Byrne returned his tractor to its shed and joined Bravo who was resting on Alpha's front porch. He described his work, and Bravo approved.
Shepard said, "Not that anyone will ever look, Donny, why would they? But we might do a couple more things."
"Which are?" Nearly finished with everything concerning the Santos and their minions, Alpha was willing to add any detail that could help.
"We should pour Clorox onto the blood in the secret room and use a broom to scrub Clorox along the side of the plug and the opening where Scarecrow got squeezed. Then we should soak the tunnel floor with it."
Alpha agreed. "Chlorine is good for making blood hard to detect or identify." He swiped at a stubbly chin. "I should spray a couple of gallons out in front of here where those two willing workers you took down bled a gallon or more. If we don't soak it all, the place will stink of something dead for a dozen years." Alpha's grin was wolfish. "We wouldn't want anyone becoming suspicious, would we? I'll buy Clorox this afternoon."
"Next you should pour a lot of diesel fuel on the main tunnel floor and burn it."
Byrne nodded. "Good touch, Bravo." He laughed to himself. "My John Deere is a diesel. No one will wonder at another fuel purchase."
Alpha examined his friend with a critical eye. "How are you feeling, pardner? I've seen you looking better, but the antibiotics are working. There is no fever, and your wound looks clean."
"I'm better, but I'm not up to jogging just yet. How long should I sit around here before I go west to be abused by my sheriff?"
"Why not wait a week? He already has his dungeon waiting for you, so you might as well feel good when he chains you to the wall."
Bravo shifted uncomfortably. "I can do that, but, please, Doctor Byrne, spend more time at the stove and have a lot more imagination in your cooking. You are a rotten host."
Alpha rubbed his hands together as if in anticipation. "Boy, are you lucky, Shepard. Hunting season is coming on, and I can tell you all about the big game hunts I've been on and the ones I've got planned. I'll bet you will hang on every detail."
Shepard rolled his eyes. "Maybe I will surrender myself to the law after all, Byrne. Nobody likes being tortured, but your ramblings? They could be worse."
— — —
The winter had proven mild. Global warming? Probably. No one but a fool could claim the planet had not warmed, but Don Byrne doubted humans had much to do with it. His unscientific research showed the planet's temperature varied exactly with sun spot activity—as it always had.
Byrne believed that if the human race was worried about their impact on mother earth, the correct response and only cure would be to dramatically reduce the number of people being born until the population no longer consumed resources at unsustainable rates.
A fat chance of that ever happening. So, Don Byrne and most of his Idaho neighbors would continue to live as they always had and were grateful when winters proved less severe.
With gas prices down a little, Bravo was driving in from California, and Alpha was hungry to see him. Shepard had called often during the cold months. He had basked in the warmth of southern California weather, but he also complained a lot about pointless living.
The real estate business was dead with the world economy about to collapse even further, and Bravo had little to do. Of course, Tom Shepard did not need to work. No matter how far the dollar fell, Bravo would be a rich man. Shepard was simply bored.
Then, wonder of wonders, Bravo claimed interest in hunting with Alpha in Alaska. He talked of campfires and magnificent vistas, and he had been reading up on the hunting of moose, caribou, Dall sheep, and big bears.
Byrne liked the interest, but would Bravo maintain it when the realities of mosquito hordes, stinging flies, soaking rains, and cold camps struck home? Bravo was coming, and they would plan. Damn, it could be good to be with his partner in the great mountains of the Great Land.
They had not forgotten Charlie.
There was nothing lower or less forgivable among men of honor than personal betrayal. If men of honor were so ordered, they might ignore a traitorous act, but they never forgot, they never again trusted, and they never forgave. Many such men sought personal satisfaction. Some required the traitor's death because betraying a comrade was an ultimate crime, and their code of honor demanded it.
If you could not depend on your companions in even the direst of circumstances, how could missions and duties of danger or secrecy even be attempted? There was nothing more valuable than unwavering trust and nothing more despicable than betrayal of that trust.
Byrne and Shepard need not have applied measures of trust and honor to Dewey Lavender. They had shared no oaths or brotherly bonds, but they had served together in a situation fraught with danger, and Lavender surely understood the terminal betrayal he had initiated for his personal gain. Lavender had sold his soul and his companions' lives for Santos' dollars. Don Byrne and Tom Shepard intended to more than remember.
Bravo had opened their campaign to drive Dewey Lavender into early retirement and perhaps into endless hiding in some obscure country.
Bravo had mailed Alpha a photograph. The picture was gruesome, and Shepard had difficulty and expenses obtaining it. Bravo's note to Alpha said only. "This was my friend who died in my place."
The photo had come from law enforcement, and it showed Bravo's old soldier hung with wire, his slashed throat gaping with his tongue hanging as if it were a necktie. The blood-soaked body had swollen in death and was covered with black flies.
Alpha studied the photo and made a copy. He wore surgeon's gloves for all of his work. He went to great lengths to clean the copy of all fingerprints and even invisible bodily fluids. His envelope was one of thousands sold through outlets. At no time did Byrne touch anything with his skin. Even the postage stamp was self-sealing, and the machine used for addressing was from a public library in a distant city. Byrne flew to Palm Springs, California to mail the photograph. The envelope's return address was only an "S."
Dewey Lavender worked for a powerful agency whose specialty was investigating. If Lavender was able to use the talents of his employers, nothing should in any way point toward Don Byrne or Tom Shepard.
Charlie had not been living well. He had hoped that he might feel relief that he was finished with Alpha and the mysterious Milo, but he had been long in the covert business, and he knew that, if he could, Byrne would inform the Santos, and Donna Santos would demand her money back and perhaps more.
Lavender had no way to repay. He had spent beyond his intentions, and the payment to his ex-wife that Byrne had demanded had eaten into his reserves. So, he sweat at night, and his mind wandered during the day. He drank more than he knew he should, and he neglected his work. His immediate superior spoke to him, at first kindly, later far more sternly.
Then the ghastly photograph had arrived. The Santos had not been subtle. The return address of "S" was explanation enough, and although Lavender could not be certain the photographed victim was Bravo, it did not matter. The message was plain. The Santos knew who he was, and their demands and their vengeance would soon follow.
Dewey Lavender had already used up his sick leave, his personal days, and every conceivable excuse for missing work, but he found his office time almost unendurable. He squirmed and perspired and could not concentrate. The Santos were coming for him, and following their visits police archives would include a photograph of him with his tongue as a necktie.
Now, his job was at risk. The Agency had been looking at him for months. He had been warned, but he could not comply. Sometimes, Lavender cried. Too often he cried in his neighborhood bar.
Seeking escape from himself, Lavender drove his fine car at reckless speeds, but danger, too, failed to ease his gut-devouring fears.
Finally, Charlie called Alpha—anything to give him a grip.
Charlie said, "Alpha, I need help. The Santos know, and they are coming for me. I received a photograph of . . ." His voice failed and he fought
to breathe.
Byrne's voice was unfeeling. He said, "Of course they are coming for you, Charlie. You stole their money. They want it back. Pay them, and you may live for a while."
There was silence until Byrne said, "I suppose you have heard that Bravo did not die after all? He was out of town, and the killers you sent got the wrong man. I doubt the Santos think much of that either, Charlie. If I were you, I would disappear for the rest of my miserable life."
Dewey Lavender held a dead phone.
Lavender dared not go to his office. To drive into the parking lot reminded him too strongly of Byrne's ambush. If Byrne could do it, so could the Santos. He could no longer enjoy food, so he drank instead. He could not sleep, so he drove aimlessly most of each night. What to do? He could not decide.
A letter came. It said, "Do not send money. Your blood will pay. We will collect what we are owed." The letter was signed with a single penned "S."
Dewey Lavender drank until he passed out. He woke on a street he did not recognize and took a cab to where he had parked his Mercedes. Some animal had dumped a reeking garbage can onto the hood and left it there.
Lavender found that he was beyond crying. He slammed the car into drive and squealed his tires into reckless speed on a narrow street lined with parked cars.
Byrne had again flown to California to mail his letter to Lavender. Safety was worth the inconvenience. Charlie's call had been unexpected, but it indicated that Lavender was already on a failing course. The Santos letter should urge him on, but before long, Alpha and Bravo would visit Charlie and increase the misery in his life. Byrne expected Bravo to have ideas in that direction. Byrne also wondered if the Santos had already contacted Lavender and were making moves to regain their money?
Byrne called April Santo, the family lawyer. Ms. Santos was unavailable, but she would call back.
April Santos said, "How can I help you, Doctor Byrne?"
Alpha said, "I wish first to inform you that Jesus Christus and his team are no longer available for employment—ever."
Clair Santos sounded unperturbed. "I will make a note of that, Doctor Byrne." There was a moment's hesitation. "I assume you and your friend are well?"
"We are well, thank you."
Byrne decided to ask what he needed to know. "Ms. Santos, I have wondered why your interests have not included recovering money sent to a mutual acquaintance in Washington? I had hoped that your end might take on that burden."
Clair Santos was short and quite succinct.
"One does not collect money from a stone, Doctor Byrne, and, as you seem not to have heard, the individual you speak about is dead."
Byrne's response was explosive. "What? He's dead? I had not heard that."
"He died in an automobile crash, Doctor. The report is that he crashed head on into a cement barrier supporting an overpass."
"Holy hell!"
Clair Santos added, "I am sure that you will consider our association terminated, Doctor Byrne, and I will be surprised to hear from you again."
Byrne's response was weak. "Yes, goodbye, Ms. Santos," was the best he could manage.
Bravo also had few words on the matter.
"Are you sure it is true?"
"Yes, I checked. Charlie hit hard, but he was recognizable."
"Good riddance! I hope he ran into the pillar on purpose. At any rate, we got him, Alpha. Charlie is gone for good, and we can put him out of our minds."
— — —
An unnamed benefactor from an unidentified country had gifted Byrne's medical clinic with more than two million dollars. That construction would begin within weeks.
A new doctor would be required—an understanding doctor who would willingly help take up the slack when the senior partner was away. Byrne was interested in a recently licensed physician who had grown up locally and had once been his juvenile patient. The young doctor wished to be part of family practice medicine, and that, in these days of specialists was unusual.
Additional help would be needed at all levels, but employees would appear, and some would settle in and become neighbors. Some would not. A hardworking Mexican on the janitorial staff had quit with the cold weather, and they had been sorry to see him go.
Another happening, one that would irritate Bravo, needed telling. Father Adrian McGavic serving in Mexico had received instructions concerning a crippled devotee of his parish. The crippled man called Padre Sin Pies, or in English, Padre No Feet, had been selected for a medical grant. He was to be fitted with artificial lower legs and feet.
The fitting and training had been performed, and through various intermediaries Doctor Don Byrne had received both billing invoices and photographs of the humbly grateful and much taller Padre Pies De Madera, Padre Wooden Feet—ah nicknames.
Father McGavic claimed that the once man-of-terrible-crimes believed with all of his soul that God had interceded for him, and he had, if possible, become even more devout. Pedro Alverez, Father McGavic claimed, was truly deserving of the special grant.
Byrne expected that Tommy Shepard would consider him an idiot and would recommend that they go back to Mexico to shoot Padre No Feet—as they had so many others only months before.
But, a man could change, as No Feet had for more than twenty years, and Don Byrne felt good about the gift of artificial legs. To Alpha's mind, the grant placed a final period to the Alpha/Bravo activities of more than twenty years.
Still, he would keep in touch with Father Adrian McGavic. If Pedro Alverez faltered and returned to his old ways, then Alpha would join Bravo, and they would go south to shoot and bury Padre Wooden Feet.
The End
About Roy Chandler
Roy F. Chandler retired following a twenty year U.S. Army career. Mr. Chandler then taught secondary school for seven years before becoming a full time author of more than sixty books and countless magazine articles. Since 1969, he has written thirty-one published novels and as many nonfiction books on topics such as hunting, architecture, and antiques.
Now 87 years of age, Rocky Chandler remains active and still rides his Harley-Davidson across the continental United States.
He divides his time among Nokomis, FL, St Mary's City, MD, and Perry County, PA,
Rocky Chandler: Author, Educator, Soldier, Patriot
in 2012
Books by Roy Chandler
Reading order of fiction books in the Perry County Series
Friend Seeker
The Warrior
Arrowmaker
The Black Rifle
Fort Robinson
Ironhawk
Song of Blue Moccasin
Tim Murphy, Rifleman
Hawk's Feather
Shatto
Chip Shatto
Ted's Story
The Boss's Boy
Tiff's Game
Cronies
The Didactor
The Perry Countian
The Sweet Taste
Old Dog
Gray's Talent
Ramsey
Shooter Galloway
Shatto's Way
All Books By Publication Date
All About a Foot Soldier, 1965 (A colorful book for children)
History of Early Perry County Guns and Gunsmiths (With Donald L. Mitchell), 1969
A History of Perry County Railroads, 1970
Alaskan Hunter: a book about big game hunting, 1972
Kentucky Rifle Patchboxes and Barrel Marks, 1972
Tales of Perry County, 1973
Arrowmaker, 1974
Hunting in Perry County, 1974
Antiques of Perry County, 1976
The Black Rifle, 1976
Homes, Barns and Outbuildings of Perry County, 1978
Shatto, 1979
The Perry County Flavor, 1980
Arms Makers of Eastern Pennsylvania, 1981
The Didactor, 1981
Fort Robinson: A novel of Perry County Pennsylvania, the years 1750-63, 1981
Friend Seeker: A nove
l of Perry County PA, 1982
Gunsmiths of Eastern Pennsylvania, 1982
Perry County in Pen & Ink, 1983
Shatto's Way: A novel of Perry County, Pa, 1984
Chip Shatto: A novel of Perry County Pennsylvania, the years 1863-6, 1984
Pennsylvania Gunmakers (a collection), 1984
Firefighters of Perry County, 1985
The Warrior, A novel of the frontier, 1721-1764, 1985
Perry County Sketchbook (And Katherine R. Chandler), 1986
A 30-foot, $6,000 Cruising Catamaran, 1987
The Gun of Joseph Smith (With Katherine R. Chandler), 1987
The Perry Countian, 1987
Hawk's Feather - An Adventure Story, 1988
Ted's Story, 1988
Alcatraz: The Hardest Years 1934-1938 (With Erville F. Chandler), 1989
Cronies, 1989
Song of Blue Moccasin, 1989
Chugger's Hunt, 1990
The Sweet Taste, 1990
Tiff's Game: A work of fiction, 1991
Tuck Morgan, Plainsman (Vol. 2) (With Katherine R. Chandler), 1991
Death From Afar I (And Norman A. Chandler), 1992
Kentucky Rifle Patchboxes All New Volume 2, 1992
Behold the Long Rifle, 1993
Death From Afar II: Marine Corps Sniping (And Norman A. Chandler), 1993
Old Dog, 1993
Tim Murphy, Rifleman: A novel of Perry County, Pa. 1754-1840, 1993
Choose the Right Gun, 1994
Death From Afar Vol. III: The Black Book (And Norman A. Chandler), 1994
The Kentucky Pistol, 1994
Ramsey: A novel of Perry County Pennsylvania, 1994
Gray's Talent, 1995
Hunting Alaska, 1995
Last Black Book, 1995
Dark Shadow (The Red book series), 1996
Death From Afar IV (And Norman A. Chandler, 1996
Morgan's Park (Vol. 3) (With Katherine R. Chandler), 1997
White Feather: Carlos Hathcock USMC scout sniper (And Norman A. Chandler), 1997
Death From Afar V (And Norman A. Chandler), 1998
Ironhawk: A frontier novel of Perry County Pennsylvania 1759-1765, 1999
Pardners Page 32