"Evening, gents. What are you shooting at?"
"Binky. What are you doing up at midnight."
"Quarter past, actually."
John checked his watch. "Binky! What are you doing up at sixteen minutes past midnight."
"Couldn't sleep. Schooner lag."
"What's that?" said Fred.
John was fidgeting. Binky was getting to him after only a minute. "It's like jet lag, but with a ship. Right Binky?"
"Right, old boy. A schooner, in particular. Are you gents plotting a raid or something?"
"We need bullets. We're going to look for some."
"Jolly good."
"Binky, old man," said Fred, getting into the spirit of the night, "Do you know how to shoot?"
"What?"
"Do you know how to shoot?"
"What?"
John again couldn't contain himself and yelled out, "Binky, do you know how to shoot a rifle or a shotgun or a handgun?"
"Oh no. Certainly not. Guns are such frightful things. Always needing to be cleaned. Always going off while they are being cleaned. We got rid of them in England years ago. Too dangerous."
"Oh my God. Where did I last hear that? You should go back to bed. We're going off to look for some bullets. Good night."
"I'll go with you. I used to have top marks at the Embassy Easter egg hunt each year. What do these bullets look like?"
Fred was trying to keep from laughing. He had never seen anyone who could pull John's strings like Binky. "They come in a box. Like this." Fred pulled out a box of shells from his bag of tools.
John's stare at Fred couldn't be misread. "Don't encourage him."
Binky took the box and turned it around and around. Upside down and backwards. Then he shook it. "It rattles. Something in there. Did you know that? Perhaps, it's broken. Have you checked? Is that the way it normally sounds?"
Fred smiled again as John rose and started pacing. Fred opened the box to show the bullets inside, neatly arranged in their plastic case. He took out one and showed it to Binky. "Some are a little bigger and some a little smaller. We'll take any we can find."
"Got it. Let's ride, cowboys."
"That's what I said ten minutes ago."
"Fifteen, actually."
John moved close to Fred and whispered, "I'm going to kill him."
* * *
The first two police stations were exactly as Fred had said. Papers everywhere. Filing cabinets emptied. Desks emptied of drawers and overturned. They found a safe at each station, but it was open and empty.
Riding to the next station, Binky said, suddenly, "Stop. Right here."
John stopped the Dark Dagger and Binky jumped out.
"What do we do, John? Has he gone crazy. I admit it would have been a short trip."
"Who knows. Who cares. Let him go."
"I'll follow him. Provide backup."
"How do you backup a lunatic? With two more lunatics," John said, opening the door and grabbing a flashlight.
Binky ran across the street and into a jewelry store. The door was broken down. Inside, Binky's flashlight showed the broken and empty jewelry cases. The glass on the floor sparkled when hit by the flashlight beam. Fred followed Binky as he ran into the back room. The safe was open and empty. Binky began opening drawers in the desk. In the bottom right drawer was a pistol. The bottom left drawer revealed two boxes of bullets. Binky handed the pistol and the boxes to Fred and kept looking. A few minutes later he said, "That's it, gents. Let's try upstairs."
Outside, Fred said, "Sorry Binky, there's no upstairs. See. No windows."
"The ceiling in the jewelry store was only fifteen feet high, old man. The building is twenty-five feet high. Logic tells us we will find a door and a stairway somewhere." He walked along the front of the building and around the corner. He continued along the side, shining his flashlight along the wall to look for any doors. At the next corner, he walked around it and his light showed a door. "Locked. Drat. Did either of you bring any explosives?"
Fred shook his head. "Charles used to keep some, but they were all used."
"What on?"
"He blew himself up."
"Fine. Then, shoot the lock off. You have a pistol. Shoot it."
"That doesn't work," said John, ambling up to the duo. He appeared to be in no hurry to find out what Binky's next adventure would yield.
"It always works in the movies," said Binky. "Shoot it off."
"We aren't in a movie, this is real life, although I'm beginning to wonder." John took out his wallet and removed his two lock picks. Fred shined his light on the lock as John worked. Two minutes later the lock clicked and the door opened.
"Jolly good."
Binky ran up the stairs, his flashlight moving all around as he ran. He shined his light on each door and read the name on the door aloud. Some of the doors had been broken down, but not all. At the end of the hall, the door had no nameplate. Binky turned to Fred and said, "Kick open that door."
Fred looked back at John and shown his light on John. John shrugged and Fred kicked the door. After three unsuccessful kicks, the door finally yielded. Inside, Binky went to a desk and quickly searched it, putting two more boxes on the desk top. Then, he started taking the pictures off the walls until, in one corner, he found a safe. He turned to John and said, "Can you open this?"
John looked at the safe and saw the key lock in the center of the door. "Maybe." Again, John pulled out his lock picks and went to work.
After ten minutes, Binky said. "You want me to try, old man?"
"I'll keep at it, youngster," John said, giving Fred a look which said, "Take him out and tie him up."
Fred again had trouble not laughing and had to cough to cover his chuckles.
After another five minutes, the lock opened. Inside were ten boxes of bullets and six trays of jewels and jewelry. John just shook his head as he put everything into his bag. "What next Houdini?" John said, looking at Binky.
"The name is Binky. Duke Binky, third …"
"I remember that part. What's next?"
"The next police station, I suppose. It's your show, old man."
"How did you know there would be bullets?" said Fred.
"Oh no," said John. "You aren't buying into this. It was just luck."
"The people who broke into the jewelry store had guns. The walls were riddled with bullet holes. They had many guns. They didn't have jewels. Jewels were what they were looking for. If they found guns, they wouldn't care. Then, this door didn't have a name, and it's right over the jewelry store office. So, they didn't want any customers to come here. It is probably connected to the store downstairs by a hidden stairway. We didn't discover it in the darkness. Quite simple really. Are you quite sure you gents have been doing this right?"
John whispered to Fred, "I'm really going to kill him, this time. Slowly and painfully."
The trip to the next police station took ten minutes. John remained quiet during the trip, but Fred kept asking Binky about his life and history. With every story Binky told, John became more and more convinced that Binky was his half-brother, his half-brother his stepfather had kept secret, his crazy half-brother. Exactly why Binky was crazy, was not obvious, but if he kept telling stories, John was sure the answer would become clear.
The next police station was still locked and apparently undamaged. It was a satellite Sheriff's office on a side street in a small town. John began working on the lock. Binky watched for a minute, then turned and walked down the street.
"You want me to stay and cover you or watch over your brother?"
"Half-brother. Go look after him. Otherwise, he may wander off. Then you'll feel some obligation to find him and we'll be here all night. This door will take some time. It's a high security lock."
"We brought a sledge and some pry bars in the car."
"This is easier and faster. Go keep Sherlock out of trouble."
Fred went down the street, looking around. He found Binky standing in front of a
house. Fred walked over and said, "What are you looking at, Binky?"
"We should go inside this house. Can you pick the lock."
"Probably not," said Fred, walking to the door and twisting the knob. He walked back to the garden, picked up a stone and broke the front window. He reached in, unlocked the window and pulled himself through the window. A minute later he opened the door from the inside and walked out. "How's this, Lord Binky."
"A bit crude, but it will do."
"Why this house?"
Binky pointed his light at the star insignia in the corner of one of the window panes. "This is the only house in this area to have this star. None of the neighbors have this star. This is the Sheriff's house and his neighbors despised him."
Fred swept his hand in a big arc ending with his finger pointing at the open door. "Your grace. Please enter my humble abode." Binky went in and shined his flashlight around. "Well, Binky? See anything interesting?"
Binky walked around the living room and into the dining room. In the bedroom, he stopped in front of a bookcase. "This is a false wall. Behind this wall, you will find what you are looking for."
Fred looked at Binky and laughed. Now Binky was writing fortune cookies. How could Binky know this, he thought. Fred started tearing all the books from the bookcase until he found one with a lever behind it. He pulled the lever and the bookcase rotated backwards to reveal a small room. Inside the room was a desk, shelves full of little boxes and a tall safe.
"Fred, you should call John. Perhaps, he can open the safe."
"Binky, I doubt that he will care what's in the safe, but I'm sure he'll give it a go."
Fred brought John and the car. Together they cleaned out the shelves. The safe contained many rifles and shotguns. The Dark Dementor's trunk and the back seat that wasn't containing Binky were full of boxes of bullets when they left.
"Fred, if you ever mention this to me again, I swear, I'll shoot you."
"What! You said we needed bullets. Binky, the Duke, found bullets."
"Righto."
John looked at Binky in the rear view mirror. "I'm telling you Fred."
Chapter 72 - The Followers
"Hey Binky. How was breakfast? Isn't Marceau a great chef?" John said, as Binky walked into the kitchen.
"It was passable. Toast was warm. Toast should be cold."
"And beer should be warm. I'll kill him," Marceau said, under her breath.
Iris heard Marceau and whispered, "Remember the source."
"What happened to those people who were following you, from the schooner."
"Don't know. Lost, I suppose. Never could follow directions. Always losing themselves. Usually, they show up."
"Maybe you are the one who loses himself. Aren't you concerned?"
"Not really. We were to meet up in California, on the coast. Hard to miss it. Just keep heading toward the setting sun and eventually you run into water."
"You know that California is nearly three thousand miles away and has an eight hundred mile coastline."
"No! You are jesting. One state? That's bigger than all of the UK. And the UK is only three hundred miles across at the widest point. Three thousand miles? You are jesting."
"No. If the US were only as wide as the UK, you'd be in California right now. Actually, you'd be hip deep in water right now."
"I'm not? In California, that is."
"No, the state you are in is on the East Coast."
"Really, I thought it was taking a long time."
"And it's not that easy to find someone when they could be anywhere in eight hundred miles."
"I suppose they will look for me. They usually find me."
"Are you interested in learning to shoot a gun, Binky?" said John.
"Don't think so. Too much cleaning. Bloody things go off while they're being cleaned."
"Binky, these days, bullets are not made using gun powder. They use something else which works better and they don't need to be cleaned often. And before cleaning, they are supposed to be unloaded. You can't be shot if you unload your gun first."
"I wouldn't count on that," Marceau said quietly.
"Quite logical, really. Who thought that up? A reasonable precaution, I'd say."
"Now that we have bullets, we can do some shooting practice and training. Would you be interested in some shooting practice, Iris?"
"Sure. Haven't shot my rifle in months."
"How about you, Marceau?"
"Can I choose my targets. If so, it would be a pleasure," she said, looking at Binky and smiling.
"We won't start on live targets. Mainly paper and wood to begin with."
"Can I put a picture on the target?"
"Sure," said Fred. "Anyone we know?"
"Say, Binky," said Marceau. "Bring any pictures with you?"
"No, sorry. Lost everything when I lost my cycle."
"You didn't lose your bicycle, Binky. You tossed it into the bushes down on Route 42. You want to go back and look for it? Maybe George can fix it for you and you can continue on your way to California. We wouldn't want to be in the way of your meeting your objective of sailing around the world."
"That is true. I'll do everything I can to help George," said Marceau. "Wouldn't want Binky to be forced to tolerate such bad food for any longer than necessary. He should be on his way to California as soon as possible."
"Quite alright, missy. We Brits keep a stiff upper lip when in difficult situations. Always have."
"I'm going to kill him," Marceau said again, quietly. "John, you own a digital camera and a printer, don't you?"
The next morning was sunny and cool. Fred erected several targets outside the barrier fence, near the forest. Target practice went well and everyone was eventually able to hit a human-size target at one hundred yards. That would require the target to be inside the barrier fence, but out of range of most people with a pistol. If the attackers had only pistols, one hundred yards would be good enough.
* * *
After lunch, Binky approached John and said, "Old Man, did you say that you knew where my bicycle is? What did you do with it? I don't mind your borrowing it, but you should return it when you're finished."
"I didn't borrow it, Binky. You threw it into the weeds the night we found you on the highway, after we brought you back on the Dart train. I don't know why you did that."
"That's fine. Just don't do it again. I need it to go to California."
John pulled White Warrior Number One from the barn and attached the trailer. He and Binky drove off, backtracking their trail from the warehouse where the Dart train was kept. As they approached the intersection with Route 42, John saw several people and several tents erected at the intersection. He turned the car into the driveway of a house and drove around back.
"What are you doing? Is this where you put my cycle?"
"No, you threw it down at the intersection. The intersection where those people are camping."
"Of course. So, why are we here, if my bicycle is over there?"
"We don't normally see people around here."
"Of course not. They are over there. Those are my friends. They are looking for me. Let's go. I'll introduce you."
John looked at Binky. "Let's leave the car here and walk." John opened the door, took his rifle from the trunk and then walked around the car, opened the door and pulled Binky out.
"Take it easy, old man. We'll be there soon enough."
"I thought you were in a hurry to go to California." John pushed Binky in front of him and held his rifle ready.
As they approached the small group, several called out, "Binky."
"Cheerio. What ho. Looking for me, were you?"
John put his revolver back into its holster and pushed the safety on his rifle. He tried to smile, but it wasn't easy. The three people gathered around Binky, shook his hand, patted his back and one of the two women kissed his cheek. John wasn't sure whether the people were welcoming an old lost friend or retrieving a lost pet. A serious poss
ibility.
"You should all meet my new friend, John. He has a tiny train. He found me in Tennessee and brought me here. Then he threw my cycle into the weeds and we've been great friends since. Almost like brothers."
It took twenty minutes for John to meet the three people and to explain his introduction. The first person he met was Simca, a mid-thirties woman with red hair. She was tall with freckles, a light complexion and a sparkle in her green eyes. John's first impression was that she was air-headed. Her relationship with Binky was not obvious, but then, not too much about him was.
The next person was Joan. She was short, dark and had black hair. John was not able to deduce anything more as she mainly smiled and laughed, saying nothing.
The last was Zack. He was tall, almost as tall as John, thin and appeared to be completely unmotivated. His long, straight, blond hair gave him a hippie persona which he appeared to enjoy. John hoped that he was wrong. How these three had teamed with Binky would either be an interesting story or no story at all. Perhaps the group just coalesced from the crowd one day, like drops of rain in a storm forming a puddle with no particular relationship to each other. Time would tell.
At the end, it was decided that the group would go back to the lodge and stay for long enough to repair Binky's bicycle. The tents were disassembled and all the bicycles, camping gear and backpacks were piled on top of the trailer. Binky's three friends squeezed into the back seat as Binky gave a commentary on his last few days.
* * *
After a delicious dinner of roast beef, vegetables and wine, John was finally able to determine some facts about the group. The three members, Simca, Joan and Zack, were indeed traveling with Binky on a schooner. And they did indeed intend to meet with the schooner again in California. Binky's lack of details was because Simca was the brains of the outfit, contrary to John's first impression, and she knew the coordinates of the meeting point. She had a GPS unit and a satellite phone. In addition, Binky had some kind of homing unit which worked with a satellite telephone. It was solar-powered by cells on his backpack. That is how his friends found him, or his bicycle. John had begun to wonder if the world had suddenly turned crazy with no logic to anything. Apparently, that explanation only applied to Binky and maybe Joan and Zack. After they found Binky's bicycle, two days before, they decided to camp and wait for him to return.
The Weak Shall Die: Complete Collection (Four Volume Set) Page 73
