Knight's Late Train

by Gordon A. Kessler

  We did a once-over pass of Doc’s place at 300 feet. Although there was room to land in front of the bed and breakfast, I took us out an eighth of a mile and put down in a clearing I’d strolled across with Doc, his Mary and the kids, right after I escaped from prison.

  I was eager but also extremely anxious to see my kids. Although I spoke with them every week by phone, it had been several months since I held them in both eyes and arms. But the anxiety wasn’t just from the separation, it was more of concern for their safety. I’ve been involved with some very bad folks in my lifetime, and now it seemed Doc was somehow mixed up with a similar crowd. It didn’t matter that even coming within 200 yards of my children violated my Federal parole and could put me back in prison for ten years. Their well-being had to be my primary concern.

  When I stepped out of the JetRanger, I noticed a deep scratch — more like a groove in the helo’s forward skid support. I was sure it hadn’t been there before.

  I told Rillie, “We’ve been shot at.” I figured someone must have fired at us when we passed over my father’s place.

  Rillie came around to look, but stopped when a thumping reverberation came from the distance. It grew louder, and I soon recognized it as a Blackhawk helicopter.

  Just as I pulled an equipment bag out of the JetRanger’s cargo hold and opened it, automatic gunfire erupted from the direction of Doc’s B & B.

  Chapter 8

  Meanwhile, Back at the Marina

  4:45 PM PST, The Wizard’s Den, Smokey’s Marina, SoCal

  From the dining deck, Smokey saw the three sedans pull into the parking lot, and fear shot through her. She slipped through the back door and into The Wizard’s Den, and then waited at the bar. The place was empty except for Oz.

  Oz set her customary afternoon mug of Kona in front of her, as she watched the front door through the large mirror behind him.

  “Good afternoon, pretty girl,” the big old Greek told her and leaned on the opposite side of the bar, a dishtowel draped over one shoulder. “Do your parents know you’re in an alcohol-serving establishment?”

  Smokey glanced at him and had to smile, but she didn’t feel like it. Her eyes went back to the mirror. “Looks like the police are here. Tamara and Harper just pulled up in separate cars. And a third car pulled in after them. I don’t like it.”

  Oz patted her hand. “Now don’t go getting your clouds full of rain. I’m sure E Z’s okay.”

  “Yeah, I hope so. But he’s either been hurt or killed — or they’re after him for something.”

  Oz set his jaw, and his gaze went to the doorway.

  Smokey loved the big man like a father. She’d known him for over fifteen years, since she and her now deceased husband bought the Marina. At that time, Osia had recently purchased the run-down sailboat pier and restaurant for the bar business only, and was hoping to find a partner who would fix up the marina and give it a go. He’d found not only a partner, but friends who’d welcomed him into their family.

  “Want me to get the cannon?” came a thin but steady voice from the end of the bar.

  Smokey had forgotten about See-Saw. Oz let the old blind man sleep in the storeroom, and he was seldom seen anyplace but on his usual stool at the far and purposely darkened end of the bar. E Z’s pup, Jazzy Brass, sat on the stool next to Cecil “See-Saw” Esau, and the old man was stroking her back, expressionless. The “cannon” he referred to was Oz’s huge handgun with a barrel longer than Smokey’s foot and a bore you could drop a marble into.

  Oz told him, “Not yet. We don’t wanta shoot cops until we know what they’re up to … then we’ll let ‘em have it.”

  Smokey was sure they were mostly joking … mostly.

  When the door opened, See-Saw shrank back into the dim light and Oz puffed out his chest. “Good afternoon!” he called out, cheerfully. “Can I help you ladies?”

  The black man in a charcoal, silk suit leading Tamara and Harper did a stutter step, and what had been a frown was now a scowl. “Where’s Ethan Knight.”

  Oz ignored him. “It’s great to see you Miss Tamara, Miss Harper.” He put a couple of glasses on the bar. “What will it be, Shirley Temples or a couple of my End of the World Martinis?”

  Oz claimed he made the best martinis anywhere, and everyone seemed to agree.

  But Lt. Harper Lee Legend had no smile in return. A step inside Oz’s bar usually made the hardnosed detective beam like a candle.

  “We’re here on business, Oz,” she said, finally allowing a nearly imperceptible smile.

  “I said, I’m here to see Ethan Knight,” the black man insisted.

  “Miss Tamara,” Oz asked, “surely a little glass of Rum Chata? Look, it’s nearly 5:00 o’clock already.” He thumbed toward the wall clock behind him.

  “Thanks,” Parole Officer Tamara White Cloud said, “But I can’t.”

  Smokey exchanged nods and smiles with the ladies, deciding to let Oz handle things — at least until they got out of hand. The good thing was, if they were looking for E Z, it meant they weren’t carrying the news that he’d been hurt or killed.

  “So what brings two of the three loveliest girls in town to ol’ Oz’s bar?” he winked at Smokey.

  Tamara asked, “Have you seen E Z?”

  Oz kept his own bright grin. “That big handsome fella all you ladies are in love with? Sure, I’ve seen him.”

  “Where is he?” the man insisted.

  Oz poured a couple of ice waters instead of drinks, and pushed them toward the ladies. “Well, pull up a couple of stools, and we’ll share stories about ol’ E Z. We can have a little girl talk. You know, if I was of the persuasion — and I’m not, you understand,” he said, striking a feminine pose, head tilted and wrist bent, “I think I’d be looking for him, too.”

  “Look you,” the man blurted out, “You don’t ignore me!”

  “I hear a fly,” Oz said and reached for the flyswatter. “No, I think it’s one of those gnats. You know, the kind that flies around a dog’s private parts?”

  The man slammed his hands flat on the bar and leaned toward Oz. “Do you have any idea who I am? I am Edward Rankle, Assistant District Attorney Edward Rankle. You do not ignore me!”

  Oz swatted him in the face hard. “Yep — got ‘im! A dog-dick gnat.”

  The ADA reeled back. “You stupid old Greek!” He held his face with one hand and reached under his coat with the other.

  “Ah, ah, ah-ah!” came the thin voice from the shadow at the end of the bar, accompanied by the sound of hard steel hammering the counter top.

  It was See-Saw, and Oz’s “cannon,” the big Taurus Raging Bull handgun, lay in front of him. But how could he have known the man was reaching under his coat? He was obviously completely blind. Smokey had seen the scarred eyes under his sun glasses.

  Rankle held a small pistol in his hand, still halfway under his blazer. “Do you realize what you’re doing?”

  “I realize,” Oz finally answered him, “A man comes into my bar and greets me with the respect I deserve; I’ll welcome him with that same respect. Come in here like you’re going to bust some balls — excuse me, ladies — you’ll leave with your own balls in your hands.”

  Rankle put his handgun back into place.

  “Lt. Legend, arrest that man!” he said pointing at See-Saw.

  Harper answered, “You mean that old man with the sunglasses and white cane who can barely walk? He’s totally blind. What do you want me to charge him with?”

  “Well then, arrest this man,” he said and pointed at Oz. “For assault!”

  Harper asked, “Do you realize what the arrest and booking sheet’s going to look like? You know how quickly things get out and twisted around: ‘ADA slapped with flyswatter, and orders female detective to arrest both the assailant and his blind sidekick.’ This is the type of story the media loves — it’ll get distorted in a minute and grow out of proportion. It’ll be Lampooned on YouTube and Saturday Night Live, and joked about on the Tonight Show a
nd Letterman within a week.”

  It was time to step in. “Everyone, please settle down,” Smokey said and stood from her seat. “Mr. Rankle, what is it you want with E Z?”

  “That is not your business. It’s between the Federal government and Mr. Knight. I can tell you that if he’s breaking his terms of parole, I’m sending him back to prison. So where is he?”

  Oz said, “You’re about as single-minded as a boy beagle shining Hush Puppies.”

  See-Saw slapped the bar and let go a baritone chortle that didn’t come close to matching his thin voice or slight stature. It took the ladies a couple of seconds for the pun to sink in. All three suppressed their laughter.

  Rankle didn’t get it. He seemed dumbfounded.

  See-Saw explained, “The Hush Puppies Oz is talkin’ about don’t need shined, and it ain’t your shoes a male dog’s trying to polish when he’s humpin’ your leg.”

  Jazzy Brass had waddled over to Rankle unnoticed and was squatting over his Mezlan wingtips, as if on cue. When the warm pee seemed to finally sink into his right shoe, he glanced down frowning at the golden retriever pup, his eyes wide.

  Smokey reached down and swept up Jazzy, seeing she was about to get kicked. “Don’t you dare!”

  “If E Z were here, he’d kick your ass!” Oz blurted. Then he held his mouth.

  Smokey took the dish towel from Oz and threw it onto Rankle’s shoe.

  The ADA took the rag, propped his foot on the top rung of the nearest barstool, and wiped it dry. “So you do know where Knight is. And he isn’t here? Where then?”

  Oz shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”

  Rankle insisted, “Where is he?”

  Lt. Harper Lee Legend said, “Oz, Smokey, you’d better tell him. He can make it very difficult for you and the marina.”

  Rankle added, “One call to the DA, and you’ll be on his short list. That’s the one listing businesses he’s going to nit-pick until he shuts them down.”

  Oz raised his eyebrows. “Oh, yeah, District Attorney George Rice?” He smiled. “I ain’t seen him since our poker game Saturday — playing for points only, of course.”

  Rankle was about to blow an artery. “Where’s Knight!”

  Oz answered, “Maybe out at his boat. Maybe out for a drive. Maybe out for a walk. I don’t know.”

  “How about out of the state?” Rankle asked. “How about out in Colorado? How about out of the law, and soon to be back within the law and in prison?”

  He turned to Smokey. “Which is his boat?”

  Oz piped in, “Atlantis Pier, Slip 12.”

  Tamara said, “Slip 21.” She looked back sorrowfully at Oz. “It’s no use. He’ll figure out which boat is his sooner or later.”

  Oz glared at Rankle. “Yeah, but we don’t have to help the prick. I’ll have him running in big circles around his own asshole until midnight before I tell him anything useful.” He bowed his head. “Excuse me, ladies.”

  Rankle smirked, “You already told me he wasn’t here.”

  “The bar, dick gnat,” See-Saw chimed in, “He’s not here at the bar!”

  Oz said, “And I think you’d better leave.”

  Smokey moved between the two, figuring the three-foot-wide bar wasn’t enough of a barricade. She passed Jazzy Brass to Oz, hoping that holding the puppy would disarm him a bit.

  “I’ll take care of you, later,” Rankle said and turned toward the door.

  Oz shouted at him, “Sorry, this ain’t that type of place. You’d better not come in here again — I’m putting up fly strips!”

  Smokey followed them out the door and toward the Atlantis Pier, Tamara leading.

  Tamara and Harper were doing their best to talk Rankle into a calmer state. Smokey decided her involvement would do more harm than good.

  Rankle told them, “I got the call an hour ago, just before I had Margaret call you two. Said Knight was in Colorado, going to see his children — the ones with the restraining order against him.” He glared at Tamara, “And I’m betting he doesn’t have your written permission to leave the state, let alone to leave Orange County.”

  Tamara didn’t answer.

  “Well, does he?” Rankle asked. “And tell the truth the first time. I will ask for your copy of the permission form.”

  Tamara answered, “He’s not due for his monthly check in for two weeks.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  Again, Tamara didn’t answer, which seemed to be enough for Rankle. “I didn’t think so.”

  Smokey couldn’t help herself. “Why is it you’re so bent on getting E Z, Mr. Rankle?”

  “None of your business, I told you — except that I don’t like lawbreakers, especially murderers.”

  That set Smokey afire. “He was acquitted!”

  Lt. Harper Legend dropped back and took Smokey by the arm to slow her down.

  In a low voice she told Smokey, “Rankle was one of the ADAs in Kansas who put E Z away for Jolene Knight’s murder. E Z always insisted he hadn’t killed his wife and claimed Rankle was on the take. The public was appalled by the heinous murders of Jolene Knight and her parents. After his conviction, they wanted E Z to get the death penalty — and that’s exactly the sentence he got.”

  Smokey listened, shaking her head. “But he was acquitted.”

  “Yes, but there’s more to it. While E Z was on death row three years later, Rankle was running for DA. That was when E Z broke out and killed two crooked FBI agents in order to prove his innocence. When he pointed the finger at Rankle again for being on the take, public sentiment seemed to shift in E Z’s favor. Rankle lost the election in what was expected to be a shoe-in. But E Z couldn’t prove his allegations and Rankle moved out here last month and got a job in our DA’s office. It seems he’s following E Z to get even, but we can’t prove that either. Speculation is that someone is behind Rankle and pulling his strings.”

  Tamara and Rankle stopped at Slip 12, and Smokey and Harper caught up.

  The new slip renter of number 12, Mrs. Esmeralda McCourkle, had just sailed in and was tying off her 36-foot Hunter sailboat, the Nauti-Gal. She was quite a virago for being in her mid-seventies.

  “Maybe the dumb Greek was telling one truth to draw me off,” Rankle said.

  “He told me ‘Slip 12’, didn’t he?”

  The old woman sailor on the boat gathered up her calico cat and stood gawking at them. “Who’s the prick in the suit,” she asked, “and why is he eyeballing my boat?”

  Smokey smiled at the seventy-something-year-old, admiring her perception. She had discovered a fondness for the old gal from the start when she met Esmeralda McCourkle and rented her the slip earlier this morning.

  Old lady McCourkle released her cat, and it leapt to the pier. She told it, “Sic him, Friendly!”

  The cat trotted up aggressively, but stopped about ten feet from Rankle, turned sideways with arched back and started a spit and hiss fit.

  “Slip 21 is over here,” Lt. Legend said and gently led Rankle away.

  In a few seconds they were standing in front of E Z’s boat.

  “The Reckless Abandon?” Rankle asked, reading the boat’s stern. “That’s an understatement.” He scanned the old 27-foot Catalina, then his eyes lit up. “I’m betting Knight is here, and he’s hiding inside the boat’s cabin right now.”

  Smokey saw the bikini top and bottom laying out on the cabin roof as if drying in the sun. A towel lay in the open cabin companionway.

  Rankle stepped onto the boat and withdrew his gun, as the small vessel rocked. “Come out with your hands up! You know I won’t mind putting a bullet in you.”

  In a blur of pink flesh, a young nude woman raced out, threw a small fur-ball at Rankle and dove into the water beside the dock.

  The fur-ball turned out to be a very angry ferret. It latched onto Rankle’s nose. The ADA went crazy and fired two shots wildly, before the small polecat let go. It bounded twice across the boat and then followed the girl into the wate
r.

  “Stop it!” Smokey yelled. “You’re going to kill someone.”

  “What the hell was that?” Rankle said, not paying attention to Smokey, his gun aimed at the cabin companionway. “Knight, come out!” He edged closer, then stepped down into the cabin. In a couple of seconds, he was back out.

  “He’s not here,” he said, blood dripping from his nose. He looked over the side of the boat at the water. “Who’s the girl?”

  “It was only Jada,” Tamara said. “You damn near killed her!”

  Smokey added, “She’s just a teenager who does odd jobs around the marina for folks. She cleans their boats, chips some paint ….”

  “And sleeps with them?” Rankle asked.

  Smokey shook her head. “She sometimes stays in boats when the owners are away.”

  Rankle smiled. “She’s a minor, isn’t she?”

  “She’s a computer geek,” Smokey said.

  “And she has an illegal, wild, exotic animal as a pet,” Rankle said, now holding a monogrammed handkerchief to his nose.

  Smokey realized what was coming. Nostradamus was a stray but very sociable ferret that E Z had befriended and the kids around the marina had grown very attached to, including Jada and her own son Rabbit and little daughter Dolly.

  “You mean that wharf rat?” Smokey asked, remembering she’d seen a dead one next to the garbage this morning. “Looked to me like she was trying to get away from it as much as she was trying to get away from you. The poor girl was scared to death. She thought you intended to shoot her.”

  “It was a ferret that attacked me, and ferrets are illegal in California.” Rankle’s voice became excited, “I’m making a long list. Knight’s going back to prison as soon as I find him. Indecent liberties with a minor, statutory rape, probably sodomy, illegal possession of an exotic animal, violating parole by both leaving the county and state without permission, as well as by violating a Federal court ordered restraining order. I’ve got him. I’ve got him by the short hairs!”