“Be my guest. I’ve got you set up in Mark’s office. It’s not much, but the computer is a real screamer. Mark’s in California for a few days, possibly longer, so if you run into questions, save them up.”
“Can I e-mail him?”
“We’ve got e-mail, but we’re not really properly networked, either. First it was a matter of money. Now, it’s a matter of time to decide what to do and find somebody to do it.”
“Do you have a web site?”
Rick eyes lit. “Now, you see! I’ve been telling everybody we need one. But we can’t afford a good design or anyone to update it. Do you know how to do that sort of stuff?”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“So, let me show you the office. It’s not much. We still stack stuff wherever we can find space.” He hesitated and dropped his gaze. “Uh, Steve, I don’t know quite how to say this….”
Steve waited. Whatever was coming obviously wasn’t good.
“You see, this is a very upscale facility. Lots of new rich, but lots of old families, too. It might be a good idea if you kind of, you know, kept a low profile.”
“You don’t want me running into anyone who recognizes me.” It wasn’t a question.
“I know that sounds bad. I’m sorry.”
“Frankly, I’d prefer not to run into old friends, either.” He glanced down at his prison shirt and jeans. “Embarrassing for everyone concerned.”
Rick smiled. “Okay. Glad you understand! So let’s get cracking, how about it?”
Twenty minutes later Steve began going through Mark’s computer. The man had done a good job, but it was obvious that he was used to working with existing computer programs, not designing them. In five minutes Steve could already see half a dozen places to make improvements, increase ease of use. Make things, as Eleanor said, idiot-proof.
He leaned back and glanced at the clock on the wall beside the door to Mark’s office. He couldn’t believe he’d been working nonstop for two hours.
He felt better than he had in months—years. It was as though he’d suddenly begun to struggle back to life. His mind had spent three years with no challenge except to plan the perfect murder. No wonder he’d gone a little nuts.
Eleanor had done this for him.
“MAN, I HATES THIS, know what I mean?” Sweet Daddy stamped his feet and swung his arms from side to side in an effort to keep warm. “How come we couldn’t wait till springtime to start this stupid herd?”
“Good question,” Gil answered.
“How come Steve and Big gets to go off and we gets to shovel manure?” Robert asked as he threw a couple of flakes of hay over Marcus Aurelius’s enclosure.
“You gotta ask?” Sweet Daddy said with a leer. “You and me don’t got no computer skills.”
“Knock it off,” Gil said quietly. Sweet Daddy gave him a sullen glance, but he shut up.
“We gonna get some more help?” Robert asked.
“Ask her.”
“Ask me what?” Eleanor stuck her head out of the office door.
“Big and Steve, they not gonna be around so much. Who gonna do their jobs?”
Eleanor came out and lounged against the doorjamb. “They’re not gone that often, and until spring with calving and show season, we won’t have much to do except keep this place clean and get Marcus Aurelius used to being groomed. Once calving starts, we may sometimes be here around the clock, especially if we have to hand-feed any of the calves.”
“Some of those cows look like they could drop them calves any minute now,” Slow Rise said. He leaned on his pitchfork. “Real bad weather’s coming, Doc. That always means trouble.”
“As of today, we’ll not only have hot water for the shower and sinks in the rest room, but heaters for the water troughs in the pasture and in Marcus’s stall. If anyone gets cold and wet, you can warm up without going back to the dormitory.”
“Better than having somebody wind up in the hospital with pneumonia,” Gil said mildly.
“I’m bringing over a coffeepot and picking up an allotment of coffee and fixings from the mess hall,” Eleanor told them. “Anybody want to volunteer to make the coffee? Or should we run a roster?”
“A roster would be good,” Robert said.
“You want to count on Sweet Daddy to make your coffee?” Slow Rise asked.
“Hey, man, you got no call to say something like that,” Sweet Daddy said.
“Can’t count on him for nothing else. How ’bout I make the coffee?” Robert said. “My woman says I make good coffee. Hot and strong.”
“Deal,” Eleanor said. “I’ll drop the pot by late this afternoon on my way back from the clinic. Any more questions? Looks like we’ve got some work to do. Robert, how about you and Slow Rise take the horses out for some practice?”
“You don’t want to wait for Steve to do it?” Slow Rise asked.
“He doesn’t need the practice. The rest of you do. How about you, Elroy? You ever been on a horse?”
“No way. You not getting me on one of those things. I don’t like riding nothing bigger than me.” He swaggered off, pitchfork in hand. The pitchfork, Eleanor noted, was suspiciously shiny.
“Gil,” she said, “you’re in charge of the inside crew.” The others had their backs to her, so she moved her head toward Sweet Daddy and rolled her eyes.
The edges of Gil’s mouth quirked and he nodded. “You gonna be in the office?”
“Actually, I’m going to try entering some data on the computer, then after I screw that up, I’ll be in with Marcus Aurelius, and then I’m going to check the herd for signs of impending motherhood. I won’t be here after lunch. I’ll be at the clinic. I will be back this evening before you knock off, however, and I may keep Big and Steve a little later to bring them up-to-date on what we’ve been doing.”
“Better be sure I check them out,” Selma said. “Don’t want anybody thinking they’ve escaped.”
“I promise. We’re going to have to start working more closely with Marcus Aurelius. Big seems to have better rapport with him than anyone else, so if he’s not too tired, maybe he and I can start grooming him while Steve takes care of the evening feeding.”
Gil nodded and started down the barn toward the men.
“Oh, Gil,” Eleanor said, “before you get started, can I speak to you?”
“Sure.” He followed her into her office.
“Sit.”
He sat.
“I need your advice.”
Gil’s eyes widened. “Me? Advice?”
“I’ll come right to the point. Should I have Sweet Daddy taken off the team and replace him with someone else?”
Gil took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “Me and Steve been talking about that. He’s lazy and sure doesn’t pull his weight around here. He’s also mean as that copperhead. I’d like to toss him across the pasture the way I did that snake, but we’ve got to be careful how we do it.”
“All I have to do is go to the warden.”
“Yeah, but you’d be buying trouble. You kick him off the team, and we’d all be watching our backs, starting with Steve, and followed by you.”
“Me? He can’t get to me.”
“Haven’t you learned anything about this place yet? If it’s not the guards, it’s the inmates. Everybody’s got outside connections, Sweet Daddy more than most. You think his girls come to visit him on Saturdays because they love him?” Gil laughed shortly. “Hell, no, they’re reporting on the status of his business and how well his lieutenants are running things, as well as proving they’re still loyal to him for when he gets out. There’s a whole other world out there you don’t know about, ma’am. There’s streets in this town I wouldn’t drive down at noon on a sunny day in an armored personnel carrier.”
“What about your connections on the outside?” Eleanor asked quietly.
“I have friends. But I can’t protect you outside. Steve doesn’t have any connections. Big and Slow Rise don’t, either. Robert’s
so small-time he doesn’t count. Sweet Daddy likes being on the team, even if he has to work sometimes. Makes him a big man inside. But if he gets mad, then somebody’s going to wind up hurt or dead, and it’s most likely going to be Steve. Or you.”
“Why, Gil? That’s what I don’t understand. Why would a man like you who obviously has some education and certainly a multitude of talent when it comes to anything mechanical…”
“What’s a nice boy like me doing in a nasty place like this?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not a nice boy. Or I wasn’t. Smoking and drinking and wild wild women. I was planning to be dead before I hit thirty. Then all a sudden here I am damn near forty and I ain’t dead yet. And I got a decent woman and a daughter I’m crazy about and a body covered with tattoos and the only people I know on the outside are the other bad boys that managed to survive past thirty.”
“You’ve spent more time in jail than out of it since you turned eighteen.”
“So you did check the records.”
“I’m afraid I did. I don’t know how much money you made on the outside, but if you amortize it…” She raised her eyebrows to see whether or not he understood the word. He nodded. “If you amortize it over the years you’ve spent in prison, I imagine you’ve been working for less than minimum wage.”
“Probably.”
“So when you get out this time, what then?”
He shook his head wearily. “Doc, Doc, you are a nice lady, but I don’t think you’re ever going to learn the way the real world works. Who’s going to hire me for an honest job? And if somebody should take a chance on me, how long will it be before my biker buddies are pulling into my driveway at midnight and threatening my old lady and my kid unless I go in with ’em on something that’s going to land me back in prison?”
“So you’ll go along with them?”
“I don’t know. I’m damn tired of sleeping alone and not seeing my little girl play soccer. My wife says she’s fast and tough.”
“If you had somebody to take a chance on you, how hard would you fight to stay straight?”
“I don’t know that, either. I’m being straight with you, Doc. It would be easy to say ‘oh, no, ma’am, I’ll never do a bad thing again.’” His voice sounded as phony as his all-too-innocent eyes. “Can’t say that. All I can say is I’m going to try. One day at a time, isn’t that what the drunks say?”
“Fair enough. In the meantime, please keep an eye on Sweet Daddy for me. I’ll talk to Steve about him, as well, but this is one case where you’re a whole lot smarter than I am. I’ll be guided by you and the rest of the team.”
Gil walked to the door. He turned with his hand on the knob. “Trust is a damned dangerous thing, Doc.”
After he left, Eleanor leaned back in her chair. She had a headache starting behind her right eye. That meant the weather was changing more quickly than she’d thought. The barometric pressure must be plummeting like a runaway elevator.
She massaged her temples and shut her eyes against the glare of the single hanging bulb.
Gil was honest about his dishonesty. She wished there were something she could do for him—for all of them, except possibly Sweet Daddy. That little creep liked his life of crime. He needed simply to be removed permanently, but no doubt there were a dozen others as bad or worse ready to take his place.
She felt dreadfully sorry for Slow Rise, who had little hope of ever seeing the outside again, but she knew Warden Portree would never allow him on work release.
As for Robert, maybe he had a chance if J. K. Sanders really did give him a job. J.K.’s farm was large, there was housing on the place for families, and it was far enough away from the housing projects that Robert might be able to break his old pattern. But drugs were everywhere, and no village or hamlet was immune any longer. The more poverty, the fewer jobs there were in the poor counties, the worse the problem became.
And Steve? Was he innocent? Had he simply accepted his fate? She didn’t think so. But what could he do? Even his lawyer had deserted him. The man had never returned her calls.
The headache had turned from ache to throb. She took a couple of painkillers. She couldn’t face the computer. The dull light of the laptop’s screen pulsated when her head felt this way. Maybe the cold air would help.
She locked the office behind her, picked up a bucket of horse brushes from beside Old Will’s stall and walked over to Marcus Aurelius’s stall.
The bull was no fool. He’d come indoors to shelter from the wind. If she shut the double doors behind him, he’d be effectively closed into his twenty-by-twenty-foot stall. She wasn’t certain how he’d take the restriction. Time to find out.
She could reach the sliding door to his outside paddock by leaning over the stall fence. First she shut off the electric wire, then gave the door a hefty shove. It slid closed. Marcus grunted and stared at it. She tossed him a large flake of hay, and the minute he dropped his head and began to eat, she eased into the stall, then closed the gate into the barn behind her.
He didn’t have long horns, but he didn’t need them. A swipe of that heavy head followed by a pounding of those cloven hooves would effectively dispatch anyone who couldn’t get away from him fast.
She picked up a currycomb, ran her fingers lightly across his forehead and began to groom him, starting with his shoulder. He was covered with dried mud where he’d lain in the damp pasture.
The moment he felt the curry, he grunted once more, lifted his head and swung it to stare at her a moment, then went back to his hay.
“Good boy,” she whispered.
Ten minutes later she’d decided that Marcus Aurelius was like most of the men she’d known—he didn’t seem to care what she did to him as long as it felt good. “You are some spoiled bovine,” she said as she worked over his beefy rump. When he stamped his back foot right beside her head, she jumped.
He relaxed again and let her work around to the other side.
She was using the soft brush on his curly forehead and trying to avoid his tongue when the team walked by on its way to take a break.
Marcus ignored them until Sweet Daddy swaggered by his pen.
Without so much as a grunt, he swung his head and swept Eleanor aside as though he were swatting a fly. She stumbled over to the side of the stall and grabbed at the top rail of the fence to keep from falling.
She felt as though she’d been hit in the ribs by a baseball bat.
Marcus Aurelius began to bellow. He backed up half a dozen steps, lowered his head, pawed the ground and charged the fence.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE HEAVY TIMBERS that made up the fence of Marcus’s stall shivered and bent but didn’t break.
As he backed up to take another run at them, Slow Rise yelled, “Damnation, Elroy, get the hell out of his sight before he kills you!”
Sweet Daddy seemed paralyzed. Then he raised his pitchfork in front of him like a lance.
“Fool!” Robert grabbed the pitchfork and shoved Sweet Daddy around the corner by the office.
Too late to stop Marcus’s charge. Eleanor cowered in her corner, although Marcus didn’t seem at all interested in this more accessible target.
She felt hands under her armpits. “Come on out of there, woman!” Slow Rise said.
“No!” Eleanor croaked. She wasn’t breathing very well. “It’s not me he’s after.” She wrenched away from Slow Rise and stood stock-still.
Marcus leaned out to see around the corner into the barn as far as he could. Eleanor could hear Sweet Daddy and Robert yelling at each other by her office. So could Marcus, but the sound didn’t seem to bother him. It was only the sight of Sweet Daddy that set him off.
Marcus finally glanced Eleanor’s way. She held her ground. He snorted as though to put her on notice that he could choose to stomp her or not.
Not, apparently. At least not this time. As quickly as he’d freaked, he went back to chewing his hay.
Miraculously Eleanor had kept her hol
d on the grooming brush. She’d heard of getting muscle spasms from sheer terror—this would certainly qualify. She got her breathing under control and slowly walked up to the bull.
From outside the pen, Selma, Gil and Slow Rise watched.
“You want me to shoot him if he goes for you?” Selma asked.
“No!” Eleanor laughed shakily. “Anybody got a red cape?”
“Yo, Toro!” Gil whispered.
She reached down, stroked Marcus’s forehead and began to brush him again. He seemed totally unconcerned. She let out a breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
“Okay,” she said quietly as she backed toward the gate. “Now, please, somebody get me out of here and turn that electric fence back on.”
The minute she was out, she went to find Sweet Daddy. He leaned nonchalantly on a bale of hay, picking his teeth with a hay straw. He refused to meet her eyes.
She didn’t know whether the others had followed or not, and at this moment she didn’t care.
“I warned you not to tease that bull.” Her voice was low, almost cajoling, but she could hear the anger shaking in it.
“Who says I been teasing anything?”
“Marcus does.” She got in his face, emphasizing that she was taller and could look down on him. He tried to back up, but the hay stopped him. “Be glad those boards held, Elroy, or you’d be a dead man.”
“Shoot, I ain’t done nothin’. I coulda handled him.” But his eyes shifted.
“Handled him? One ton of angry bull against a man who weighs maybe 125?”
“You dissin’ me!”
“Damn right I am. What have you done to deserve anyone’s respect? If you ever tease him or any other animal again, I promise I will personally turn Marcus loose and let him tromp you into the dirt.” She started to turn away. “One more thing. As of now you are on probation with this team. You put a foot wrong, you goof off, you say or do one thing I don’t like or Selma doesn’t like or one of them doesn’t like—” she pointed behind her to the rest of the team “—and Warden Portree will have you wading around in hydroponic muck before you can set your pitchfork down. Do I make myself clear?”
The Payback Man Page 19
