by Stuart Woods
“I’m glad I didn’t open it,” Stone said.
“It’s time to call the bomb squad,” Billy said.
“What’s the alternative?”
“I can disable it myself.”
“Safely?”
“I wouldn’t do it if I thought I’d get killed.”
“Then let’s leave the police out of it,” Stone said. “It would take me days to deal with them.”
Billy went back to his briefcase, removed a pair of wire cutters and the flashlight, and went to work. A minute later, he stood back. “All clear,” he said. “What would you like me to do with the explosive?”
“I don’t want it.”
“Then I’ll dispose of it, if that’s all right.”
“That’s all right,” Stone said.
Billy reached into the box through the hole he had made, removed a slab of what looked like modeling clay, put it into his briefcase, and closed it. He picked up the briefcase in one hand and the Tiffany’s box in the other. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Thank you, Billy,” Stone said.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Stone said.
Gala stuck her head in. “Everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” Stone said. “My board meeting is tomorrow morning. Shall we go back to Santa Fe tomorrow afternoon?”
“Fine with me.” She left.
Billy spoke up. “Don’t you think it’s about time you dealt more positively with Tirov?”
“Perhaps it is. How would you advise handling it?”
“Let me give it some thought. I’ll call you.”
46
Teddy drove home, angry that Tirov had not taken him seriously. That night, he revisited his house and found the place deserted. Next day, he made some phone calls and learned that Tirov was shooting a Western at a place called the Bonanza Creek Movie Ranch, in New Mexico; the woman he talked to said the shoot was for five weeks. He didn’t feel like going to New Mexico, so he decided to wait until Tirov returned.
Stone attended his board meeting in a hotel conference room; his friend Marcel duBois attended from Paris via video. He had lunch with the board, then he and Gala took off from Santa Monica at four o’clock. They picked up a big tailwind and were in Santa Fe in little more than an hour.
By the time they got to the house it was six o’clock and the sun was low in the sky. Stone stopped Gala’s Range Rover out front. “Hang on here,” he said, “and keep Bob with you. I want to have a look around the house before you come in. I’ll call your cell when I’m done.”
He carried their bags inside and set them by the front door, then as quietly as possible he checked out the master suite and the kitchen. All was in order; no visits from bears or ex-husbands. He called Gala. “The coast is clear. Come on in.”
Stone fed Bob and built a fire in the kitchen hearth, and they had a drink before Gala fed him.
“You never told me what was in the box from Boris,” she said.
“It was a homemade bomb,” Stone replied.
“Are you serious?”
“Very serious. Billy disposed of it.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
“Because it would have kicked up a lot of dust, and nothing would have come of it. He would have denied everything, and we would have had no evidence that he sent it. He’s not dumb enough to leave fingerprints or DNA on the box or the bomb.”
“But why would he ask us to lunch one day, then send us a bomb the next?”
“I think that if we had left the Arrington, even for the short drive to the Bel-Air, something would have happened to us on the way. When we declined his invitation, he turned to other means. That’s my best guess, anyway.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. I know what I’d like to do, but you don’t need to hear that.”
“If I knew how to have him killed, I’d do it,” Gala said.
“No, no, no, murder isn’t the answer. I know someone who would do it, if I asked him, but I’m not going to.”
“He deserves to die.”
“Maybe he does, but I’m not going to make that decision. Quite apart from the moral considerations, which are daunting, murder is a very messy business, and there are too many ways to get caught. I know that all too well from my days as a homicide detective.”
“Are there any circumstances under which you would kill him?”
Stone shrugged. “Self-defense. Tell me, when you were divorced, did you have the locks here changed?”
“Every one of them,” she replied. “Were you thinking of luring him into the house?”
“No, that would make it murder.”
“Tell you what, you lure him into the house, and I’ll kill him.”
Stone laughed. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life in the New Mexico State Prison?”
“Of course not.”
“There’s an old saying among criminals—‘If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.’ That’s jailhouse wisdom.”
She fixed them another drink, then started dinner. “I’m just going to make some pasta,” she said.
“I’ll be pitifully grateful for anything,” he said.
Stone’s cell phone rang. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Billy Barnett.”
“Hi, Billy.”
“Did you leave L.A.?”
“Yes, we’re in Santa Fe, at Gala’s house.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Why, do you miss us already?”
“I had a look around Tirov’s house last night, and he wasn’t there. I made some calls and found out that he’s at a place called Bonanza Creek Movie Ranch, making a Western.”
“Yes, he told Gala that he was going on location.”
“Do you know where the Bonanza Creek Movie Ranch is?”
“No idea.”
“It’s just outside Santa Fe. Gala’s place is in Tesuque, right?”
“Right.”
“Then you’re about ten, fifteen miles from Bonanza Creek.”
“Oh, shit.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Billy said. “I think it would be a good idea if you invited me out there?”
“Consider yourself invited.”
“I’ll borrow the Mustang from Peter and come tomorrow morning.”
“We have plenty of room for you. Bring your wife, if you like.”
“Thanks, but not when I’m working. Where do you park?”
“Landmark Aviation. What time shall I pick you up?”
“I’ll arrange my own transport, thanks.”
Stone gave him directions to the house.
“It may be late in the day before I’m there.”
“All right, see you then.” He hung up.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“Billy Barnett. We’re going to have a houseguest from tomorrow night.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does this have something to do with Boris?”
“Turns out that Tirov’s Western is being filmed at a place called Bonanza Creek Movie Ranch, which is only a few minutes’ drive from here. Do you know it?”
“Yes. I’ve been out there. It’s a good facility. Lots of movies have been shot there. Boris didn’t mention it to me.”
“I shouldn’t think he would.”
They had dinner and shared a good bottle of wine. By the time they had cleaned up the kitchen it was bedtime, and they were both a little drunk.
Stone went ahead to the master suite and turned on some lights. Bob came along and got into his bed. Then he growled.
“What is it?” Stone asked.
Bob growled again,
but then thought better of it and put his head down.
Stone got Gala’s pistol from her bedside table and pumped a round into the chamber. He turned on the outside lights, stepped out onto the terrace, the gun extended, and walked halfway around the house and back. No bears.
He went back inside, disarmed the pistol, and put it into his bedside drawer. He was more tired than he had thought, and still a little drunk, and he was out before Gala came to bed.
47
Stone was awakened by a loud bark from Bob. He sat up and looked at the dog; the room was lit by the moon. “Bob,” he said softly, “go back to sleep. There are no bears.” Then he heard another noise, one he had not heard since he was a boy at summer camp. He had been running down a trail and ran straight over a rattlesnake before he heard the rattle.
Now he heard the rattle again, and Bob started barking.
“What’s going on?” Gala said, sitting up.
“Just stay where you are, and don’t put your feet on the floor.” He got out the pistol again and armed it. The rattling continued, and so did Bob.
Stone got on his hands and knees and crawled to the end of the bed. He could see it now, coiled to strike, hissing and rattling at Bob. “Bob, stay! Don’t move.” He found the head of a rattlesnake too small a target, so he got down from the bed and began inching his way toward the fireplace. The snake became aware of him and struck in his direction, but short.
Stone found time to wonder at the size of the thing; it was at least a five-footer. He made a leap for the fireplace and got hold of the poker. When the snake turned its attention to Bob again, Stone stepped forward and swung at its head. He felt a shock like connecting with a golf ball, and the snake began writhing uncontrollably. It took him half a dozen swings to connect with the head again, and then the reptile gave up and lay there, twitching. Bob approached it cautiously, then jumped back when it twitched again.
“My God in heaven,” Gala said. “What next?”
Stone got the fireplace tongs, picked up the snake, and dragged it outside, surprised at how heavy it was. He could not reach around the body of the thing with one hand. He flipped open a box where a garden hose was stored, removed the hose, and packed the snake’s body in it and closed the lid, to keep the coyotes out.
Back in the room, Gala was still sitting up in bed. “May I go to the bathroom now? I really need to go to the bathroom.”
“Sure, go ahead.” It was only when she had left the room that it occurred to him that there could be more than one snake in the house. He followed her down the hall, poker at the ready, listening for another rattle. Satisfied that there were no more reptiles in the house, he went back to bed, but left the pistol and the poker on the bedside table, within ready reach.
Gala went back to sleep immediately; it took Stone an hour.
—
Billy Barnett landed Peter’s Citation Mustang at Santa Fe in the early afternoon, rented a nondescript car with a GPS, and drove away, not bothering to ask directions of anyone. He didn’t want someone to remember having given somebody directions to the Bonanza Creek Movie Ranch.
He found Bonanza Creek Road, and soon came to the ranch. There was a place for public parking, and he left the car there and followed the signs to the tour bus, which was loading when he got there. He was dressed in khakis, sneakers, a tan windbreaker, and a baseball cap with no name embroidered on it, and cheap sunglasses. He paid the man at the bus door and went to the rear of the bus, where there were a number of empty seats. He didn’t want conversation.
The bus was electric and drove slowly down the town’s main street, while the driver pointed out the saloons, the sheriff’s office, the hotel, the stable, the blacksmith’s shop, and a corral with half a dozen horses in it. The driver mentioned that the gunfight at the O.K. Corral had been filmed there more than once.
The bus continued off the main street and it was revealed that some of the buildings were simply facades, with nothing behind them.
Then they went back to the main street and parked in front of the saloon, which turned out to be beautifully complete and heavily furnished with a large nude over the bar, a painting of Custer’s Last Stand nearby, a huge mahogany bar, manned by a bartender in period clothes, and a poker game of movie extras in costume. A player piano ground away in a corner, playing “Oh, Them Golden Slippers,” and the tourers were treated to a draft beer on the house.
“Are they not filming today?” Billy asked the bartender.
“Nah, shooting begins tomorrow, and the first three scenes will be shot on this set,” the bartender replied.
“Where does the crew and cast live?”
“They’re all staying in town at La Fonda, on the Plaza.”
Billy wandered around the saloon, peering at the decorations. He found a hat rack with a gun belt and a six-shooter hanging from it. Keeping his back to the bartender, he took the Colt .45 out of its holster and checked the cylinder: loaded, but with blanks. He replaced the gun and went and watched the poker game for a couple of minutes; the extras were playing for real, it seemed.
The bus driver announced that he was about to leave and that no one could stay on the set. As the tourers filed out, Billy saw a script on a table near the door. He was last out, and he slipped it under his jacket, then got back on the bus. They were driven back to the parking lot, and as he got off the bus, Billy noted a truck arriving with a closed rear, and emblazoned with the legend COSTER’S ANIMAL WRANGLERS—Furry Creatures and Reptiles.
“Those folks supply coyotes and snakes and such,” the driver said as Billy got off the bus.
Billy got into his rental car and drove back past the airport and to Tesuque, thinking all the way.
48
Billy got to Gala’s house at dusk and was greeted by Stone Barrington at the front door. Stone led him to a guest room, and helped him with his bags, one of them quite large. “What’s in here?” Stone asked.
“Stuff,” Billy replied.
“Oh. Get settled, then find us in the kitchen, and we’ll have a drink there before dinner.”
Billy put his shaving kit on the sink and stuffed his large case into a closet, then he sat down for a few minutes and flipped through the script he had stolen at the ranch. There was a shooting schedule and a call sheet for the next day, too; probably belonged to one of the poker players. He tossed the script onto the desk, then went to find the kitchen.
“Before I offer you a drink,” Stone said, “I want to show you something.” He led Billy outside through the kitchen door, switching on an outdoor light along the way, then he flipped open the hose box. “Have a look at that.”
Billy looked at the snake. “My God,” he said. He reached into the box, took the dead snake by the neck and hauled it out, holding it up under the light. “I’m five-eleven, and this thing is six and a half feet,” he said. “His head is the size of my fist, what’s left of it, and look at those rattles!”
Stone told him how he had found the snake in the house. “Is it native to these parts? What do you think?”
“Could be,” Billy said. “Do you want the skin?”
“Okay,” Stone said.
Billy draped the carcass over a table by the pool, took a folding knife from his pocket, made a few deft cuts, and in one motion, stripped the hide from the snake. The rattles came off with it. “There you go,” he said. He opened the door to the woodshed, hung the skin from a nail, stretched it tight and placed a piece of flagstone on the bottom. “Let it dry there, and you can have a pair of boots made from it.” He closed the door and latched it. “The meat is very good deep fried. Do you want to keep it?”
“I don’t think so,” Stone said.
“Then let’s leave it for the coyotes.” He swung the carcass wide and tossed it into some bushes a few yards away. “They’ll find it before morning.”
They went back into the kitchen and sat
in front of the fire with drinks, while Gala prepared dinner.
“Stone,” Billy said quietly, “that species of rattler may be native to this area, but I don’t think it got into the house all by itself.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Well, first of all, it’s a very big snake. A mouse might get in through a small opening, but I doubt if there’s one big enough to admit that snake.”
“A door left open, maybe?”
“I don’t think so—you’ve got screens on all the doors. However, there’s a snake wrangler working on the movie being made at Bonanza Creek, and a scene in the script with a big rattler.”
“How do you know that?”
“I took the tourist tour of the ranch this afternoon, and I swiped a copy of the script from the saloon set. And I saw the snake wrangler’s truck.”
“So it’s Boris.”
“He seems to have ignored my warning. Perhaps I’d better give him another chance to listen.”
“Dinner’s on,” Gala called to them, and their conversation ended.
—
The following morning, Billy set his large case on the bed, opened it, and removed the items he had borrowed from Centurion Studios the day before. He dressed in the jeans, shirt, leather vest, and boots and donned the weathered, sweat-stained Stetson. He reassembled the Winchester Model 1873 and loaded it with .44/40 ammunition, then slung the gun belt with its Colt .44 over his shoulder, grabbed the movie script, and walked out to his car.
He drove out to the Bonanza Creek Movie Ranch and parked his car in the parking lot. The place was alive with the movie’s cast and crew. He loaded the .45 and strapped on the Ojala holster and belt, almost universally used in Western films, then he put on his Stetson and left the car, blending in with the other cast and crew arrivals.
There was an elaborate breakfast table laid out by the caterers, and he helped himself to a pastry and a cup of coffee, then sat down on the front porch of the general store and watched and listened. He read the script carefully and picked the scene he needed, then he filed into the saloon with the others and took up a place at the bar, which was crowded with actors and extras. A woman with a clipboard approached him.
