Hiding Tom Hawk

by Robert Neil Baker

  “What if they hurt him?”

  “Probably they won’t—much.”

  “You thought they were going to hurt you.”

  “They’ve got something special against me, the jerks. Gary is much better at these situations.”

  “Robert, we work for the man and he was just dragged off by three royally ticked-off guys. You’re sure he’ll be safe?”

  “Absolutely, this sort of thing happens to him a lot. If they planned anything violent, they would have done it here in the store. At worst, they’ll bust a finger or two.”

  “And you’re good with that?”

  An uncharacteristic slyness twinkled in Robert’s eyes and just as quickly disappeared. “Okay, look, Tom, I’ll go out there and make sure he’s all right if you do something else for me.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Meet someone at the airport. You’ll just make it in time unless the plane is running late. I’ll swap you the Plymouth for the Nash since she might have a lot of luggage.”

  Tom struggled not to salivate at a chance to get out of the little Nash. “She?”

  “Her name is Renada Schneider. She’s sort of a friend coming to, ah, to visit me, from Europe.”

  The idea of Robert having international female friends—of Robert having female friends—surprised Tom. “And you’ll really check up on Gary?”

  “Scout’s honor; I’ll head straight out there.”

  Tom didn’t know whether or not to believe him. But he had no idea where the tribal elders might have taken Gary, and Robert did.

  Robert must have seen his resolve weakening. He promised, “You can keep on using the Plymouth until your car is fixed if you’ll do this for me.”

  It was an escape from a tiny English prison. Tom capitulated. “Done deal. Where do I take this Renada after I get her from the plane?”

  “She’ll be staying out at Beth’s place. Just take her there. We both need to get going, Tom.”

  The Plymouth was in the alley behind the Nash. Robert had wired the front bumper approximately back into place, and he had somehow even re-attached the missing tooth of the grill. The thing was still butt-ugly, though. At the cars, as they exchanged keys, Robert gave him a small black-and-white wallet photograph of a stiff-looking, thin, almost gaunt woman perhaps in her mid-thirties.

  “What’s the flight number?” asked Tom.

  Robert looked puzzled. “Geez, Tom, I don’t know. We only get two airplanes in here a day and one on Sundays, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “Oh. Yeah, got it. Call me at Beth’s in an hour and tell me if you and Gary are all right.”

  “You got it.” Robert started the Nash and was off.

  The Plymouth was enormous after the Nash, and Tom luxuriated in the tattered front bench seat. He found a parking place a hundred feet from the terminal door as a Douglas DC-9 made a placid descent to the airstrip. By the time he was at the gate the first handicapped passenger was being helped into the terminal. Then he watched what seemed like a full planeload of passengers enter before finally seeing Renada Schneider. She looked like the photograph, but even stiffer in posture. She was, he guessed, a fairly muscular five-foot-seven, hair pulled severely back to a bun.

  Tom approached her as she stopped and looked about, perplexed. “Miss Schneider?” he asked.

  “Yah, I am Renada. My, you are so much better looking than your photograph. We will get along famously.” Her English was good enough, but she was German. She snatched his hand like a drowning woman, and flashed a 300-watt smile. Once he recovered from the light, he realized the problem.

  “Miss Schneider, I’m not Robert Matthews. He sent me to meet you, with his apologies. He was called away on some urgent business.”

  The radiance of a moment before was replaced by thunderclouds in her eyes and a furrowed forehead. “Oh, you are not he, and he has business more urgent than me. How interesting. You bear his picture some resemblance, you know. Your name is?”

  “My name is Tom Hawk. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “Yes. Do you know where is the baggage claim?”

  Tom could see it from where they stood: a stationary rack rather than a carousel, but bags were being brought in rapidly. He pointed toward it. She smiled and stroked his arm. Maybe that was the European social custom. She held on to his arm as they walked to the bags.

  Her luggage filled a cart. She was happy to let him do the heavy lifting while she gathered two small cases, bumping against him twice as they worked. He disguised the discomfort in his back and shoulder from her, and wondered why he did so. He was not attracted to Miss Schneider.

  When they reached the Plymouth she looked incredulous. “This is your auto?”

  “It’s Robert’s, one of his two cars, that is.”

  “Indeed. I hope this is not the good one.”

  Tom knew how she felt. She stood by the car while he filled the sizeable trunk and opened the door for her. He was starting to dislike this woman. But he’d cut her some slack as a foreigner. Driving to the B&B, he made small talk to see if she had softened up any. “How is it you know Robert?”

  “I actually do not yet know him. Our families are long acquainted and have arranged my visit.”

  The tone was in the vein of My dentist arranged for today’s root canal. The question had made her uncomfortable. Tom had decided that was enough small talk when he realized she was sitting very close to him.

  She put a hand on his right thigh, and murmured, “Thank you for helping me out.”

  “Sure, no problem.” He waited in vain for her to remove the predatory hand. Was Robert in more trouble this Saturday afternoon than Gary? Had he talked Tom into this because he was he less afraid of a scalping than of a first encounter with this woman?

  Tom turned onto the highway and was flogging the old car to cruising speed when he heard a siren closing on him. He pulled off onto a too-narrow shoulder and looked behind him. This at least got the woman’s hand off his leg, as she too turned in alarm.

  A fire truck—he swore it was the one from the Quonset hut fire—roared by and around a curve. Tom waited a moment or two and started after it. He drove through three more wooded curves and saw the emergency vehicle. And with it was Robert’s Nash, black smoke emanating from the front of the little car. A police car was parked sixty feet from the Nash. An elderly couple, presumably from a weathered farmhouse near the road, was trying to calm a wildly gesticulating Robert Matthews as a wall of water from the pumper truck tank enveloped his car. Tom pulled off the road.

  Renada nervously plucked his sleeve. “Why do we stop? There are policemen there. Please continue to drive.”

  “We can’t. See the man there?”

  “Do you mean the hysterical fellow making a fool of himself?”

  “Yeah. That’s Robert. And it looks like he’s down to this one car for a while.”

  “Gott in Himmel. Klein Mann mit klein Auto,” she murmured to herself. And then to Tom, “Surely that thing burning is not a real car.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Chapter Six

  Robert sat glumly in the back of the Plymouth. After giving him a cool handshake, Renada had reclaimed the shotgun seat for herself. Robert had inquired how her trip from Germany had gone, thus answering Tom’s curiosity as to how long she had been in America. She snarled that it had been dreadful. Robert did not ask for details, but went into a monologue about the smoking Nash.

  “I parked it along the highway pretty much out of sight and walked in to the reservation community. I couldn’t see Gary anywhere. But they had him there.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I heard him complaining. Well, maybe screaming is a better word.”

  Tom suspected Robert had gotten it right the second time. “What then?”

  “I left. I was alone there. They don’t like me, Tom. They must have seen me park. I figure they went out and sabotaged my car, the bastards. I take excellent care of that Nash. The engi
ne compartment was clean and I’d just checked out all the hoses. The fire was no accident.”

  “But it is a pretty old car,” Tom allowed.

  “It was sabotage. And I told the cop it was. He promised the arson guy will go over the car.”

  Renada finally spoke. “So America is as violent as the motion pictures you send us? The natives make warfare and even a harmless toy car is subject to attack?” She was teasing them. She held no concern for the fate of Gary or the Nash, and not much concern for Robert.

  “I could have been killed,” Robert protested.

  “But you were not. If you have finished the cowboy and Indian story, tell me about this country manor where I will stay with you.”

  “Actually, we’re there.” Tom turned into Beth’s driveway.

  Dani sat on the front steps, smoking whatever, as they parked at the door. “Hi guys,” she greeted them, rising as they exited the car.

  “This is the innkeeper, Beth?” whispered Renada.

  “No, another guest,” explained Tom, as Robert seemed lost in some inner musings.

  “How very large she is. In East Germany she would be in the Olympic program.”

  “I don’t see the Nash,” Dani said to Tom, ignoring the German woman.

  “It had an engine fire.”

  “The Indians sabotaged it,” added Robert.

  “It wasn’t safe for Tom anyway.” Dani’s cold look at Robert implied that whatever happened, it had been his fault. She added, “Not to worry, Tom. I can take you any place you need to go until you get wheels. It’ll be way better than Robert’s teeny Nash.”

  “You are correct. It was a pathetic little car. I am Renada Schneider.” Renada, obviously unaccustomed to being ignored, now lowered herself to regally extend a right hand to Dani.

  Dani pumped the hand uncomfortably, as if shaking water off a walleye just hooked and reeled in. “Yeah, Beth told me Robert had a friend coming. I’m Danielle. I thought you’d be younger.”

  Robert interjected, “Renada had a long trip. I couldn’t meet her so Tom did. They saw my car on fire.”

  Dani said, “Fire, huh? Life’s a bitch. I have to leave now and meet someone downtown. Let me know when you need a ride, Tom.” She strode across the parking lot to her car, a new Chevrolet Monte Carlo. How did a pothead living in a rooming house with no job afford that ride?

  Beth bustled out of the house and introduced herself to her new guest. Then she told Robert, “Gary called for you a few minutes ago. I didn’t know where you were.”

  “Did he sound all right?” worried Tom, causing her to look at him sharply.

  To both of them she mused, “Not so much. I’d guess he has a thick lip. He was out of breath and ticked off about something. I thought maybe he’d been running. Gary used to run track.”

  “You think he was badly hurt?” pressed Tom.

  “No. He would have cried like a kitten if that were the case.”

  Maybe to avoid talking to Tom about Gary, she turned quickly back to Renada, saying, “I’m sure you want to see your room, Miss Schneider.”

  “Yes, please.” Beth escorted her into the house.

  “You think she’s right, Gary is okay?” Tom asked Robert.

  “Hell. I don’t know. Screw Gary. Damn it, those Indians of his could have killed me in a car fire.”

  “I don’t know. I suppose.”

  “You damn bet they could have. Hey, thanks for getting Renada from the airport.”

  “Sure. She seems an unusual girl.”

  “Yeah. I suppose we have to cut her some slack. She had a harrowing escape across the Berlin Wall only a couple months ago. I understand she was smuggled out in a pickle barrel.”

  “And now she’s here, to see you for the first time?”

  Robert kicked at a pebble. “It’s like this. Renada got left behind when the rest of her family got out to the west years ago. She’s some kind of second cousin or something, and my mother and her parents in Frankfurt visit each other almost every year. When she finally got out and back to her family in the west, they thought we might hit it off. I’m not so sure.”

  “By ‘hit it off’ you mean…”

  “Yeah. I mean, look at me, and so far I’d say she’s no catch either. My mother is well-off, and her folks are loaded. If we marry, there’s money in it from both sides. But she seems, well, creepy.”

  To Tom lots of things seemed creepy. Fires, muggings, car crashes, Indian attacks, and now a mail order bride. His next thought was that he again felt sorry for Robert. “Look, Robert, she was probably stressed out before the plane landed. Then she was met by me instead of you, which didn’t help any. And the way she did meet you was not exactly a rose-strewn moonlit dinner.” He gallantly left out the part about Renada groping him in the Plymouth.

  Robert seemed to brighten. “Maybe you’re right. I need to stop being so negative. I’ll let her get settled in and then take her into Houghton for a good meal. Uh, I mean, unless you need the Plymouth yourself?”

  “No, I’m happy to stay here tonight,” Tom lied.

  “Perfect. I’m going into town right now to get some aftershave. Some flowers if the shop hasn’t closed.”

  Tom passed him the car keys. “Atta boy, knock yourself out.”

  He watched Robert drive away and decided on a walk. As he took the first step off the porch Beth called to him. “Tom, excuse me, but I just wanted to tell you I’m getting another new boarder, another guy starting in graduate school here.”

  Well that was great; another person in the house, another chance for him to slip up and be found out. But she sounded so happy to have another cash customer that he affirmed, “That’s good, Beth.”

  “His name is Wyatt Stone.”

  Who cares? But to her, “Wyatt, got it; thanks.” Then, too urgently, he asked, “Where is he from?”

  “Somewhere near Detroit. Birmingham, maybe. I can never keep all those suburbs straight.”

  Just like L.A., Tom reflected.

  He was being treated well but felt vulnerable among the people here. Beth was all right, if not exactly smitten with him. Gary, Robert, and Dani were flakes, and Renada didn’t give off any warm vibes. Somewhere a fat man from L.A. was recovering from smoke inhalation and sharpening the dagger he was going to push between Tom’s shoulder blades at the first opportunity.

  He took a second walk around the property following the same route as he had taken at noon, before learning that Gary and Robert had lunatic Indians on their asses and new people were going to keep checking in to Kessler’s Inn. He moved cautiously, intending to see the fat man before the fat man saw him. He saw nothing but trees and a river.

  He sat on the little beach by the remains of the boat dock for a while. It was a nice, peaceful place, but you couldn’t call it secluded, as you could see the cars passing on the road across the river quite clearly. This was too small a community. He couldn’t wait here for Tony’s hit man to find him. He had to find the fat guy first. He would most likely be staying somewhere in an overcrowded Houghton.

  He found himself back at the road as an old brown Dodge approached up the hill. Tom stuck out a thumb. The car with three cheerful students stopped. The driver called, “Need a lift?”

  “Going to town?”

  “Is the Pope Catholic? This is Saturday night, man, what else? Come on, get in.”

  He had a drink with the three before they headed to a poker game. They explained that after their game the biggest winner among them always bought a round in that bar. They promised that if he were there at midnight they would give him a ride back to Kessler’s Inn.

  The place was kind of dead so he headed to the movie theatre across the street. Afterwards he re-visited the bar. The joint was now jumping. After a couple drinks, he was taunted for the Marine tattoo by a very inebriated, very large, very muscular red-haired Army veteran. Tom made a public assessment of the man’s parentage and intellect. He was about to get his clock royally cleaned when his three g
ood Samaritans walked in and negotiated a truce with Red’s less drunken buddies, one of whom they knew casually. At that, Red was barely restrained while Tom’s party left.

  The movie had been crummy too.

  ****

  Beth had never met anyone from Europe before. Initially aloof, Renada Schneider softened noticeably once she saw the beautiful room Beth had for her, and gushed openly about how well it pleased her. An hour later she came downstairs. She praised the foyer and the front staircase, areas to which Beth had given inordinate, maybe obsessive, decorating attention.

  Beth opened the German wine, the cellar-whatever, and they made themselves comfortable in the parlor. Renada indicated the treacherous china cabinet. She nodded in approval. “That is a particularly good piece.”

  Beth laughed. “Good quality but not good behavior. It fell and nearly crushed me yesterday. Tom rescued me; he’s pretty strong. Oh. Robert helped too. Men can be useful.”

  “Ah yes, at times. You have one? I mean, you have a man?”

  “No. I did. Then Nixon sent him to Viet Nam and I lost him.”

  “Your lover was killed in Nixon’s wicked war. Es tut mir leid. I am sorry.”

  “Huh? Oh, no. No, he wasn’t killed. He met this Taiwanese woman in Saigon, and when his hitch was up he joined her import-export business and moved to Singapore with her. I hear they’re rich now. I do blame Nixon, though.”

  Renada commiserated. “Yes, you have had two pathetic presidents in a row. Oh well, we still must lead our little lives. It must seem strange to you, this visit between Robert and me.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. People here meet in bars, which I think is about the worst place possible. In the last few years college groups are using computers to match people up. Robert is kind of shy.”

  “Ah, so that’s another of his problems. And Thomas Hawk, he has lived with you long?”

  “No, he just came. I’m finally starting to fill my rooms. Dani—Danielle—you met when you arrived. Oh, and a grad student called me out of the blue today. He’s moving in tonight.”

  “You must be careful to whom you rent. You are sure this is a student?”

  “Uh-huh, named Wyatt Stone. He tried to explain his college major to me, but it didn’t make much sense. He sounded very intense on the telephone. I just hope he’s not what they call an activist.”