Chapter Eleven
Tom followed the Suburban onto still another country road he had not yet noticed, having to stay well back. There were all these neat hilly curving roads, great for sports cars, and he was driving a clumsy antique sedan.
The road twisted its way steadily toward Lake Superior, the patches in the asphalt becoming numerous and crude as the road narrowed. From the odometer and Robert’s dime store dashboard compass, they had to be getting close to the lake, and Tom imagined he could smell the water. He almost had to stop the Plymouth dead as Harv and Marv slowed their car to a crawl and then turned right onto a narrow lane. Tom found an old mining trail on the other side of the road and parked the Plymouth. He checked Renada’s gun and raced up the lane after the brothers.
Crossing a low rise, he saw the Suburban had driven down onto a wide expanse of artificially flat land that he guessed was a depository of old mining waste. The brothers drove carefully through a narrow gate in a peeling wooden fence and pulled up close to an old cabin. It was a saggy, soggy-looking affair sitting under high tension power lines, with the wires casting a set of thin shadows on the faded green asphalt shingle roof. It was hard to imagine in this wilderness where the lines had come from or where they were going, but they made the cabin less desirable looking, if that could be possible. The site did come with a spectacular view of Lake Superior. If this was California and that was the Pacific, this would be a half-million dollar property awaiting a million dollar house.
He watched from behind a giant poplar. The smell of wild raspberries reminded him that he was overdue for lunch. His stomach growled, and to add insult to injury, Harv and Marv were lugging groceries from the Suburban into the cottage. Either they were prodigious eaters, or they expected to spend a long time finding and killing him. He preferred explanation number two.
What now? Dani’s words had been kill or be killed. There were milder variants of that, like fight fire with fire. That would be a favorite of hers. He wasn’t ready to kill these guys in cold blood or burn them out. Could he wear them down? Slow them down? The cottage had a low hanging, easy to reach and cut telephone line. Their only other link to the world was the car. Disable before you got disabled. Keep them here while he went back to town and got Dani, maybe Gary too, maybe Beth. Disable the car first, then the phone.
He crept to the Suburban. No hope of getting the distributor out without being heard. But the right side tires, the side of the car away from the cottage, held more promise. The Suburban would only have one spare tire for two flats. He knelt and ever so gently opened the right rear valve stem, the hissing of the escaping air sounding like a hurricane to him. Finally the tire was flat. Now do the same thing for the front. After that he would cut the phone line and go to town and get the cavalry. It was six miles back to the phone booth outside that junkyard posing as an antique shop, a two hour walk for a couple of portly boys from the coast. And that walk would begin only after they noticed the Suburban had a problem.
A snuffling sound to his left alerted him as he reached for the right front valve cap. He turned and saw a seriously overweight black bear, not thirty feet from him. The bear was looking at him with hungry eyes. Tom reached for Renada’s petite pistol, but realized it would take all six shots to stop the bear, if he could stop it at all. The first shot would bring Harv and Marv streaming out of the cabin with real guns. He would be caught between two types of furry adversary.
He extended his arms trying to look large and formidable and started walking backward toward the power line tower. The bear eyed him curiously but did not move immediately. Then it snuffled again and took a tentative step toward this 195 pound California snack. Tom snarled at him, surprised that his voice was as loud and firm as it was. The bear hesitated. Tom backed up as fast as he could, arms flailing. Just as the big animal started for him, he backed into something hard—the power tower.
In nanoseconds he was twelve feet up the tower with a couple of small climbing cuts to his hands. The bear’s claw had grazed the heel of his sneaker but he was out of its reach. Bruno snorted in disgust, then relaxed patiently onto its haunches and regarded him curiously.
He might be safe for the moment but he stuck out like Raquel Welch quarterbacking an NFL huddle. He was clearly visible to anyone looking out of the cabin. Hopefully, if Harv and Marv peered out at all, it would be over the lake toward the approaching storm. Lightning flashed over the rapidly darkening water and there he dangled, on a giant lightning rod. The bear growled at him so he moved up another three feet.
When the rain came it was torrential. He felt he was about to be washed from the steelwork into the gaping mouth of the animal, which was now fourteen feet tall in his imagination. He tried to clamber yet higher, closer to the lightning, but the steel was slippery and it was all he could do to maintain his position. The bear seemed to be grinning at him, and if the brothers saw him, they would be laughing their asses off. His first sally of taking the war to the enemy was not going well.
After five minutes of being pelted by the downpour, the beast made a half-hearted snort, which was almost lost in the storm, and ambled off to the forest, resigned to disassembling Tom on a less inclement day. Tom slid down the tower with one eye on the cabin and ran full out to the Plymouth. Safely inside, he stored the pistol under the seat, realizing for the first time how truly beautiful Robert’s faded and scarred mouse hair upholstery and scratched-up steel dashboard were. It took a few seconds to drop his heart rate to about three hundred and he hit the starter, remembering its reluctance in Mildred’s driveway. This time, the boat anchor flathead six fired at once.
Lake Superior sometimes made its own coastline weather and it hadn’t rained in town. As he parked behind Grant’s store, he saw a man, a heavy-set middle-aged male with close-cut platinum blonde hair, leaning against a nearby delivery van. Tom had a photograph of this man. This was Renada’s psychotic boyfriend. He turned his back to Horst to open the Plymouth hood, thankful these old tanks had no inside release, and bent over the engine so he could watch the German from the corner of his eye while buying some time to think. But Horst started toward him.
There was no time to get Renada’s gun from under the car seat. So start with a bluff. He doesn’t know me from Adam. Get him off guard and take him down. Maybe he could be enticed to look into the engine compartment until Tom got Renada’s gun out of the car. He shouted at the engine, “You damned piece of crap. I need all six of your miserable cylinders firing, understand?”
“You have trouble with your motor?” Horst inquired in lightly accented English.
“I’ll say. I don’t have my glasses. Can you look in here and see if a spark plug wire is busted?”
“Of course. Perhaps you will step back a bit.”
This was going to be too easy. Tom moved back with one hand casually on the hood, ready to fold it over a commie skull. But as Horst got to the front of the car, he did not look into the engine compartment, but kept his attention on Tom. He said, “I see the problem. Come to my van with me. I have just the tool we need to fix this.”
“What the hell do you mean? You haven’t looked at anything yet. I don’t understand.”
The German reached behind his back and pulled out a large and nasty-looking automatic. “You may understand this.”
Tom felt a tad less clever. “I’ve got hardly any cash on me. This car barely runs.”
“I do not care about your money or whatever this curious thing is that you have the misfortune to drive. Walk to my van. If you do one bad move or make a sound, I shoot you in a leg. If you try to turn on me, I shoot you in the chest.”
Horst liked to get the rules straight up front. And, more encouraging, he did not seem intent on murdering Tom on the spot. “I don’t know you. What do you want with me?”
“A few answers. The old woman from the commerce office identified you, Mr. Robert Matthews.”
That again. “No, she’s got it all wrong. I can explain it. My name is Hawk.”
<
br /> “Be quiet. There has been enough delay.” He prodded Tom to the cargo van where the back doors stood open. He motioned with the gun. “Get in.”
Tom tightened his muscles for a fight. He’d risk taking a slug before he’d meekly climb in there. As his eyes scanned the inside of the van for a weapon, any weapon, the sickly-smelling cloth met his nose and mouth. Unfair! He struggled for only a moment. He had a semi-conscious image of Renada Schneider in a dazzling Oktoberfest costume; weeping as she laid flowers at a tall gothic gravestone labeled “Tomahawk.” A gaily-clad polka band played a Strauss waltz in the background. Then there was blackness.
****
Beth walked in as Gary was reaching to lock the front of the store. “What’s happening? Where’s Wyatt? Where’s Tom?”
He pulled her through his unlocked door. “Calm down, little cousin. I have Wyatt on ice and Tom’s off chasing bad guys. He told me about his prior employment and his current problem. Geez, what a story. And I thought Robert was too much bother to keep around. I don’t deserve this trouble.”
“Neither does Tom, but he’s the one they’re after, you self-centered jerk.”
Gary gave a low whistle. It was distorted because of that unfortunate gap between his top two front teeth that with the nose just kept him from being a handsome man. Beth had told him repeatedly that it would be no big deal to get both fixed. Never cowed by angry Indians, draft boards, the courts or the IRS, Gary was terrified of dentists and plastic surgeons.
“What are you whistling about?”
“Look at your face. Your eyes are tearing up. This guy is more than just a boarder, isn’t he?”
She had never wanted to cry in front of someone and if it were to happen, she would rather do it in front of several billion people other than Gary. She sniffled, choked, and found a Kleenex in her jeans pocket. Her cousin took her hand gently. “Lizzie has a boyfriend.”
Lizzie. He had last taunted her that way when she was twelve. He added, “You may even have finally picked a good one.”
“I’m scared for him, Gary. Where is he?”
“I told you, he’s following a couple of guys—twins, I believe.”
“You let him go after those two alone. Are you both nuts?”
“He’s just finding out where they’re holed up. He knows what he’s doing.”
“He thinks he knows what he’s doing. The same thing goes for you. Where’s Wyatt?”
“In the rear of the store, locked up for Tom to talk to him when he gets back. Does that make you feel better?”
“Some.”
“Excellent. Anyway, if Wyatt’s Mafia, why hasn’t he killed Tomahawk already?”
Beth gave him a strange look. He said, “Sorry, ‘Tomahawk’ is my nickname for your boyfriend. But your newest boarder has had chances to kill Tom, right?”
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
“So that’s good, right, I mean, Wyatt doesn’t look like some Mafia hitman.”
“No, Dani’s sure he isn’t.”
“Well, there you go. She should know. Now don’t worry about Tom. Maybe he stopped back at your place. Beth, I have to get back over to the courthouse or they’re going to lock me up and throw away the key.”
“Who’s suing you now?”
“Let me see. I think today is either the Pentagon or the grocer’s co-operative.”
“Well, I have to do something. I’ll go over to the commerce office and ask Aunt Mildred if she saw anything funny happening around town today.”
“Good idea. Just don’t do anything to upset her about those mining rights, whatever you do. I’ve got to make that deal or I’m finished with the tribe.”
“Screw your mining deal, Gary. My boyfriend is missing.”
“Ah, just listen to you. And I feared you’d never find true love.”
“Screw you too, Gary.”
****
Aunt Mildred allowed, “Well, there was one stranger came in here this morning, Beth.”
“The stranger, was he short, stocky, dark, and mean looking? Was he middle aged?”
“He was stocky, some might say fat. But he was average height and his hair was blonde, almost white. As to being mean, he was quite pleasant to me. Middle age starts at fifty for me now but he was forty-five tops.”
That wasn’t a description of the Harv or Marv in Tom’s photograph from Dani. To be certain, Beth added, “Did this man have a California accent?”
“I wouldn’t recognize a California accent, although I understand it is their position that they’re the only people in the country that don’t have any accent. He sounded more like Lawrence Welk than Johnny Carson.”
TV bandleader Welk’s accent was German. Was it Renada’s ex, Horst, who had come to see Mildred? Great, just great; that was all they needed today. “What did he want?”
“It’s hard to say. Oh, he had some typical tourist questions, but I could tell he didn’t care about the answers. He talked like a TV police detective. The one concrete thing was if I knew Robert Matthews, the military-looking one you convinced me to let Gary send out to my place yesterday. Now that was a mistake on my part. And the screwball he brought with him, well…”
Beth cut her off. “What did you tell him about Tom—about Robert, I mean?”
Mildred looked at her suspiciously. “I may have told him I thought he was staying at your place.”
“I have to call my house.”
“The Chamber doesn’t like outgoing personal calls, Beth.”
“Yeah, you’re really busy here. Aunt Mildred, give me the phone.”
“Lordy, you’re more like Gary every day. Here.”
To Beth’s relief, Robert picked up. “Is Renada there, Robert?”
“No, Beth, she’s gone shopping.”
“How about Tom?”
“No. I’m alone. Dani is at a dorm studying with a football player she met yesterday.”
“She doesn’t take any classes.”
“Do I have to spell it out for you, Beth? Anyway, what’s wrong?”
“Robert, listen to me carefully. Horst may well be in town. Do not leave the house. If Renada and Dani come home, keep them there.”
“Oh, wow, sure. Hey, I’ve almost got that cellar door alarm wired. I had to fish an electrical line through the heating ducts. There’s mouse poop in there, you know.”
“Great. Do anything you can to keep Horst out.”
“I got it. There’s only the one two-thirty volt circuit in the house for the stove, right? That’s right, isn’t it?”
“Robert, I don’t know about the electricity. Just keep everyone who shows up at the house there until I come back and be careful, promise me?”
“I’ve got Indians and students after me, and you say Horst is here. I’ll be plenty careful.”
“That’s the spirit, Robert. I have to go to the courthouse and get Gary. Bye.”
She thanked Mildred. She had to find Gary, go out to the house, settle Robert down, and try to figure out where Renada had gone before Horst could find her.
****
Tom screamed, Untie me, I’m not Robert Matthews, you lard-assed Stasi Kraut dipshit! But the scream was only in his head. Even so, the screaming made him dizzy again, like when Horst had come in with the hypodermic needle and he had tried to scream the first time. The gag was tight. Nothing got out, nothing got in. I suppose it will help me lose a few pounds, he thought. Except I’m not the fat one, Horst is the fat one. He would have giggled if his mouth weren’t held shut.
It was incredible how well he was secured by so little rope. Horst was very efficient. Probably he’d had to learn to be. Incompetent in the production of almost everything, the Communists had raised frugal usage of resources to a high art. He was very well restrained and yet he seemed to have good blood flow to his extremities. Nice knots too, from what he could see. He would have to remember to compliment Horst on them once he was untied. Did East Germany have Boy Scouts?
Being trussed up was act
ually his second greatest problem. Well, maybe third, if you counted the prospect of being murdered. He chuckled to himself over this oversight. Regardless, more alarming than the rope and gag was the minuscule size of the room he was in, barely big enough for this cot and a four-drawer cabinet standing by the one slender dirt covered window. The room was growing smaller by the minute. It was an old tourist cottage bedroom he was in, the knotty pine walls and faint moldiness being a dead give-away.
Beth Kessler would know the right cleaning agents to get rid of the mold. He had watched her working in the B&B, in those tight olive green jeans. Was he having an erection? Maybe if he told Horst he really needed to see Beth now, he would let Tom go. Probably he would not, at least not until he had found and murdered the real Robert. He wondered who would get the ’52 Plymouth after Robert was dead. If Robert were to leave the Plymouth to him, Tom decided he would re-paint it gold.
He had never understood the attraction of knotty pine. He was an oak paneling man himself. But of course, once he got free of the rope, he might be strong enough to tear down the pine and escape, whereas with oak there would be no way; oak was strong.
The door opened and Horst came in and carefully removed the gag. “Are you all right?”
Tom nodded his head and it made him dizzy. “Oh hell, yes, right as rain.”
“What is your name?”
“Tomahawk. Well, that’s not my real name.”
“You carry identification papers that say you are Thomas Hawk. Is that truly your name?”
Trick question. Well, I’m not fooled, drugs or no. “Yes, I am Tom Hawk, an innocent student.”
Horst sighed theatrically. “So you truly are not Robert Matthews?”
“Never have been, never will be. We’ve been through all that. I think. Haven’t we?”
“Where is the man Matthews now?”
This guy was asking really hard questions. Tom’s head hurt. “He must be back at the grocery store. I was filling in for him when you came.”
Hiding Tom Hawk Page 14