Snow Cat

by Edward Kendrick

  Chapter 4

  Wynn woke with a start from a deep sleep, wondering for a moment where the hell he was. Then he remembered both where and why. The ‘where’ he could deal with, although he had to do something about finding transportation out of Blue Creek. With luck there was a used-car dealership somewhere in the small town—or at least someone who had anything, even an old beater they’d be willing to sell him.

  Why he was here was something else altogether. His nemesis, as he’d long thought of Lionel, might think he was dead. However, until he saw a body, it was unlikely he’d give up the hunt—especially when he found out the camera wasn’t in the car. The two photos would be Lionel’s death knell if they got into the right hands.

  He and Lionel had been adversaries almost from the day they’d met, polar opposites in both looks and temperament. Lionel wanted to control everything and everyone he came across, including Wynn. To that end, he’d become a ruthless businessman. When he’d set his sights on a block of buildings in Phoenix, intending to buy them all using any means necessary in order to tear them down and erect a huge office building in their place, Wynn had been appalled. One of the buildings was a small art gallery belonging to one of Wynn’s few friends. Wynn had supported her when she had stood up to Lionel, protected her when Lionel had sent two of his men to terrorize her, and in the end held her as she cried on his shoulder when the gallery had burned to the ground. The cause, according to the arson investigator, had been faulty wiring and there was no way to prove otherwise. Wynn often wondered how much money was required to sell your soul to a devil like Lionel.

  Since then, Wynn had kept close track of Lionel’s dealings, doing what he could, when he could, to throw a spanner in the works. Unfortunately, fighting a man with the kind of powerful allies Lionel had at his beck and call was nigh unto impossible in most cases. Lionel knew he was behind some of those attempts and, according to him, found it somewhat annoying and vaguely amusing.

  Then Wynn had happened, quite unexpectedly, to be in the right place at the right time and had the two pictures he’d taken to prove exactly how evil Lionel really was. Now he just had to get them back to the two people who could put a stop to Lionel forever.

  That would’ve been easy if Lionel hadn’t heard the slight sound Wynn had inadvertently made as he moved away from the scene. He’d spun around just in time to see Wynn and made chase. Luckily, as far as Wynn was concerned, he was faster and knew the area well. Unluckily, despite the fact he’d managed to elude Lionel, the man knew what he’d seen and what he’d done. Now he was after him with a vengeance.

  So, first thing on the agenda this morning is getting my hands on a car and getting the hell away from here before someone gets hurt—namely me. Far enough away it will be virtually impossible for him to track my whereabouts once I go to ground.

  * * * *

  “If you want, we can meet for breakfast instead of you coming down here,” Mick said, nestling the phone between his shoulder and his ear while he finished typing up the report about Ralphie Peters running away and the outcome. He left out Ralphie’s story about the big cat. Somehow he doubted anyone would believe it, since whatever evidence there had been was now covered by the snow that had continued to fall until early in the morning.

  “We can meet at the diner,” he replied in answer to Wynn’s question. “Say in fifteen minutes, give or take.” When Wynn agreed, they ended the call. Mick saved the report, printed it out while putting on his jacket, then shut down the computer and left, letting the dispatcher know where he was headed.

  Wynn was already at the diner when Mick arrived, sitting in a back booth with coffee in front of him. Sliding in across from him, Mick shucked off his jacket and ordered coffee, as well, when Carly appeared.

  “Shall we get down to business?” Mick asked. “Or would you rather eat first and talk afterward?”

  “I can eat and talk at the same time,” Wynn replied with a slight smile. “Not that there’s really anything to talk about. I have no idea who sabotaged my car. I told you that.”

  “And I don’t believe you,” Mick said sharply, watching Wynn. He saw a flicker of wariness cross Wynn’s face before he shut down. “And it wasn’t just sabotage; it was an attempt to kill you that almost succeeded. What if the person who did it comes back to make certain you’re dead? Or—” he took stab in the dark, “—to find whatever it is in one of your bags he wants so badly he’s willing to commit murder to get it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  Mick saw the flash of fear in Wynn’s eyes and shook his head. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Mr. Murphy.”

  “Please, if we’re going to talk about this, about…what’s happening, call me Wynn, not Mr. Murphy. It’s—” he chuckled softly, “—a bit friendlier.”

  “Hang on a second. Wynn? According to the information I have on you, your name is Walt.”

  * * * *

  Wynn took a deep breath. “On the driver’s license and registration it is,” he admitted. He wasn’t at all certain he was making the right move but for whatever reason, he thought he could trust Mick. If he was wrong…

  If I’m wrong, by the time I find out it will be too late and I’ll be dead.

  “To keep this man from finding you?”

  “To keep anyone from finding me. And before you think you’ve got Public Enemy Number One sitting across from you, it has to do with my family, more or less. I took the name when I realized I was good at what I did and my paintings were going to be out there for the world to see, including any family member who might wander into a gallery or see an article about me in a newspaper or online and brag that I was their brother, cousin, or what have you. Knowing my father, I knew he’d just as soon not have me, the artist, associated with the family. He’s a bit of a snob that way. So with his blessing, such as it was, I changed my name.”

  “Does the man who tried to kill you know your real name?”

  Wynn shook his head. “I ran into him after I’d changed it. I suppose, to be honest, I should say I don’t think he knows. With him, nothing is written in stone.”

  “Who is he?”

  “That I won’t tell you. I don’t care if you are a cop, or sheriff, or whatever. He’s not someone to mess with.”

  “Damn it. He tried to kill you! My job is to stop that happening again.”

  “Which brings up another point, a bit off topic. Is there a used car lot in town?”

  Mick chuckled. “With a population of just over five hundred, I’m afraid not. If someone has a car to sell, they just advertise it in the weekly paper. And that’s presuming they haven’t just spread the word on their own.” He drummed his fingers on the table, stopping when Carly appeared with his coffee and asked if they were ready to order.

  After a fast look at the menu on Wynn’s part, they did and Carly disappeared again.

  “You’re planning on leaving as soon as possible I gather,” Mick said.

  “I should, before he does come back or sends someone. It’s more than possible whoever messed with my car was hired by him. He wouldn’t want to get his own hands dirty, I don’t think. On the other hand…” Wynn paused, frowning.

  “Yes? Ah, wait, got it. What he wants, what you have, is something he wouldn’t want anyone else to see. Not even someone he trusted implicitly.”

  Wynn nodded.

  “Pictures, a letter, a flash drive with damaging business information?”

  “Pictures.”

  “You have them on you?”

  “I’m not that stupid,” Wynn replied with a small smile. “They’re somewhere safe.”

  “For your sake, I hope so.” Mick leaned back, staring out the diner window. “If you’re dead set on leaving, I know someone who might have a car you can buy.” He turned back to look at Wynn. “I presume you’re planning on paying cash for it.”

  Wynn nodded. “And not registering it. I won’t be using it for that long.”

  “
Then why buy one?”

  Wynn cocked an eyebrow. “Because I’m not a thief?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I hoped it wasn’t.” Wynn stopped talking when Carly came back with their meals then asked, “What did you mean?”

  “Just a passing thought, which got overridden by another one that I’m not going to tell you until we go back to my office.”

  Wynn chuckled. “Now that’s not fair.”

  “But that’s how it’s going to be.” Mick began eating, patently ignoring Wynn’s look of disgust.

  * * * *

  Mick closed his office door and went to his desk, leaning back against it while he waited for Wynn to sit.

  “Doing a power play on me?” Wynn asked with a bit of a smile.

  “Nope. Just figured I’d be pacing before I finished talking and so why get settled.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “The way I see it, you’re real sure this man’s going to come back again, looking for these pictures you have. Right?”

  “Right. Which is why I want to get out of here. If you can honestly tell him that I’m alive and gone, with my stuff, he’ll accept it and not cause any problems here in town.”

  “I could lie and tell him that.”

  Wynn shook his head. “He’d know.”

  “I’m a damned good liar when I have to be.”

  “Doesn’t matter. He’d know.”

  Mick looked at him askance but accepted that for the moment. “All right. So going with what you think will happen, he should be coming back real soon. It’s been twenty-four hours since he took your car. By now he knows what he’s looking for isn’t in it.”

  “True.”

  “And if he already has arrived in town, he probably knows you’re still alive and still here. You’re pretty distinctive. All he’d have to do is ask around. No one would have any reason to lie to him, since they don’t know the circumstances.”

  “Again, true. All he’d have to say is he’s a friend or he was supposed to meet me here on business or whatever.”

  “What does he look like?” Mick smiled ruefully. “Something I should have asked long before this.”

  “About my height, black hair, cut short last time I saw him.” Wynn snapped his fingers. “I can show you. I do have the pictures.”

  Mick chuckled. “I think we’re both brain dead. Let’s go take a look-see.”

  Chapter 5

  Ten minutes later Wynn was asking the desk clerk at the hotel for the camera he’d left there. The clerk got it, handing it to him, then Wynn and Mick rode up to the third floor. As they walked down the hall towards Wynn’s room, he stopped suddenly. He sensed something wasn’t right but couldn’t put a finger on what it was.

  “Let’s not go barging in there,” he said, his voice just above a whisper.

  “Something wrong?” Mick asked quietly, pulling back his jacket so he could get to his gun.

  “I’m not sure. I might just be paranoid, but…“

  They moved silently down the hall. Mick held out his free hand for the key then pointed to the wall beside the door, indicating Wynn should move there. As soon as Wynn did, Mick unlocked the door, pushed it open hard enough that it hit the wall, and moved inside, quickly dropping to one knee, his gun weaving right and left. Seeing no one, he got to his feet and checked the bathroom, being equally as cautious. Finally he let Wynn know it was safe to enter.

  Wynn knew immediately someone had searched the room—and fairly blatantly. The bedcovers were pulled back, the clothes he’d hung neatly in the small closet were all shoved to the end on the bar and the top dresser drawer was partially open. The smaller bag, which held his art supplies, lay open on the top of the dresser. He checked it. Nothing was missing although it was apparent to him it had been rifled through.

  While he was doing that, Mick locked the door and set the safety latch.

  “Damned good thing I left the camera with the clerk,” Wynn growled, dropping down on the edge of the bed.

  “I’d say that’s a given right now,” Mick agreed, going over to join him. “Okay, let me see the picture of mister, what is his name by the way?”

  Wynn thought for a moment, then decided if he’d trusted Mick this far he might as well go all the way. “Lionel Knight.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “He’s managed to keep a fairly low profile, which is surprising considering he owns buildings in several cities in this part of the country and has more money than any one man should be allowed to.” Wynn tapped the camera pensively.

  “How does he manage that?”

  “Holding companies. His name’s buried so deep it would take an army of accountants to dig it out.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “He bought one of my paintings then he tried to buy me.” When Mick looked at him in shock, Wynn added, “He wanted exclusive rights to all of my art work—said he’d make me rich and famous.” Wynn’s expression darkened.

  “He didn’t want just the rights to your paintings. He wanted you,” Mick said in disgust.

  Wynn nodded, his thoughts going back to that night. “He invited me to his place for drinks, so he could get to know me better.”

  * * * *

  Wynn had seen Lionel Knight at a few of his art exhibits, but didn’t know who he was other than a man who had purchased some of his paintings, so he’d asked the owner of the gallery hosting his most recent show.

  “He’s a businessman with very deep pockets,” he told Wynn. “Consider yourself lucky he likes your work. This could be just the push your career needs.”

  So Wynn had accepted the invitation. He showed up on time at the building holding Lionel’s lavish condominium, nervously pressing the buzzer to let the man know he was there. His nervousness deepened as he rode up in the elevator to the penthouse level.

  Lionel had greeted him at the door, dressed in black slacks and a fiery red satin shirt opened halfway to his waist, revealing a muscular chest covered with thick, dark hair. He stood aside to let Wynn enter then escorted him to the large, ornately decorated living room.

  After Lionel made them both drinks and they’d settled down on one of the long, comfortable sofas, they talked about Wynn’s artwork, the various paintings on the walls done by some of Lionel’s protégés, and the state of the art world in general. Then Lionel had gotten down to the real reason he’d asked Wynn to visit him.

  “I want exclusive rights to your works,” he said, reaching across the space separating them to pat Wynn’s knee. “I’ll market them, more effectively than any gallery can, and give you seventy percent of what each painting sells for.”

  Wynn’s eyes widened. That was much more than any gallery he’d ever shown at paid him. “Why do you want to handle me?” he’d asked. “I’m good, but hardly up there with some of the better known artists.”

  “You have the potential to be something very special,” Lionel had replied as he moved closer, resting his hand on Wynn’s thigh. “With my connections, I can make you a very well-known and very rich, young man.”

  Wynn had looked down at Lionel’s hand, the dark hair on it matching that on the man’s chest, and shuddered. Lifting his gaze to Lionel’s face, he saw the lust in his eyes and shook his head. “I appreciate the offer,” he’d said, trying to be polite, “but if I’m going to make it, I’m going to do it on my own. That way it will mean something.”

  Lionel’s smile turned feral, his fingers inching up Wynn’s thigh. “I can make you, or break you. It’s your choice. I want your talent. I want what you can give me.”

  If Wynn had any doubts before, those few words had wiped them away.

  * * * *

  “I told him in no uncertain terms that he could go fuck himself,” Wynn concluded. “That didn’t sit too well with him. I walked out without even saying goodbye. The next day my contract with the gallery owner was canceled. I packed up everything and moved on to a new city and found a gallery that was willing to represent me. I bec
ame friends with the owner and she told me sometime later Lionel had put pressure on her not to handle me. She ignored him, thankfully, and that seemed to be the end of it. Then, about a year later, he decided he wanted to buy a chunk of real estate in the city. My friend’s gallery was on part of it. She refused to sell it to him. In the end, her gallery burned to the ground.”

  “I presume they never proved he was responsible.”

  “Nope. It was put down to faulty wiring. He got his real estate and built a huge office building complex.”

  “That sucks.”

  “No kidding,” Wynn growled. He stared off into space before returning his gaze to Mick. “It doesn’t bother you that, well, he thought he could proposition me like that?”

  Mick chuckled. “Why should it? I already figured out you were gay from something you said yesterday.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you? I mean, this is a small town and, okay, that was rather cynical on my part, wasn’t it?”

  “Indeed it was. Believe it or not, even small towns have gays. Sure, some people are a bit insular and don’t like the idea, but it happens and most of the people here accept it.” Mick smiled. “I should know.”

  It took Wynn a second to understand what he was saying. “You?”

  “No, I was talking about someone else.” Mick laughed. “Yes, me.”

  “Well, damn.” Suddenly Wynn saw Mick in a different and much more interesting light. He quickly tamped down on his sudden awareness that the sheriff was very good looking, even sexy, because doing anything about it wasn’t in the cards. But still…He returned his attention to Mick with a mental shake of his head.

  Turning serious, Mick said, “According to the pastor at one of the churches, definitely damned, but most everyone here ignores him.” He blew out a deep breath then changed the subject. “So what does Lionel look like, so I’ll know him when I see him?”

  Understanding that was all Mick would say about being gay, at least for now, Wynn pressed the review button on the camera after turning it on. Before showing the picture to Mick, he focused it in so just Lionel’s face was visible.