by Dave Conifer
“Just leave the plates,” he said. “I’ll clean them later. I got time.” While he collected the trash in an empty grocery bag she gathered the food cartons and shoved them into the refrigerator, which was still groaning away.
“At least you’re set for breakfast,” she said.
“Yeah, I’ll be eatin’ good in the morning, that’s for sure.”
“This place is pretty damn dirty,” she said. “I’d work on it but I need to get back.”
“I got nothing but time,” he said. “I’ll get on it.”
“Next time I’m out I’ll help,” she promised.
“Say, what do you think Ricky was lookin’ to tell me?” Fargo asked. “You got any idea?”
“He wouldn’t say. I got a feeling he’ll find a way to get out here tomorrow. Once he sets his mind he doesn’t give up, and he’s set his mind on helping you. He probably saw something in those papers I gave him.”
“Are you coming tomorrow, too?”
“Do you want me to?’
“Well, yeah, course I do,” he said, staring at the floor.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Damn sure,” he said, looking directly at her. “I wish you didn’t have to leave tonight.”
“Me too,” she said, smiling. “I like you, Billy.”
“I like you, too.”
“We’re a coupla’ misfits, ain’t we?” she asked, playfully.
“Speak for yourself,” he said.
“I better go,” she told him. “Be careful while I’m gone, okay? Don’t take any chances.”
“What in hell could I do?” he laughed.
“Just stay inside. You might be a wanted man by now. I want you to still be here when I come back.” She kissed him on the mouth, her lips lingering for a second or two. After the kiss was over she pulled away and walked out the door. He hated the taste of cigarettes ever since he’d quit, but it felt good anyway.
~~~
It turned out there was a TV in the cabin after all. It was jammed behind an empty log rack by the fireplace, looking like it hadn’t been used in a long time, but the power cord and a thick black cable that disappeared behind the plain couch gave him hope that it might still work. Sure enough, it blinked to life after he hoisted it from the floor and positioned it on the coffee table. It even gets CNN, he noted with pleasure after figuring out how to change the channels.
Will you look at these fairies, he grumbled as he watched two men at a console, both shaved, groomed and dressed immaculately. Even the girl looks like a freak. Their skin is fucking orange. A graphic over their shoulders told him that some kind of election event had just happened and they were there to tell him what to think. Actually, they had a point. He’d been gone so long he didn’t have a clue. Wouldn’t hurt to check it out. He turned up the volume and settled in to let these guys with the plastic hair tell him what happened at the Chicago Showdown. And the girl, too.
John St. Michael: We had all seven of the Republican candidates who are still in the race here with us in Chicago tonight. There are 76 electoral votes at stake in the Super Tuesday primaries and that’s just four days away. Was tonight a pivot point, Susan?
Susan Baxter: John, I’d say it was, at least for the lower tier candidates. This was their last chance to break out of the bottom, so to speak, and get some attention.
JSM: And some votes.
SB: Right, and some votes. That’s not a problem that the Big Three have. Ron Marshall, Sara Litchfield and Mike Minot are all positioned to win it. It’s just a matter of which will follow through and go all the way. Their mission was different. They didn’t need to gain ground, just make sure they didn’t lose any.
JSM: Do you see it that way, Dan?
Dan Dickinson: Yes, I do, John. I think Susan’s got it exactly right, and that’s how everybody worked it tonight. The Big Three played it safe. There weren’t any bombshells or surprises from them. All they needed to do was to avoid any gaffes and not lose their own bases. The others know it’s desperation time, so we saw some personal attacks from them, and a little more fireworks in general.
JSM: We’re up against a break here. Susan, what’s going to happen on Super Tuesday? Who wins and what will it mean?
DD: I think Mike Minot is gaining momentum and I think it’ll continue next time out when the polls open. I see him winning the lion’s share of votes on Tuesday. That puts him in the driver’s seat. After that I think Marshall and Litchfield will both have to make a move. Maybe start attacking Minot directly, pick a VP candidate that might draw some votes away from Minot, or we might even see the two of them team up on a ticket.
JSM: Susan?
SB: That sounds about right. Overall, I think the Republicans should be happy with Minot. He’s a good candidate for November. A lot of times, the one who wins the GOP primaries is too far to the right to win a general election. Minot’s a right-winger, but he’s got some appeal to the white middle class males that the Democrats are probably counting on.
JSM: We’ll be right back.
~~~
Kevin Morris shook his head after reading the phone message that somebody had taken for him on the old-fashioned pink notepad they still used behind the pharmacy counter. This wasn’t going away. Just before his shift began he’d been cornered in the parking lot and grilled by a guy who looked a lot like Hulk Hogan. Now Gail Mankato wanted him to call, after they hadn’t talked for nearly ten years. He folded the slip and shoved it into the pocket of his white lab coat. They were too busy filling prescriptions now, but he’d give her a call when it settled down some. Whatever she wanted, he at least owed her that.
~~~
“You’ll be right back, but I won’t be,” Fargo said out loud to the TV. It had been a long day. He turned it off and headed into the kitchen, where most of the bags that Joanie had brought in were sitting untouched on the counter. For twenty minutes he put things away, an easy task because the cabin was completely empty. After that he’d planned on tinkering with the computer, but instead he curled up on the mattress, wrapped himself in one of the blankets he’d deposited there, and went to sleep.
~~~
Ryne Colfax muted the TV halfway through the commentary and thought about what to do next. There was a call to make. He was about to dial when the phone in his pocket began to vibrate, just after he’d bundled up and left the house for a walk.
“What’s the status?”
“You did good tonight,” Colfax told him. “Everybody thought so. They can’t stop kissing your ass on Fox.”
“Yeah, yeah. They’re doing the same thing here. But first things first. What’s going on?”
Colfax steeled himself because the news he was about to deliver wasn’t good. “Not as much as I hoped. He’s somewhere in Pennsylvania now, we think. That’s out of our reach. It’s not like it used to be for us. We have to go through channels this time. It’s only been a few hours.”
“That’s not what I was hoping to hear, Colfax. We need to get a lid on this thing before it blows up.”
“Those are just words. Making it happen is a whole different ballgame. We rushed this,” he explained. “We shouldn’t have called him in until the new charges were in place. The AG won’t do anything special until that’s set up. And other states aren’t going to help until charges are filed. Right now he’s just another parole violator. Nobody cares. We should have waited a few more days.”
“I was hoping you might think outside the box on this one. Like you used to do.”
“That was a lot easier back then,” Colfax said. “I had a little more clout, mostly because of you.”
“Are you telling me that nothing has happened at all? This guy’s out there somewhere like a ticking time bomb? Why aren’t you as pissed off as I am about this?”
“So he’s out there, big deal,” Colfax countered. “He doesn’t know anything.”
“It doesn’t matter what he knows, it only matters that he and his friends are asking too many questi
ons.” He paused. “I have to tell you, if I thought there was any chance we couldn’t keep this under control, I would have thought twice about running. Now it’s too late. Even if I withdraw, the press won’t stop until they know why.”
“I seriously doubt that anything would have stopped you from running,” challenged Colfax. “You think you’re the first person in the world who didn’t sit home because they had some skeletons in their closet?”
“All I know is that as soon as the media gets a whiff it’ll be over for me. I thought you had it covered.”
Colfax sighed. “There’s a lot of red tape to get through.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said about thinking outside the box? Take care of this yourself. Don’t worry about going through channels. It’s not like you haven’t done that before.”
“Look, you might have to be on your own on this one,” Colfax said. “I don’t know what more I can do. I’ll keep trying, but as far as I’m concerned you and I are squared up. I’m not throwing my career down the toilet for this.”
“Your career? Where do you think that came from? Oh, no. You’re not walking away from this,” the voice warned. “You might own me, but I own you, too. You turn your back on me and you won’t even see it coming, trust me.”
“Is that a threat?” Colfax asked.
“You’re goddamned right it is. Don’t give me any shit about your career. Everything you have you got from me. And if I want to, I can take it all away. Bogus promotions, misuse of funds, perjury to the grand jury, and that’s off the top of my head without checking my files. No, you’re not bailing out on me. You’ve got a wife and kids depending on you. Don’t forget that.”
He’s got files? Colfax felt like his throat was about to clench up. He’d wanted out of this for a long time, but he’d just laid all his cards on the table and it hadn’t been enough. He would not be released. He was still owned.
“Colfax! You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“I’ve got to do some interviews. Stick with me, you hear? We’re all under a lot of pressure right now. Just stay calm and get this done. Do whatever it takes. Then I think it’ll all be over, for both of us. I’ll be in a good place. And that means you’ll be in a good place, too.”
-- Chapter 14 --
The rising sun managed to find a direct line through the leafless forest and in the window over his bed the next morning. Sunrise was just too early to start his day without putting up a fight. Re-wrapping himself in the mishmash of blankets, he struggled to stay asleep, but gave up just before seven o’clock. It was going to be a long one. So be it. There was plenty to do around the cabin, so long as he didn’t mind a little housekeeping. Joanie had already told him what to do.
He didn’t go to the trouble of heating the leftovers for breakfast. He didn’t even take them out of the containers. Instead, he forked it directly out of the cartons, tossing them into the trash as he emptied them. The cabin felt warmer than the night before, but the dusting of snow outside was a reminder that it was winter cold out there.
For a few minutes after breakfast he wandered around the place with some Endust and a paper towel, but gave up on cleaning as soon as he found that his hands were empty and he couldn’t remember where he left the spray can. Cleaning just wasn’t his bag. By then it was eleven-thirty and he was already thinking about what to eat for lunch, how many cops were out on the streets looking for him, and mostly, how soon Joanie would be back. He thought about turning on the TV, but instead stretched out on the musty couch, tucking his cold feet under one of the cushions.
When he heard the crunch of wheels on the dirt road in front of the cabin he assumed the worst. Less than twenty-four hours and he’d already been found. For the first time he realized how strongly he felt about his private pledge to die instead of going back to prison, and regretted his failure to prepare himself to make that choice if it came to that. It didn’t seem to be an option at the moment, so he looked for a way to escape. So far he hadn’t come across any other doors except the one out front, and this wasn’t the time to start looking. Back in the bedroom, he pushed open a window and climbed through, his foot catching on the sill enough to send him tumbling to the ground.
He heard a car door slam as he scurried behind a clump of evergreens. One slam. One door. One person. The cops wouldn’t come one man at a time. Hell, they wouldn’t come one car at a time. This wasn’t the cops. He crept around the house, icy twigs snapping painfully beneath his bare feet. The vehicle he’d heard was a huge red pickup truck, turned out with glistening chrome exhaust pipes underneath the running boards on each side. Definitely eight cylinders, definitely owned by a serious badass, and definitely civilian. Just before he reached the front corner of the cabin he heard his visitor banging at the front door with a heavy fist.
The long blond ponytail splayed across the shoulders of the camo hunting jacket left no doubt who he was, even before he heard the voice calling his name. Ricky Willmar laughed out loud after turning to see Fargo standing barefoot in the snow. Fargo forced a smile as best he could despite his anger about being surprised, remembering with appreciation that it was Willmar that had provided the hideaway cabin.
“What the hell are you doing?” Willmar yelled over.
Fargo hobbled toward him as fast as he could until he was on the porch. “You scared the piss out of me,” he said. “I thought you were the cops.”
“Far from it,” Willmar said. “I made sure they couldn’t follow me, either. Drove all the way to Flemington and borrowed this truck. Nice, huh?”
“I gotta’ get back inside,” Fargo answered. “Come on in.”
“Hold on,” Willmar said. “I got some stuff in the truck. You’re gonna want to see this.”
“Yeah, Joanie told me you had something for me. Hey, did you bring a phone? I was thinking about giving her a call.” Willmar shook his head no before returning to the truck. Fargo went inside after wiping his feet as best he could on the crumbling rubber doormat. The cold breeze coming from the back of the cabin reminded him to go close the bedroom window. Willmar was inside by the time he was back.
“I made sure to leave my phone behind. People can be tracked by cell phones,” Willmar said as he waited with a bundle of paperwork under his arm. “Even if they think they turned off the GPS chip. That’s why Osama Bin Laden never had one with him after he knew he was being hunted.” He looked sideways at Fargo. “Do you even know who that is? I guess you were in prison when all that happened. You know, the World Trade Center in New York?”
“I wasn’t in a dungeon,” Fargo said. “I heard about 9-11 just like everybody else.”
“Well, anyway, I didn’t want to risk it so I turned my phone off and left it in my own truck back in Flemington,” Willmar said. “I’m taking all kinds of precautions, now that I know somebody’s got their eye on me.”
“I know the feeling,” Fargo said.
“Joanie already told me she’s coming out after work. And there isn’t much work for her to do anyway, since I’m not there. I’d guess she’ll be here by dinner time. Hey, she digs, you, brother. Talks about you a lot.”
“She’s a nice lady,” Fargo said as he eyed the bundle under Willmar’s arm. “What’s that?”
“A nice lady?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Okay,” Willmar said, trying not to smile. “To the file, then. Most of this is actually your own papers,” Willmar explained. “I picked it up off Joanie. I got a lot to show you, Billy. I don’t mean to scare you, but if I’m right, you’re in it pretty deep. Why don’t we go to the table?” he suggested.
Fargo waited a moment and then followed him into the kitchen. While Willmar plopped his pack of paper on the table, Fargo spun a chair around and straddled it, resting his elbows on its back with his fists under his chin. “That’s a lot of paper.”
“Are you ready for this?” Willmar asked. “Because we’re going to be here a while. You’ll have to fill
me in on a few things. I don’t know much about the fire at Gail Mankato’s house. Not as much as I do about your rape conviction, thanks to that file. That’s raw stuff, man, straight from the prosecutor’s office. I didn’t know that stuff was available.”
“I spent three years fillin’ out forms in prison before I got any of it,” Fargo said. “Mostly I did it because they let you sit in the legal center lookin’ at it for as long as you want. It was the safest damn place to be. And they got air conditioning there.”
“There you go. Now, there’s one common denominator between the two cases. I mean, besides the fact that they both happened the same night.”
“The same night, and the same cop,” Fargo said.
“That’s where I’m going with this,” Willmar said. “I remember what you were saying before. I didn’t feel you back then, but now I do. How in hell does the same cop show up at two different felonies, two different jurisdictions, but involving the same perp, on the same night? It just doesn’t ring true. In fact, it’s fucking absurd, man. Are you hiding something? Who are you? How the hell did you get railroaded on this?”
“Don’t get me started,” Fargo snapped back. “That’s why I been waitin’ all these years! To get out and nail that son of a bitch cop! And Mankato, too, the guy who put him up to it.” He sighed. “But fuck it, now I’d settle for living my life out in peace. I wish I’d forgotten about getting my revenge and just started over, just like everybody told me. Then I wouldn’t be hiding in the fuckin’ woods. Life’s hard enough already.”
“I know a lot of Jersey state troopers,” Willmar continued. “And let me tell you, off the record, most of ‘em had plenty to say about Ryne Colfax. And none of it good. Well, not much, anyway.”