Py looked at Jake, skeptical. "I never doubted you, Jake. Even when everybody else was sayin' 'that Jake, he's a no good,' I was stickin' up for you."
"And I let you down," Jake said, showing Py he understood the thought. "You sure did," Py said bluntly.
"Well, I told you I'm sorry about that," Jake said impatiently. "I'll be a whole lot more sorry if you do somethin' stupid now like gettin' cynical about things."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean gettin' to where you think the worst about everything, just because somebody let you down once," Jake said. "You get that way and only bad things come from it. You start doin' things that you wouldn't do, the way you are now."
"How am I now?" Py said, on the cusp of being offended.
Jake seemed staggered for a moment, stuck for an answer. "You're a nice guy," he finally said, voicing the words in an acidulous way. "It's not the worst thing you could be."
"You mean I'm stupid, don't you?" Py countered. "You think I'm dumb and that's just fine for who I am. That's what you think."
"I think you're a little naive, is all," Jake said. "I like that about you. It don't mean you're dumb. It just means you haven't got layer after layer of bad experiences weighin' down on you. That's a blessing, Py. You ought to not curse it."
Py went back to stare out the windshield, pouting behind the wheel, while Jake stood in the open door, resting one foot on the running board and looking in at him. They held their positions silently for a moment, allowing each other time to let all that was happening sink in.
"Let me tell you somethin', Py," Jake said. "I don't want to bore you with bullshit, but I got somethin' I want you to know. When I was quite a little younger than you, I got face-to-face with what you're goin' through now. It was a different situation, nobody lied to me or nothin', but it affected me the same. I found out that my parents . . . my natural parents, not the ones I mostly lived with . . . well, they didn't really want me anymore. I think there's doubt they ever did. I tried not to let it show that it bothered me, and I went off to live with these other people – a real fine couple. They was childless. I didn't let nothin' show about how it felt to be in that strange house with those nice old people. I just shut off from lettin' anything show, and . . ." Jake shook his head, as if trying to dislodge a nasty thought that repeated itself in his brain, over and over. "It twists you, Py. It keeps you apart from people, and the next thing you know it don't make no difference to you how you treat 'em. You figure they don't care about you, they just got an angle somehow, and everybody's just part of some big scam. Before you know it, them's the only kind of people you know – and then life becomes hell, Py. And it's all because of how you react to the disappointments." Jake stopped and let his words sink in for a moment, then he stepped down away from the truck. "That's all I have to say, Py. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me for lettin' you down." Jake then turned and walked on back to the house.
"How is he?" Tory asked, when Jake came back inside. "He's sensitive,'' Jake said, piteously. "You know . . ."
"Well, that's a good way to be and a hard way to go,'' Pete said, nodding his head understandingly. He stood up from his chair and smiled. "I guess we've had quite a night," he said, with ironic cheerfulness. "I think I'll be goin' on to bed. Goodnight everyone." He offered a little wave, and then went off to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Then, almost as soon as it shut, he opened it back up again and stuck his head out. "You goin' to see Ben Miller tomorrow?" he asked.
Jake nodded that he was, and Pete smiled and disappeared back into his room. "I guess now maybe it's your turn," he said to Tory, once the two of them were alone in the living room. "I've already told you how sorry I am. Have you got anything you want to say to me?" Jake asked meekly, apparently willing to accept any punishment she might deem appropriate.
Tory looked and sounded tired. "I don't have anything to say," she said. "I'll admit that I'm surprised – even shocked – and I'm disappointed. This is going to destroy everything we had . . . I had planned. Still, somehow, it seems like I should have seen it coming, maybe not in this way, but . . . somehow." She seemed utterly defeated. "It seems like I have a knack for getting involved with people who are . . ." – she seemed lost for a word – or the strength to deal with those that were appropriate – "complicated, I guess. I do this whole romance thing wrong."
Jake looked at the ceiling, exasperated with God. "Oh, quit it!" he said, impatient with Tory. "I just went through this whole thing with Py! Now you're not going to get all morbid on me too, are you?"
"What do you expect?" Tory said in amazement.
"The worst – that's my problem!" Jake said. "I was hopin' that somehow we could ride this out, together I mean. You're talkin' like the roof's all caved in and we'll never laugh again, and the birds have stopped singin' . . ."
"Who are you to be so bon vivant?" Tory said, incredulous. "Don't you see what a disaster you've made of everything?"
Jake looked pained. "Yeah, I see that I've screwed everything up, hurt people's feelings, and let 'em down. I see that I am probably gonna be goin' to jail. I see all that, and I know there's a lot yet to come. It's gonna be hard, but somehow I feel better about all of it."
Tory looked astonished. "What'd you mean when you said you got attached to people over at Walker Ranch? Are you talking about Lily?"
"Yeah, maybe I am, but not only her." Jake seemed to use his eyes to search the room for words that would help him explain his thinking. "You know, Tory – in some ways I feel like this has been the best year of my life." He seemed astonished by his own sensations. "Somethin' happened to me, and I don't know what it was. Py had somethin' to do with it. Lily, too. She's a nice kid, but she wasn't the main thing. Somethin' clicked in my head and it was like, for the first time in a long time, there seemed to be hope – you know, for the future. Maybe it was gettin' near the end of payin' my debt to . . . that guy, whose name I don't want you to know. Maybe I had a sense that I was gonna be gettin' my life back, or havin' a second chance. It was like I started openin' up again, havin ' feelin’s I ain't had for a long time. Maybe it was all just gettin' me ready for you."
Tory looked distrustfully at him. "Yeah?"
Jake seemed to be late in getting the impact of what he had just said. "Yeah," he said, after he considered how he had boxed himself in. "It hit me yesterday, when I was on that bus, and when all the sudden I was lookin ' at the future – and it was without you." Jake just shook his head. "It wasn't no good, Tory. It was like I had a moment there where the dam just burst and I realized that – come hell or high water – I was gonna have to come back here and face whatever' s gonna happen. Hell, I had to punch out the driver just to get off the bus."
"You have to find a better way to solve your problems," Tory said.
"Well, when you've got a lot of 'em you look for simple solutions," Jake said, matter of fact. "I don’t plan on havin ' so many in the future."
"I just hope you've got a future," Tory said sarcastically.
"I do," Jake said, smiling assuredly at her. "I surely do."
CHAPTER 38 – Blood Soaked
Jake looked from Sheriff Miller to Frank Walker, who stood over near his fireplace mantle, churlish over having this meeting imposed upon him. Frank leaned with one elbow against the stone, smoke curling up from the stubby cigar he held in his right hand, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He wasn't giving Jake the respect of eye contact. Seated in Frank's large oaken office chair, Ben Miller leaned forward on his elbows, with his hands clasped before him on the desk, posturing the patience of a Saint. He imagined responsibility for decorum.
Jake had contacted Sheriff Miller this morning, telling him he had something important to say and insisting that he arrange a meeting at Frank Walker's house this afternoon. With the Walker Ranch job was only days away, Jake was certain that he was being watched and he wasn't about to be seen anywhere near the Sheriff’s office. He had something to talk about that Frank
Walker needed to hear, and Walker Ranch was the one place he could get to easily without having to use public roads. The Sheriff had quickly arranged the meeting, and now the three were gathered in Frank's downstairs office.
"Okay, Jake – you got us all here, now what's this about?" Ben Miller asked.
Jake was seated across the desk from the Sheriff, self-consciously perched on the chair people came to sit in when they had to do business with Walker Ranch. It felt big to Jake, heavy and unpadded. He glanced over at Frank, who was more or less standing with his back to him, only occasionally shifting his trunk so that he could site him over his left shoulder. Jake thought it looked combative, like a boxing tactic that both protected the head and concealed a cocked overhand right. He decided to speak directly to the Sheriff. "I don't know any other way to say this but straight." Jake spoke clearly and forcefully. "I'm mixed up in a plan to rip-off Frank, here – to take equipment, cattle, valuables, practically everything that isn't nailed down."
Frank Walker turned to face him and his posture tightened. "You son-of-a-bitch ..." he started to say, but Jake cut him off. "If you'll just listen it may save you a lot of pain. There's this guy named Lorenz Pico. He's a crook and a murderer – got a record as long as your arm – and I'm into him for a lot of money, or at least a lot more than I've got to give. I've been working jobs for him, like Frank's, to pay it back. The whole thing's been a set-up. It was my job to get work at Walker Ranch, survey the assets, map out their locations, and set-up a heist. We've done this all over the country. It's part of a network. Everything on the list to take has already been sold."
Ben Miller had expected a bombshell after Jake had been so insistent on the phone. The call had been placed from Jess Willingham's home, and Miller figured Jake had something serious to say if it was worth enough to him to go to a neighbors and place a sensitive call. Now, however, he sat behind Frank's desk flat-out flabbergasted, and also a little disappointed. He knew of suspicions about Jake, but he had hoped they were unwarranted. He half expected this whole thing today was somehow going to be about young Lily, who was, to Miller's way of thinking, the lingering connection between Jake and Frank. The rumors about her and "some older farmhand" had become common conversation around town. He had imagined a confession, possibly an accord of some kind, but not this. He certainly didn't expect to have to record an ersatz deposition.
"Jake – I think I'd better be taking this down," he said, measuring his words so as not to reveal how caught off guard he was. "Hold on just a moment. I need something to write on."
"There's a writing tablet and some pens in that desk," Frank said, the edge to his voice indicating his ardor for bringing Jake to justice. While the Sheriff rifled through the drawer, Frank glared at the confessor. "What's your angle?" he asked Jake. "Why are you talking about this?"
Miller looked up from his search. "You know that what you are saying could put you behind bars – probably for some time," he said.
Jake seemed to shuffle some thoughts, which took him a moment. "It's something I've got to do," he finally said, giving the information short form. "Some things have happened. I just can't go on with it." Jake seemed to wilt. "What's happened, Jake?" Sheriff Miller asked, not really for the record, but more because he was struck by Jake's words and behavior. As soon as he asked, however, Jake regained control of himself and sat up straight in his chair. "Look, I'll testify that Lorenz Pico master-minded the whole thing," Jake said flatly, re-focusing the conversation. "I'll tell a grand jury about my part in the operation and I'll give 'em names and dates. I'll bring the whole bunch of 'em down – Pico and everybody. I'll do whatever it takes."
Frank Walker had stood staring at Jake, beholding him with an odd mixture of hate and even appreciation. "When is all this supposed to take place?" he asked.
"The night of the Cow-Cutters' Ball – Saturday," Jake said.
Frank Walker looked, with alarm, at the Sheriff. "That doesn't leave much time, Ben. My guess is we need to bring the FBI in on this and start making some arrests."
"Wait! That'd be a mistake," Jake said, waving off the idea. "Maybe you do need the feds' help, but if I were you I'd set up a plan to catch 'em in the act, with Frank's property in their possession."
"Now wait a minute." Frank chafed. "If we can get these guys behind bars before they do any damage, I don't see why we wouldn't . . ."
"No, Jake's right," interrupted Ben Miller. "It sounds like a lot of people are involved."
"Maybe fifty in all, just in this part of the operation," Jake said. "Truckers, butchers, painters, mechanics . . . a whole string of people. That don't include the businessmen on the receiving end. And they may lead to others."
"Others?" Miller asked.
"I don't know anything about it," Jake said, "but Pico's got connections with syndicate types. Chicago, Cincinnati, St. Louis . . . All over the country. Who knows what's there."
Miller looked up at Frank Walker. "See, if we start making arrests, based on what Jake has told us, my guess is most of these guys get tipped off and we lose the biggest part of our case. I think Jake's right: we need to let this play out a little."
"I don't know nothin' about those guys. Okay?" Jake said. "I don't want it gettin' out that I gave you information about mobsters. I only know about Pico."
Sheriff Miller indicated that he understood, then asked for more details on the nature of Pico's operation, and Jake laid it all out for him: information about the distribution network, the chop shops, the paint locations – everything. "Is there anything tangible you can show us right now?" Miller asked. "I think Frank's right about bringing the FBI in, but I'd feel a hell of a lot more comfortable with it if we had some hard evidence that what you're saying is true."
"I can give you some evidence," Jake said. "I'll give you evidence that'll tum your stomach."
* * * * *
Jake didn't tell Frank and Ben Miller where they were headed, only asking that they assemble once again at Walker Ranch around eight o'clock that night. Jake liked the meeting place, because he could get to Walker Ranch through the back pastures, thereby avoiding the main roads, where he stood a chance of being seen. Somewhere out there was Pico's pressure man, the guy whom he was convinced had shot Pete's bull, and whose job it was to make sure Jake didn't do anything stupid, like go to the authorities. Jake was still kicking himself for being so dumb a couple days earlier, showing up at the Longmont bus station for all the world to see. He had been so intent upon getting himself out of town, he'd been temporarily blinded to what he was leaving behind, including the repercussions of his actions for people he cared about. Now he was praying that his activities had not been witnessed and reported to Lorenz Pico. He sure as hell couldn't be seen riding in a car with the County Sheriff.
Jake arrived early for the rendezvous, and Frank had Rosa Villaman show him to the living room to wait for Ben Miller's arrival. It was already dark outside. Frank Walker, unwilling or unable to wait in the same room with Jake, for whom he could not muster less than contempt, stayed up in his den, on the second floor, watching out the window for the Sheriff 's car lights before going down to meet him.
Jake sat in Frank's capacious and richly adorned living room, surrounded by leather-covered chairs and sofas, polished wood cabinetry and huge overhead beams that seemed capable of buttressing the Walker home against any kind of invasion, natural or otherwise. It all made him nervous, conscious of the fact that this kind of wealth was a world apart from anything he had ever known, or was likely ever to know, in this life. A part of him felt resentment. Frank's good fortune seemed, to Jake, so undeserved. It didn't make any difference to him that Frank had built his empire from scratch, working long, arduous hours as both a manager and a laborer. All Jake could see was that, wherever he had been, Frank was now a feudal lord, pompous and mean-spirited, and a real part of him was sympathetic to those who would make Frank a target, and rest from him his surfeit belongings. It seemed criminal, to Jake, that a man could have so muc
h.
It seemed garish.
Jake heard the sounds of footsteps on the stairs and immediately got up from the sofa before anyone could come in and find him in repose, among surroundings so unnatural to him. He felt every inch the intruder.
Lily Walker came bounding down the stairs and was shocked to find Jake standing in her living room, hat in hand. "Jake!" she said, not even trying to hide her surprise. "What are you doing here?" Only two days earlier she had talked to him as he was on his way out of town, departing without warning, bound for points unknown. The impact on her of his sudden decision to leave had not seemed to matter at all to him, and Lily had been pulverized by rejection. She was used to it – had come to expect it! – from her father. Coming from Jake, it was unbearable. She hadn't even gone to school yesterday, barricading herself in her room, where she stayed all day, declaring that she had the flu. She had been miserable with heartache, even vomiting once, which seemed to support her self-diagnosis. Now her first instinct at seeing Jake in her own home – a place he knew to be dangerous enemy territory – was to believe that he had come back for her.
"Hello, Lily," Jake said, speaking quietly, nervous over the possibility of his voice bouncing throughout the hardwood corridors of the house and being overheard by her father.
"I thought you were gone," Lily said, apparently delighted to be wrong.
Jake shuffled in place, like a nervous caller. "I decided I had to come back."
Lily's eyes seemed to brighten. She moved to the bottom of the stairs, still touching one hand upon the rail, wanting to move to his side, but remaining hesitant. "Why, Jake? Why did you have to come back?" She moved away from the stair case, slowly entering the huge living room, moving around him in a wide arc.
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