it so important?" Michael asked. "No good can come of it now. And there are many other stories I can tell you."
"It isn't important," I said. "And we would love to hear your stories."
***
Michael drove us back to the hotel after regaling us with stories for two hours. Arrow had brought a tape recorder with her and made a great show out of recording what he said so that we could maintain our credibility.
When he mentioned boys by name we asked him their current whereabouts. We also slipped in the names Elma had given us. According to Michael, one member of the gang was dead, one was in London, but none were still in northern Scotland. He said he had lost track of several others. Apparently, they were more adventurous than Elma had given them credit for.
The hotel desk had a message for Arrow from Jock, saying that he had some information for us.
"I'll call him from my room," Arrow said as we took the elevator—pardon me, the lift. "I want you to be with me."
We went into her room and she called the number given on the message. Jock asked her to meet him; Arrow invited him to come for a drink at the hotel. Jock said he'd like her to go to his place; she said she would bring me along. They agreed to meet at eight.
When she hung up she said, "He sounds horny and he's not my type. If you don't want to go we can cancel."
"Did he say what kind of information he has?"
"No, he just said that we'd find it very interesting."
***
We drove our car to Jock's flat. Jock had offered to pick us up, but Arrow had said we'd drive and got very specific instructions from him. He said it was only five minutes from the hotel.
His instructions turned out to be good and we arrived at his place without mishap. Jock let us into the first floor flat. Another man was there who Jock introduced as his roommate. I didn't catch his name. He was big, larger than Jock, and he had what seemed to be a permanent, slightly stupid grin pasted on his face. He couldn't take his eyes off Arrow.
The room we entered gave me an uncomfortable feeling, the kind you get when you stumble on a slice of life that makes you think, "This could have been me." It wasn't just the messiness of the room and disrepair of the sparse furniture but a feeling that the occupants either had lost hope or didn't care.
The ancient telly showed a British sitcom; Jock turned it off and offered us beer. We both turned him down. He and his roommate had mugs. I decided that we should get out of there as soon as possible and I knew Arrow felt the same way. She just barely perched on the edge of one of the few chairs. I stood.
"Well, Jock, tell us what you found out," I said, hoping to make this short and sweet.
"I have a friend with some connections," Jock said, relishing the word "connections." "He knows everything that goes on here."
I felt like saying that couldn't be much of a job, but I held my tongue.
"I ran the names of your three friends past him," Jock continued. "He recognized one of them."
"Which one?" Arrow asked.
Jock disappeared into the next room. Arrow tried to converse with the roommate, who was sitting opposite her and still grinning at her, but he only grunted in reply.
Jock returned with two more bottles of beer and gave one to his roommate. He said, "Are you sure you won't have a beer?"
Arrow and I shook our heads in unison.
He took his time opening a bottle and pouring some beer into his mug, carefully, so as not to have any of the foam spill over the edge. My arms itched to shake his information out of him.
Finally satisfied, Jock took a sip, set down his mug and said, "It was James Buchanan my friend recognized. He has been here in Wick within the past year."
"What was he doing here?" I asked.
"Before you kicked me out, yesterday, I heard Michael McTavish say that he had not s
een any of them for 30 years. But Michael saw James Buchanan when he was here. In fact, they met at Mackays Hotel. So Michael is playing some sort of a game with you."
"Are you sure?" Arrow asked.
"Are you doubting my word?"
I was inclined to trust Michael over Jock, but on the other hand I couldn't think of any reason why Jock would lie to us. We asked him some more questions, but he stuck by his story. He wouldn't tell us the name of his contact. He also didn't seem to have any more information.
Arrow stood up and said, "Thank you very much, Jock. We appreciate you telling us this. We don't want to intrude on you any more so we'll leave now."
She edged toward the outside door and I started to follow her. Jock's roommate stood, still grinning, and moved between Arrow and the door.
"You're not intrudin', Dearie," Jock said. "But you are," he said, turning to me. "You may leave now."
I didn't say anything. I thought I could handle Jock, one on one, but his roommate was a different story. Arrow made a quick movement to go by him. He grabbed her from behind and wrapped his arms around her. He lifted her as if she were a pile of laundry and turned to face Jock and me while she ineffectively kicked at his legs. As he set her down he momentarily squeezed the breath out of her and she became limp.
I wanted to wipe the grin off his face, but knew I couldn't. Think fast. "I'm not supposed to tell you this," I started, "because it's classified information, but Arrow and I are here on a special mission." I looked at the roommate. "I'll tell you about it if you let her go."
He had slid his hands under her sweater and he was very deliberately feeling her up. At least she could breathe, but if anything, the grin on his face had broadened. Arrow's look was one of pure terror. Jock had a sneer on his face.
The roommate had given no indication that he understood me, but I had no choice but to continue. Looking mostly at the roommate I said, "You've heard of the CIA. Arrow and I are members of the CIA. If anything happens to her others will come looking for you. I don't want to scare you, but you will be eliminated and your bodies will never be found."
Roommate was looking at me, still grinning, but there was a hint of something else there too—perhaps fear? His hands had stopped moving although he still held one of Arrow's breasts firmly in each hand.
"If you're CIA, show us some identification," Jock sneered.
I slowly reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. All I had was a California driver's license and I wasn't going to show that to Jock because he would see through it immediately.
I unfolded my wallet; my driver's license was visible through a plastic window. With my thumb and forefinger I slid the license up slightly so that the large-print word "CALIFORNIA" was hidden by a leather strip at the top of the window.
While I did this I took several steps toward Arrow and the roommate. I flashed the driver's license at him, long enough for him to see my photo but not long enough for him to read any of the smaller print still showing. He grunted, but didn't move to free Arrow.
I refolded my wallet and stuck it back in my pocket. I pulled my hand out of my pocket and in the same motion grabbed a small appliance sitting on a table, probably a CD player. The cord tightened as I picked it up; I jerked the machine, yanking the cord out of the socket, and then smashed the machine against the roommate's head.
He tried to put his hands up to defend himself, but they were impeded by Arrow's sweater. By the time he ripped her sweater open it was too late and the blow had landed. Freed from his grip, Arrow twisted away from him and ran to the door.
Roommate stood holding his head, stunned, giving me the opportunity to hit him a second time. The machine cracked open. As Arrow opened the door Jock grabbed me from behind. In one of those super-strength moments you read about I whirled around, breaking his grip and hit him with the remains of the machine.
I followed Arrow out the door and to the car, which was fortunately only a few steps away. She ran around it to the passenger side. I dropped the last piece of the machine and fumbled for the keys as I came up to it.
I looked back to see Jock standing in the doorway, trying to decide whether to follow us. He evidently thought better of it because by the time I got the door open he still hadn't moved. Arrow and I got in and locked the doors before I started the car. Then I drove off.
***
Arrow was still shivering when we got to her room, even though I had given her my jacket to wear. I went inside to make sure she was all right. As soon as I closed the door she fell in to my arms, put her head on my shoulder and sobbed. I patted her on the back and made what I hoped were soothing noises. I eased us over to the bed and sat us down on it.
Her shaking abated after a while. When she had calmed down enough to talk she said, "Don't leave me."
I persuaded Arrow to wash her face and hands and even clean her teeth while I went back to my room and did the same. When I returned she was under the covers and indicated that I should join her.
I took off my shirt and belt, leaving on a T-shirt and jeans. I climbed under the covers. Arrow still wore her jeans and bra. Her mangled sweater lay in a heap on the floor.
I turned out the light. She went to sleep in my arms. Much later, I also slept.
Chapter 23 LARRY
"The worst part isn't even the manhandling. It's the feeling of helplessness when you can't do anything. When you realize you're completely in the power of another person."
Arrow was speaking in a low voice as we ate the hotel breakfast so as not to be heard by the few other guests who had straggled into the dining room on Sunday morning. The full Scottish breakfast included eggs, bacon (American ham), sausage, toast, black pudding, juice and tea. We both ate as if we had been fasting for a month.
"I don't intend to ever get myself into that situation again." She said this with some of her usual grit. "But before we put this episode behind us I just want to say that you acted above and beyond the call of duty. He could have torn you limb from limb."
"Instinct." I didn't want Arrow's thanks. I felt guilty for getting her into trouble.
"You had a 'Get-out-of-jail-free' pass. You could have gone for help. Of course...by the time you had gotten help I would have been the victim of a double rape."
She said the word I couldn't. "I think we both learned something."
"Okay," Arrow said with finality, as if shutting a door. "What do we do now?"
I gathered that we weren't going to talk about the fact that we had slept together—not euphemistically, really slept, and nothing else.
I had wakened early and, not wanting to disturb Arrow, had quietly gone back to my room and thought about what we should do next. I said, "I propose the following: Let's pack our bags. We have one name of a man who lives in London. We may be able to get his address from the Internet."
"How are we going to access the Internet?"
"Our old friend, Michael. We'll call him at a decent hour. If he goes to church we'll catch him after church. He has no reason to be suspicious of us, like we do of him. I'm sure he'll let us use his computer for a few minutes."
"So we won't tell him we think he's a liar."
"Not a good idea. If he's really seen James he's in contact with him and we don't want James to know we're nosing around."
"You don't think Jock is going to call him and tell him we're from the CIA?"
"Whether or not Jock believes that, he's keeping a low profile right now, hoping we'll leave town without causing him any trouble."
***
We arrived at Michael's house about noon after assuring him that we weren't coming for Sunday dinner. Heather greeted Arrow effusively and whisked her into the kitchen. Michael led me to his small office where the computer was already revved up.
I found the name of Seamus Zeebarth in the white pages of one of the Internet search engines, with an address in London, and the name was sufficiently unusual that Michael and I agreed it was undoubtedly the right man.
I asked
Michael if I could send an email and he typed in the password to access his email system. He left the room for a couple of minutes while I sent an innocuous message to my father's address, knowing that John would read it. I left the copy on Michael's computer, in case he got curious. When I had finished I told Michael we would get out of his hair.
"I have something to tell you first," he said. "I remembered what happened with Dickie Stewart."
"I think Arrow would like to hear this too."
Michael retrieved her from the kitchen. When she heard about Michael's recovered memory she mouthed the words "tape recorder" at me. It was in the car. I shook my head. We didn't want to inhibit him.
The three of us sat around the fire, which always seemed to be going. Maybe Michael and Heather owned their own peat bog.
Michael said, "I must have repressed it because it's a bit gruesome, but one of the boys did tell me what happened with Dickie. It came to me last night. Dickie was a sweet kid, perhaps too sweet for the likes of us. He adored Ned because Ned had gone to his rescue when he was being beaten up by some boys from the other side of town. Ned was handy with his fists."
I could believe that. My memory of Ned was the feeling that he must be very muscular under his white shirt.
"Dickie followed Ned everywhere and tried to do the same things he did. That brought him into contact with Elma. One time when Ned and James were off somewhere, Dickie and Elma got together, so I was told. I'm not exactly sure what they did, but it must have been pretty steamy..."
Michael paused and I stole a glance at Arrow. She was looking at him with wide eyes.
"Anyway, Ned and James found out about it. James was inclined to laugh it off, but not Ned. He challenged Dickie. The result was that Dickie had to play The Game. If he won he would be clear. If he lost he had to climb the cliff.
"He lost. The day was set for his punishment. It rained all day, one of those rains that never stop. And the fog. You couldn't see more than a few feet. Dickie begged to have it postponed. Ned said he had to do it or he, Ned, would throw him off the cliff. You know the rest."
