The Next Cool Place

by Dave Balcom

  “What do you think happened?”

  “I don’t know, nobody but Means and his accomplices know for sure, but it looks as if the deputies were funneled around a wreck at the bridge where the Supply Road crosses the Boardman River. You know that country?”

  “I vaguely remember Brown Bridge Road and Ranch Rudolph Road, they all spun off Supply, I think. I haven’t been there in decades.”

  “It hasn’t changed all that much. It’s pretty remote. Anyway, if a crash was in the road, those two officers, Brown and Rogers their names were, wouldn’t have stopped. They radioed in to report the crash, and said they’d be going around it as they were transporting a suspect, following routine to a tee.”

  “So what happened?”

  A sheriff’s deputy was dispatched to investigate the crash, and he found the two officers dead in their squad. They had pulled to the left of the bridge, like they were going around a wreck, but there wasn’t any wreck there. Just the dead guys. Means was gone.”

  I could hear the agony in Lawton’s voice. Every cop knows he might be in danger at any time, so when a brother falls, every cop feels the pain.

  “What kind of weapon?”

  “Pretty sure it was twelve gauge, double-ought buckshot, point blank range. They never had a chance.”

  “Nasty weapon. Each shell is like nine rounds of twenty-two ammo.”

  “You’re just an amazing wealth of information. Where’d you pick that up?”

  I changed the subject. “Any leads on where Means and his accomplices might be headed?”

  “Not a glimmer. We had a lookout going for the vehicle the guys described as being wrecked, but that was found just a few minutes ago at the Traverse City airport short term parking lot. It had been reported stolen from the long-term lot earlier this morning.”

  “Did that lead to a flight?”

  “There haven’t been any commercial departures since the killing. We think they had stashed another car there.”

  “That’s pretty well thought out for the short time they had to plan. Any hunch who’s behind that?

  “Just like you and everybody else. Shotgun, ruthless disregard for life… sounds like our Charlotte, doesn’t it?”

  We talked a bit, and then I rolled out my real question, “What do you think this means for Jan and me?”

  “Jim, I’ve requested Trooper Hansen and his dog be reassigned to the security detail with Jan. I had heard you were headed back to Oregon, and I was going to ask Liske to keep an eye on you.”

  “I’m headed to Mineral Valley right now, Miles. I don’t think I can be off in the Blue Mountains until we all know Jan’s out of danger.”

  “That decision’s going to make her and a bunch of people who care about her happy. You gotta know that.”

  I wasn’t all that keen on having the world know I was going to be around. “Miles, you own a spare weapon?”

  “You feelin’ a bit naked?”

  “I guess. Can you help me?”

  “Jim, that would be down right illegal, and I think you’d know that. I can’t possibly provide you, a private citizen, with a gun. You’re not even licensed to carry a concealed weapon.”

  “I am in Oregon.”

  “Jim, this ain’t Oregon. We’re a bit tougher on the permit side than those cowboys.”

  “It was just a thought.” I then signed off as I made the turn onto the River Road and headed into Mineral Valley.

  I started wondering if Big Mike ever owned a weapon.

  60

  I parked in the side driveway at the River Inn, and went looking for Big Mike. He was in his garden, picking at his herbs.

  I made a noise with my foot on the walkway to warn him I was there. He greeted me warmly, actually grabbing me by the shoulders. I thought he was going to hug me.

  “Jim, dear man, I’m so glad you decided to come back and keep track of Jan. This is all very scary for all of us; especially her. Your being here will help a lot.”

  I explained that Trooper Hansen and his canine partner would also be on the scene until all threat of danger was passed. “Is there room for all of us?”

  “I’m not sure I ever have room for a dog,” he said with obvious distaste, “especially one of those great, slobbering shepherds they use in the canine corps. I hope the beast is housebroken, at least.”

  I laughed. “Can I have my spot downstairs back?”

  “You could have the room next to Jan’s, which might be more comfortable and convenient for all concerned.”

  “Save that room for the officer, Mike.”

  “The word’s out; you really are a prude.”

  “This isn’t about fun and games, Mike. I’m only here because she’s in danger.”

  “I doubt you’d get a pass either, if these criminals came upon you,” he said as I retrieved my suitcase.

  As I was digging around in the car, making sure I was ready to lock up and go find Jan, an unmarked state car pulled in. Officer Hansen climbed out.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Stanton?” he asked. “I was hoping I’d catch you here, alone. My name’s Hansen, Tom if you don’t mind.”

  “Good to meet you. I hear you landed the job of guarding Jan Coldwell again.”

  “My pleasure. She’s a nice lady, and she treats Zeke just right. He likes her, too. Come and meet my partner.”

  I followed him to his car, and in the back seat sat Zeke, a 4-year-old German shepherd, about one hundred and ten pounds of devoted sidekick. The window was down about six inches, but he sat in the middle of the back seat looking all the world like some lord purveying his realm. Reaching in to pet him never crossed my mind.

  Hansen opened the back door and said, “Come.” The dog instantly climbed down out of the car and went to heel at Hansen’s left leg. The trooper suggested I walk up and pet the dog.

  “He knows you’re a friendly by my actions. Let him take a good whiff of you.”

  I squatted down and reached out to the dog. Hansen uttered a soft, “Zeke” and the dog released to come inspect me. His tail wagged, his ears were up, and he welcomed my scratching and petting. After a few seconds, Hansen uttered a conversational, “Zeke” and the dog returned to heel.

  “That’s pretty impressive,” I said, thinking of how my Punch would have bounced around, sniffing and pissing until I would have had to raise my voice at least once to bring him back under control.

  Hansen smiled in pride. “Zeke and I have an understanding. We both want the same thing.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “To make me real happy.”

  He opened the trunk of his car as he explained that he was there to arrange the sleeping quarters for his assignment, and “to make sure the landlord can accept that Zeke is very clean, quiet, and responsible. I have fewer worries about him ruining anything in this place than I do most of his human guests.”

  As he said that, he reached out to me with a shoe box in his hand. “Detective Lawton asked me to give these to you. Said you’d know what to do with them.”

  “What are they?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Stanton. He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask. I think he wanted you to open it up in private, though.”

  Inside, I introduced him to Big Mike, and then I went down to my bed. The Model 64 .38-caliber revolver in the box had a comfortable heft to it, about two pounds in an eight to nine-inch package. The box also contained a high-waist holster and a box of .38-special ammo.

  A note, unsigned. “Give this back when you’re done with it.”

  I knew that nearly all law enforcement officers were carrying nine millimeter autos, but these old revolvers from Smith and Wesson had been the staple for more than a hundred years. They shoot where you point them, and they never jam.

  Today’s cops have to beef up to match the firepower against them, but this old reliable was just fine for me.

  I put the holster on my left side, with the gun’s handle facing forward. I am a left-handed person, but I was gift
ed with a right dominant eye and so I do all my shooting right-handed. I found reaching under a jacket with my right hand to my left hip was a more comfortable move than trying to dig under my right coat tail with my right hand… Even as I pulled a sports jacket on to hide the weapon, I prayed I’d have no use for it.

  At about five, I went upstairs just as Hansen came down, Zeke in lock step with him. “What’s the plan?” I asked him.

  “You going to the paper?” he asked back. “I think we should always be in our own cars. You pick Jan up and go to dinner. I’ll be right with you, but I won’t be in the restaurant. I’ll just be watching. You going to Schaeffer’s?”

  “I don’t have plans. Let’s you and I share cell numbers, so we can talk at any time.”

  He agreed, and we both programmed the other’s number into our phones. I actually set his number up in my voice recognition feature, something I’d never done before. For simplicity sake, I used “Zeke” to dial the phone. As left, with him ahead of me, I tried it, and his phone rang almost instantly.

  “That works pretty slick,” he said. Then he put his phone on silent vibration. I liked the way this guy thought.

  “Who relieves you?”

  “There’ll be a series of troopers watching the house when we’re asleep. Otherwise, Zeke and I have you. During the day, we’ll be with Miss Coldwell while she’s at work.”

  At the paper, I went in to see if Jan was ready to eat.

  “Hi, Mr. Stanton!” Ellen beamed at me. She was ringing Jan’s extension even before I could ask. Into the phone she answered, “I’ll send him right back.”

  An office door opened at the other end of the hall. Jan stepped out and waved me on to her.

  I started to talk as I neared her, but she interrupted by putting her arms out and around me; up on her toes she gave me a warm kiss of welcome. I held her for a second, and then pulled away, looking around.

  “You are such a prude.”

  “I was thinking of you and what your staff would think…”

  “Come in here, and we’ll ask them.” The room she had stepped out of was a conference room, and everyone but McGee was in there. Jan introduced me to the people I hadn’t met, but all of them were grinning like Cheshire cats. I don’t blush, no matter what those women told everyone later that night. I just don’t blush.

  “This is a strategy meeting for this week’s edition,” Jan explained to me. “We were just thinking that as long as you were in town, you might be willing to give us a hand on the copy desk Wednesday night?”

  Julie was grinning in an almost evil way. She said, “That would let me be a bit more committed to reporting. We’re still limping without Patty on the job.”

  Jan added, “I can help too, but on Wednesday, we’ll be pretty slim without you.”

  I nodded. Sure, I could help out, I thought. As long as I was there, it would be good, I thought.

  The meeting broke up, and Julie went to print out a news budget for the week. “I’ll give you a copy in just a few minutes, Mr. S.,” she said.

  Jan and I discussed dinner. “Big Mike’s feeding us,” she said. “I made an arrangement with him. I’m going to be there through most of the year as my house is being rebuilt, so we came up with a rental agreement. I cook two nights a week, he cooks two nights a week and Rhonda cooks two nights a week. On the seventh night, we catch as catch can.”

  “Can we feed Trooper Hansen?”

  “Of course. Mike’s cooking tonight, so it’ll be scrumptious and there’ll be plenty of it. He’s probably already planning on it. He mentioned this morning that we’d be eating Italian tonight. Let’s go find out.”

  Outside, there was no sign of Hansen, so I opened my phone and said the magic word. I heard it ring, and then the young trooper answered. “I’ve an eye on you.” I couldn’t see him anywhere.

  “Good. I don’t see you, but we’re eating at the inn tonight. Jan and Mike had that all set up before you and I hit the scene.”

  “Great, I’ll meet you back there.”

  As it was only a block and a half, I felt silly driving, but did it anyway.

  As we pulled into the drive, Jan switched off the ignition. “What kind of sleeping arrangements did you make with Mike?”

  “I’m downstairs, in my customary spot.”

  She tried not to show it, but I saw some hurt in her eyes for just a second.

  “Jan, don’t go anywhere with that. I can’t wait to sleep with you again, but it’s just too, well, public like this. I’m not a prude, but I can be shy about some things.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Thank you for that. I’m just a little bit afraid that the way I feel for you might scare you away, and, frankly, I don’t have any more murderers after this to keep you around…”

  “We’ll have to talk about that, but right now we need to be on our guard, all the time. Let’s hurry before Big Mike feeds all the spaghetti to Zeke.”

  61

  We made a pact to pick up our lives as much as possible while we waited. On Tuesday, as usual, Jan went to Traverse City, but this time with Trooper Hansen in tow. I went for my walk, and they had left by the time I returned.

  I hung out with Big Mike for a while, and then called Lawton to find out that there had been no sightings or sounds of the fugitives.

  During my walks, I often thought of things that would escape me when I was otherwise occupied. While I worked out, my mind seemed to work like a computer printing to the background. Actually, the only place where I found as many ideas as on my walk was in my shower… I’ve never understood that.

  “Miles,” I started cautiously. “Has anyone gone up to that farm near Fredrick where Ray used to live?”

  “Gee, no, Jim. What a great idea. I don’t know how any crimes were ever solved in Michigan before you became involved. I’ll have a whole…”

  “I understand, but wouldn’t you feel dumb if I did think of something you guys hadn’t, and then, because I didn’t want to take this kind of verbal abuse, I didn’t mention it?”

  “Fat chance of that, Mr. Showoff.”

  I made him promise to keep us informed, and then went off to the newspaper offices.

  I met with Julie to review the week’s news budget, become familiar with their operational system, and the flow of copy from reporter to page.

  I asked about a local style book, and she laughed. “We’re strictly AP style, no local exceptions. I have a book at every work station if you become stumped.”

  I knew I would. Things like the comma that precedes the “and” in a series of three or more items is strictly omitted in the AP Style, but in my recent writing years, I had learned to put it back.

  “I might wear it out in one session,” I admitted.

  I took her to lunch, and then settled in to reading copy for the newspaper that week. I read all the items that would make up the grist of the “family” and “business” pages, the stuff that Ellen collected all week. I read all the obits, weddings, engagements and anniversary news, all the club news, all the stuff that deadlined early for use on inside pages.

  I realized that her passion for this business, the relentless demands of the deadline, were what enabled Jan to appear so sound after losing her house and all of her possessions. It was what had kept the staff from falling apart after the attack on Patty.

  This deadline-driven industry might not be for everyone, I thought, but for others, the built-in structure gave support to their entire lives.

  It was making my day pass without undue fretting about Jan’s safety.

  These pages of hometown copy that we were processing on Tuesday ahead of “production” on Wednesday were critical to the Record and all other community newspapers.

  While few of us cared a wit about the content of most of these stories, they were of vital importance to the people who submitted them and to their friends who read the newspaper. It was reassuring to see how clean and complete each of these items was as it came to the desk.

  It
was obvious that Ellen had been trained well, and that the standards that everyone would expect on the Page One stories were being upheld inside the paper as well.

  Big Mike cooked again on Tuesday night, and after we’d cleaned up, he organized a four-handed cribbage game with him and me standing against Jan and Trooper Hansen.

  It was no contest. While Jan routinely held hands that always seemed to add up to twelve points or more; Hansen could count them with a mere look.

  He was a fun competitor, too. Laughing and rubbing his hands in mock jubilation when he scored, and commiserating with others when their card wasn’t cut. We all kind of forgot ourselves for a couple of hours, as Big Mike had planned no doubt. Then Zeke went to the back door with a low growl, and everyone went silent and still.

  “It’s Rhonda, I’ll bet,” Big Mike said. A few minutes later we heard her key in the door. Tom had gone to peek out of the curtained window, and as the door opened, he whispered, “Zeke, come.” And the dog padded back to his spot near the table.

  Rhonda reported all of the ads were proofed and would be camera ready by noon, excused herself, and went to bed. Zeke’s reminder had broken our spell, and within minutes we had followed her.

  It was about midnight when I woke up, sensing a presence near me, but in the pitch black of the basement, I couldn’t see a thing.

  “Shhhh.” Jan slipped into my bed, put her right leg on top of my legs, and cuddled up to me. “Shhhh.” And she went to sleep.

  I held her, savoring her warmth and found myself comfortable in her nearness. I sensed something that had been missing, or actually, I missed something that had been with me for far too long – I didn’t feel alone. I smiled in the darkness, and ran my hand down her shoulder to the curve of her waist and the rise of her hip and then snuggled closer into her warmth. I then drifted off, feeling secure.

  62

  I took my agreement to edit seriously, and on Wednesday afternoon I really tore into the lead pieces.

  Julie had left places for me to insert my own quotes, and after my first read, I felt a need to challenge the inclusion of my role in the story.