“He was trying to get them to stop. The whole time he was shouting, ‘Cease fire! Cease fire!’ But they were deaf with the joy of what they’d done. That was the end of the firing for the day. Flynn double-timed the company the four miles back to barracks, rifles at port arms. Then, before dismissing us, he asked the men who had continued to fire to step forward. No one moved. So he told them they were yellow. He said it real softly. He told them they were cowards and that he would be waiting at the motor pool after chow, without his stripes, for any cowards to show up.
“They showed up. The whole company showed up, wanting to see how it would turn out.”
“So what happened?” Linda tried to keep the urgency out of her voice.
“Sergeant Flynn got his ass kicked. That’s what happened. Stuller had been a longshoreman from San Pedro, the Port of Los Angeles. He had Sergeant Flynn by four inches and forty pounds. Flynn was fast and got in his licks, but then he started going down—and getting up. Stuller would drop him, and Sergeant Flynn would somehow manage to regain his feet. Pretty soon the men started shouting, ‘Stay down, Sarge! Stay down!’ Then Stuller says it, too. ‘Stay down, Sarge. You’re whipped.’ Sergeant Flynn looks at him and says, ‘Next time, you’ll have to kill me, you yellow bastard.’ Stuller just turned and walked away.
“After that, the men kept their shooting to the targets. Even the ground squirrels that lived on the range were safe. And our outfit had the highest average score by five points. The man knows how to soldier,” Parker added in a soft voice.
“Why didn’t he discipline them for disobeying an order?”
“He could have, but it didn’t have to do with that. Respect for orders has to do with respect for the man who’s giving them. That company would’ve followed Sergeant Flynn into hell. Some of them did.”
Linda raised her eyebrows in query.
“You ask him. Anyhow, that’s not the entire story. While Stuller and his followers were killing the cow, I lost it. The cow was struggling to get away from the pain, to stay alive, and it didn’t know what was happening. That was the part that really got to me, the confusion. I started screaming at them, and I was crying, sobbing is more like it. Afterward, they thought I was pretty pathetic. Naturally they started making my life hell, calling me Crybaby Parker. Not all of them, but Stuller and his cronies. Well, the name stuck. Sergeant Flynn was watching all this, and I knew he wanted to put a stop to it, but you can’t rescue people or even feel sorry for them. That would be the kiss of death, let me tell you.
“So Sergeant Flynn figures another way. I was a natural with the rifle, top score in the company. So he asks how I’d like to go to sniper school, join up with the Tenth Infantry at Fort Drum.” Parker smiled. “So here I am. Now what do you think of all that?”
“It’s an awful story.”
“Yeah, but not all of it.”
“No, not all of it,” Linda said quietly.
“So we better get you back to the highway, Ms. Reyes. We’ll drop you off about a half mile before the pavement. We’ll need a head start, right? Oh, and I’ll leave your cell phone at the base of the signpost.” He held out his hand.
“Why leave her the cell phone?” Parker’s companion spoke from the rear of the vehicle.
“Because Ms. Reyes understands better now how things stand.” He held his finger to his lips. “Don’t say anything, Ms. Reyes. We’ll just have to trust to luck.”
21
•
“All right now, let me see if I have this straight. You borrowed Kevin’s jeep so you could meet up with Cece and Eddie Saturday afternoon.”
Linda nodded. “That’s right. It was for the article about Cece and hunting for lost mines in the Mojave Desert. I already told you about it.”
“Then what?”
They were in Linda’s cabin in back of the Joshua Tree Athletic Club. Frank sat on an antique oak rocking chair. Linda sat with her legs crossed leaning against the iron and brass frame of her bed.
“You already asked me that, Frank. The jeep quit, the storm came, so I waited with the vehicle.”
“Then Parker and his accomplice show up.”
“Yes, Parker shows up and gives me a ride close to the highway. I found my cell phone, just where he said he’d leave it, but there’s no signal there.”
“And the last time you saw him he was headed west.”
“Right.” She shot him a hard look. “We’ve been over it. God, this isn’t an interrogation, is it? I got into the car with him—them—because I didn’t recognize him. He looked different, no beard, dark glasses, and a stupid hat.”
“What did he want? I mean, do you think he was looking for you?”
“No! It was bad luck. Bad timing. He wanted to know if I’d written up anything about the Sandman.”
“Have you?”
“No, Frank, not until he’s captured. I’m not going to give him what he wants.”
“He won’t let himself be taken. Snipers are usually tortured if they’re captured alive. He’ll go out taking people with him.”
Linda’s face was drawn. “He said he had another chapter for me. Then he told me about killing that man who shot the vulture.” She let out a breath. “I think he’s very angry—but not crazy.” She shook her head. “He’s too deliberate to be crazy, you know, out of control. The way he described it, so calm and matter-of-fact. It was as if he were giving a report.” She looked up. “His friend is creepy. He told me he was the one watching me through the scope.” She shuddered.
He crossed the room and touched her cheek. “It’s okay. You’re home. And you’re right about him. He’s not mentally ill, maybe sick at heart, but not unbalanced in any legal sense.” He drew her to him. “Stay out of the desert for a while, okay?”
He felt her tense up.
“No, Frank, not okay. Why would you put restrictions on me? Do you think I should sit here in my cabin until he goes away? How about Cece Flowers? Did you ask her to stay out of the desert, give up looking for her mine?”
Their eyes locked. He didn’t respond.
“That’s what I thought. The answer is no. So does being with you mean I have to check in with you to make sure life is safe?”
Frank slowly shook his head. “No. No, it doesn’t, but I think we both have to think about the other person, the consequences of what we do—both of us,” he reiterated.
“That’s fair. I think that’s fair—both of us.” She gave him a tight smile. “I’ll be just as careful as you are.”
“You’re a difficult woman, Linda Reyes,” he said, his face somber. He let out a breath. “So did he say where he left the wounded man and the man he killed?” Frank said, changing the subject.
“He said to tell you to look for a track leading off to the left about a mile before you reach the turnoff to Talc Mine Road and to watch for the purifiers.” Her face pulled into a quizzical expression. Frank thought it made her look like a little girl, but now wasn’t the time to say so; perhaps never was the time to say so.
“He meant the vultures. Their Latin name means purifier.” Frank began pacing back and forth in her one-room cabin. “Anything else?”
“That’s an awful story about the cow. God, people can be cruel.”
Frank cut her off. “It’s not important.”
“He told me about it, how it wandered onto the shooting range and some of the soldiers shot it. He said it tried to get up, but they kept shooting at it, until it quit moving. He said you were very angry, especially because you were in charge of the shooting range.”
“Range master,” Frank said quietly.
“He said you called the men who did it cowards and offered to fight anyone who’d shot at the cow. That you told them to forget about your stripes, that you would wait for them at the motor pool, and that this very tough soldier from San Pedro, who had been a dockworker, came to fight you.”
“Bob Stuller,” Frank murmured.
Linda met Frank’s eyes. “He said you were quic
k, but Stuller was too big for you. After a while, Stuller kept knocking you down, and you kept getting up. Just like the cow. Even Stuller told you to stay down, but you didn’t. Parker said the others were ashamed and that after that, no one shot at anything except the targets. Why didn’t you ever tell me about this?” Linda said.
“That one of my men beat the shit out of me?” Frank gave a mirthless smile. “Not a high point.”
“Yes it was. You stood up for the right thing.” Linda caught his hand.
Frank gave a dry laugh. “I didn’t save the cow.” He made a sour face. “Besides, I was training them to kill things. There’s the weird part.” He gave her a humorless grin. “Flynn’s rule: No killing cows, just people.”
“That’s what Parker said, that you had killed people in combat.” She gave him the quizzical look.
“Parker kills people—and not in combat,” Frank replied, deflecting the question. “People he thinks deserve to die. He decides they should be killed; then he kills them. Who appointed him, damn it? He’s a soldier gone bad, and I helped train him. Don’t forget he has a list of people he plans to get rid of.” Frank looked to Linda for confirmation. “He thought of the dead poachers as a gift to a pal for old times’ sake. I’m not a bloody executioner, I’m a cop. Damn the day I met him.” He stopped pacing and turned to Linda. “He’s going to wind up dead, death by cop, most likely.”
Linda squeezed his hand. “That’s what I told him.”
Frank barely smiled. “You take your chances, don’t you?”
“He wasn’t angry about it. He seemed sad.”
Frank absently rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Maybe that’s what he wants, to go out in a blaze of glory. Well, he knows better than that, better than anybody. There’s no glory in dying.”
22
•
“How’re you doing, Mr. Tucker? They said you wanted to talk with me.”
“You know where Jack’s at?” Tucker’s large, angular body seemed to take up most of the cell.
Frank smiled. “Matter of fact, I do. I picked him up from Animal Control on the way over here. He’s in my truck.”
Tucker stared at Frank, willing him to go on.
“In the cab of my truck with a bowl of water,” Frank said.
Tucker nodded and relaxed his grip on the bars. “Thanks, Flynn.”
Frank nodded. “Sure. He’ll be okay, Mr. Tucker. Jack’s doin’ fine. Seems to like riding in the truck.”
“Yeah, I should’ve called him Willie. You know, ‘On the Road Again’ Willie.” The thick growth on Tucker’s face twitched, which Frank supposed was a smile. Then Tucker’s bushy brows knit together into a V-shaped hedge. “I was hoping maybe you could do me a favor.” He stared out from under the hedge. “Could you take a run up to my place, throw the animals some hay, feed the chickens?”
Frank nodded. “Yeah, I think I can find a way to do that.”
“Maybe you could check on the water setup, too. Make sure the rains didn’t wash it out or fill it with mud.” He searched Frank’s face, trying to make up his mind about something. “There’s a water tank behind my place with a line leading over to the sheds. Got it set up with a float valve to water the animals.”
Frank smiled inwardly. Zeke Tucker had figured him for a soft touch on the first read. “I’m headed up that way tomorrow. I’ll look in on your place.”
Tucker’s bushy head bobbed once in acknowledgment. “Thanks, Flynn. Appreciate it.”
Frank waited for him to go on. “That it, Mr. Tucker?”
“Didn’t shoot those assholes.”
Frank tilted his head to one side. “Thing is, you had a .270 in your van. The poachers were killed with a .270.”
“How’d they know that? The slug probably would have disintegrated too much to get a ballistics match.”
Frank was taken aback. “You know about that stuff, Mr. Tucker?”
“Know about a lot of stuff. If it’s in a book, people can know about it.” He paused. “So how’d they know it was a .270?”
“The shooter left a casing behind. We can match that to the firing pin. Did you know that, Mr. Tucker?”
“Nope, but it figures. Getting harder and harder for decent criminals to prosper. Except for the suits. The suits steal us blind. Right, Mr. Flynn?”
“The pen is mightier than the firearm.”
Tucker laughed. “Swords into ballpoint pens. Amen.” The blue eye glittered. “Only I’d make it the computer, the computer is mightier. Dancing screens and crooked geeks run the show. For, yea, He will smite the thief, hip and thigh! Didn’t He drive the moneychangers from the temple?” Tucker let go of the bars and retreated to the cement bench and thin mattress. “Good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah, the casing won’t match, and I’ll be outta here.”
Frank nodded. “Didn’t think it would.” He dropped his eyes. “I do wonder why you’d be fool enough to run around with a loaded .270 in your truck when you know the law is out looking for a shooter.”
Tucker chuckled. “Man’d be a fool to run around with an unloaded .270.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “First off, if I was looking for poachers carrying rifles, it’d be sorta dumb to go unarmed.” His eyes popped open. “Notice you don’t run around bare, right? Pack that army issue .45. Out there by yourself, hell, anything could happen. Well, I do the same. Only I haven’t got a badge, so I’m more likely to get shot.”
Frank didn’t bother explaining how vulnerable BLM law enforcement was, how often they were attacked, shot at, even killed.
Tucker went on. “You were the man who told me to keep a lookout.”
“I didn’t say anything about hunting them down. Thought I said something about keeping an eye out.”
“That’s what I was doing, just keeping my eye out.” He closed the brown eye in a slow wink and lifted a finger to the glittering blue one. “Man needs protection out there.”
“Mr. Tucker, I think you might do okay with sticks and stones.”
Tucker squinted. “Break your bones. I get the point.” Tucker let his eyelids droop. The hedge above his eyes parted and merged upward into the shaggy mane. “Say, when will they know about the casing?”
“That’s a problem, Mr. Tucker. The FBI is handling the forensics, so I guess it depends on how important they think it is and how stacked up they are.” Frank frowned. “And when they’re willing to admit they’re wrong.”
“Hell’s fire and damnation! Who’s going to take care of my place?”
“I was just going to ask you that.”
Tucker plunged a thick finger into the hair at the side of his head where an ear would probably be and twisted it back and forth. “Let me think about it.” He worked at the ear some more. “Can you think of anyone who’d like to pick up a few bucks, Flynn? I can pay.”
“That’ll help.” Frank thought about Eddie and wished he knew where he was. His watch said almost ten. Too late to drive back to the caboose. He’d give Linda a call and stay at her place in Red Mountain. “I’ll be in touch and let you know how things are with your animals.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you something.” Tucker said.
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“There’s a guy in a mine shaft over the east side of Cerro Gordo.”
“What do you mean, guy in a mine shaft?”
Tucker’s whiskers moved around. “Drove his truck right down into a mine shaft. Must’ve thought he was one of the bats living down there. Stuck his truck about twenty feet down.” He chuckled. “Jack found him. Started barking down the mine shaft. Jack don’t bark for nothing. Don’t know how long he’s been down there, but he’s pretty pissed off. I hollered down at him, and he started cussing up a blue streak. Never heard anything like it. I told him to take it easy, but he just got worse. Everyone uses rough language now and then, but I don’t hold with taking the Lord’s name in vain.” Tucker nodded to himself. “So finally I told him to knock it off. Then he started
cussing me. Well, I told him I didn’t have to stick around and listen to that kind of language, so I left.”
“Did he say his name? Was anyone with him?”
“He said his name was Eddie. I didn’t get the last name. He was a mean-mouthed man. Anyway, I was gonna get ahold of you; then that FBI guy and the Jesus fella from your outfit arrested me.”
“Why didn’t you tell them about the man in the mine shaft?”
“That FBI guy pissed me off. Damn near took a shot at Jack.” He glowered up at Frank. “Been the last thing he ever shot at.”
“Tell me again where you found the truck.”
“About two miles past where the White Mountain Talc Road joins the Cerro Gordo Road. You know, where the old head frame for the talc mine is. I saw where tracks were plowin’ all over the hill, and Jack and me went to take a look. Like I said, Jack found him.”
Frank nodded. “The Hazlitt talc mine?”
“That’s the one. Big old hole in the ground there.”
Frank pulled the cell phone from his belt and punched the autodial for the BLM station headquarters. “Dave. Listen, we’ve got a line on one of the missing people. I’ve been talking with Mr. Tucker. He says somebody stuck a truck down the main shaft of the Hazlitt talc mine, over on the back side of Cerro Gordo.” He hesitated. “I think it’s Eddie Laguna.” Frank nodded. “Yeah, I will. See you in about”—he glanced at his watch—“half an hour.” Frank turned back to Tucker. “Was there only one person down there?”
“That’s all I saw or heard, but it was dark as hell down in that hole.”
“Well, I’ve got to go. It appears a friend of mine is stuck down in a mine shaft, a guy named Eddie Laguna. That’s the mean-mouth’s last name.”
“Huh, I’ll be darned. Well, thanks for taking care of my place and watching out for Jack.” Tucker stuck a large bony hand through the bars. Frank looked at the hand attached to the very large Zeke Tucker on the other side of the metal grating. He met Tucker’s eyes and took the proffered hand. “That’s okay, Mr. Tucker. Least I could do. Oh, and if I’m right, Mr. Tucker, the man in the mine shaft is the man I was going to ask to take care of your place.” Frank grinned. “You two have a lot in common.”
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