by Rob Buckman
"This is Mike Grainger. You paged me?"
"Yes sir." A female voice answered. "There is one message, flagged as important. We're sorry to disturb you…"
"No problem, could you read it to me, please."
"...Mr. Roland Hawkins requests your presence at his ranch at Peregrine Creek this weekend to discuss important business of mutual interest to you both. Please wear appropriate attire, dinner is formal. Reply to the following number.' End of message." The voice read of a string off numbers that he jotted down on a pad. The moment he did, the sequence triggered a memory.
"Thank you, is there anything else."
"No Sir."
"Thank you for paging me." He said and hung up.
Now what was all that about. An invitation to dinner from one of the richest men in America?! It was too much of a coincidence to think that what was happening around here and the dinner invitation weren't connected. The only way to find out what, was to go to the dinner. Mike picked up the phone again and punched in the number. After three rings, it answered.
"Roland Hawkins residence, Edward Mason speaking." Bingo. It was the same voice he had heard before, with the same soft Boston accent. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out his notebook. The two numbers were the same.
"This is Mike Grainger. I'd be delighted to come to Mr. Hawkins dinner."
"Oh... Mr. Grainger... Thank you for returning my call…"
"You're welcome." It sounded as if his call had caught Mr. Edward Mason a little off guard.
"...So we can expect you on Friday evening then."
"Yes. I will be there." You bet he would, loaded for bear. Bear, tanks, helos, incoming, and anything else they wanted to throw at him. Edward gave him directions on how to get there and hung up. Pleased with himself, liking the fly and the spider bit.
After breakfast, Mike decided to close down all operations. A hunch or premonition told him that he might not be able to get back. The dredge would be vulnerable up here. Something was not right, he could feel it. Trouble was on its way. But from where, or why he didn't know. Unblocking the Range Rover, he checked the gas and oil and started it up and headed back down the mountain. The drive down was exhilarating, but by the time he reached the highway, he anticipated he'd need a new set of shocks soon. By noon, he pulled off the highway onto the fire road. But it took him another half hour of cross-country driving before pulling up beside the dredge trailer and parking. Now came the hard part, breaking the dredge down and hauling it section by section up the hill to the fire road. As he worked his way up the mountain, Max and Maxine caught up with him, having found their own way down from the house. They kept running back and forth as if searching for something. It was only when they reached camp that Mike found out what with Max running right to it. Mike sighed and shook his head.
"What a bunch of fucking amateurs!" He muttered.
The man he'd kneed the day before lay on his side near the dredge. A knife buried in his chest. Mike spotted the body the moment he entered the clearing, and backing into the trees he studied the clearing and the surrounding tree line. Max and Maxine came back a few moments later. Looking at him, maybe wondering why he didn't go into the camp. Instead, he backed off some more, slowly working his way around the perimeter looking for signs. It didn't take him long to find them, but back tracking them to the source did. Some two miles away another logging trail cut its way around the flank of the mountain. At this point, it was still possible to drive a four-wheel drive vehicle up it, but little further. In a turnout beside the trail, he found a pool of blood. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what had happened. Nor why the body had been dumped in his camp. He studied the marks on the ground with care, noting the original position of the body. Being careful not to add any marks to the scene.
At last, he took off back to camp, again checking the clearing and surrounding tree line before entering. Satisfied at last, he walk over to the body, kneeling close to study it. He'd already formulated a plan while walking back to camp, but it was going to be tricky to carry out. It was all a question of how good the local forensics people were. And if they could spot the fact the body had been moved twice. At last, he stood, and with one last look around decided to put his plan into action. Taking a poncho from his storage tent, he carefully rolled the body on to it. Arranging it in the same position. He placed a second poncho over the top of the body to protect it from additional contamination. He then proceeded to clear up under where it had lain. There was little or no blood to speak of, unlike the other location, and that was all to the good. He carefully removed any trace the body had left. Relaying the entire six-foot-by-six-foot area with pine needles lifted from the forest. When he'd finished there was nothing to indicate that the body had ever been there. Next he carefully check the victim’s pockets and hands, finding his chunk of 'float' in one pocket and a button from his spare jacket in the man's hand. 'Cute.' He thought. He pulled the knife out of the man's chest and washed it clean. He doubted that the original hole had been made by this knife. This one of his from the supply tent. Probably with his fingerprints on it, having used it once or twice in the last few days.
The campfire took care of the wooden handle, the rushing river the blade. There was no way he could replace it, as that would only lead back to him so he left the hole empty and a question mark for the police. His preparation took most of the afternoon, and it wasn't until sundown that he started stripping the dredge and packed the camp up. By late evening, he finished carrying the dredge and camp equipment down to the fire trail and loaded it onto the trailer. One final check showed almost no trace of his campsite, other than the fire pit. Even this was a case of misdirection. The fire pit was here when he arrived.
Being a cautious man. He hadn't used it, cutting and digging a second pit in another location. This one had now vanished back beneath the forest floor, and as an added precaution, he scattered pepper over the area. If they brought dogs up with them, the poor beast would end up with a snoot full, as Max had done. Max spent ten minutes running around camp sneezing his head off, and Mike was betting his sniffer wouldn't work too well for a few days. That completed, he approached the body, calculating that full rigor would have set in by now. Also, that he had just enough light to make it back down to the logging trail before dark. He was right, arriving as the last glimmer of daylight vanished. Carefully, he lowered the poncho-covered body to the ground, lifting it off and placing it in its original position. By now, the blood would have pooled to the lower parts of the body. And he doubted that any one could say that the body hadn't been here all the time. Nor connect it with him, he hoped. With Max and Maxine in tow, he headed directly for his vehicle, careful to leave no trail or evidence that he'd ever been near the body.
He found his way unerringly even in the dark and was soon driving down the mountain. Pulling into town he drove to the 'Buckthorn' and wheeled into the parking lot behind the bar, the one reserved for Charley and his wife. As he did, Charley came out meet him, waving a greeting as he stepped out.
"Giving up Mike!" Charley asked, eyeing the dredge.
"You could say that. Would it be all right if I left the trailer here for a few days?"
"Hell Mike you can park it here all winter if you like, you know that!"
"I didn't, but thank you."
"Park it over there by the barn. When you’re through come on in and have some coffee."
"Be right with you." Over coffee and a large section of Ruth's plum pie Mike relaxed, settling the kinks out of his body, liking the warm smell of the kitchen, and the feel of the house.
"So how goes it, Captain!" Charley asked.
"That's the third time you've called me that. What do you know Charley?" Mike's question was a little sharper than he'd intended, but it had been a long day. Charley smiled, taking no offence at his words, or the tone.
"It took a while but I found you."
"I didn't know I was hiding."
"No. Then how come you never said a
word about where you served, or in what unit." The look he gave Mike was the same one Mike had given him about the origin of the whiskey.
Mike gave a tired sigh. He liked Charley and Ruth, no, more than liked. For the first time in his life he wanted friends, friends that would stay around for a while and not get killed, ones he could trust. There was no guile in either, stand tall, walk straight and tell the truth were not just words, they lived by them. Maybe it was the good coffee, or the plum pie, or the house, he didn't know, maybe a combination of many things. Some of them to do with what Ruth said the last time he was here. This house was one of the few places outside his own, that he felt at home, at peace with the world and himself. Whatever it was, he made his decision.
"Charley! What I am about to tell you could get you and Ruth killed if you ever let a word of it slip out. Drunk, sober, half-dead or insane, you breathe a word of this and you will be signing your own and Ruth's death warrant. You understand!" Mike's face was as hard as rock as he looked at Charley. You might say that his life in the Marine Corp had prepared him for this. Charley knew the man sitting across from him was about to tell him something he'd been keeping inside him for a long time, knowing that what he had just said was the naked truth.
"If you don't want to hear it, say so and we'll never speak of it again. If you don't want to hear, don't go looking for me anymore, don't ask question and as the saying goes, let sleeping dogs lie."
"I hear you Mike. You know you don't have to tell me this!"
"Oh but I do Charley. After you've heard it, you may not want me in your house anymore. If you don't I will respect that and leave, and nothing more need be said."
"I doubt there is anything you can tell me that would make me come to that conclusion. If you’re gay and got kicked out of the service on a dishonorable, I don't care. Ruth and I and like you Mike, nothing could change that!" All he received was a bleak smile.
"If it was anything like that I wouldn't care, but first, tell me what you know?!"
"Hell man, nothing really. I know you went to the point, buddy of mine who’s up there now found your name in records. I also know you had the rank of Captain. Mainly from your reaction when I used it." It wasn't much, but piece by piece, he was putting it all together. It was the one item the company had been afraid of, as there was no way they could erase all military record, or people’s minds.
"You asked me what outfit I served in, well one time or another I served in a lot of them, sometimes for an hour, sometimes longer. I graduated West point and entered the Corp, thinking to make a career out of it. I never got the chance." He paused and drank some coffee, hoping it would help get his thinking in order.
"How come."
"I didn't graduate top of my class, in fact I was almost at the bottom, except in one respect. In my first year I could out shoot the whole academy, including the instructors, getting nothing less than one hundred percent every time I went out."
"Hell you say! With the junk they have for weapons up there?"
"Yes."
"Hell! You can drop a bullet down the barrel of some of those weapons and it wouldn't touch the sides all the way down. I'm surprised you even got on the board."
"That's what many people thought as well. I was a natural, like York or Gunny Hathcock, 'White Feather'."
"Sweet Jesus." Suddenly a chill ran over Charley's body, as if someone had stepped on his grave. All the little pieces were beginning to cascade into place. He knew the answer even before Mike told him, and he knew he was looking at a legion, but still the name eluded him.
"Instead of shipping out, I received orders in transit and went back to Quantico and the Scout/Sniper School they'd just set up. I was put through the ringer, then sent to the South East Asia War games as an un-assigned observer." His grim chuckle held little humor. "At first the Nam was fun, moving from camp to camp, getting orders, doing the job and moving on. Never in one place long enough for Charley to get a fix on me."
Charley sat up straight. "Got it!" He exclaimed. "God Damn!" He said in awe, "You're the `Comanchero'!" Mike nodded. "I'll be go to hell!"
"We've already been there Charley." Mike said softly.
"Christ and don't I know it. You were the one who went out into the bush and took out a whole platoon of NVA regulars that had a Marine Corps unit pinned down!" Again, Mike nodded. "Shit son, that body count was for real and no bullshit story to impress the brass." There was no smile on Mike's face and for once Ruth didn't chide Charley about his language.
"So how come you hid it all this time. There are a lot of Marines here today that have you to thank for getting their asses out of a sling."
"I liked it Charley."
"Say what?"
"I found that I like to kill."
"The hell you say."
"I'm serious. When I went out into the bush, it was like coming home to me. I'd do things out there that would have got most men killed in five minutes. I liked it, liked the danger, liked the kill. I liked the feeling of the rifle as it kicked into my shoulder and seeing the man or woman go down." The sadness on his face was plain to see.
"So you like to kill. So did I once!"
"Charley, I still do. Three days ago I almost killed a couple of guys, and probable crippled another, and it felt great."
"I don't get you, who?"
"Two assholes that came up the hill to rob me, that why I went to see the Sheriff the last time I was here."
"The others?"
"Just a couple of clean up boys. I nailed one in the crotch so hard he needed medical attention. The other didn't want to dance, so I let him carry his friend back down the mountain. I followed, to see where they would lead me."
"And?"
"They led me to a telephone number, but it was the surprise I found when I arrived back at camp today that got me. Someone planted the guy I'd nailed in my camp. He was dead, with one of my knives in his chest"
"Holy shit!"
"You can say that again."
"What did you do?"
"I back tracked and found out where he was killed and took the body back. I removed any trace it had been in my camp, plus a few items that pointed to me as being the killer."
"You think you cleared the trail?"
"Oh yes Charley, it's the one business I'm good at. Unless I've lost my touch, the only item the sheriff is going to have is a dead body on his hands and a big question mark."
"He might still think it was you"
"That's true, but without clues, or a motive he's got nothing that will stand up in a court of law."
"I hope you’re right. Where did the telephone number lead you?"
"To a man by the name of, and if you can believe in coincidence, Roland Hawkins, who has invited me up to his ranch tomorrow evening for dinner."
"You're losing me!"
"Me too. There is something going on out there I don't understand. First I have the girl, Kat Ballard threatening to haul me into court over the land she claims her father owned and I stole.”
“Then I get a visit from two heavies that offer to buy me out. One of them is killed and dumped in my camp to make it look as if I'd killed him. On top of that, these two lead me back to Hawkins who just happens to call me and invite me up to dinner. You try and put it together."
"Shoot! You've got me by the handle. What do you think it's all about?"
"I have no idea, but I'm going to find out."
"So you're still going to dinner? After what you told me?"
"Oh I'm going. I want to find out just what this shithead had up his sleeve. And what the hell this is all about."
"You have any idea what he's after?"
"I don't know. All I do know is that the two clean up boys made me an offer on my land right after I made a big strike. When I refused, they tried to back it up with one I couldn't refuse, namely intimidation. We played. They lost, I won. So I guess I did refuse it."
"So you think this girl...ar… Kat Ballard has something to do with it? She's
that girl in the bar the other day?"
"Yes, that's her. I think she's part of it, maybe the first offer. They maybe thought a woman could do it better, what with the ‘honey trap’ sex angle and all that. Except it didn't work out that way."
"I remember. Kind of a funny way to introduce herself."
"Who can figure women? Maybe she thought it would get my attention."
"It did that."
"Yeah but not as she expected."
"You going up for bear or possum?"
"Bear and anything else they throw at me!"
"It figures. You want any help?"
"No thanks Charley, but I appreciate the offer. I want a free fire zone up there if need be, no friendlier."
"Got you, now what?"
"We wait and see." Mike said with a shrug. It was all the same to him. If they wanted to play rough, so much the better.
"By the way, your story doesn't change anything."
"Sit down a minute Charley, now you’re going to hear the rest of it." Mike knew this was going to be the hardest part.
"There's more?"
"Oh yes. Now comes the other part. After Nam, I was hired by the company. On a freelance basis. I gave up my commission and went to study law at Columbia University, doing assignments as they came up. For ten years I traveled round the world killing on command, you name it I've kill it, man, women, presidents, prime ministers, generals, big business men, Mafia and terrorists. Even went into Rumania one time to kill a KGB assassin, got him too."
"You ever work inside the States?" It was a loaded question.
"No. It was off limits, both legally and morally."
"It was."
"Yes. The Continental U.S. was verboten, out of bounds, plus I wouldn't take a dump in my own sleeping bag." He could see Charley was thinking about the Kennedy assassination when he asked the question.
