by Don McQuinn
"You mean prove Richards embezzled money to give Milam?"
"How many times do I have to tell you? Yes, dammit. I want him out of my way, disgraced. I'm trying to save a woman who thinks she knows something about business. Someone has to."
"Of course. About Richards, though. I've have to hack his computer. That's illegal. I should be paid more."
"We have our deal. Make it work. Remember what happened to you last time."
"What if I'm caught? I won't go down alone."
Van straightened. "If you break the law, you're on your own. My word against yours. Easy as that."
Piers slid out of the chair. "If I didn't need the money..."
Van cut him off. "Just get me what I want or I'll find someone like you to push you under the way you're going to push that preacher under. Do your job and there's a bonus in it for you. Screw up, and I'll dock you for it. Mess with me and I'll bury you."
Piers silently retrieved his hat and backed away. His face was drumhead tight with the hatred he could no longer hide. Wheeling, he stalked to the counter and paid his bill. He left without looking back.
Several blocks later Piers entered a hotel. Casually, he made his way to a public restroom and entered a stall. With the click of the latch he made a noise like muffled laughter. There was no sign of amusement. He took off his baseball cap and he turned it over. Behind the ornate front logo a strip of velcro held a slim metallic box in place. A tiny lens spied through a gap in the stitching. Piers detached the camera. Pushing a button, he was pleased to see the video was quite good. The light wasn't the best, but his lunch partner was unmistakable, his every word recorded with clarity. Unfortunately, Vanderkirk's head was a bit off center. It occurred to Piers that was cinematically regrettable, but psychologically rather accurate.
* * * * *
Ripping the parking meter sticker off his car, Van dropped it to the ground and threw himself in the driver's seat. He raced the engine until it almost redlined. Twisting the wheel hard, he let the clutch out and simultaneously pitched around to look for approaching traffic. Blasting air pressure and the roar of a horn rocked him backwards. The maroon wall of a freight van roared past. Braked tires screamed in his ear, choked him with billows of stinking smoke.
Van froze, unable to move. Perversely, his whole body literally vibrated. Other cars edged past his. Drivers leaned on horns, shouted, gestured. It took him two tries to draw a shuddering deep breath and get underway.
Within minutes, the shock of the near-death experience caused him to consider his situation.
He already knew he was doing the right thing. Looking out for Lila's interests - and yes, for his own - was a decision, not a matter of fate. It was as simple as making sure the foundation of a building was enough to support it.
He wasn't sure Lila loved him.
He wasn't completely sure he loved her.
But they had so much in common they could be unbeatable. She was the wife, the partner, he needed. He could show her that's what she needed, too, whether she realized it just now or not.
What if he hadn't dodged that crash? Poor, susceptible woman, she'd probably drift into a relationship with the used-up veteran or some other stray-dog loser.
He was the man who knew what her future should be. She needed help. It was his responsibility - and his pleasure - to provide it.
* * * * *
Pastor Richards pointed at the sign, then patted the GPS on the dashboard. "Right where we're supposed to be." He slowed to make the turn onto the dirt road leading to Hansen's campground. Within a few yards huge firs muted the mid-morning bright sunshine. Occasionally visible through the trees, the Strait of Juan de Fuca was cloaked in the gray mass of a persistent fog that contradicted the sunshine bathing the land. When the Pastor turned off the van's engine a profound sense of silence left them speechless.
In fact, it was a false impression. Looking up, they saw tag ends of mist insinuating themselves through the trees. The wisps writhed eerily, burning off so secretively and completely it was as if they'd never been. Before they did, however, they spread their uncountable droplets over millions of fir needles. Accumulated drops fell. A haunting nothingness, it sighed through the forest.
It was unworldly. Lila thought of the woman who'd spoken to her of life and creation, a woman who hinted at the ability of a human soul to create something beyond the reach of time.
Only then did a touch of excitement color Lila's memory of the experience. She felt the sadness and regret of the woman's words as clearly as ever, but somehow, in this ever-renewing place, the bell-tone of hope was resonated brighter than anything else.
Challenge called her. Trepidation whispered danger.
She must walk with care. She must stand ready to act boldly.
Swiveling in the seat, the Pastor ended the moment. He was almost grim. "We're there, Lila: The point of no return. If we go ahead, we're committed. I know you're as apprehensive as I am. If we fail to convince Crow and he goes on to hurt himself, we'll mourn it forever. If we help him, we may earn no more than his resentment. This is not a simple yes-or-no situation. I'm asking you to say a silent prayer for your own well-being, as well as his." He paused for a confiding smile. "A professional's advice, if you will."
Sourly, Lila said, "I've been praying since this whole thing started."
Working to keep it light, the Pastor said, "I don't see you at services very often. I wasn't sure how much praying you did."
"Enough to keep me out of anything like this before now."
"I wish I could say as much." Pastor Richards' tone darkened. He looked away. Lila had the feeling he was both embarrassed and reluctantly frank as he continued. "Being involved in the decisions other people make can be devastating. One watches them wrestle, try to find the truth of an issue. I see people argue themselves into doing things they know to be wrong. And merely being right is never good enough. What hurts more than seeing someone make a mistake is being unable to make the person see the mistake in the first place. And I know I can never quit the fight because the fight's the right thing to do." He blinked. Lila understood he'd left her, left this place and time. She waited until he seemed to pull himself back into the present. In an instant, he was jovial, joking again. "A fine minister I am. Here we are, all pumped up, full of the spirit, and I'm bringing us down by spouting philosophical cliches. Pay no attention to me."
Lila acted stern. "I'll always pay attention to you. You being here is the only way I'll ever get through this. As much as I appreciate you, I don't know how you stand it. The decisions thing, I mean. I'm really unsure I made a good one."
"When I'm completely stumped I always think of Deuteronomy: 'If there arise a matter too hard for thee in judgment between blood and blood, between plea and plea, and between stroke and stroke, being matters of controversy within thy gates: then shalt thou arise and get thee up into the place which the Lord thy God shall choose.'"
Lila felt her nerves tighten one more notch. "What place are you suggesting? I don't see any church."
Pastor Richards said, "I stopped the van here. Could be God's way of choosing this spot for us. I've never believed He only speaks to us inside certain buildings. In any case, this is the place we've got. Shall we try it? Can we just quietly search within ourselves for a bit and each let our decision firm up or fall away?"
Lila's heart pulled at her to reach for reassurance in the sibilance of the condensing mist that whispered of ancient mingling. It stirred her sense of spirituality.
Her decision came easily.
Unwilling to let the Pastor see her as anything more than tolerant about religion, she put together a fake exasperation, complete with rolling eyes. She said, "Can't hurt." It was lame. It embarrassed her.
After a while, she heard him move. She looked to him, almost shy. He was already turned her way. He said, "How have we decided?"
Lila said, "We've come this far: Let's do it. But I'm telling you, as soon as I get home I'm speaking to God ver
y sharply about putting me in this spot."
"Why wait till you get home?"
"If I get snotty with God, maybe He'll get snotty with me. If I'm home, I know where the good hiding places are."
Pastor Richards groaned. "Poor Crow. He's wrestling with demons and his help's coming from you - a confused amateur comedian - and me, a rundown cleric. Custer had better odds."
They both laughed, not so freely that Lila didn't see how thinly it covered the worry in the Pastor's face. Worse, she recognized it as the same as her own.
I might as well confess. I want to see Crow again. Have all along.
Well, of course; he's a nice man who needs help. That's it. Being helpful. No different than Pastor Richards.
What if Crow just turns his back, sends us home?
Muddied emotions and images blurred her attempts to think. She was apprehensive, yet compelled forward. Reluctant yet eager. She couldn't find an anchor to hold her mind fast in any one place.
Burning tears were squeezed out of existence. They were intolerable here, now. Pastor Richards would be comforting. He'd ask what was wrong.
How could I say what's wrong? I may be doing the most right thing I've ever done.
Or not.
Chapter 19
Jason Miles pounded on the door of Crow's Airstream. The first response was a weak bark from Major, then Crow's voice: "I gave at the office."
Miles was saying, "Come on..." when the door opened. Crow's bandage was smaller by now. He looked haggard. Beside him, Major's appearance was much the same; he'd lost weight and his lowered energy level was apparent in the almost sluggish greeting. Crow's smile was wary. He said, "You're welcome, Jason - you know that - but no more arguing, okay?"
Miles said, "I guess I'll stand out here, then."
"Stubborn. Poor attitude for a man who deals with the public." Crow stepped aside and gestured impatiently.
Entering, Miles said, "Look who's talking. Why won't you listen to anyone? You're not being rational, man."
"I'm a concussion patient. Irrational is us."
"I'm serious. You scared Sophia to death, falling like that. What if you'd been driving? You could kill yourself. Worse, someone else. You've got to stay put, get well. Doc Newton says..."
"I know what he says. He doesn't know me." For a moment Crow's ferocity was back. It drained away immediately. Another gesture indicated a seat at the table. Miles sat and Crow poured him coffee before joining him. He went on, "We've been over all this. You know I appreciate everything you've done and I thank you for what you'd like to do, but I can't stay here."
"Because you blame yourself. That's just dumb. I'm the one left that powder out and had all that other flammable stuff laying around. You'd never have gotten hurt if I hadn't been careless. Doc Newton says..."
"Stop it with 'Doc Newton.' If I hear his name once more..."
"He saved your life."
Miles' breath caught in his throat at the change in Crow. He found himself confronted by a man he didn't know, didn't want to know. He had the terrifying thought that the glitter of that man's eyes was a light utterly cold. It made his flesh crawl.
Sophia's call brought both out of the moment. Miles moved to the door quickly. Crow stayed with his coffee. Sophia came toward the Airstream, a van following her as obediently as a haltered horse. Miles saw the older man driving and the much younger, attractive woman beside him and marveled one more time at the odd couples who found their way to this remote spot. Then he saw Sophia's concern.
She was close enough to speak normally by then. She said, "These folks know Crow. They came to talk to him."
Miles' first thought was that Garza had tracked down relatives. He was turning to pass along this new development when Crow said "Stay" in a voice like a lash. Major dropped to the floor. Then Crow shoved past Miles with a force that staggered him. Crow didn't slow, but his right hand rose toward the bandage. Miles was sure it was involuntary. Crow proved the insight was true, stopping the move abruptly. When he lowered the hand it was a clenched fist that told of will battling pain.
Crow closed on the vehicle as if attacking. At the driver's side, he stopped, wide-stanced. He said, "What're you doing here? How'd you find me? Garza? Newton?"
The front passenger door swung open. The woman got out, moving fast to face Crow. Miles noted more concern in her manner than anger, although there was plenty of both. She wore a blouse and jeans and white sandals whose quick flash at each step underscored her speed. Less than arm's reach from Crow, she drew up. She said, "We want to be sure you're all right."
Crow said, "I'm fine. You can go home happy."
Behind Miles, Major's bark was almost a yelp. The woman newcomer talking to Crow whirled at the sound. Immediately, she faced Crow again. There was a new edge to her voice. "Garza told us Major was injured."
"We'll be fine. Save your sympathy for someone who needs it."
The woman threw her head back and laughed. It was a pretty laugh. Nevertheless, Miles held his breath, waiting for Crow's explosion. The woman stifled any blow-up before it could start. She lifted her chin, pointed a finger at Crow that had the authority of a sword. She said, "I feel sympathy for Major. You? Sure, I wish you weren't hurt. We thought maybe you needed help. But sympathy? You're so sorry for yourself there's no room for anyone else's sympathy."
She stormed away without a look back. Reaching Jason Miles, she stuck out a hand. "I'm Lila Milam," she said. He took her hand automatically. She showed a polite smile and continued on toward the Airstream. Whining and wriggling, Major still held to his "stay" command.
Miles watched the woman go to the dog, wishing he could simply enjoy what had just happened. What stopped him was his certainty that, despite the flesh-eating blast she'd thrown at Crow, the woman was closer to tears than rage. Seeing her distress took almost all the fun out of seeing a ramrod like Crow put in his place. Almost.
Major leaned so far out the door of the trailer he scrabbled to avoid falling to the ground. When Lila reached him, he tried to leap up to lick her face. She held him off with worried affection, muttering his name as if it were a mantra. She petted with one hand, trailing the other, feather-light, across the stitches and shaved skin on his ribs, she said, "I heard how you pulled everybody out of that building. You're a hero dog, you ugly lump. I just love you to pieces."
Major melted gingerly onto his good side so he would he could waggle his paws and beg a belly rub.
Pastor Richards stepped out of his car. Crow, his face a mix of sheepishness and lingering anger, jerked a thumb in Lila's general direction and told the Pastor, "I had that coming, I guess."
Solemnly, Pastor Richards assured him. "No guess, son. You asked for it. "
"All I meant was we're fine. You all shouldn't..." He let the sentence fall away.
The Pastor's jaw set. It gave him a very different look. "You're not fine. You've lost weight. You're not all that steady on your feet, either." His hands clamped hard on Crow's shoulders. "Your eyes are so sunk in it looks like someone bored the holes too big. You eating right? You're not drinking? I wouldn't ask, but this is when we're tempted to look for comfort and then overdo it." He grinned, sly. "I promise I'm not trying to dry you out."
Crow felt himself relaxing further. He grinned back. "I didn't have much appetite for a while. I'm okay now. No booze." He stopped, clearly considering his next words, then, "I tried that. Long time ago. Using booze to fight pain works as well as swallowing a grenade to cure hiccups."
"Tell me about your condition. Garza gave us some idea, but we need to know the full depth of this thing."
The short period of easing tension was over. Crow tried not to tighten up and failed. Worse, he saw the Pastor was aware immediately. Crow wanted to sound cool. That failed, too. His voice rasped. "I said I'm fine. I took a hit. I'll deal with it."
"Not by yourself. That's why we're here. You can't push through this alone. We want to help, but we have to know the details first."
&nbs
p; Crow took a deep breath.
Another bridge to burn. No different than any other.
Don't let the anger out. You've got it under control. Don't...
"I don't want your help. Don't need it, don't need you."
Fool! What did I say? Am I crazy? Really crazy? They came all this way. Lila. She hardly knows me.
So much the better for her. That way I won't ruin her life.
Sighing, the Pastor took his hands off Crow's shoulders and looked seaward at the shifting, ever-changing fog.
Crow sensed a powerful reluctance growing in the man.
A need to retreat? Him? From what?
When the Pastor spoke again, Crow had the unsettling notion that the words were for the present, but there were parallel thoughts in the Pastor's head that nothing to do with this place and time. The sensation brought on another bout of the dizziness. He braced, fighting off a swell of nausea. The Pastor was saying, "You're a brave, righteous man riding a death wish. This Me-against-the-world thing is not you. You're trapped in a world you can't change and can't escape, so you'll just stop caring about anything. You go through life telling everyone, 'Mr. Crow doesn't live here anymore.' That's a lie. You almost got yourself and good old Major killed risking your life to save others. A hopeless man wouldn't do that."
"All I did was react. If I wasn't knocked goofy, I'd have left them, saved myself. You think I want to die? That's upside down. My son got it right, Padre. Death is what I do. I bring death."
The Pastor continued to stare into the distance long enough for Crow to think the meeting was over. He turned to leave. The Pastor stopped him. "Bravery and death are not inseparable. For many the bravest thing they can do is live." He fixed Crow with a consuming gaze. Crow broke, looked away. The Pastor pressed on. "I intend to see you return to being fully alive. As a man of God, I believe that's what He wants of all of us. I know it's what I want. I also believe that, in her heart, that's what Lila wants, too."
