by Dave Edlund
“You will do that?”
Peter placed his hand on Lee’s shoulder. “I told you I would help.”
Lee’s eyes glistened. “My people could have benefitted from a few friends like you 150 years ago.”
Chapter 14
Warm Springs, Oregon
March 15
After walking Diesel around the clinic parking lot, Peter started the return drive to Bend. He was already thinking about how to pitch the story to the Bend Bulletin newspaper and local TV news editor. He planned to portray the people of Warm Springs as a disadvantaged population being ignored by the government in time of genuine need. He would suggest that if the population of Bend or Portland was suffering from this mysterious illness, the state and federal governments would be racing to find the cause and deploy a cure. While avoiding raising allegations of outright racism, the insinuation would be impossible to miss.
He eased the brakes as he approached a stop sign in a residential area only a quarter mile from the clinic. As usual, Diesel was sitting upright in the passenger seat. Suddenly, the Rolls Royce lurched forward and there was a loud bang and crunch of folding sheet metal. Peter and Diesel were both pushed against the seat back. The canine stumbled to regain his balance.
Peter recognized the sound and feel of a collision. His eyes immediately went to the rearview mirror. A full-sized maroon-red sedan filled the view.
Knowing the drill, he opened the glove box and removed the registration and proof of insurance. Diesel was agitated, his head turning in every direction, his pupils dilated, his muscles taut. “Easy boy. Just a fender bender.”
Peter turned to his left to open the door. He was startled to see a young man standing there. He was leaning over, seeming to peer inside the Wraith. Then his face split into a grin. He moved his right hand, which had been behind his back, forward. In his grip was a large revolver.
Before the gun was raised level with the window, Peter shoved his weight forcefully into the car door. It flew open, smashing into the man’s arm and body, forcing the gun down. The weapon discharged into the pavement. Peter continued his assault, launching out of the car and tackling the man to the ground. Diesel was right behind him.
“Tommy!” Candice shouted, running to help her boyfriend. She grabbed hold of Peter by the shoulders, tugging to pull him off Tommy. She managed to pull him off balance just enough that Tommy was able to move the gun toward his target.
Diesel was snarling and growling. He lunged and latched his jaws onto Tommy’s gun hand. He bit down hard, drawing blood from several deep punctures.
“Ahhh! Get him off me!”
Candice was still pulling on Peter. Seeing that Diesel had restrained the shooter’s ability to aim and fire, Peter relented his resistance. The sudden elimination of opposing force placed Candice off balance, and she tumbled back into the open car door. Peter followed her and pivoted on his left foot. He clenched his fingers into a hard fist and swung, connecting with her mouth and nose. Her head snapped backwards and she drooped to the pavement, blood oozing from her lips and nose.
With a firm grip on the shooter’s wrist and hand, Diesel was shaking his head and tugging backward with all his considerable strength. Tommy was no match. His right arm was fully extended above his head while his left hand was held close to his chest for fear of it also being mauled. He continued to scream in agony.
With the woman incapacitated, Peter placed his shoe on the barrel of the revolver, pinning it and Tommy’s clenched hand to the tarmac. “Diesel, enough!”
Hesitatingly, the canine released his bite, but stared at the hand and arm as if daring it to move.
“I give up,” Tommy said. “Just keep your dog away from me.” He opened his grip, allowing Peter to pick up the gun.
“Turn over. On your stomach. Hands stretched out to either side,” Peter ordered. Candice moaned and started to stand. “You too. Over here next to your boyfriend. Face down, arms out to the side.”
Still groggy, she complied without uttering a word.
Peter eased back to the open door without taking his eyes off the pair. For his part, Diesel remained on guard only inches from the bleeding bite wound. Peter picked up his phone from a center console tray and dialed.
“Lee, I need you to do something for me.”
“Sure. What can I do?”
“Do you know someone in the Tribal Police Department?”
Lee hesitated. “Are you in trouble?”
“Not anymore. But I have a situation. And I think it will go better if you call someone you know.”
“I’ll call Captain Meadows right now. What should I tell him?”
“A couple of punks tried to kill me.”
“Are you okay? Where are you?”
Peter repeated the names on the street signs to Lee. “I’ve apprehended both of them—a young man and woman. But better tell the Captain to get over here quickly, before my dog decides to start chewing on them again.”
After he ended the call, Peter addressed his two prisoners. “Why did you try to kill me?”
“Piss off. I’m not talking to you,” Tommy said.
“Suit yourself.” Peter examined the revolver, a Smith & Wesson model 66, .357 magnum. “Nice gun you have here. High end. You earn enough to afford this?”
No answer.
“Yep, I thought so. Okay, so you stole it. You know, this doesn’t look good for either of you.”
“Like Tommy says, got nothing to say to you mister. Tommy was just defending himself after your dog attacked him.” Candice said smugly. She figured if she and Tommy told the same story, there would be enough doubt that charges wouldn’t stick. Of course, there was the stolen gun, but that could be explained away as a private purchase at a yard sale. After all, Tommy had no way of knowing if the gun was stolen when he bought it.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Tommy said, catching on.
“Diesel.” The pit bull locked eyes with Peter. “Protect.” Diesel emitted a low rumbling growl that built in intensity until his lips parted, showing glistening ivory canines.
“Keep your dog away!” Tommy said in terror.
“Don’t so much as move your pinky, or he’ll chew your arm to the bone.”
“I’m not moving! Just call him off!”
“Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll put the dog in the car,” Peter said calmly.
Diesel was growling loudly, saliva dripping from his lips. With his face sideways on the ground, Tommy was looking right at the dog, his face only two feet away.
“Okay! I’ll answer your questions! Just put the dog away.”
“Diesel. Come.” Peter patted his thigh and his canine companion bounded into the Rolls Royce. As soon as Peter shut the door, Tommy let out a sigh of relief.
“Now, why did you try to kill me?”
“The contract. Travis found it.”
Peter thought for a moment, trying to make sense of the cryptic reply.
“There’s a contract on my life?”
Candice chuckled. “Surpri-ise.”
“Five million dollars, man. Travis wants one million as a finder’s fee because he showed me the chat room message.”
In the distance, sirens blared. The police were getting close, probably less than a minute away.
“Travis is a friend?”
“He’s my business partner.”
“Shut up, you idiot,” Candice said.
“How did you find me? You two don’t strike me as super sleuths.”
“We just waited outside your condominium until you drove off. Your car is pretty distinctive, wasn’t hard to follow. I figured we’d take you down somewhere in Bend. If I’d known you were planning to drive all this way, I’d have put more gas in my car. I nearly ran out.”
“So, you and your partner, Travis, run a business. You carry a stolen pistol that you tried to shoot me with so you can collect on a contract listed in a chat room.” Peter smirked. “I’m not a detective, but my educated guess is that you
r business is selling drugs.”
“So what?”
“Keep your mouth shut, Tommy!”
The sirens were very loud, and Peter saw two patrol cars turn the corner a block away. “Doesn’t matter. You can talk to the police.”
A rugged-looking man in police uniform but wearing a black Stetson closed the distance to Peter, completely ignoring the man and woman lying on the roadway. “You Peter Savage?” he said.
“Yes.” Peter handed over the revolver, the cylinder flipped open, holding it by a looped index finger under the top strap so there would no misunderstanding.
“Lee Moses called me. He said you have a habit of getting into trouble.” Captain Meadows took in the scene. “I’d say he’s right.”
Chapter 15
Bend, Oregon
March 15
After driving south back to his condo in Bend, Peter took Diesel on a long walk along the Deschutes River. He needed to clear his head, plus he owed Diesel—again. The sun was low on the horizon, and the air temperature was rather cool, but it didn’t bother Diesel. He was in his element, sticking his nose into clumps of grass and under bushes, drawing in the earthy scents.
The fresh air and exercise were helping Peter to shake off the adrenaline hangover from the attack only hours earlier. The revelation that there was a contract out on his life was still sinking in. He found himself looking a bit more closely at everyone he passed. This is nuts, he thought. I won’t live my life in constant fear.
He turned Diesel around and walked back to his condo. Still lacking an appetite, he decided to forgo cooking a meal and opted for a glass of Oban single malt Scotch instead.
He settled into an oversized leather chair in front of the large stone fireplace in the great room. The room was rustic and yet refined, with polished wood flooring, a floor-to-ceiling bookcase on the wall opposite the fireplace, and French doors opening onto a deck overlooking the retail shops of the Old Mill District. Peter cradled the shot glass in his hand, warming the whiskey and occasionally drawing in the aroma.
He sat quietly in contemplation, Diesel lying at his feet. He finished the Scotch and poured a second. The alcohol took the edge off his nerves, and he found his thoughts to be clearer. Or maybe his judgment was just impaired? Whatever the reason, he came to the conclusion that the cause of his current predicament was rooted in the electronic posting of the contract. And for any computer-related problems, he knew exactly who to call.
“Hey Gary, how are you?” It was Gary Porter, Peter’s best friend. They had first met during high school in Sacramento, California, and soon developed a brotherly bond. Matching Peter’s height, and with an athletic physique and wavy blond hair, Gary looked like the stereotypical surfer dude. But looks were deceiving, and beneath that carefree appearance was a software genius. Despite Gary’s Bohemian attitude, which often provided unanticipated entertainment, Peter knew he could trust Gary with his life. And indeed, he had.
“Oka-ay... You’re not going to tell me something to change that, are you?”
“Buddy, why are you so suspicious?”
“Let me see… because whenever I get involved in some misadventure with you, there are always complications. You nearly got me killed in the Sudan!”
“Yeah, but I didn’t. In fact, I saved your life.”
“That’s not the version I remember. Anyway, what’s up?”
“I need your help. A problem that requires your considerable computer skills.” Gary ran a successful computer security firm out of the gold country in northern California. His list of customers included many Fortune 500 companies as well as a long list of international clients.
“You’re flattering me. That’s not a good sign. Anyway, go ahead. Tell me more.”
“It appears there may be a contract out on me,” Peter explained.
“You mean someone like a Mafia boss has put the word out that he’ll pay whoever shoots you? I’ve never been involved in anything like this before. Sounds kinda cool.”
“Not from my perspective. Not even remotely cool.”
“Oh, yeah. I guess not. So, what can I do?”
“For starters, I hope you can help dig up some clues on who issued the contract, assuming that part is true.” Peter proceeded to update his friend on the two amateur assassins in Warm Springs and what the man, Tommy, had said. He also told Gary about Darren Block and his timely demise at the hands of a mysterious guardian angel.
“Wow,” Gary said after Peter finished. “I guess you’re living that ancient Chinese curse.”
“And which one is that?”
“I think it goes something like, ‘may you live an interesting life’.”
“Well, it’s not my choice. Do you think you can you help me?”
Gary started rattling off a plan of action. “Most likely the chat room those two mentioned is accessible only through the dark web. I can start there, using a targeted search bot and the few leads you’ve provided to narrow down the possibilities. I’d be surprised if there are many hits. From there, I can access the IP address of the message originator. If we’re lucky, they’ll not have bounced the message through too many hubs. Assuming that’s the case, I can work back to the source. And that’s where I get off the bus.”
“If you can do all that, I’ll be indebted to you.”
“Yeah sure, I’ll put it on your tab. So, tell me, assuming I can get the address of the originator, what are you going to do?”
Peter hesitated, and when he spoke his voice was steady, with a hard edge. “Exactly what I have to do.”
“Ehhh. Wrong answer. Listen buddy. I know what you’re planning by the tone of your voice. The right answer is ‘call the police’. Now, repeat after me and say ‘I will call the police’. Don’t go Rambo on me. That doesn’t work out well.”
“It’s always worked out fine for me, just not so well for the bad guys.”
“Peter, listen to me. I’m serious. If there really is a contract on your life, then we’re talking about professional killers. You’ll be in way over your head.”
“You’re not keeping score Gary. The way I see it, I’m ahead in this game, two to nothing.”
“Maybe, but the game isn’t over. And let’s not even think about what might happen in sudden-death overtime.”
Peter didn’t take comfort in the ominous meaning of his friend’s observation. But before he could offer a comeback, Gary continued. “Have you told Kate?”
She and Peter had been dating on and off for the past eighteen months. He didn’t like the term ‘girlfriend’, since Kate was a vibrant and intelligent woman, not a girl. Many years his junior, they’d met under difficult conditions when Kate’s roommate was murdered. There were times when Peter wondered if the only bond they truly shared was the grief over the loss of a loved one—for Peter it was his wife, for Kate it was a dear friend.
“And exactly what am I supposed to tell her?”
“Oh… I don’t know… maybe just that there are guys running around trying to kill you?”
“No, that would only cause her to needlessly worry. I’m not going to put her through that.”
“Needlessly! Are you listening to yourself? You just told me that you have reason, good reason, to believe there is a contract out on your life!”
“What could she do if I did tell her?”
The line went silent for several seconds. “I suppose you’re right,” Gary conceded.
“Look, that’s why I need your help. Until we find out who issued the contract and stop him, I’ll keep some distance from Kate. For her own safety.”
“I still think you should tell her. And it could be a ‘her’.”
“What?”
“You said ‘him’. That the contract was issued by a man. It could be a woman, you know. If my memory serves me correctly, when you go Rambo, you pretty much piss off everyone in your way.”
Despite the morbid subject of their conversation, Peter couldn’t hold back a slight smile. He had been thr
ough a lot of pain and suffering with Gary, and some really bad people had been killed. Yet Gary was still always there for him. Peter knew that if he was on his deathbed, and his friend could trade places, he would do so in a heartbeat.
And the feeling was mutual.
Chapter 16
Eugene, Oregon
March 16
Darnell Price sat at his desk at Cascade Aqua Company, scrolling through the local news. He started with the Oregon Public Radio news feed, then checked the Bend Bulletin and Bend TV news channel. “Bingo!” he said, although there was no one in his office to hear.
As he read, his mind quickly cataloged the pertinent facts. Twenty-five patients as of two days ago. All showing symptoms of orchitis, a painful inflammation of the testes. No response from the CDC or the Oregon Health Authority. Experts are viewing the outbreak as a weak form of the mumps, most likely very localized. Bend resident and businessman, Peter Savage, condemns the lack of action by the CDC as yet another example of the federal government discriminating against Native Americans through neglect. A similar outbreak in Bend or Portland, he asserted, would bring an immediate response from state and federal Agencies.
Price leaned back in his chair. Peter Savage. This man could cause problems. He dialed his phone. “Corbett,” the voice replied.
“Did you see the news?”
“Yes. Our plan worked. The contagion has performed exactly as expected.”
“We may have a problem. Someone is advocating for the people of Warm Springs.”
“We discussed this possibility,” Corbett said. “The reservation offered both benefits and risks as a test population. You’ll recall that you made the decision to proceed over my warnings.”
“You wanted to target a homeless population. We’d never have captured the results if we’d done that. Homeless people don’t go to the doctor. And if they sought emergency care, it would have never captured any media attention.”
“I thought you wanted to run the test at Warm Springs exactly because few would care, being predominantly a Native American population,” Corbett countered.
