Live Bait

by Ted Wood

  "I figure it'll take two minutes to get hot enough to blow the gas tank," he said, breathlessly. He was moving like a man on the brink of an orgasm, taut and shortwinded. His voice was as brittle as fingernails on a blackboard. "You got time maybe to say your prayers, maybe not. Then you'll be fryin' in your own fat."

  "You can still hang for killing a cop," I told him. I didn't expect it to change his mind but I had no other cards to play.

  "Save it, dead man," he said, and lit the match. Twisted round in the seat I saw him drop it on to the hay and slam the door. Then the hay took light, catching and spreading the fire in its tips first, like jewels in a crown, then redder and deeper as the flame penetrated into the full depth of the pile. I swung around, in time to see Kennie's laughing face at the side window, then he was gone and within seconds the headlights of the car rolled down the driveway and on to the road.

  I struggled to bring my body across the seat, then got my legs over the seat and kicked at the burning hay, but it was not controlled enough. My pants caught and smouldered and all I did was scatter the fire further. The car began to fill with smoke and I felt fear pouring through me like icewater. I swung my feet back over to my own seat and lay there. If I kicked the windows out, the fire would burn faster. I had to risk the smoke. And in the meantime, what could I do?

  The smoke filled the interior completely. First it was fragrant, the sweetness of burning grass on a summer's day, but within seconds it was overlaid with the ugly plastic stench of the car seats. I had less than two minutes before losing consciousness, but perhaps that was a blessing.

  And still I worked my hands back and forth through the steering wheel, until I could clench the rim in the crook of my elbow. I tried to bend it throwing all my weight against it, but it was too strong for me. Then, in a sudden burst of clarity, I knew what to do. I pushed my hands all the way through the wheel and felt along the dashboard for the ashtray. Above it was the homely nub of the cigarette lighter. I pressed it in and held my breath until it snapped back out with a tiny pop. Clumsily I bent over until I could put the end in my mouth. Then, holding it like a cigar I pressed it to the cords on my wrist and blew through it, feeding its tiny glow with all the oxygen I could spare. I knew I had just this one chance. I could never find the hole again to replace it. I sat there exhaling the very last of my breath until I felt the marvellous agony I was praying for. The cord was on fire. I drew in a quick gasp of smoky air and blew some more and as the pain savaged my wrists I could see the fibres on the cord glowing and popping. I was going to win, if I didn't black out first.

  As the pain grew more intense I started twisting my wrists, careful not to crush out that fragile fire, but trying to loosen the fibres so they would burn more quickly. And all the time the smoke grew thicker and the smothered glow of the burning back seat grew redder. I had about ten seconds of clarity left.

  And then I felt the first jolt of release as a cord snapped, then another strand, and then my hands were free and I was rolling sideways out of the car and on to the grass, choking and coughing and trying to gather my weak legs to run and dodge.

  But nobody shot at me. And as I drew in a great lungful of clear night air and coughed, I turned and stumbled away, heading for the angled up ramp of the barn and the shelter it could give from the blast that was coming. I found it and collapsed behind it, safe from the blast if the car blew up. I didn't bother moving further. I was too close to the end of my strength. I'd achieved a miracle and I lay face down on the sweetest smelling grass I have ever known, sobbing my starved lungs full of oxygen until suddenly the night erupted in a flash and a boom that carried away my sense of sound.

  I didn't move, slowly gathering strength while the blaze colored the barn wall orange above me. Then I sat up, working my jaw, popping my ears until they were suddenly filled once more with the rushing roar of the fire. I had a sudden shocking visual replay of a napalm attack in Nam. The captain had called in air support and they had dropped their cannisters that burst with the same deadly rush of sound, the same wave of torturing heat. And afterwards, when the woods cooled and nobody was left to fire on us as we picked our way into the ambush area we had found four Cong, their arms and legs drawn up in death in the burn victim's classic pugilist stance. And the guys had laughed and pointed and called them crispy critters. And I had managed not to vomit. And now it had almost been my turn.

  I poked my head up, half expecting to be shot at, and checked that nobody was waiting for me to breeze out into the open. Then, using all my strength I ran ten yards, dived, rolled, ran again and dived and rolled the other way until I was level with the lilac bushes at the back of the farm house. From there I stood up and moved carefully, as carefully as ever I had in Nam on a night patrol. I went down the fence line to the road, checked each way and saw nothing was coming. I guessed what had happened. Kennie and George knew the explosion would light up the whole sky. They had left before it happened so they would not be seen coming away from the site by a police car or firetruck racing to it. Isolated locations have dangers of their own, when you're planning spectacular executions. I was glad they had thought it through so carefully. In the meantime, I expected somebody would be coming soon. Fires are a farmer's greatest enemy. Somebody would report this one that lit the world behind me. And when the fire reels came, so would the police cars. I would wait for them before I came out of hiding.

  There was a foot of cold water in the ditch beside the roadway and I bathed my burned wrists in it until the police car arrived. When I saw it driving towards me, red light flashing on the top I jumped out into the roadway and flagged it down. It stopped fifteen feet from me, headlights on high beam as I stood there, a scorched clown. Then a young, confident voice called out. "Police here. What the hell happened to you, fella?"

  I held my hands up, keeping the pressure off my burned wrists, but at the same time making a gesture of surrender.

  "It's a long story," I called out. "But you're just the guy I want to tell it to."

  Chapter 22

  He was suspicious, but no more than I would have been if I'd come across a smoldering scarecrow on my own patrol. He put me in the back of his car, in the cage, and drove me to the hospital. He had already radioed and their sole detective was there ahead of us. I told him I needed the homicide guys from Toronto and after enough of an investigation to make him feel that he wasn't being jerked around he called Toronto and Hooper and Cooper headed out to see me.

  They found me in a treatment room, sitting on a gurney. The second degree burns on my wrists had been treated, smeared with some gunk which took the sting away completely, but I was feeling punchy. It was a long time since I'd been as close to dying painfully as Kennie had brought me. And the rules were different in Nam. Here I wasn't at war with anybody, except, it seemed, for Kennie and his band of brothers.

  I gave the story to the homicide guys, and they listened, carefully. Hooper stepped out once, to call the Toronto dispatcher and put Kennie and the other man on the air, wanted for attempted murder, then he came back and the pair of them sat sipping coffee and trying to work out what the hell was going on.

  "From what you say, this Kennie and another guy beat up the security guard at that building site in TO," Cooper said patiently.

  "Then this guy Willis turns up, makes like he's going to assault him and gets you to investigate," Hooper finished.

  "Yes, and from what the two guys, Kennie and Hudson, told me, I figured that the assaults had been done for Tony Caporetto. I followed him, and then Kennie and his chauffeur tried to beat me up. It didn't work, and we were all taken to the station," I explained.

  Cooper continued. "So you follow up Tony and he puts you on to this lawyer, what's his name, Cy Straight." I nodded.

  "You see him, next thing you're getting envelopes of cash delivered at home."

  He stopped to blow on his hot coffee and Hooper went on, in almost the same tone of voice. "You follow up, and you find some Chinaman in Tony's place. He co
ols you out and you wake up with Tony dead and you in trouble." He shook his head and took a little peck at his own coffee. "The way trouble follows you around we're gonna have to start calling you Dark Cloud," he said cheerfully.

  "Then don't forget this Chinaman who tried to take me out at the restaurant. I figure he hit Tony. Did you find any prints of his up there?" I was aware that my head ached and my hands and legs were sore from the burns. Even the dressings on both wrists had not made me comfortable. I wanted a stiff drink and a good night's sleep. But it was not coming yet.

  "I still don't see any pattern that'd stand up in court," Hooper said, ignoring my question. "If this guy Willis is up to no good, it's likely some scam about robbing warehouses that Bonded is looking after; that makes sense. But there's no connection between him and Tony Caporetto. And from what you say, these two guys who tried to torch you worked for Tony."

  We sat and looked at one another and mentally chewed the last of the meat off these dry bones of information. The door opened and a pretty nurse came in. "Your room's ready now," she told me brightly. "Doctor says you should stay overnight."

  Hooper and Cooper were weighing her up, the way all policemen weigh up all women young enough. They hadn't heard what she said. I grinned and told her, "Thanks, but no thanks. I've got a dog at home, been stuck inside the place since noon. He'll be in real misery by morning."

  "Then phone somebody up and let him out," she said briskly. "You need the rest."

  I didn't bother explaining that nobody could get into that house without killing Sam. It was too complicated. Instead I just shook my head again and thanked her. "These big handsome policemen are going to take me home. I promise not to do anything rash before morning."

  She wagged one finger at me. "You be sure and don't," she said and left as if all the Matrons in hell were after her.

  "You wanna go home?" Cooper asked. I nodded. He stood up, "C'mon then, Hoop. See if we can find this greasy little rounder Kennie."

  "It's not even our goddamn case," Hooper grumbled but he stood up as well, tossing his coffee cup into the waste container. "Come on then, Dark Cloud, let's go home."

  They drove me to Louise's house. I must confess I was asleep for part of the ride. It's a reaction I've seen before, in Nam. You run on nerves for just so long and after that you can't keep your eyes open. I was glad when they reached the house. But they didn't just tip me out. "Listen, after last night, we'll see you're alone," one of them said. I was too sleepy to notice which one. So they came with me as I opened the door and whistled one low note. Immediately good old Sam was there with me, tail wagging. "It's OK, nobody's been here," I said. "Come in if you want, but there's nothing happening."

  They had been detectives long enough to come in anyway. I offered them a drink and while they sipped I took Sam outside to get comfortable and then ran with him to the corner of the block and back, maybe a fast quarter mile altogether. It felt good to have cold air rushing against my face after the smoke and fear of the interior of that car.

  They refused seconds on the rye and went on their way. I was too whipped to ask if they were going to check on Willis. All I wanted to do was collapse into bed and sleep the clock round. When they'd gone, I fed Sam, let him out again briefly and then posted him on sentry duty, this time commanding him to "Keep," which meant he was to raise the roof if anyone came in. Then I poured myself a stiff belt of Black Velvet and took it upstairs. It was just daybreak when the phone woke me.

  It was Simon Fullwell. As soon as I said "Hello" he said, "What's been going on, Reid? The homicide guys say that punk from our job site tried to murder you."

  "No lasting damage done, except maybe to Willis's reputation." I yawned. "Was he around when they came?"

  "No, he was out at one of the sites, so they went out there to talk to him. Then he came into the office about ten minutes ago, madder'n a wet hen. What's up?"

  I gave him the comment Kennie had made and he whistled.

  "Doesn't surprise me," he said. "Of course, I shouldn't say anything on this phone but our party lives in a very swank house, must've cost him three hundred thousand anyway, just south of Forest Hill. I figured he had family money because I know what he gets paid and it's not that kind of bread."

  "Well, there's nothing on him but Kennie's say-so and that doesn't mean a damn thing, except for the time and place where he said it. Lying wasn't important to him right then. And besides, the other guy came alive and chewed him out for careless talk."

  Fullwell sighed. I guessed he was pumping away on one of his everlasting cigarillos. "So where do we go from here?" he asked.

  "Well, for me, it's back to bed. But it might make sense if you were to take a look at Willis's file. Find out where he comes from, what his background is, any connections anywhere that might make sense of the allegations. Then if there is, maybe you could have a word with that suit who runs your place. But don't expect much sympathy. He'll probably think I made it up to spite you guys for cutting me loose."

  "I'll soon change his damn mind about that," Fullwell said angrily.

  "Don't count on it," I told him and went back to bed. It must have been an hour later, as the first of the neighbors drove out to go downtown that Sam started to bark downstairs. It wasn't his real "Keeping" bark, just a friendly warning that somebody was moving around outside, but I was rested enough to get up and slip into some clothes and head downstairs to check.

  He was glad to see me, but he insisted on barking so I opened the back door and let him out, he scooted around the front and I followed, staying way back in case it was somebody who meant business.

  I could tell from the way Sam grew more fierce that someone was out there. As I came around the corner of the house I heard a high, nervous voice saying "Good boy. Easy boy!" over and over like a prayer, to which Sam wasn't responding.

  It was a woman, maybe thirty, lean and pretty in a businesslike way. She saw me and called out. "Mr. Bennett, will he bite?"

  "What do you want?" I asked her. She was backing up to the edge of the lawn, trying to stand tall as far from Sam's teeth as she could reach. I told Sam "Easy" and he relaxed, falling silent but staying in place, ready to move again as ordered.

  Now she grinned and stuck out her hand, unafraid of Sam. "How do you do. I'm Phyllis Henderson. I'm a friend of Lou's, we were in the same writing class at university."

  I held up my bandaged wrists. "Excuse me if I don't shake. Louise is away for a few days. I'm not sure when she'll be back."

  She grinned again. She had a nice, lean-faced grin. "I know, I spoke to her on the phone last night when I heard the news."

  "What news?"

  She cocked her head pertly. "About your adventures."

  I groaned. "Was it on the radio, mentioning me by name?"

  "It sure was. So I came right round here, as soon as it was light. I don't meet many celebrities."

  "You still haven't," I told her. I stooped and rubbed Sam's head. "What I am is tired. So, excuse me, I'll tell Louise you were by. I guess she has your number."

  I smiled and turned away but she persisted. "You're not going to send a girl out on the streets without a cup of coffee?"

  There was something too bright about her for my mood that morning so I just shrugged and said "Sorry," and kept on walking. But she followed me. "Please. Can't you tell me what happened?"

  "It's all under investigation," I said. "That's all there is to it." I waved goodbye over my shoulder but she kept talking.

  "I need to know," she said seriously and when I didn't stop she shouted at me. "You're a hero, dammit. Can't you spare me one lousy minute of your time?"

  That stopped me cold. I turned and asked "Are you with a newspaper?"

  She did her grin again but it wasn't charming this time. "Right in one," she chirruped. "I'm with the Sun."

  "Well tell them I appreciate their sunshine girls. Good morning." I matched her grin and went on to the back door but she didn't give up.

  "You hav
e to talk to me," she insisted, and then, as I reached the door, "The people have a right to know."

  I waved and went in. She came behind me and opened the door and walked into the space at the head of the basement stairs. "Come on, please. I haven't had a chance at a real piece of news in months. Nothing but council meetings and school estimates. Can't you give me an exclusive, for Louise's sake."

  I stood four steps above her, looking down into the bluest eyes I have seen in a while. "Look. There's nothing to tell. If you want to print something, tell people I sicked my dog on you and he chased you off the property, because I don't want to talk to you or anybody else about what happened. I have no comments of any kind. Now, would you like that cup of coffee?"

  I thought it might soften her up so she didn't report anything at all but asking her in was a mistake. She wouldn't sit in the kitchen. She walked from room to room, exclaiming at the house, then she admired my coffee, and she pressed me for details until I was tempted to fling her out with her coffee still in the cup. But I didn't, and bit by bit she won me over. Not to talk to her about the case—I've been a copper too long to talk to anybody, especially press people, but I found out a bit about her. She had been a reporter for seven years, first in the sticks, then, because she was bright and chirpy and youthful, with the Sun, which is the Toronto tabloid, big on popular attitudes and pretty girls.

  When I finally kicked her out, she still hadn't learned anything but I was wide awake again and ready for breakfast. She offered to stay and make it for me but I didn't feel like fencing any more so I said no and prepared my own bacon and eggs. I switched the radio on and listened to country music until news time. And that was when I got my first surprise of the morning; there was no mention of my name. The report was that a car had been burned up in the sticks but there was no mention of me or of anybody's having been threatened with burning to death. And that got me forgetting the eggs and reaching for the phone to call Louise, breaking the rule I had set myself earlier of staying separate from her.