Hear the Wind Blow, Dear... (Vic Daniel Series)

by David Pierce

  'Yes, Uncle,' Benny chimed in. 'Tell all.' Benny, of course, thought it was amusing to call me Uncle because I'd almost married his Aunt Jessica that time. I didn't think it was amusing, and had told him so a million times at least.

  'Don't call me Uncle,' I said wearily one more time. 'And you, Burrhead, to you I'm Daddy, if you don't mind.'

  'Yeccch,' she said.

  'I'll be happy to tell you all when we've got Ricky with us,' I said, 'then I won't have to go over it twice.'

  'Who's Ricky?' Sara wanted to know.

  'Ahead of us, in that station wagon thing,' Benny said, pointing.

  'Oh,' she said. 'That's Ricky.' A minute later she said, 'Anyone want a joint?'

  'Don't mind,' said Benny. So my brave troops got smashed and discussed weighty matters like crunchy vs. smooth peanut butter and Rocky Road vs. butterscotch-swirl ice cream, leaving me with naught to do but drive and muse and occasionally ponder about truly important matters like copper wire, needle-nose pliers, brooches that said 'Evonne' and girls, or at least one girl, who, when she got up to get a drink of water in the night, not only brought you one as well but fed it to you like you were a baby.

  We stayed on the freeway tootling along in the slow lane some sixty miles before turning off to pick up an eastbound secondary road which took us through such well-known towns as Opeka, Boliches and Sand Hill. When, according to a road sign, we were eleven miles out of Carmen Springs, 1 tooted to get Ricky's attention and hand signaled him to pull over. He found a lane a few hundred yards further on and turned into it and stayed on it until it took a twist and we couldn't be seen from the main road anymore. Then we all piled out and took a few breaths of mild, sweet, country air.

  Actually, it was damp country air and it wasn't that sweet because somewhere lurking invisibly in the neighborhood was either a tannery or a sugar-beet refinery or maybe it was a pulp mill. Anyway, we took a few breaths of it, I introduced Sara to Ricky, cracked open a six-pack from the cooler, we arranged ourselves more or less comfortably on the grass verge, then I looked sternly at my troops and declared the council of war open.

  As Sara and Benny had little idea of what had gone on already, and as all three of them had little idea of what was ahead of us, I took it from the top, as the hipsters say, only omitting for sake of brevity some of the more boring details like the llama bite and being sick on the fire-tower ladder.

  I told them about the missing merinos, or rather Suffolks, my clever deductions about a possible culprit, my meeting with Ricky and his amigo Tommy DeMarco, the visit to Chico's, and so on. I briefly sketched in the reasoning that led me to suspect Tommy, told them about the call to Sheriff Gutes, and how Sara and a willing boy had bugged Tommy's phone.

  The troops listened with gratifying attention.

  'So what we are up against is, at least, a man called Dell and his no-name brother who frequent Tim's Tavern, in Carmen Springs just up the road there. The brother has killed at least one man we know about, pobre Chico. We suspect the two of them grow and deal an awful lot of good weed, meaning big money. Which means they and God knows how many others they're mixed up with, outside of Tommy, are highly dangerous. Which means we are not on a picnic, men. And woman. Which is why we've stopped here, well out of town. We don't know where Dell and his brother live. They could be driving past us on that main road right now and I don't want them to see us together yet. I want to keep Ricky and you, Benny my boy, out of it until I need you. Sara and me, we go into town together. We park at Tim's Tavern. We go in. We're looking for a spot to put the camper for a few days, square old Dad, who they will soon find out is a private investigator, and his real juvenile delinquent daughter who he has removed from the den of sin called Los Angeles to try and straighten her out by showing her the beauties of nature and life in the raw and who is consequently greatly pissed off at him.'

  'That won't be hard, Pop,' said Sara, looking around her with distaste.

  'Right on,' I said. 'That's it, that's your attitude throughout.'

  'And who's he?' Sara asked, throwing a clod of earth in Benny's lap.

  'He's an electronics expert from the Sheriffs Department who comes in later,' I said. Benny smiled and made a small bow.

  'And what am I doing during all this?' Ricky asked, taking another beer.

  'You are being invisible, like Benny,' I said. 'Find a place to stay for a night or so somewhere close but not too close. You have the number of Tim's Tavern because I included it in Benny's notes. The first thing Sara does when we get to Tim's is to make a scene with me, then she makes a fake call to her doper boyfriend to whom she loudly gives the phone number of Tim's so he can call her back when he wants to. At six tonight she gets a call all right but it's you, Ricky. You give her the phone number where you are staying so we can get a hold of you when we want you. This is called establishing our lines of communication without arousing suspicion. OK so far, troops'

  My troops nodded.

  'Almost makes sense,' Sara admitted. She took out one of her Virginia Slims or whatever triumph of advertising they were. Ricky lit it for her, putting the spent match back in the box as he always did. Two crows flew overhead, took one look at us and continued on their way.

  'But what is all this in aid of?' Benny asked. 'I mean, what is all this for?'

  'I'll tell you what it's all for, Benny,' I said. I was uncomfortable on the ground, as I usually was, even without one stiff leg (bring up the violins here) so I got up and walked around a bit. 'We got a problem. We got one dead boy who could be buried anywhere in a million miles of jungle. How do we find him? That is our problem. Any ideas, anyone?'

  Benny raised his hand as if he was in school.

  'Yes, Benny.'

  'What about a helicopter over-flight. If we went low enough, that plantation would stand out like a sore thumb.'

  'It's expensive, if we rent our own helicopter and pilot,' I said. 'If it's one from the Sheriff's Department, then it's all out of our hands, and Ricky and I have a personal interest in those two. Also, that only gets us the pot plantation, how do we find Chico?'

  'Also you're too chicken to fly in one of those things,' Sara put in unnecessarily. I didn't even bother to answer her.

  'I tell you how we find Chico, man,' said Ricky grimly. 'I got an idea. We grab Dell or his brother or both and squeeze their balls off, perdóname, Señorita, until they tell us.'

  'Well, that's an idea all right,' I said. 'There are only several major faults in it. It might not work. These are tough dudes, they will resist, violently, being grabbed. They may even be tough enough to resist having their balls grabbed, perdôname, Señorita.'

  'Don't mind me,' said Sara. 'Just pretend I'm one of the boys like you usually do.' I gave her a falsely affectionate look.

  'Also, Ricky, amigo,' I went on, 'are confessions obtained under duress legally valid? And can information received by torturing someone be used at all under our legal system? Remind me to send you a pamphlet on the subject sometime.'

  'Who cares?' said Ricky, scowling.

  'OK,' I said. 'So we kill them afterwards. You swore an oath, so did I, to get my license, we're not supposed to kill citizens unless under extreme conditions or self-defense.'

  'Who cares?' Ricky repeated. 'I'll do it. It will be a pleasure.'

  'No, it won't,' said Benny. 'Take my word on that.' I gave him a look of surprise; he seemed to be referring to some specific event he'd never mentioned to me.

  'Listen,' I said. 'We're a highly noticeable group. Look at us. People will notice us. Tim of Tim's Tavern, if there is such a person, will notice us. His customers will notice us. And if you, Ricky, are around, they will notice you. If Dell and his brother suddenly disappear, someone's going to blow the whistle on us and then in comes the fuzz and out comes the whole story, or enough of it so that you, amigo, can say adios to the Forestry Department and probably adios to the U S of A if enough of it comes out, like you harboring an illegal alien, let alone killing citizens. Am I getting
through to you? Maybe you could kill the brother who killed Chico, but could you kill Dell if he had nothing to do with it, if he wasn't even there? You'd have to because he'd know all about you by then.'

  'Talk about not being there,' said Sara, 'what if Dell and his brother are not here? I mean, here in Carmen Springs?'

  'I'm not too worried about that,' I said. 'They'll be back sooner or later, when it's cool, and we could always find them from what we know now if we had to, it'll just be more convenient if they're still around now.'

  'Well, let's hear your brilliant plan, then,' said Ricky, frowning and looking away.

  'My plan is this,' I said. 'We let them lead us to Chico, then we grab them.'

  'Why would they ever go near him again, for Christ's sake?' Ricky asked the air. 'He's six feet under covered with logs somewhere, why would they ever go near him again?'

  'We give them a good reason,' I said.

  'You do like to drag things out,' said Benny. 'What reason?' He was picking at his teeth with a blade of what my pop used to call timothy grass – and who knows, he could have been right; although he wasn't a great naruralist he could tell the difference between elderberry wine and Four Roses with his eyes closed.

  'Best reason of all,' I said. 'Survival. Look. We show up at Tim's. So do they, sooner or later, we hope. Me in a mustache and shades. They know there's a huge, fat jerk, a nothing, unquote, looking into Chico's disappearance because Ricky told it to Tommy, and he told it to them on the phone.'

  'A perfect description, if you ask me,' said Sara.

  'Nobody did,' I said. 'How long do you think it'll take before Dell and his brother start wondering if there is any connection between that fat huge jerk and the new fat huge jerk who's suddenly on the scene supposedly camping out with his airhead daughter?'

  'Not too long,' said Benny.

  'Like the speed of light,' said Sara.

  'And in the unlikely chance that they don't tumble,' I said, 'my loving daughter will soon accidentally on purpose spill the beans because she's mad at Daddy.'

  'So?' said Ricky.

  'So,' I said. 'They call up Tommy and describe me. "Well, except for the stash and the glasses, that could be the mother," says Tommy. "You want to come up here and take a look?" they ask him. "You must be out of your mind," he says. "I'm not going near you guys." I'm paraphrasing, you understand. So what do they do? They try and find out if the big jerk is accidentally up there with his daughter or if he really knows something. So when I split the friendly scene at Tim's early one evening, Sara tells her new drinking buddies her daddy's meeting someone who is sort of fuzz but not quite. And Tommy and the boys will want to know who that is because if it is Ricky, they've got real problems because the two fat jerks are one and the same and he is closing in. If it is someone else Daddy is meeting, it could have nothing to do with them. And if Tommy phones up Ricky at his home to see if he's there or not, the easy way to check, what does he get?'

  'He gets Mrs Gonzales,' said Ricky, 'who's staying with us for a few days and who is answering all the calls. And who says, because she don't speaka de English so well, oh, the Señor and Señora and la chiquita are maybe at la clinica and maybe not, she's nota sure.'

  'Thank you,' I said. 'What we want, ideally, is for either Dell or his bro or both of them to sneak up on our innocent camper that evening, whatever evening it is, and it will be easy sneaking as I'll park it somewhere close to some trees that makes it easy, and inside they will see, as the curtains won't be drawn, and hear, as the windows will be open, not Ricky, but Benny the boy electronics wonder with his bags of tricks, and me, plotting.'

  'Plotting what?' said Sara impatiently.

  'Their downfall,' I said. 'Benny, learn those notes I gave you because it'll be mostly up to you.' I fished the straggly mustache out of my pocket; it was the self-adhesive kind so I just pressed it in place. Then I put my shades on.

  'The worst,' said Sara.

  'Really?' I said. 'Come on, daughter, on your feet. It's show time.'

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Ricky remembered to hand over some surveyor's maps I'd asked for, then the boys went one way, west, in the Jeep, and Sara and I eastward toward Carmen Springs in the camper. We drove past some green fields, then some brown fields, then a bright yellow one, then some more green ones. A dog appeared from nowhere and chased us for a bit. Two horses, a large one and a small one, turned their heads to watch us drive past. A kid hanging on a fence gave us a wave. Sara waved back, languidly but haughtily, as if she were the Queen of England.

  'I'd hate to be him,' she said, 'stuck out here in the boonies, what kind of life is that? No one to talk to but sunflowers.'

  'His daddy probably makes five times as much a year as yours does from those sunflowers,' I said.

  'Still,' she said. She dismissed the whole idea with one impolite gesture. A few minutes later she said, 'Oh, Daddy.'

  'Now what?'

  'I'm gettin' nervous,' she said. 'I think I'm gonna toss my cookies.' She made a revolting noise in her throat which pleased her so much she made another, longer one. I decided the best thing to do with her was to ignore her, so I did.

  'Mighty Carmen Springs,' she said a minute later, 'comin' up fast dead ahead. Looks like a lively place, if you like ghost towns.'

  'Atta girl,' I said. 'Right in character.'

  It wasn't exactly a ghost town but it is true to say Carmen Springs wasn't precisely jumping that Monday afternoon in January. Like many a similar small town, its function was to serve the surrounding farm community, not to provide fun and excitement at four thirty on a weekday afternoon. 'Pop: 1786 and growing fast' said a sign on the way into town. There was a surprisingly large general store with a US flag out in front, so I deduced it was also the local post office. A Five & Dime across from it. Drugstore. Clothing store with two show windows, one for work clothes. A farm machinery agency. Gas station, repair shop and junkyard, with a couple of rundown motel units out back. All-purpose meeting hall, movie house, church hall and what have you. A bridge over a lively stream, no doubt Carmen Spring itself.

  'I wonder who Carmen was?' I said, pulling up at the town's one stoplight, which was of course against us.

  'Who cares?' Sara said. 'There.' She pointed right in front of my face. 'Tim's Tavern.'

  'I see it.' When the light changed some five minutes later, we crossed the intersection and coasted into Tim's parking lot. There were a few vehicles there already, an old Ford, a beat-up Datsun, a couple of well-used pick-ups. I looked over at the twerp.

  'OK?'

  'Let's hit it, Pops,' she said.

  'Remember, first thing you do is get some change and phone LA,'I told her.

  'I remember,' she said, clambering out her side. 'Jesus wept.'

  I climbed out too, locked up, then had a good stretch. Tim's Tavern, from the outside, looked like any small-town bar – low, rectangular, made of unpainted cinderblock, neon beer ads in the windows. A large, hand-painted sign on the door made the welcome announcement that happy hour was from 4.30 to 7.00.

  We went in. I always like going into a new bar. I like going into old ones too, but with new ones you can't help feeling there is always the outside chance of something unexpected happening, call it adventure, call it romance, call it what you will. In a small way, it's like seeing a big city for the first time, at night, when all the kindly lights hide the scars and the dirt. It was highly unlikely, however, that I for one would find any romance in Tim's Tavern, not of course that I was in the market those days, but it was highly possible we would find adventure of one kind or another.

  And Tim's Tavern, from the inside, as well, looked like any small-town bar, but who would want it to look different – long bar on the right, shuffleboard game on the left, a few small tables in between. Farther back was a pool table, two pinball machines and a jukebox. The usual signs were stuck up behind the bar – 'Free Drinks Tomorrow' 'I have an agreement with my bank manager – I don't lend money and he doesn't sell
alcohol' 'Drinking is a slow death – so who's in a hurry?' 'Work – the curse of the drinking classes' 'Don't ask me, ask the boss – my wife'.

  The man behind the bar was small, red-cheeked and chirpy. He had an I H C cap on, a plaid shirt, red bow tie and bright crimson suspenders. A couple of farmer types were at one of the tables putting away shorts with beer chasers. An old-timer held down the corner stool at the far end of the bar, an empty beer glass in front of him. All four of them took one look at me when we came in, a longer one at Sara, then they all looked away again politely. Unless of course they didn't believe their eyes.

  'Howdy,' I said genially to the assembly. One of the farmers nodded my way. I took a seat at the bar. 'Fred. Fred Perkins. And I had a daughter when I came in.' I looked around to see where the dope was, she was mooning about near the door. 'You Tim?'

  'All my life,' the shorty behind the bar said. 'Get you folks something?'

  'I could drink a glass of beer,' I admitted. 'What about you, Sara?'

  'Yeccch,' she said. 'My idea of a perfect holiday, watching you drink beer.'

  I gave a 'what can you do with kids today' look at Tim, who was putting a draft in front of me on a beer coaster. I took a long sip, smacked my lips, then said, 'Join me in something?'

  He made a production of thinking it over, checked his watch, then allowed he might force down a light Seagram's and Seven. When he had poured himself the drink, he asked me if we were just passing through. I said it sort of depended, it looked like a pleasant part of the world, we might stay a day or two if I could find a place to stick the darn camper.

  'Stick her all the way out back if you want,' Tim said, 'in them trees just off the tarmac. Won't nobody bother you there 'cepting the timber wolves and you got water just down the hill and most important of all, a short walk home after closing time.'

  I ignored the bit about the wolves, figuring it was rustic wit, and thanked the man. Then Sara, who had been lounging about looking scornfully at the wall decorations, such as they were, came over, took a swig of my beer, then asked Tim if he had a phone. He said he had one last time he looked, right back there. She took out a soiled dollar bill that was rolled up in one of her half-gloves, got some change from Tim and mooched off toward the rear of the building. The two farmers almost wricked their necks in their well-mannered efforts not to stare at her as she passed their table.