by Stuart Woods
“I can understand that,” Teddy said.
“Here you go,” Jake said. They had arrived at the gate. “You watch your back, now.”
Teddy shook his hand and got out of the car. He walked down to Dax’s double-wide and rapped on the door. Dax’s assistant opened it. “What is it, Ted?”
“I need to speak to Dax again.”
“Just a minute.” She closed the door and came back shortly. “He’s in his office.”
“Siddown, Ted,” Dax said. “What can I do you for?”
“I’ve heard a disturbing rumor, Dax, and I thought it might be better to address the issue directly.”
Dax blinked rapidly. “What kind of rumor?”
“I’ve heard that you’ve called in a sort of specialist to deal with me, and I’ve heard that you think I’m working for a guy at Centurion named Billy Barnett. Anything to that?”
“Are you working for Barnett?”
“I am not. I work for nobody but me, and for the moment, you. I know who Barnett is, but I’ve never so much as shaken his hand.”
“No?” Dax tried not to look surprised.
“No. What has Barnett got against you?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Well, I’m not a complication,” Teddy said. “I’m just a working stiff here to do the best job I can and to make a living.”
“And you’re doing a very good job, Ted.”
“Then why this Russian guy?”
“He’s somebody I call on—on rare occasions—when I need somebody to watch my back.”
“I’m not at your back, Dax.”
Dax regarded him calmly. “Then you’re going to have to go on proving that to me.”
“For how long?”
“Until we’re done.”
“We wrap tomorrow night,” Teddy said. “I’m not involved in post-production.”
“Would you like to be?” Dax asked.
“Doing what?”
“I can think of half a dozen jobs you could handle back in L.A.”
“I don’t want to work in L.A. I want to stay in Santa Fe.”
“Everybody wants to work in L.A., Ted,” Dax replied.
“I appreciate the offer. If you’ve got anything for me here, I’d sure consider that.”
“Let me see what I can do. By the way, the wrap party is at my new house tomorrow night. I hope you can come.”
“Sure, I’d be delighted. How’re we dressing?”
Dax handed him a printed invitation. “Here’s the address. Dress however you’d like.”
“Is this Russian guy going to be there?”
“No. I’ll make a call.”
“Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
They shook hands, and Teddy left. Dan Waters drove up, and Teddy flagged him down.
“Did you see Dax?” Dan asked.
“Yeah, and I think we cleared the air.”
“That doesn’t sound like Dax,” he said.
“He even invited me to the wrap party tomorrow night.”
“You were on the list to get an invitation, anyway. What are you going to do about the Russian?”
“Dax says he’ll call him off.”
“He admitted hiring him?”
“He did.”
“I don’t know if you ought to go to the party, Ted.”
“I don’t want to be unsociable, and I especially don’t want to seem afraid to be there.”
“Maybe you should be.”
“Don’t worry about it, Dan. Have you sent somebody for my truck?”
“Not yet.”
“Then just give me back the keys. I’ll get a ride into town with Sally.”
Dan produced the keys. “Why don’t you take my gun with you?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Teddy replied. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He took back his Stetson and gave Dan his baseball cap.
Dan waved and drove off. Teddy went to Sally’s office.
“Hey, there,” she said. “I was just closing up shop for the day.”
“Can you give me a lift to my truck?”
She smiled. “I’ll give you a lift to my place,” she said.
17
THEY PASSED SOME SHOPS near her house. “Drop me here,” Teddy said. “I’ve got some shopping to do. I’ll be with you in half an hour.”
“Anything I can help with?” she asked.
“Nope.” Teddy got out of the car and walked to a shop that advertised guns, knives, and outdoor equipment.
“Yes, sir?” a clerk said.
“Knives,” Teddy replied.
“Hunting? Utility?”
“Self-defense,” Teddy said. “Concealable.”
“You’re on shaky ground here, my friend,” the man said. “I can’t know about it if you plan to use a weapon.”
“Far from it. I want to avoid such a situation.”
“Over here,” the man said, leading the way. “My advice would be to get something with a blade under six inches.”
“Good advice,” Teddy said, looking over the goods. “How about the switchblade there, second from the left.”
“We call that an automatic opening knife,” the man said, handing him the weapon. Teddy flicked it open and examined the blade. “Needs sharpening.”
“I’ve got something used, here, that somebody has already honed.” He presented another knife with a black handle and a stained blade, but Teddy felt he could shave with it. “That’ll do,” he said.
“That’s eighty dollars. You want a scabbard?” the clerk asked.
“I’d settle for a thick rubber band,” Teddy replied, reaching for his cash, while the man rummaged in a drawer and came up with a rubber band. “This do?”
“Ideal,” Teddy said. He paid the man and pocketed the knife and band.
• • •
“DAX OFFERED ME a job in L.A.,” Teddy said to Sally over dinner.
“Are you going to take it?”
“No, I already have a job. The day after Dax’s wrap party, I need to drive back to L.A.”
“Oh.” She looked disappointed.
“And I’d like you to come with me.”
“Wait a minute, here,” Sally said. “What’s this all about?”
“It’s about two people who’re fond of each other spending some time together.”
“How much time are we talking about?”
“I don’t want to pile too much on you all at once,” he said. “How about a year, to start, then we’ll figure out the future.”
“You mean, just pack up and go?”
“You don’t even have to pack. I’ll take you shopping when we get there. If there’s something you can’t do without, and we can’t get it in my car, then we’ll ship it.”
“And what would I do with my time in L.A.?”
“Whatever you like. I’ve got a very nice house on Malibu Beach. You can lie on the deck all day and get fat, if you like.”
“I don’t like. I’m accustomed to being busy.”
“Then I’ll hire you as an associate producer at Centurion.”
“In the Barrington group?”
“If you like—in another group, if you don’t. Peter’s partner, Ben Bacchetti, is now head of production, and we’re close. You have a good background, so it won’t be a problem. Or, I expect, you could go to work for Dax.”
“No, thank you!” she said. “By tomorrow night, I’ll have had all I want of Dax.”
“Same here. So, what’s it going to be? Will you take a chance with Billy Barnett?”
“I’ll have to get used to calling you that.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Does it bother you that we’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks?
And that you’re coming off a great personal loss?”
“About that—there’s a cold hard place in the middle of me that I’d almost forgotten about. It comes to the fore when I’ve been damaged. It doesn’t make me a better human being, but it helps me survive as one. I’ve closed a door, and you’ve opened a new one for me.”
“I’m going to have to digest this,” she said. “My idea was to make you happy enough to keep you in Santa Fe for a while.”
“That’s a good plan, and one I like, but I have a life and a career at Centurion that’s important to me. I’d hate to leave Peter—he’s done a lot for me.”
“So I couldn’t have persuaded you to stay?”
“No. It would have hurt a lot to leave you, though.”
“Well, that’s honest.”
“I could never be anything but honest with you,” Teddy said. “Except for the part about lying about who I am and why I’m here. Oh, and my past, which I haven’t lied about to you, but I probably will, just to protect you.”
“Protect me from what?”
“My life, my mistakes. Oh, I’m clean. I’m not a criminal.”
Sally grabbed his arm. “If anybody comes at you, he’s going to have to deal with me first.”
“Well, if you’re going to watch my back, you’ll have to do it in Malibu and L.A.”
“Yes,” she said, “I will do that.”
18
ED EAGLE AND HIS WIFE, Susannah, were having an after-work drink.
“We got a hand-delivered invitation this afternoon,” she said, handing it to him.
Ed read it. “Let me get this straight,” he said, “you despise Dax Baxter. Is that right?”
“That is absolutely right,” she replied.
“Then why do you want to go to his wrap party?”
“I don’t want to go to his wrap party,” Susannah said.
“Then what are we talking about?”
“I want to see his house.”
“You don’t want to see Baxter, but you want to see his house?”
“That is correct.”
“I’m baffled here.”
“He bought that barn of a place on a hilltop out at the very end of Tano Road, and I hear the production designer on his film has done it up in a remarkable way.”
“I remember that house,” Ed said. “We went to some charity event there a couple of years ago.”
“That’s right, and it was awful. But the place had good bones, and I want to see what they did with it.”
Ed sighed.
“I want to see the PD’s work. I might want to use him sometime.”
“I understand.”
“There’ll be people there we know, from the business,” she said, “and if we get bored, we can just leave.”
“If we think we’re going to be bored, then we might as well not go.”
“But then we couldn’t see the house. Anyway, it’s a wrap party, so some crew member who no longer has anything to lose might take a swing at Dax. That would be fun, no?”
“That would be fun, yes,” Ed replied. “Okay, we’ll go, but if I tug my earlobe, like this”—he tugged his earlobe—“then we get the hell out of there, agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“And if we’re going to the party, you don’t have to cook dinner,” he said.
“That had crossed my mind,” she admitted.
• • •
BESIDE THE POOL at the Arrington, in Los Angeles, Stone’s phone rang. “Hello?”
“Stone, it’s Ed Eagle.”
“Hi, Ed.”
“Are you in L.A.?”
“Yes, Ana and I are having a drink out by the pool. Why don’t you and Susannah join us?”
“I can’t think of anything I’d like better. I’ll mention it to her. Tonight, however, she’s committed us to go to Dax Baxter’s wrap party for his film crew, studio people, and other hangers-on.”
“Oh, well, that’s one evening shot.”
“I know. Susannah wants to see his new house, which, rumor has it, has been redone by his production designer at studio expense.”
“I suppose that could be interesting.”
“I’m worried about it getting too interesting,” Ed replied.
“How’s that?”
“It occurs to me that Teddy Fay, as a member of Dax’s crew, was probably invited and might be there.”
“Those are reasonable assumptions, I suppose.”
“And as a result, there might be trouble.”
“My knowledge of Teddy is that, when he causes trouble, he does so in a quiet, almost unnoticeable way.”
“You mean that if he offs Dax, nobody will notice?”
“I don’t think Teddy is inclined to off Dax,” Stone replied, “but if he were and did, I think no one would notice, at least until Teddy was well out of it.”
“I wonder why that isn’t comforting,” Ed said.
“There’s a solution to your anxiety about this, Ed.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t go to the party. Read about it tomorrow in the Santa Fe New Mexican. I’m sure they’ll be covering it.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I’ve already told Susannah we’ll go, and such a statement cannot easily be withdrawn, unless I suddenly have an attack of appendicitis, and I’m not that good an actor.”
“Ed, my advice, for what it’s worth, is to go to the party, thereby placating Susannah, then stay the hell away from Dax Baxter, lest he splatters when attacked.”
“That’s not the sort of advice I had in mind,” Ed said, “but I guess I asked for it.”
“You did. Go to the party. Nothing will happen. Teddy will not off Dax. Dax will not splatter, and if you keep the room between you and Dax, you will not be a party to or a witness of anything that might occur. But should Dax somehow expire, you can dine out on the story for months to come.”
Ed sighed. “Are you sure Susannah didn’t speak to you earlier?”
“Not since I left your house.”
“Do you think I should go there armed?”
“Ed, do you feel that going to this party might put your life in danger?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then I would go unarmed. In my experience, people who go to parties armed are just looking for an excuse to shoot somebody. If you don’t go armed, then you will be spared that urge.”
“I guess so.”
“Let me propose an alternative,” Stone said.
“Of course.”
“Is there a fireplace in Dax’s living room?”
“I expect so. Every Santa Fe house has a few fireplaces.”
“In that case,” Stone said, “there will be fireplace tools near the fireplace.”
“I suppose so.”
“And among them will be a poker.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Then stay close enough to the fireplace so that, if trouble starts, you will be able to reach the poker and use it to defend yourself and your gorgeous wife.”
“Got it,” Ed said drily. “Take care.”
“Oh, Ed?”
“Yes, Stone?”
“Should trouble start at the party, make me your first call. I’ll want to hear the gory details.”
“Of course you will, Stone.” Ed hung up.
Susannah came into the room.
“Are we ready to go?” Ed asked her.
“I just have to put on my lipstick,” Susannah replied, digging into her handbag.
Ed knew this to be a ten-minute exercise. “I’ll get the car out of the garage,” he said.
“You do that,” she replied, gazing into the hall mirror.
19
TEDDY FAY (or Billy Barnett or Ted Shirley, take your pick) regarded himself in the mirror. He wanted to be immediately identifiable to anyone on the crew who had known him for the past weeks, and yet he wanted to disappear into the crowd, if that became necessary. First, he shaved closely, then reapplied his handlebar mustache; then he dressed in faded but starched jeans and a matching denim jacket decorated with a little southwestern silver trim. His shirt was vaguely Western-flavored, open at the throat.
Then he unwrapped his very sharp, auto-release (switchblade) knife and secured it to his right ankle with the heavy rubber band the seller had given him. He pulled on his boots, then made sure the knife was accessible without being visible. He topped it all off with a very expensive new hat from the O’Farrell Hat Company in Santa Fe, well suited to the shape of his head and blocked to perfection, with a curled brim. He checked the mirror again: he was presentable.
Sally called from the bathroom. “You’re taking longer to dress than I am,” she said, “and I’m doing makeup.”
“I”m done,” he said, “are you?”
“Nearly.”
“Nearly doesn’t cut it.”
She stepped out of the bathroom wearing a fringed suede jacket and matching skirt.
“Dale Evans, as I live and breathe!” Teddy said.
“All I need is her horse,” she replied. “What was its name?”
“Buttermilk.”
“I don’t know how you remember all that stuff from old movies.”
“I had a misspent youth,” he replied. “I spent most of it at the movies, later at the pool hall.”
“I like you better without the mustache,” she said.
“What is it the French say, ‘A kiss without a mustache is like a day without sunshine.’”
“The French don’t say that.”
“They do. They also say the same thing about cheese.”
“A kiss without cheese?”
“A meal without cheese.”
“Oh.”
