Even When You Win...

by Dave Balcom

  “Bait? You want to make my babies bait?”

  “That sounds a lot worse than what we’re proposing,” Richards’ voice came through the radio. “We can put a net over them and your family that will guarantee their safety. If anyone takes a try, that is; for all we know, Junior or Donna might be considered the right name. But it’s more likely that that there is no ‘right’ name. The only way we’re going to end this thing is by funneling the threat to where we have the advantage.”

  “I don’t know,” Gene said. I could see the agitation in his face; I could watch him wringing his hands absently as he thought through some scenario known only to his imagination. “I’ll have to talk with Cindy. I can’t make this decision unilaterally.”

  “Of course not,” Richards said softly. “But we need to determine if this is going to be a strategy today, and no FBI presence can be part of that decision. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  “Archie?” I asked. But there was no response. I couldn’t tell if he’d disconnected or was just backing off to let Gene work this out for himself. In any event, we completed the drive with no more conversation.

  “You want to come in, use the facilities, get cup of coffee?” He invited me as we pulled up in front of his home.

  “No, I think you need to talk with Cindy without any interference from me. Why don’t I go someplace, get a bite, hang out, and when you’re ready, you can call me and I’ll come back.”

  “I don’t think it’s going to be that easy, Jim. We’re not going to have this discussion in front of the kids. It’s going to take a while. If you’re headed for Elliotsville, you’d better travel that way. I can call you there as easily as here.”

  I started to argue, but then thought better of it. I dug a business card out of my wallet. “Use my cell number rather than the phones at the Inn.”

  I hit town just before nine, and rather than pulling into the Inn, I drove downtown and parked in front of the Square Peg. I wasn’t sure what, if anything, Peg served at night, but I knew there would be whiskey.

  There were three other cars parked in the block so I was a bit surprised when I walked in and found some twenty people in the place. There was a pool game in progress, and I quickly assumed it was a league event.

  I found a seat at the bar somewhat removed from the pool action, and Peg bustled up to see me. “Hello!” She was all energy, all the time it seemed. “Where’s your beautiful lady tonight?”

  I chose not to answer her, “I’m batchin’ it tonight; thought I might get something to eat with a whiskey and water.”

  “No problem. I serve ‘til eleven; what’ll you drink?” She made a small menu appear as if by magic.

  “Makers, just enough water to get the ice started?”

  She turned to the business of mixing me a drink, and caught sight of a thirsty patron at the other end of the bar waving his mug, “Hold your horses, Sammy!”

  When she came back, I had chosen a burger and fries. “Lettuce and tomato on the burger? I grow them myself; they steal the show.”

  “Perfect.”

  I settled in to study this typical weeknight event that occurs in small towns all across the Midwest. A single light was suspended above the felt-covered table, and its brightness accented the dimness of the rest of the room. It was easy to see the shooters, in stark black and white relief; not so much the folks at the nearby tables watching the action. It quickly became apparent that there were sharks in that pool as one after another the players put together runs and strategies. Few games lasted past the third turn.

  I heard my dinner arrive, and turned to Peg, “They can play, can’t they?”

  She gave a deprecating shrug, “Wannabes mostly; the real top players don’t go in for league play. They’ll be in on the weekend, and, while of course I know nothing certain – gambling is illegal in bars in Missouri, you know – I’ve always had a suspicion that they play for serious money from time to time.”

  “Really; I’m shocked.”

  “I’ll bet you are. Do you play?”

  “Not since ever.”

  She laughed. “Me, neither.”

  “This is a pretty good crowd for a weeknight, though.”

  “Nothing like the old days. They won’t buy more than thirty dollars worth of beer and soft drinks tonight. But it’s a tradition, and we’ll keep it going ’til better times return.”

  I finished my sandwich; left most of the fries untouched, and paid up. “Thank you, Peg. That burger was special. I’ll be back.”

  “You in town for long?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so, but we’ll see.”

  I went back to the Inn, and just before I parked the car, I said, “Archie? Andy?”

  “’Bout time you got home,” Andy said from the radio. “No news from the Hastings?”

  “Not a word yet. Where are you guys?”

  “Never fear, we’re at hand.”

  “I’m not afraid, really. But it seems curious to me that Peg, the lady that runs the tavern on the square hadn’t heard about Jan’s kidnapping.”

  “Maybe it hasn’t been on the news up here, but it’s been all over the TV, radio and Internet everywhere else.”

  “Curious.”

  “Indeed, what do you make of it?”

  “I’m too tired. I’ll call if I hear from Gene yet tonight; but I’m betting it’ll be in the morning.”

  “Good night.”

  My phone rang just after midnight. “Jim?”

  “Here.”

  “We’re in; Cindy’s adamant that we’ll do whatever it takes to get this off Ed and Rita, and I guess I’m along for that, too.”

  “Okay, get some sleep. The way it worked last time, they had to run a personal in the local paper up here. That’ll happen tomorrow and won’t publish until Thursday, so there’s plenty of time to prepare. I’ll get back to you.”

  “That was her only qualification in this deal.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you stay visibly involved. She knows we can’t have an agent but she has to know that you’re part of the net.”

  “I’ll call you in the morning. You need to get to sleep; you’ll want to keep your schedule normal.”

  “I can’t help it; I’ve got court the rest of this week. I can’t call in sick.”

  “You tell Cindy that I’m in, but frankly the Feds have lots of people better for the job, and they’ll be in, too.”

  “Good night, Jim.”

  I hung up, hit Richards’ number on my speed dial. “I heard it. You meet with the Sweets tomorrow and call me; we’ll have a draft of the ad ready for Ed to drop off before noon.”

  “And the net around the Hastings?”

  “It’s been in place since four this afternoon.”

  “Thank you,” I said, but, of course, he had already hung up.

  Chapter 42

  I made a point of getting to the Sweet’s home before seven on Tuesday, the fifth day after the kidnapping, foregoing my walk to make sure I arrived before Rita left for school, so I was surprised to find nobody up and around when I got there.

  I went to the back of the house, and admired the dewy beauty of the morning sun ricocheting off the blades of grass and leaves. I saw a bejeweled spider’s web in the garden and wished I had a camera. The whole scene was topped off by the cooing of a dove in the neighborhood.

  “You’re up early,” Ed said quietly from the porch. I hadn’t heard the door open or close. I could barely make him out in the shadows behind the screen door.

  “Sorry if I woke you. I wanted to see Rita before she left for school...”

  “School’s over for her. She won’t go back until a week before Labor Day.”

  “Well, I need to talk to you both about what happened yesterday; when should I come back?”

  “Hell with that. Come in. I’ll make coffee and we’ll roust Rita.” He held the door open with his left arm, and as I walked past him into the porch I noticed the pistol
he held in his right hand down along the seam in his jeans.

  I walked ahead of him into the kitchen. “I’m jealous.” I said as I pulled out a stool. He put the weapon in a drawer, and started putting the coffee together.

  “You normally carry?” He asked as he poured water into the device.

  “Not always, but I’m licensed. I usually keep it in my truck when I’m out and about; Jan usually has hers in a purse holster. But that’s in Oregon; we couldn’t very well transport them to Missouri.”

  “Airlines don’t know what they’re missing by not letting the right folks fly armed; hijackers with a box cutter wouldn’t be so brave.”

  He punched the switch and headed for the stairs, “Be back in a minute.”

  I listened to the quiet mixed with the gurgle and hiss from the coffee maker. The dove’s mourning was muted but still audible, and then I heard a toilet flush, and knew that this place might not be so pleasantly quiet for some time to come.

  Rita was wearing shorts and an old dress shirt of Ed’s when she made her appearance. “Morning, Jim. I’m sorry you found us all asleep.”

  “Come on, Rita. I’m just sorry I didn’t know you were out of school for the summer; I’d have never come so early. There’s no rush, really.”

  “Tell me what happened; did you meet with Cindy and Gene?”

  I waited for Ed to appear, and then I told the whole story, slowly, as it happened. I didn’t go into great detail about Gene’s gambling other than to say that it was evident that he was only a hobby gambler and that there was no connection between him, his bookie and the threats.

  “I’m so relieved to hear that,” Rita said. “So, what’s next?”

  I told her about the plan to post a personal ad naming one of the Hastings children as the “heir.” I explained the late-night call I’d received from Gene and told them about Cindy’s adamant stand to do whatever it takes to lift this off her parents. “I wouldn’t expect anything else,” was Ed’s only comment.

  “So where are Richards and his folks?” Ed asked.

  “They’re near, but they’re invisible. They won’t run the risk of igniting some attack by their very presence. They were with me every step of the way yesterday, and they’ll be sending us a precisely-worded ad for you to place with the newspaper later today.”

  “Jesus!” Ed bounced out of his seat with that outburst, “Sometimes I wonder just how feeble-brained I can be.” He was rustling through a stack of paper at the other end of the island, “I know it’s right here...”

  He grabbed a note and brought it to me. “Sonny Smith has been doggin’ me day and night tryin’ to get contact information for you. He wants to update Jan’s kidnapping... I didn’t promise him anything other than I’d pass on the word as soon as I saw or heard from you... then I just flat forgot...”

  “Calm down, Ed. It’s not a big thing, and I’m not sure if I want to participate in that story anyway.”

  “You’re already participating,” Rita said. “The kidnapping was all over last Thursday’s paper. He makes you a celebrity one week on his opinion page, and then you’re front page news the next.”

  “It got that kind of play? Really?”

  “Well, you know the paper’s part of a chain,” Ed said. “The story and photos, other than the one of you with Smith that he ran the week before, were all from the Associated Press, probably sent to Smith by his friends at the bigger papers. They called us for quotes, but I just told them we hadn’t heard from you and any comment we might make would surely be inappropriate.”

  “I told him the same thing,” Rita said. “I wasn’t probably as nice about it as Ed was, but we weren’t quoted.”

  I smiled, “I’m sure Mr. Smith understood your position. He didn’t just fall off the truck; I am pretty sure he has some talent.”

  She was up and pouring coffee. “I have some cinnamon toast, Jim.”

  I thanked her but declined. So we all sat there with our coffee, her toast and last week’s news.

  It was just after ten and I was rinsing out my cup when Ed came in from the front of the house with what appeared to be the day’s mail. He had a funny expression on his face, a mixture of confusion and humor.

  “We’ve got another note,” he said, setting the pile of mail on the counter. He turned and went back the way he came, and I heard him call over his shoulder, “I’m dumping the trail cams.”

  He was back minutes later. He put the front porch camera’s card into a card reader attached to the kitchen computer. “There are twelve shots since yesterday,” he said as he copied the photos onto his desktop.

  I saw his shoulders sag. “Mailman, neighbor’s cat coming and going, and you; nobody dropping off a note in these shots.”

  I watched as he loaded another card into his reader, and I saw the same deflation as he toggled through the shots, “Branches moving; it was pretty windy on that side of the house last evening.”

  The final card made him shake his head. “Squirrel and a nice buck in velvet; I had no idea that kind of deer has been hanging out here in town. We get lots of them in the winter, but we never see them this time of year.”

  He pushed himself away from the computer. “I just don’t see how they’re getting our notes into that mail box without us getting their picture.”

  He got up, and I sat in his place and flipped back to the shots of the mail carrier. He was a youngish man, perhaps mid-thirties. The camera captured his tan, his blue eyes and even a little glisten of sweat at his sideburns as he stepped up on the porch, reached for the mailbox and started to turn away down the stairs.

  “That cat sleeps on our porch furniture all the time,” Rita said absently. “I know that cat; I’ve cleaned its hair off my cushions enough. I’ll have to let Cora down the street know that her cat is wandering.”

  My phone rang and it was Richards. “We’re sending an email to Ed and Rita right now with the text for the ad; you guys review it and call me back, okay?”

  “Right. By the..” but of course he was gone.

  Ed opened his e-mail, and found the message and printed it out as I was waiting for my phone to dial Richards back. “Archie?”

  “What, already?”

  “We got another note in the mail box.”

  “Capture the delivery on the trail cams?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Damn. What does the note say?”

  “We haven’t opened it.”

  “Well, we’re not going to do it for you. There hasn’t been a speck of evidence before, just be careful with it, handle it as little as possible, but let’s hear what they have to say.”

  I put the phone on speaker and set it on the counter. I used my pen knife to slit the envelope open, and using my nails I pulled the single sheet of paper out and opened it on the counter.

  “It’s time to get off the pot. Same plan, no excuses. Publish the name in this week’s Reporter. If it’s the right name, you won’t hear a thing; if not, brace yourselves.”

  Rita let a sob of sorrow escape her, then, pushing a tissue to her face, she scurried out of the room.

  “Sonsabitches...” Ed said.

  “Let’s take a look at this ad copy,” I said.

  Ed put it down next to the note. “To whom it may concern: Donna Hastings of Columbia will carry on for us into the future. The Sweets, Elliotsville.”

  “What do you think, Ed?”

  “Well, we’ve discussed this, Rita and I. I talked with a friend here in town who sells us insurance, and he referred to some actuarial studies which showed that the odds for longest life in America today fall with the females... so we’ve been thinking along those lines. I mean, figure, if a girl Donna’s age lives to be 86, for round numbers, that means during her life, the family will receive some twenty point six million dollars!

  “I’ve investigated how we can establish a trust that will make sure that all the children and their children share in this financial security, but the real guessing game is decid
ing which of our four granddaughters is in the best position to enjoy a healthy, long life... that’s actually been imponderable...”

  Rita came back into the room as I responded, “I can’t even imagine, Ed. But even if it’s just half of that eighty years, it won’t be a sharp stick in the eye, will it?”

  He laughed and I could see he was a bit embarrassed. “I know you’re right, and that’s the attitude all of my children have endorsed. But, hell, I am who I am, and maximizing assets is what I’ve been trained to do all my life... it’s hard to forget that.”

  Rita then added the real gut grabber, “We do know for certain that having someone intent on killing our choice of an heir is not conducive to a long life.”

  She just stood there; Ed stood up and hugged with his chin resting on the top of her head. He looked at me with the saddest eyes I’ve ever known, “We just have to protect these babies, Jim. We just have to.”

  Chapter 43

  After some deliberation with Richards, we decided I would accompany Ed to the newspaper office to deliver the personal ad.

  “Listen,” Richards said after we’d tossed a number of what-if scenarios around, “you have to, at some point, establish why you’re up there. You can hang out with Ed, be visible when it’s appropriate, and if anyone’s paying attention to you, they won’t be that watchful about Donna and her family; you get me?”

  I didn’t feel qualified to argue with an experienced FBI agent, and while I would have been very happy to be a fly on the wall, in Elliotsville, any stranger, especially a stranger as big as I, was going to be noticed.

  Ed had a thought, “If that’s going to fly, we need to get Jim out of the Inn and into a bed here. I mean, if he’s being here to be consoled while you people hunt for his wife... well, that just doesn’t fit in a town like this, especially when everybody knows I’ve got four bedrooms going unused here.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Richards said. “Jim?”

  I put a hand on Ed’s shoulder. “Thank you. I think you’re absolutely right, and we can check me out and move my few things over here after we go to the paper. I’ll be sure to pitch in on food and stuff.”