A Thousand Bridges

by Michael McKinney

  I couldn't believe it, but Farmer, after sliding down the wall, was coming back up again and the pistol was still in his hand. Katherine put one hand flat against the wall and kicked hard, her foot slapping into his throat. He turned to stare at her with a dopey look on his face just as I brought the extinguisher down on his forehead. It broke the skin just above his left eye, and he crumbled onto the carpet, blood pouring across his nose.

  The pistol clattered over the night stand and dropped at my feet. When I bent to retrieve it the small man came to life. He jumped forward and threw a body block into Katherine, knocking her onto the bed. Then he came at me, eyes wild and mean. When he slammed into me I brought my fist up hard and got in one clean shot, catching him in the eye. He careened into the wall, bounced off, and ran to the door as I raised the pistol. He must've been in a panic, confused and dazed, because he was still looking back at the pistol when he ran onto the balcony and cleared the railing like it was a low hedge. I heard a woman scream from three floors below.

  Katherine struggled to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, and was staring at Farmer when I sat down beside her. She had a curious smile on her face, and I knew she was close to slipping into shock. She drew away when I touched her arm, but I said her name and she looked at me, glanced at the smashed door, and called me McDonald. She wrapped her arms around my waist and held on tight. I heard people shouting in the parking lot and, in the distance, sirens screamed.

  One look at Farmer was enough to see he wouldn't make another miraculous resurrection, so I leaned down, still in Katherine's grasp, and placed the pistol on the carpet. I pushed it away from me with my shoe. The police would be in the motel room in a minute, and cops don't like civilians with guns.

  I stroked Katherine's back and pulled away to study her face. Her eyes were still a little glassy, but she was working on her breathing and seemed to be leveling off. I knew I should try to get her to talk, to take personal inventory. Her jaw was swelling and turning purple.

  "What was that?" I asked. "Karate?"

  She shook her head. "No, it's Judo. I'm not very good at it."

  I nodded at Farmer. "Don't tell him that. It'll just embarrass him."

  She almost smiled.

  "You were great," I said. "I mean it. You were fantastic."

  "Thank God you came, Mac," she said. It sounded as if an army was storming the third floor, and I told Katherine to be still. They came into the room with guns ready, eyes alert. They were well trained, and I relaxed a little. Good, professional cops make few mistakes in this kind of situation. We waited silently until they checked out the room, and I could hear other motel patrons being escorted down the stairs. One cop picked up the pistol by the barrel and took it away. The first called for an ambulance as another policeman checked Farmer for a pulse.

  They told us to stand up and move away from each other, and after the first cop checked us for weapons, he placed two fingers gently on Katherine's chin and asked if she'd like to sit down. She nodded gratefully and, clutching my elbow, sat on the bed. I draped an arm over her shoulder and she leaned against me.

  Katherine started to tell the cop how it happened, how they broke her door down, but he held up a hand. All pistols were holstered. "Yes, ma'am," he said. "But please wait until the Lieutenant gets here so you only have to tell the whole story once."

  He was kind and polite to her, and he practically broadcasted the feeling that everything was under control. I liked this guy.

  The lieutenant finally arrived. He was a large, sloppy man with no taste in clothes. Before he entered the room he leaned over the railing, hands in his pockets. He looked down, lingering on the scene below, then he said, "Oh, yuck."

  He stuck his head inside the splintered doorway. "Somebody drain the pool?" he said, and I heard a cop laugh. Paramedics rushed past him and removed Allen Farmer.

  It took almost an hour to tell the story, and by then Mark Thornton had pushed his way into the room with two angry women who whisked Katherine away with a nod of approval from the lieutenant. That left him alone with Mark and me. When I told this lieutenant earlier that I was a private detective, he rolled his eyes and said, "Jesus H. Christ."

  I asked Mark where they had taken Katherine, and he told me she was under his protection until he could take her deposition in the morning and he wasn't going to tell anyone where that was. "Who did you tell about this place, God damn it?" I said.

  "What are you talking about?" Mark bristled. "Those two men must've followed you over here."

  "No way," I said. The lieutenant stood between us. "They were already in the parking lot when I pulled in." I glanced at the cop. "I watched them get out of their car and they didn't even know I was here."

  "You know which car is theirs?" The lieutenant was interested, so I told him and he sauntered to the door.

  "Damn you, Mac," Mark whispered through clenched teeth. "I told you, no trouble!"

  "Hey," I said. "There wouldn't have been any trouble if I hadn't shown up - they would've just blown her head off and grabbed a burger on the way home, you dumb shit. I want to know where Katherine is right now, Mark."

  I looked around the room, Katherine's open suitcase pushed to one side of the bed, Farmer's blood splattered along the beige carpet and the white wall. A pair of low heels had been kicked across the room, one almost crushed behind the broken door. I walked to the door and picked up Katherine's shoes.

  "These guys knew right where to find her - think about it," I said. "They got out of their car and came straight to this room, and somebody told them how to get here."

  Mark Thornton paled as, at last, it sank in. His odds of catching Bob Birk by surprise had disappeared. Somewhere along the links of procedure Mark had been following, his information had been intercepted. Birk knew everything he knew. I was thankful I hadn't told Mark about anything except the rape of Katherine Furay's daughter. I had planned to fill him in on the other, more serious charges after he'd taken the depositions; after he had committed himself.

  "Holy God," Mark said. He gripped the chair behind him for support, pulled it from under the desk, and sat down. He put a shaking hand over his eyes. His fingers fluttered. I kept thinking how quick and brutal this was, even for Bob Birk.

  "Mac," Mark said, "I'm sorry. I swear to you I'll find out who's responsible for this....this crime. Jesus, they tried to kill her."

  "I want to go there, Mark," I said. "Now. You're going to take me to Katherine and you're going to pull whatever strings it takes to get her deposition on record tonight."

  He dropped the hand from his eyes and looked up at me. I took his arm and lifted him to his feet.

  "Then," I went on quickly, afraid to lose the momentum, "We're going to take her to the airport and put her on a plane to Las Vegas. She'll have a police escort all the way."

  The lieutenant had drifted back in as we talked, and I explained what I knew. Mark told him where he'd sent Katherine. He stepped out of the room again, and I could hear conversation at the stairwell. He came back and said we could follow him there. As we left the room he handed me a card with his name and phone number on it.

  "Thanks for not being a dick," he said.

  Tallahassee had never been so big and traffic had never moved slower than we followed Lieutenant Lonnie Patrick to the small motel where Katherine sat safely at a table in a cramped, knotty-pine kitchenette. I told Mark Thornton the rest of Katherine's story on the ride over, and he was still in shock when we arrived.

  Katherine's face was swollen and there was a rip in the side of her dark red dress. She stood up when we came in and wrapped an arm loosely around my waist. I handed her the pair of shoes. Mark headed for the telephone.

  "I know this is a stupid question," I said to her, "but are you all right?"

  Katherine nodded slowly and put her other hand to her neck. "Yes," she said. "I think so. But I've never really known what fear was until tonight. I can't stop thinking about it."

  "That's natural,
" Lieutenant Patrick said casually. "I'm just surprised a good looking woman like you isn't used to having men breaking down your door."

  Katherine smiled at him. "Usually they don't want to kill me until after they get to know me."

  He laughed. "By the way," Patrick said. "Nobody thought to have you examined at the motel room, so I asked the paramedics to stop by later and take a look at you. They can probably give you something to take the pain away. That jaw has to be hurting you."

  "Thank you, Lieutenant," Katherine said. She was having trouble talking. "That was sweet of you."

  A knock on the door brought every head around, and Lieutenant Patrick opened it. Two men stood sleepily in the doorway, laptop computers and briefcases clutched tightly against their chests. Mark called out to them. "Perry!" he almost shouted. "Cain! Come on in."

  Mark explained to the rest of us that he was having people come out from town to take the deposition, and he asked Lieutenant Patrick whom he should contact to have Katherine's things brought over from the Bainbridge Motor Court.

  "I'll take care of it," Patrick said. He stepped around the men and waved me over. I squeezed Katherine's shoulders lightly and walked across the room to the lieutenant.

  "Why don't you step outside with me for a minute?" he said politely, nodding to Katherine as he left the room I shrugged.

  "Okay," I looked back at her and thumbed toward the parking lot. "I'll be back," I said. The lieutenant stopped and turned to me when we reached his car.

  "Are you going to stay with her tonight?" he asked, and I said I didn't know. He raised an eyebrow. "Let me tell you something, Clay," he said. "I don't know what the hell's going on here - not really; but if I find out you're fucking with me, I'm not going to like it. In fact, I'll probably find a way to kick your ass, is that clear?"

  "Back off, Lieutenant," I said. "If I ever learn what really happened tonight you'll be the first to know. And, that's a promise.

  "This is all way over my head," I said as I leaned on his car. "I'd love to dump it on you."

  I honestly wanted to tell him everything. It would have been a relief to get this case off my back. There was no way I could win against these odds. There were plenty more where Farmer and his pal came from, and Birk had access to all of them. We'd won at the motel earlier, but that had been pure luck and I don't believe in luck. Patrick bent down and reached into his car, made a couple of calls, then looked back at me.

  "Gotta run," he said. "Maybe I'll see you later."

  The lieutenant drove off and left me alone in the night. The motel sat on a hill south of downtown Tallahassee, and I stood under the trees watching the distant flow of traffic moving like rivers of light. Crisply dressed lawyers began arriving with their aides, and were checked by a policeman before they slipped through the door to Katherine's new hideaway.

  I thought of her and her courage, and of the long road ahead. She was alive because of chance. If I hadn't been there, if I hadn't recognized Farmer. If Katherine Furay hadn't been so damned brave.

  I sat on a grassy hill beneath a thick-trunked oak and sank into my mind. I knew we would never make it unless I could find a path to follow, some plan to overcome those tremendous odds. Most people, especially in my profession, like to think of everything in their lives as David against Goliath, but in reality most of us are just David versus another David. And the advantage is usually on our side, because we're calling the shots.

  Now, however, I really was facing a Goliath, and the size differences were evident. It would take more than blind luck and some bold moves on my part to stay in the game. I searched deeper into the maze of facts, looking for some key to the solution, but found nothing but high walls and deep holes.

  At last, unable to go on, I came back to the surface. I opened my eyes and saw Lieutenant Patrick sitting on the trunk of his car, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His eyes were on me.

  "How long have you been there?" I said. Instead of answering, he took a long drag on his cigarette , then flipped it out into the dark parking lot. The sparks scattered in a gust of wind.

  "When I was in the Vietnamese Highlands, a little smudge called Tan Cahn, there was a guy who used to do that before he went down into the tunnels. I never saw him, never met the cat, but I heard about him. Everyone said he was the best."

  For the first time in years, I wished I had a cigarette.

  "Are you a veteran?" Patrick asked, his eyes on mine. I nodded.

  "But I don't have any war stories," I said.

  "That's okay," he said. "I have a couple more."

  I could see people moving around in the motel room, and I imagined the smell of coffee. "This guy," Patrick went on lazily, "got separated from his outfit around Rocket Ridge in 'Seventy-two. They were hauling ass to the south and Charlie hit them hard. A few guys made it back, but nobody expected to see him again. He showed up at a field hospital over a week later with a broken leg and two bullets in his side, and they patched him up and sent him home."

  Lieutenant Patrick slid off the trunk of his car and leaned against it. He lit another cigarette. "Someone said that guy went to Florida."

  "Golly," I said. "What do you suppose happened to him?"

  "Who knows," Patrick said. "Want some coffee?"

  I looked to the busy motel room and back at him. "You bet," I said.

  We drove to the Waffle House and took a table away from the door. He ordered coffee for both of us and we watched people come and to. "Are you always this friendly on a first date?" I said.

  "I still don't know what's going on here, "he ignored me. "But, you're in trouble up to your neck. Maybe higher.

  A heavyset man walked wearily through the door, followed by a pale woman in rumpled clothes. The man pulled at the seat of his pants. They sat together on the stools and groaned. Lonnie Patrick smiled at the man, then turned back to me.

  "I'll tell you something you might not know." He leaned over the table toward me. "You're not the only one who knows about Bob Birk. Even over here we know what he's capable of, given the need. But this doesn't make sense, Clay."

  The big cop shook his head. "That wasn't retaliation tonight, no matter what the woman did to him. It's murder - cold blooded murder - and it makes me wonder who's pulling the strings."

  "What do you mean?" I asked, trying not to read too much into it.

  "C'mon, Clay," Patrick sounded disgusted. "Birk's playing for it all, and you know it. And you didn't just stumble in off the street in time to save Ms. Furay, so spare me the shit.

  "I had a check run on you," he said. "I know who you are, and I know about your girlfriend in Palmetto Bay. I remember when it happened."

  "Do you?" I said. "What do you remember, Lieutenant? That she was killed by a prowler or that she was murdered to get me off the case I was working on?"

  "Either way," he said,"you must be feeling a little snake-bit right now."

  "What about that, Lieutenant Patrick? Do you think those two men were there tonight to steal Katherine's traveler's checks?" I was tired of being shoved.

  "I don't know," he said, staying casual. "Tell me."

  "I wish I could," I said. "But right now, I don't know enough to make sense of it. Believe me, if I could give this whole thing to you, I would."

  Calls on his portable radio hadn't stopped since we sat down, and it became just another background noise, like the shouting of young couples at the other tables and the tired hacking of the weary man on the stool. A motorcycle roared by in the darkness outside. We drank more coffee.

  Patrick got to his feet and paid the bill. I dropped two dollars on the table and followed him to the car. When we arrived at the motel, I climbed out and he turned down his radio. "You ever wonder," he said, "if maybe Vietnam never really happened? That maybe you just imagined it?"

  "Sometimes," I said.

  "Now that I'm getting older, I'm thinking all kinds of weird shit like that," Patrick said. "Can you imagine the retirement homes they're going to have to build f
or us? A bunch of paranoid old bastards."

  I shook my head and he chuckled. "They won't have to give us rooms," he said quietly. "Just a little dark bunker with a flashlight and a gun."

  I looked into his face for a sign of humor, but there wasn't any. The lieutenant put the car in gear and gave me a mock salute. "I'll have someone here in the morning to escort Ms. Furay to the airport," he said. He pulled away slowly but kept talking through his window.

  "Don't lose my fucking card," he said. I slapped the rear fender of his car as he went by.

  "You're not alone, Clay," he said. "Don't forget that."

  * *

  Most of the people had gone home, and the room was a trash pile of computer paper, Styrofoam drinking cups and empty doughnut boxes. Mark was talking on the phone and the two women sat with an older, distinguished man who wore a styled silver beard. The bathroom door opened and Katherine stepped out holding a wet towel to her face. She was in loose, dark-green slacks, a white blouse and tennis shoes. Her suitcase sat on the narrow dresser. She looked up from the towel and smiled at me.

  "I hoped you'd come back," she slurred the words.

  "I said I would." I watched her drift languidly toward the bed. She laughed.

  "I know," she said. "But I just took some pills the doctor sent over and I don't want to be alone."

  Mark looked up from the table and cupped a hand over the phone. "You won't be," he said to Katherine. "Lydia and Francis are going to stay with you."

  "You want to bet?" Katherine said, holding out a hand to the two women. "No offense, ladies, but I want everyone out of here. Now."

  Mark mumbled into the phone and hung up. The women exchanged glances with the man with the silver beard. Katherine sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.

  "I'm very tired," she said. "I've given you my life story and my face hurts. I have a cop at my door and Mac will be here with me, right?" She looked at me and I nodded.

  Mark stood and whispered to the women. They wouldn't look at me, but filed past Katherine, touching her on the way out the door. She thanked them. The older man stood and Mark introduced us.