Carl chuckled as Carlos removed his hat and held it with both hands at his waist.
“It’s okay, Carlos,” Carl said as he moved to the young Double C Ranch foreman’s left.
“I’m glad you approve, Caldwell,” said Duke to Carl jokingly.
“Duke!” Lauren said in a scolding tone.
John turned around and looked at Lauren, who had leaned forward and removed her sunglasses. She had her head turned slightly to her left and was peering at Duke out of the corners of her eyes.
“You’ll have to excuse him,” she said in her trademark deep, sexy voice. “He’s getting cranky in his old age.”
“That’s okay, Ms. Bacall,” replied Carl.
“Oh, you can call me Lauren,” she said and then leaned back in her chair and held her sunglasses in her lap.
“I wasn’t cranky until the day I met you,” Duke chimed in.
“Drink your tea.”
“I guess I… better sit my tired ass down before I… get turned over her knee.”
He handed the rifle to Carlos as the sound of rattling cans in the distance caught their attention. The young assistant set twelve cans in a line on the fence, each about a foot apart. The tins glimmered brilliantly in the afternoon sun as Carlos replaced his hat atop his head and carefully took hold of the Winchester with both hands.
“Ammo’s on the post,” Duke said.
“Gracias, Señor Wayne.”
John turned and walked to where Lauren was sitting and said something to her that Carlos couldn’t quite hear. Carl leaned against the fence and stared at Lauren as Carlos loaded the rifle.
“How many you want me to load?” Carlos asked.
“All twelve. That is… if it’s okay with Caldwell.”
“You leave him alone,” Lauren quipped.
John wiped his brow again. Lauren looked up at the hulking legend and whispered something as she placed her left hand over the top of his. The assistant returned, killed the engine, and set the parking brake.
Carl harrumphed as he watched Lauren and Duke look at each other with saddened eyes. Even though John was weakened with stomach cancer, his commanding height dwarfed the gorgeous Bacall. An oddly tender presence between the two sent shivers down Carl’s spine.
“Ready,” Carlos announced as he cradled the Winchester in his elbow the same way Duke did.
“Have at ’er, Carliss. The first two are yours.”
“Gracias,” he said with a tip of his hat.
Duke and Lauren whispered a few words to each other and Carl returned to the fence. Carlos turned and propped his right foot on the bottom rail as he readied himself for his first shot.
Duke and Lauren turned their attention to the line of cans in the distance. Carlos pulled the rifle tightly to his shoulder as he peered down the barrel, aligned the sights and took aim. He steadied the heavy barrel, slid his index finger carefully to the trigger, took a breath and squeezed.
The Model 1892 sang a familiar tune as the hammer met the firing pin, but the first can remained in its place as Carlos missed his mark and hit the sturdy fence rail about two inches below. Duke chuckled lightly as Carlos raised his head and inspected the rear sight.
“Sorry, Carliss,” Duke said with a throaty laugh. “I like the rear sight low. Set ’er up a notch and try ’er again.”
Carlos did as instructed and then ejected the spent cartridge, replacing it with a new round. Carl found himself staring at Lauren again as Carlos leaned against the fence and took aim for the second time.
“Wet the front sight,” Duke called to Carlos. “Might be a bit dusty.”
Carlos licked his right thumb and rubbed the dust from the sight. Once again, he took aim and slid his finger to the trigger. He took in a deep breath, let out half, and then held the rest in his lungs.
All of a sudden, Duke blew his nose into his handkerchief with a loud honk. Lauren jerked her head and looked up at him, but he was trying to contain his laughter. She swatted at his chest and he tried to get out of the way, but she was too quick for him.
“You’re incorrigible!” she spat as her palm landed squarely on his chest with a slap. “I’m sorry, Carlos.”
Carlos carefully pulled the Winchester’s hammer, pulled the trigger, and slowly eased the hammer to a safe position against the firing pin. He stepped away from the fence, cradled the weapon and tipped his hat to Lauren without saying a word.
“Sorry, Carliss,” John laughed. “Tell ya what I’ll do, my friend. I’m gonna rest these weary bones ’o mine, and we’ll see if you can knock off all dozen ’o them bean tins.”
Before Carlos could protest, John held up his hand. “No… I insist,” he said as he made his way to the chair beside Lauren’s. “I’ll keep this pretty lady company.”
Carlos nodded in agreement and touched the brim of his hat again.
“That was a terrible thing to do, John,” Lauren said scoldingly.
“I was only funnin’ with ’im.”
“Ready, Los?” Carl asked Carlos softly. “Don’t hold back. Show ’em whatcha got.”
“I won’t hold back,” replied Carlos.
“Any time you’re ready, Carlos,” said Lauren. “I have this big lug under control now.”
Carlos nodded. Carl moved back a few steps and gave him some breathing room. John settled in his chair and the ice cubes in his tea tinkled. Carlos rolled his shoulders, turned toward the fence and planted his feet in the dirt. He took a deep breath and eyed the gleaming cans in the distance, but did not approach the rail where he was leaning moments before.
“Somethin’ wrong, Car—”
Before Duke could finish his sentence, Carlos drew the Winchester to his chest, pulled the hammer back with lightning speed, and fired off his first shot. The first can tumbled from the top of the fence. Before it even hit the ground, he cocked the rifle, brought it to his shoulder, fired off a second round and hit his target dead center.
“Holy sh—” Duke started, but was interrupted by metallic clicks as Carlos cocked the lever again and fired. The third can hit the ground with a clang. Carlos continued his assault on the remaining targets with the speed and skill of an expert marksman. Following each shot, a rhythmic series of tinny click-click sounds filled their ears, and one by one, the cans tumbled from the fence.
After the eleventh can somersaulted backward, Carlos paused for a second and took aim at the twelfth and final can. He aimed carefully at the lower-left corner and squeezed the trigger. It spun in place for a second and then fell over on its side, but didn’t fall off the fence.
He turned slightly to his right and pulled the lever that ejected the last cartridge with a bit more force than the others. It sailed through the air and landed squarely on Carl’s chest, then disappeared down his shirt.
“Ouch!” Carl shouted. The hot metal cartridge stung as it made its way down to his belly inside his tucked shirt. “Damn you, Carlos!”
Duke and Lauren howled with laughter at the sight of Carl pulling at his shirt as if he were stung by a bee. White smoke billowed from the end of the Winchester’s barrel. Carlos turned his head toward the applauding audience of two.
“Well I’ll be a suck-egg mule!” Duke shouted as he placed his hands on his belly and laughed at Carl’s dance. “But ya left one on the fence, Carliss!”
“I did?” Carlos asked as he turned his head and looked at the last can.
“I don’t think he’s done yet,” Lauren chuckled.
“He’s done,” said Duke as he brought his laughter to a low guffaw. “He’s out of ammo.”
Carlos turned the rifle upside down and aimed it at the last can. He drew a breath through his nostrils and blew into the empty chamber, causing a stream of white smoke to jet from the end of the barrel. Carl stopped brushing the front of his shirt with his hands and looked up at Carlos, and then at the last can on the fence.
The last can rolled slowly off the back of the fence rail and dropped to the ground. The three spectators held th
eir position in silence for a few moments as their brains processed what they just witnessed.
“I don’t believe it!” Duke shouted with wide eyes.
“That’s incredible, Carlos!” Lauren chimed in.
“Holy shit, Los,” said Carl softly as he stood and stared blankly at him with his mouth open.
Carlos lowered the rifle back to the crook of his elbow and turned toward his audience. Duke and Lauren stood up and gave him a standing ovation. The staff assistant stepped out of the Jeep and joined in the ovation as Carlos removed his hat and bowed.
“How did you do that?” Lauren asked.
Carlos smiled and said nothing as he replaced his hat and stepped closer to John. Duke stepped forward and shook his head in disbelief. Lauren joined him and put her arm around his waist. Carl approached the group, stood beside his foreman, and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Carliss,” Duke said as his eyes grew glassy. “I seen a man once… Did tricks with a knife that would make ya… scratch yer head. But I never seen anything like that.”
“Gra—”
“Now lemme finish,” Duke interrupted. “A man that can shoot a ninety-two like that deserves it more than I do.”
Duke raised his right hand and placed it gently on Carlos Guzman’s left. Carlos held the Winchester diagonally across his chest with both hands.
“You keep this one, my friend,” he said in a throaty tone. “You earned it.”
“I can’t—” Carlos said, his eyes welling with tears.
“Yes you can,” John said with a wink. “And you will.”
Tears streaked down Lauren’s cheeks as she looked up at the Duke with an endearing tenderness.
“What a beautiful gift, John,” she said softly.
“Muchisimas Gracias, Señor Wayne,” Carlos said as he offered a handshake.
Duke shook his hand. “Take good care of ’er.”
“I will.”
“Time to go… Betty,” Duke said as he looked down at Lauren.
“Anything you say… Marion,” she said.
They remained joined at the hip as they turned back toward the table and chairs. Lauren looked over her right shoulder at Carlos as they walked slowly.
“It was nice meeting you, Carlos,” she called as she steadied her hat with her left hand.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Carlos said as he tipped his hat.
Carl stood dumbfounded. John and Lauren paused briefly at the table, gathered their drinks and headed toward the waiting Jeep. The assistant hopped in and started the engine. Lauren turned with her back toward the Jeep and Duke lifted her by the waist into the back. Her legs dangled over the side behind the driver.
“Oh, nice to meet you, Mister Caldwell!” she said as she scooted further back.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am!” Carl replied loudly.
Duke walked slowly around the back of the Jeep to the other side and hopped in the passenger seat. The assistant gunned the engine and released the clutch, and they bumped their way across the clearing and disappeared between the buildings.
†
“My husband would love that story,” said Augie. “He’s a huge John Wayne fan.”
“I used to make Chase tell it over and over,” Colleen said as she turned her head. “It never got old, and I think he liked watchin’ my face as he imitated John Wayne’s voice. I always got a big kick out of that part.”
“So… is the part about blowing the smoke out of the gun and the can falling true?” asked Augie.
“You can ask my mother when she gets here,” Colleen said. “When I ask Los about it, he just smiles and asks if I believe in magic.”
“I’ll bet he’s something else,” Augie said. “Does he still have the Winchester?”
“Shit… are you kidding? He carries that thing around the Triple C everywhere he goes. He uses it to shoot gophers and snakes and anything else that moves. I swear he could shoot the wing of a bee without makin’ it mad.”
“He’s that good with it?”
“You bet your ass he is.”
“Are the Caldwells and the Wrigleys still friends?” Augie continued her questioning.
“Yeah. Ma still keeps in touch with the Wrigley daughters,” Colleen said. “Our wedding present from them was a honeymoon at their ranch.”
“Wow,” said Augie. “So you honeymooned… at a horse ranch.” Augie said rhetorically and tilted her head.
“No,” Colleen said. “We honeymooned… at the horse ranch. I’ll take you out there someday. It’s a gorgeous spread with panoramic views. Absolutely stunning. When we were there for the honeymoon, the only other people on the whole place were personal service staff and a horse trainer.”
“That sounds awesome,” said Augie.
“It really was the best honeymoon a gal like me could hope for,” Colleen said.
“We honeymooned in San Diego,” Augie said with a hint of sadness in her voice. “We went to the zoo… stayed in a nice hotel… that’s about it.”
“Well, at least you were together,” Colleen offered. “There are worse things in life.”
“Don’t I know it,” Augie said.
CHAPTER 6
Sheila stood with her arms folded and surveyed the situation. The man outside in the cheap suit paced back and forth in front of the door. He continued his phone conversation.
“Was it the cash register, ma’am?” the uniformed officer asked.
“Sort of,” Sheila replied without looking up. “It was both a computer and cash register.”
The officer pulled out a notepad and flipped through the pages for a clean sheet. “How much cash would you say was in the… register?”
“None,” said Sheila. “I make sure it’s empty every night.”
“Was yesterday any different?” asked the officer as he jotted down a few notes.
“Well, I only do special appointments on Sundays, and I didn’t have any yesterday. So no, Saturday was no different when I left, other than closing about thirty minutes earlier than usual,” Sheila explained.
“Why is that?”
“I had plans for the evening. We don’t take walk-ins past a certain time anyway, so I let the staff go thirty minutes early and put what we had in the safe,” Sheila continued.
“And where is that?” asked the officer.
“The safe?”
The officer looked up from his pad and nodded.
Sheila paused for a moment and looked out the window at the man with the cheap suit. He appeared to be looking directly at her, and was standing with his left hand tucked under his right elbow.
“Who’s that guy?” Sheila asked.
“Division detective,” replied the officer.
“Detective?” Sheila asked, turning her attention back to the officer. “Why would a… detective be here already?”
“I’ll let him explain once we’ve completed this part of the investigation,” said the officer. “Can we have a look at the safe?”
“Sure,” said Sheila. “It’s in the supply room.” She stepped from behind the counter and led the way through the etched glass door.
The officer paused in the hallway and closed the glass door carefully. “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he said as he inspected the door’s seascape pattern in glass.
“Pardon?” Sheila called from the end of the hall.
“I said I’ve never seen anything like this,” the officer repeated. “Oh,” said Sheila as she searched her purse for her keys. “It’s a copy of a Bob Ross painting.”
“Bob Ross?” the officer asked as he ran his fingers over the etched design.
“Yeah,” Sheila said as she found her keys. “He’s the guy with the frizzy hair that used to do the paintings of trees and mountains. He was quite the hippie.”
“Oh, right,” said the officer. “I remember that guy.”
“A friend of mine had one of his paintings and he let me borrow it long enough to commission the etching,” Sheila co
ntinued.
“Please don’t touch the door yet,” the officer said as he turned and started down the hall.
“Oh… right,” said Sheila.
The officer approached Sheila and she stepped back. The officer inspected the door without touching it, paying special attention to the keyhole above the steel handle. “Do you have the only key to this door?” he asked. He bent over and inspected the handle closely.
“Yes,” replied Sheila. “I had the whole thing changed about two years ago.”
“Why did you change the lock?” asked the officer.
“I had an incident with a manager I had just hired, and subsequently fired,” Sheila replied. “Shortly after I fired her, I changed all of the locks, just to be on the safe side.”
“Interesting,” said the officer as he stood up and inspected the edges of the door on all sides. “What about the lock on the front door? Did you replace that one as well?”
“Yes I did,” said Sheila. “The only one I didn’t replace was the back.”
“Why not that one?” he asked, writing another note in his pad.
“Well…” Sheila started and then paused for a moment. “The door is custom made, and you can’t replace the lock without replacing the door. When I checked into it, the company that makes the door wanted four thousand dollars to remove the old one, paint the new one to match the building, and then install it.”
“Understood,” said the officer. “And what about the manager that you fired?”
“What about her?” asked Sheila.
“Do you know her current whereabouts?”
“All I have is the address in Manhattan where I sent her W-2 statement last year,” Sheila replied.
The officer flipped the page of his notepad and asked, “And what’s her name?”
“Dianne something,” Sheila said, trying to recall her last name. “Dianne… Skoggins I think it was.”
“How do you spell her last name?” asked the officer.
Sheila spelled the last name and shifted her weight from one hip to the other. The officer continued jotting notes. Sheila grew impatient with the line of questioning. “Can we look in the safe now?” she asked, interrupting his barrage of questions.
Remembering August (Triple C Ranch Saga) Page 16