by J K Ellem
“How do you know my name?”
Jim Morgan smiled like it was a stupid question. “I know everyone and everything that goes on in this town, in this county, Ben.” He said his name like they were long lost buddies. All part of the mind games. It may work on the local hardware store owner or the new cop in town, but Shaw was immune to such psychological warfare. Under it all he knew Jim Morgan was another bully, the head bully of the Morgan clan who had raised and nurtured his three sons to follow in his footsteps. The man would slip a hundred-dollar bill into the church collection plate on a Sunday, then that very same day take a pair of pliers to a shopkeeper’s hand if he was late with the rent.
Shaw could feel the heat from the scotch in his gut, but another kind of heat was building in his head, an intense dislike for the confident and articulate man who sat across from him with the silver tongue and aura of false empathy.
“You and Mr Cole are very much alike,” Jim Morgan nodded at Cole. “Cut from the same cloth even.”
“I’m nothing like any of your hired goons. Why do you need ex-military contractors on a cattle ranch in Kansas anyway?”
“To stop people like you.”
“I’m just passing through, helping a neighbor of yours out,” Shaw shrugged. “No harm in that.”
Jim Morgan took a sip of his drink, holding the scotch on the middle of his tongue, savoring it for a moment as he studied the liquid in the tumbler. He swallowed then said, “But you’re here. You came across onto my land. I have to take precautions. I can’t have people stumbling in here of their own free will, can I?”
“It’s overkill, don’t you think? Assault rifles, night vision cameras, your own private army of contractors. Why?” Shaw kept quiet about the other thing he had discovered, didn’t want to give away too much to the man.
“You can never be too careful these days, Ben, with all these terrorists and the like. I have many business interests that I run from here. Cattle and agriculture is just one of them.”
Jim Morgan stood up and poured himself another drink. “Look, I want us to be friends, not enemies,” he said over his shoulder. He returned and sat down again. “I think we can help each other, don’t you think?”
“I don’t need your money.”
“Oh, I know that. It was stupid of my son Billy to offer you money to leave. He just made a bad judgment call about your character, that’s all. Money doesn’t interest you. If it did, you wouldn’t have made a career of doing what you were doing in Washington.” Jim Morgan smiled. “Don’t get me wrong, Washington is full of rich elitist politicians, lobbyists, advocates, government contractors, all bleeding Uncle Sam dry like vultures. But you don’t seem like the K Street type.”
Shaw felt the first glimmer of concern. It was becoming obvious that Jim Morgan had done some research on him. The man was resourceful, cunning and didn’t leave anything to chance.
“Look, I just want a favor. That’s all.” Jim Morgan leaned forward to emphasize the point. “That’s all. Just a favor.”
For men like Jim Morgan it was never just a favor. It always escalated into something more until eventually you found yourself forever a slave to their whims.
“And in return?” Shaw asked.
“In return you will keep your anonymity. I’m sure Daisy McAlister would change her opinion of you, if she found out exactly who you really are.”
“That’s in my past. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Jim Morgan seemed to contemplate this for a moment, the cogs in his head turning. “Then why are they looking for you, Ben?”
25
“Who is looking for me?” He already knew the answer, but wanted to call Jim Morgan’s bluff.
“Who? Your last employer, Ben. I agree you’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve broken no laws, you’ve kept a low profile, flown below the radar as they say. There’s no manhunt going on for you. You’re a free man, not a criminal. But I imagine that with your last place of employment you never really leave, do you? I’m sure they would be interested in your whereabouts. Just in case.” Jim Morgan smiled like a man holding a royal flush and Shaw had only two of a kind.
Shaw just wanted to be left alone. Stay off the grid. Fade into the periphery. But now all this was at risk from a man he hardly knew, who seemed to know a lot about him. A man who was proving to be thorough, resourceful and who never left anything to chance, especially a potential threat like Shaw. It was the qualities Shaw had in himself, but he now realized he had underestimated it in Jim Morgan. He was a shrewd, calculating businessman, not some small-town hustler who had got lucky by bullying people.
“It does make for interesting reading, Ben, your career doesn’t it?” Jim Morgan let the words sink in, enjoying the bewildered look on Shaw’s face. “I can’t imagine what you listed on your Form 1040 each year as your occupation?” he continued. “All I want you to do is help me, help Daisy McAlister. That’s all.”
Help me help her. This was a pathological liar talking. Maybe Jim Morgan was more suited to Washington.
Shaw smiled at the spin Jim Morgan had put on the request, like the phone company calling you up to tell you how you could reduce your phone bills, if you just shifted to a new plan they were offering. It was all sleight of hand, trickery and lies. He could have run for political office, maybe that’s where his true aspirations lay.
“How could you possibly help Daisy McAlister? Your sons have done nothing but threaten and intimidate her,” Shaw said, flicking a glance at Cole.
“Look, my sons can be a bit harsh in their methods, blunt with their approach.”
Yeh, I wonder where they get that from? Shaw thought.
“They can be a bit eager. They still need to learn a lot. I apologize for their indiscretions.”
The apology seemed genuine to Shaw, but he imagined that Jim Morgan and the entire Morgan family still bulldozed their way through people with very little real regard for the consequences unless it benefited the Morgan name.
Jim Morgan continued, “Her ranch is slowly slipping into bankruptcy. Ever since her father died in that tragic horse riding accident it has been one unfolding tragedy after the next. Her mother died soon after and then it all became too much for poor Daisy. She’s had to sell cattle just to keep the place afloat. Pretty soon the bank will foreclose and it will be a fire-sale.”
Shaw held his thoughts and kept his expression dead-pan. But the revelation had been like a punch to his gut. Not many people around town knew Daisy’s mother was dead as well. Daisy had managed to keep that fact private. But Jim Morgan made it his business to know everything about everyone. Not even his own sons knew the old woman had died.
“I’ve made her a very good offer for her land, well above market value and it’s the best offer she is going to get. I really want you, Ben, to make her see the light. Please make her see that there are no other options. If you care about her then you’ll make her see this.”
“Why is the land so important to you? Why do you want it?”
“It makes good business sense, Ben. Geographically it’s well suited to our expansion plans here. We want to expand our cattle holdings and having the McAlister land adjacent to ours is the best option. You can’t prevent progress, Ben.” Jim Morgan sounded like he was on the campaign trail, giving a speech to win an election.
“She is very set in her ways. It’s about the family legacy more than the value of the ranch. If she sells, then she believes she will be ending the McAlister legacy, letting down her father,” Shaw replied.
Jim Morgan took another ritualistic sip from his glass. “Look, I totally see her point of view. I understand all about family traditions and bloodline succession. One day you and I will just be dust under trampling hooves. We all want to live forever, but we can’t. So we try and build a legacy to pass on to the next generation.”
Shaw felt that the next Morgan generation was as tainted as the first.
“But if Daisy doesn’t take my offer, there’ll be nothing lef
t to pass on. She’s a young woman. She may want kids of her own someday, but they’ll have a very hard future without money.”
There was some truth in what Jim Morgan was saying. Maybe Daisy McAlister needed to swallow her pride and not be so stubborn. Too many owners held on too long to loss-making ranches only for their selfish desires to continue the family name. The McAlister name would go on, but maybe not as how Daisy’s father intended.
“I will talk to her.” That’s all Shaw said, but his mind was working overtime processing all the information.
“Good. I knew you were a fair man, Ben.” Jim Morgan rose and extended his hand.
Shaw drained the glass of scotch. No point in wasting something that sat in a barrel for the last thirty years waiting to be drunk. He set aside the glass on a side table and got to his feet, the strength returning to his legs.
He took Jim Morgan’s hand, the grip firm, his hand rough and calloused, a testament to his heritage. The man was charismatic, charming, and extremely convincing.
“Thanks again, Ben.”
Jim Morgan turned to Cole. “Mr Cole will see you out. The least we could do is run you back.”
A clock on the sideboard said it was 2:00 a.m. “It’s getting late for both of us,” Jim Morgan said.
Shaw nodded and made for the door. He had no intention of sleeping. There was too much to be done, if he was going to save Daisy McAliser from a criminal like Jim Morgan.
* * *
Three armed men marched Shaw to a waiting black SUV that was parked under the portico of the homestead. Shaw was unconscious on the drive in, but he was very conscious on the car ride out.
They pushed him into the back seat and two men got in the back as well, one on either side, sandwiching him in. Cole sat in the passenger seat and gave a nod to the waiting driver who pressed the gas and the large car glided off down the side of the hill, a hiss of its tires on the smooth driveway.
Shaw hoped he was going to get an opportunity to see much of the compound up close as they drove through it to the main gate. But in a deliberate move the SUV did a sharp right turn at the bottom of the driveway and, instead of driving along the main road through the complex, it exited via a rear gate with a key code, onto a dirt track and into the darkness.
The trip back was a lot faster, warmer and more comfortable than the trip in for Shaw. The big SUV drove at speed, its soft suspension making it feel like they were driving on a smooth road. The beam of headlights dipped and bobbed illuminating the harsh landscape ahead. Shaw looked out of the window, but it was pitch black.
Instead of taking him back along the main road and to the main entrance of the ranch. They pulled up in front of the tubular gate that Shaw had slid through hours before. In the dark he had missed the dirt road they had driven him back on. They seemed to know the road well.
The men slid out, the headlights lit up the gate in front in a brilliant glare. Shaw got out and one of the men handed Shaw a snap-lock bag. Inside it were his possessions including the flashlight and binoculars. Shaw noted its other contents and made a mental note for later.
They pushed him forward. Cole got out and walked around to Shaw, his hand firmly on the grip of the handgun snug on his thigh.
“If you come back again without an invite from Mr Morgan, we won’t taser you again. I’ll personally put a bullet in your brain like I’ve done many times to people like you.”
Shaw turned and faced Cole, the other men forming up behind the chief of security.
The two men looked at each other, both unblinking, both committing the detail of each other’s face to memory.
Seconds passed then Shaw just turned and, without saying a word, walked away towards the gate.
26
It was only after his third cup of coffee that Shaw started to feel normal again. Tiredness he could deal with. Long hours, little or no sleep, and the need to be totally alert and aware were no strangers to him in a previous life. A life or occupation that he wanted to put behind him, but Jim Morgan was going to drag it up all over again. If Shaw let him.
Shaw stood on the porch. The sun had only been up for an hour and he had sat warming himself by the wood-burning stove in the pre-dawn darkness, alone with his thoughts.
Packing up his few belongings into his rucksack and catching the first bus out of town or hitching a ride was not an option. Not his style. Plus what information he had gained in the early hours of this morning had answered a lot of the questions bouncing around in his head since he first arrived.
Up at the homestead, Daisy was setting the table for breakfast. She waved and smiled. Shaw waved back then grimaced, his chest still had residual soreness, but it was slowly fading. He had taken a shower as soon as he returned and discovered a small puncture mark in his sternum and another larger one on his right buttock. He knew he was not feeling the after-effects of just being shot with a taser gun. Normally the effects would wear off after five or ten minutes. He had been knocked out cold and awoke on the couch in Jim Morgan’s study, feeling like a zombie. There had to be another reason.
Now he knew why.
While he was on the ground in spasms from having fifty-thousand volts surge through his body, they had also shot him with a tranquilizer gun in the butt. They weren’t taking any chances. They saw him as a clear and present danger, and took him down as such.
The fact that they brought him back to the gate where he crossed onto the Morgan ranch meant he was doomed from the start. They had tracked him from the moment he set foot on Morgan soil. He may as well have painted a fluorescent target on his back.
The old tin shed was a separate issue. Maybe it wasn’t important to Jim Morgan. Maybe it meant nothing that Shaw went inside, they didn’t care. The shed was something else that Shaw didn’t know the answer to—yet.
He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out the silver identity bracelet and looked at the name engraved on it again.
Annie?
More questions than answers.
He’d left the tooth in the snap-lock bag in a drawer in the kitchenette, hiding it under old and faded instruction manuals for appliances that had long been thrown out. It wasn’t the kind of memento he wanted to carry around with him, he wasn’t the tooth-fairy.
In his other pocket he had the other object he had found, another answer to a nagging question. He had made some progress in finding the answers.
He pushed off the porch and made his way up the path to the homestead.
Time to come clean.
* * *
Daisy sat still and didn’t say a word while Shaw described what happened the night before. He told her everything—well, almost everything. He left out the part about finding the tooth and silver identity bracelet in the tin shed. He didn’t want to complicate things. He had no idea if the two items were related or who was Annie.
He explained to Daisy how he had ventured onto the Morgan property, been shot with a taser, then tranquilized, and the cozy little chat with Jim Morgan. When Shaw finished, she asked him why he had gone onto the Morgan property without telling her. She wasn’t angry, just confused.
“I wanted to know what they were up to. I wanted to see for myself. I didn’t want you involved. I was just protecting you, that’s all. You’re the boss. I’m just a humble employee. There’s less risk, if I got caught.”
Daisy smiled, thinking back to last evening in the shower. She liked being the boss with him. It gave her certain privileges that made her pulse rise just thinking about it. In her mind the kitchen table was going to be next.
“Don’t you think it’s strange, all the security they have? It’s like a prison, not a ranch.”
“I know they have a lot of interests, not just cattle,” she replied. “And their land holdings are scattered across Kansas.” Daisy went on to explain that she had never actually set foot on their property, ever, even though it was right next door. But she had spoken to other people over the years, other ranch hands who had worked there and peopl
e in town. It was around the time her father died that things seemed to change with the Morgans. They became more insular. People stopped seeing Jim Morgan in public, and his three sons became more visible around town. Rumors went around that the security was being beefed up at the ranch. Fences with razor wire started to go up and security cameras were installed along the main road entrance. Townsfolk who were previously employed were let go, replaced by staff and contractors brought in from out of state. Everything became very secretive.
“I didn’t see one head of cattle, no feed lots, nothing that would make me think the place was a working cattle ranch,” Shaw said.
Daisy just nodded.
“Daisy, I need to know why the Morgans want your land so badly. There must be something more than just using it for expansion. As you said, they have land all over Kansas. Okay, so your ranch is adjacent to theirs and it makes sense to want your land, but I don’t think running more cattle on it is what they are truly interested in.”
Shaw could see she was thinking. Now was a good time to tell her the rest.
So he did.
“Oh, by the way.”
Daisy looked up at him.
He continued, “Just to let you know. You, your home, this ranch has been under surveillance. Someone has been watching you probably for a while now. Maybe a week, but I’d say longer, during the day and at night too. Recording you coming and going, your daily routines, what time you get up in the morning, what time you go to bed, your movements around the ranch. They know your habits.”
Daisy’s eyes went wide. She was stunned. “Who? Who the hell is watching me?” she demanded.
Shaw shook his head, “I don’t know. But I bet they have even been here when you weren’t, probably walked right into this house, gone through your stuff, opened your drawers and cupboards, looked inside, touched your personal effects and such. Maybe even been inside your house while you were here, when you were asleep. Maybe even walked straight into your bedroom, walked right up to your bed and watched you sleep.”