“What do they do?”
“Bring in medical technology and equipment from the Pacific Rim. The company losses are around ten million a year. It’s a tax write-off. Supplies and supports new research on dialysis technology and kidney ailments and helps keep costs down for folks in need.”
“Bless her heart. Can you set me up with some ID and a background?”
“Sure. You wanna stick with the ol’ standby, Daniel Beckett?”
“Fine. I have that one memorized.”
“Great. I’ll keep the old ID and run it through so if you get in a bind, the Justice Department thing will still be valid.”
“Also, the bike that Stitch gets will need California plates and registration. He and I will both need California driver’s licenses, I’ll need a couple of credit cards in Beckett’s name run through the California company. You know the drill. If I have to rent a place or vehicles, that’ll all have to come from Big Sur Imports, too.”
“You tryin’ to teach Grandma how to suck eggs, Crockett?”
“Sorry, Clete.”
“I got it. I’ll send ya’ll some cell phones, too. One for you, one for Stitch, and a company phone. They’ll all be activated through Big Sur Imports. Anything else?”
“Not right now.”
“I’ll do some more diggin’ and keep in touch, son. Whatever you need, includin’ me, is at your beck n’ call.”
Unable to resist, Crockett continued. “Oh, by the way. Big Sur may need to rent me a couple of ladies.”
“What?”
“One or two attractive young lasses who adore me and my money, who live to serve, and with whom any man of discerning taste would be proud to be seen.”
“What?”
“Eye candy, Texican. A little stress relief at the end of a hard day.”
“Eye candy?”
“Heh, heh, heh,” Crockett said, and disconnected.
Again Crockett retreated into musing, this time on his conversation with Cletus. As he rose to refill his coffee, Dundee barked and Danielle entered the living area from the growing dark of the deck.
“Hi, Crockett,” she said, advancing on him for a hug.
“Hey, kid. What brings out to God’s Country?”
“Hadn’t seen you guys for a while. Where’s Mom?”
“She’s upstairs taking a nap. Should be up before too long. It’s suppertime. Want to eat with us?”
“Sure. What are we having?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Crockett replied, looking at her carefully. “How ‘bout salmon steaks and veggies?”
“Fine with me. What’s wrong?”
“With what?”
“With me. You’re staring at me. I got spinach in my teeth?”
“Ah, no. This is gonna sound a little strange. You have a girlfriend that might wanna make some extra money and that can keep her mouth shut?”
Danni grinned. “You can make money by keeping your mouth shut?” she asked.
“This is no time for lewd innuendo, young lady. Jesus, you kids today. Just answer the question.”
“Probably. What’s up?”
“To be blunt, in the not too distant future I may need some eye candy. A young lovely to give somebody the wrong impression. It could be just for a couple of short stints, or it could resort to a month or so of living in luxury and maintaining a rather extensive façade. The pay would be good, no strings attached.”
Danni grinned. “You serious?”
“Yeah. I may need to convince some people that I’m a lecherous old bastard who keeps young stuff around for light relief.”
“A little arm charm, huh?”
Crockett grinned. “Yeah.”
“I’ll do it.”
“You?”
“Sure,” Danni said, subtly shifting her stance. The change in projected sexuality was more than just obvious.
Crockett looked her up and down, then took a step back. “Damn,” he said.
Danni giggled and relaxed. “I’m a pro,” she said. “Remember?”
“How could I forget with a reminder like that? You’ll do.”
“Thanks. You need somebody else, too?”
“Somebody else?”
“Sure. If you wanna do this right, two would be better.”
Crockett smiled. “I’m old, kid. I don’t know if my heart could stand two of you.”
“My friend Whisper would be up for it. She’s kind of a part-time actress anyway. That girl is smokin’ hot.”
“Whisper?”
“Yeah.”
“That her stage name?”
“I dunno. That’s all I’ve ever called her.”
“How ‘bout you? You have a stage name?”
Danni dimpled. “I used to have,” she said. “Rascal.”
“Oh, God. Whisper and Rascal. Okay. I’m not sure it’s gonna happen, but if I need the help, I’ll letcha know.”
“Great. Whisper’ll be back from Vegas in a couple of days.”
“She’s in Las Vegas?”
“Yeah, or L.A. She goes out there two or three times a year to work for three or four weeks. Makes two or three grand a day.”
“Jesus! Doing wha…never mind. I don’t wanna know.”
“I’ll talk to her and see if she’s up for it. I assume it’ll pay well.”
“It won’t pay two grand a day, for crissakes, but it won’t be five bucks an hour either. If you ask her, be sure and tell her that all this has to stay very secret. If she talks about it to anyone, she could put all of us in real danger.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding. As long as she keeps her mouth shut, everything will be fine.”
“That’s okay. Whisper knows how to keep a secret.”
“Also, there will probably be things you know that she will not know. You may have to lie to her. Can you do that?”
“If it’s to keep us all safe, sure.”
“Okay. Don’t tell her who I am. As far as she’s concerned, my name is Beckett. If she wants to know how you know me, stall her. If things actually get that far, I’ll brief you on the story before I meet her.”
“Wow. This is kinda serious.”
“You want out?”
“No. I want in. I always wanted to be a secret agent.”
“Oh, hell.”
“It’ll be a lot of fun,” Danni said, searching the fridge for salmon.
“What would be fun?” Satin asked, lurching into the kitchen, her face marked with blanket scars below auburn hair sticking out in all possible directions.
“Crockett bein’ me and my friend Whisper’s sugar daddy,” Danni said.
Satin stared at her daughter for a moment, blinked, then turned away and headed back for the stairs.
“Wake me up after while,” she said. “This has gotta be a nightmare.”
Danni left a little after nine, reminding Crockett she had the breakfast shift at Wager’s Café the next morning. Crockett straightened up the kitchen, grabbed a Guinness out of the fridge, and retreated to the porch swing. Dundee came with him. He was lighting a Sherman when he heard the door slide open. Satin took a seat beside him and snuggled into this left side.
“Sleeping beauty,” Crockett said.
Satin yawned. “What’s all this crap about you being my kid’s sugar daddy?”
“Just my true colors showing through,” he replied. “It’s been my plan since the first time I saw her.”
“Let’s get something straight, Sparky. If you’re gonna be anybody’s sugar daddy, you’re gonna be my sugar daddy. Don’t forget that I know when and where you sleep.”
“Sorry. Gotta be your kid.”
“Why?”
“Because, as lovely, dynamic, and sexually alluring as you are, my great tawny animal, you’re too old. Rich letches don’t rent grandmothers, even if they are in their forties.”
“That’s low forties, asshole.”
“Rich letches lease youthful lovlies. You know, hot babes. Sweet stuff. Y
oung whup. Poontang, if you will.”
“Poontang?”
“You betcha, Grandma.”
Satin couldn’t keep the bit going any farther. She gave up and started to laugh. Crockett joined her. When they settled down, she took a hit of his Guinness and swiveled in the swing to look at him in the reflected light from the kitchen window. The faint peeping of frogs reached them from where water was collecting down by the dam around the bend in the draw.
“What the hell are you up to?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet. I may not need Danni and her friend at all, but if I do, I want to be able to put that part of the program in motion quickly.”
“This got to do with that motorcycle shop?”
“Yeah. Wanna hear the rest of it?”
“Not tonight,” Satin replied, getting to her feet. “Tomorrow. Right now I’m going back to bed. You coming up?”
“Later. I got to ponder for a while. How’s your forehead?”
“What forehead?” Satin said, and vanished back into the house, Dundee on her heels.
Slowly, Crockett worked on the Guinness. Amid the other night sounds, the voice of an owl caressed the darkness with a gentle “hoo-hoo-hoo-ah.” Crockett rubbed the gooseflesh on his arms.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” he said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Crockett slept later than usual the next morning. When he finally limped his way to the kitchen, Satin’s voice floated out of the second bedroom she used as an office.
“You up?”
“Who wants to know?”
“The woman who made coffee, fed your dog and cat, cleaned the litter, and left you two cooked sausage patties and three pancakes in the fridge.”
“Good morning, darling,” Crockett trilled, pouring himself coffee. “Shall I come kiss you, my sweet?”
“Have you brushed your teeth?”
“While I was in the shower, my lovely.”
“Have you flogged that hairy mess under your nose into submission?”
“Mercilessly, my pet.”
“In that case,” Satin replied, appearing in the hallway clad in baggy sweats, a threadbare terry robe and ratty house slippers the size of breadboxes, “perhaps I should come to you.”
Crockett let his eyes roam over the rumpled apparition before him. “My God, but you’re lovely.”
Satin walked around the counter, put her arms about his neck, and kissed him. “Mmmm,” she said. “Minty.”
“I’m very refreshing,” Crockett said, locking his hands behind the small of her back.
“And that ain’t all you are,” she went on, leaning into him at the waist.
“How’s your head?” Crockett asked.
“Fine. How’s your brain?”
“Very short on blood, at the moment.”
Satin smiled. “Just the way I like you,” she said. “Perhaps we should make sure the bed is still where we left it.”
The phone on the counter rang. Crockett looked at the ID.
“Clete,” he said, releasing his hold.
“Tell Cletus he can kiss my butt,” Satin said.
Crockett retrieved the offending instrument. “Hey, Clete,” he said. “Satin wants me to tell you, uh, good morning.”
“Same to her, pard. Just called to letcha know I got things on the move. Found Stitch a motorcycle out in California. Getting’ it licensed to Big Sur Imports as we speak.”
“Great! What kind?”
“I doan know one a them things from another,” Clete replied, and Crockett could hear him shuffling papers. “Lemma see, uh, a 1974 Moto Guzzi eight-five-zero T. That mean anything to ya?”
Crockett grinned. “More than it does to you.”
“You got that right. Ivy wants to know if you’d like one, too.”
“A bike?”
“Yeah.”
“Ha! Doesn’t want to appear to be playing favorites.”
“You know how Ivy is.”
“Tell her thanks, but I don’t know if I’ll even need one.”
“I’ll pass it on. I done some more checkin’ into the murder of the Hansen kid. A lot a these County Sheriff outfits don’t have the best investigative divisions on the planet, y’know. But the bunch that handled this mess really didn’t have a lot to go on. It had been rainin’ for a couple a days before them young lovers stumbled on the body. There had been additional tire tracks and footprints, but they wasn’t enough left of ‘em to git good photos or plaster casts. The rope he was tied with was common, run-a-the-mill ski type. Any evidence that mighta been left on it was washed away. Stab wounds, non-fatal if you recall, was done with a short, thin, very sharp blade. They figger it was a utility carpet knife or somethin’ like that.”
“Hard to trace,” Crockett said, “unless part of the blade was left behind for comparison to a weapon.”
“Exactly. They questioned the fellers at the motorcycle place where he worked part-time, and was told that he’d been fired a week or so before he was found ‘cause he’d been showin’ up at work high.”
“I don’t know how things have changed over the years,” Crockett said, “but back when I was hangin’ around places like that, half of the work force and a lot of the customers were buzzed on something or other.”
“The owner and his top three or four guys at the shop all had alibis. Claimed they was gathered in the back room for their weekly poker night. Surveillance for the next few weeks supported it.”
“That’s not hard to fake.”
“The Sheriff tried to get a search warrant for the place, but didn’t have any evidence, just suspicion. Judge wouldn’t give him one.”
“What county we talking about here?”
“Hart.”
“Hart? Hell, Clete, that’s my county!”
“I know it. The sheriff was a feller named Charlie Boggs. He retired a while back.”
“Boggs?”
“Yessir.”
“I had some trouble with some brothers named Boggs shortly after I moved here.”
“Prob’ly kin,” Clete said. “Some a them little counties like that, everbody is related to everbody else.”
“Shit.”
“Well, that’s all I got for…oh, yeah. You got a place for Stitch to stay?”
“I’m glad you said something, Texican. I forgot all about his, uh, proclivities. I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay, Pard. I’ll be in touch.”
“What’s going on?” Satin asked, after Crockett disconnected.
“We are going shopping this afternoon.”
“We are? For what?”
“An apartment for Stitch.”
“An apartment? I thought he’s stay out here.”
“He will. This apartment’ll have wheels.”
Satin stared at him for a moment before the light came on. “I gotcha,” she said. “A place to stay without feeling crowded. He’ll love it.”
“It’s perfect. The slab where I parked the bus will be just right, and there’s still a sewage line and two thirty-amp service outlets right there. Just tow it here and plug it in.”
“If we’re going out, I should change.”
“Me, too.”
“Maybe we should change together in case one of us has a wardrobe crisis and needs emotional assistance.”
Crockett smiled. “Smooth talker,” he said.
By four that afternoon, the Crockett and Satin had been to Horizon RV, the same place where, a couple of lifetimes before, Crockett and Ruby rented the motorhome Ruby had christened The Pequod. They returned with a twenty-two foot camping trailer complete with satellite TV, air-conditioning, a bath and kitchen, and a slide out dinette. Satin helped Crockett level the thing, connect the power, water and sewer, and slide out the slideout.
“Kinda cute,” she said.
“Stitch’ll like it. So will Nudge. I imagine he’ll spend a lot of time in it.”
“I thought Stitch was allergic to cats.”
“H
e is, but he and Nudge have an unusual arrangement. They’ve known each other a long time. According to Stitch, over thirty years.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Stitch claims that Nudge is the reincarnation of a cat he used to know named Freaky.”
“Oh, hell,” Satin said, walking away toward the cabin.
“Whazamatter?” Crockett asked.
The answer floated back over her shoulder. “What are you trying to do, gimme a headache?”
At around six, they agreed nobody wanted to cook and headed into Hartrick and Wager’s Café. Shortly after their arrival in the crowded dining area Dale Smoot wandered in. Crockett moved to sit beside Satin and waved the big man over.
“Hello, Satin,” Dale said, easing himself into the booth across from them. “I see you’re still slumming.”
“He ain’t much, Chief, but he does what I tell him.”
“Ain’t seen a lot a you lately, Crockett,” Smoot said.
“She won’t let me leave the place by myself, Dale. Isn’t that against the law or something?”
“Or something. Sounds like good sense to me.”
Satin scanned the room. “Where’s my kid?”
“Right here,” Danni said, moving up behind them. “You guys gonna eat?”
“That’s why we came.”
“If you can wait about fifteen minutes I’ll be off, and I can join ya.”
“Suits me,” Crockett said.
“Okay. Coffee?”
Crockett grimaced. “God, no. Iced tea.”
“Me, too,” Satin said.
Smoot nodded. “I guess a piece a lemon pie would be good. I really just came in to see what Crockett wanted.”
Danni scurried away.
“What makes you think I want anything?” Crockett asked.
“You’re here aren’t you?”
“What are you, some kinda cop?”
“For a while yet. What’s up?”
“You know Charlie Boggs?”
“The ex-county sheriff? Yeah. I know him.”
“He any relation to the Boggs boys that got their truck hit by that train?”
“You mean the ones you pushed out onto the tracks with your truck?”
Crockett winced. “No,” he said, “I mean the ones that shot my dog and cat with arrows.”
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