by T. F. Walsh
“I’ve only the two. Nurse administrator for the Care Center pays the bills. Mayor is definitely part-time hours and in my view more or less an experiment in public relations.” Kathy raised a piece of crisp bacon to her mouth. “Has anyone . . . well, he’s running late today.”
Laura turned her head and smiled at Uncle Daryl.
“Two of my favorite women in the same place. How thoughtful of you.” He leaned over and brushed a kiss on Laura’s cheek. A moment later, he repeated the gesture for Kathy before adding a few whispered words.
Daryl has a sweetheart? Laura didn’t remember any serious mention of women in his life. Maybe retirement allowed him to develop more than church organist duties. A quick glance at the other patrons showed her they paid no special attention to the whispered conversation between the mayor and her uncle.
“Do you want to join us?” Kathy began to slide over on the bench.
“No, no, continue as before. Don’t want to disturb your discussion.” He frowned at his phone. “Just pick up where you were saying nice things about me.”
“We’ve more interesting things to discuss than you, Mr. Mysterious.” Kathy waved him away. “Be careful I don’t find a dull needle for your next vaccination.”
“I tremble at the mention of it.” His smile stayed at odds with his words.
“How well do you know each other?” Laura busied her hands with her napkin. The thoughts pushing in from the edges of her mind were not for public viewing and didn’t fit her images of her uncle. “Or perhaps I shouldn’t ask.”
“Some days I don’t think anyone’s capable of knowing that man. Then again, we’ve managed to survive each other’s teasing since I started school. He and my older brother were best pals.”
Laura nodded but held back asking about her brother. She kept her gaze moving across the entire counter as Daryl perched on the stool next to Myles. Loving him as her uncle was the easy part. Understanding or predicting him proved more difficult than capturing fog in your hands. “You started to ask me a question?”
“Yes, we’re having a charity basketball game tonight. I wanted to be sure you received an invitation. It’s the winter fundraiser for emergency services. The other event is during the annual summer fling the first weekend of August.”
“I noticed a couple of posters.”
Laura continued to participate in conversation at the table but remained aware of Daryl exchanging a few comments with Myles. She managed to lip read only a word here and there, not near enough to find a topic to their discussion. Amy turned away with their empty plates at the very instant Laura shivered in a wisp of cold air. One glance confirmed Myles was on his way to the door before the bell announced his departure. I have too much imagination. Only the exterior shell is Scott’s double.
• • •
The slender man stomped traces of snow from his shoes on the top step. Loitering on Wagoner side streets was not an option. He doubted that anyone would take special note of a man in a dark coat entering a business two blocks from the courthouse. But a person didn’t last in his business without special precautions. He took one more breath of cold air before he straightened his shoulders, pulled open the door, and stepped inside the travel agency.
The lone visible employee of S&T Travel acknowledged his presence with one hand and continued her phone call.
He occupied the next moments by removing his gloves and studying one of the bright posters. Advertising for a cruise along the west coast of Mexico dominated one wall in bright colors. The location did hold a certain appeal. Beaches and sunshine won imagination battles over fresh snow hiding brown grass every time. He sighed and pictured himself on a different warm beach—in a country without a common border or extradition treaty with the United States.
“How may I help you today?”
“Take this to Harvey.” He pushed a business card across the counter. “I’ll wait.”
He knew the opinion she formed of him with his dark hair, fresh shave, black dress pants and polished shoes as her gaze moved over him.
With the slightest shrug and a neutral mouth, she glanced out the front window before slipping through the door marked “private.”
He counted her footsteps up the stairs and closed his eyes at the creak of a chair overhead. His imagination pictured Harvey. The older man would keep his face bland while sucking on his pipe. He’d pretend not to recognize the business card until she gave him a complete and precise physical description. Cold sweat crept through his shirt. What if Harvey refused to see him? The man could afford to be selective in clientele.
He ignored the twitch below his stomach. His physical condition worsened. Soon it would interfere with his concentration. And he’d have to stay with honest work.
No, not that. Big Eddie and his associates didn’t allow semi-retirement. A man was either in or out. Working or vanished. He swallowed down multiplying doubts. He could do this. He’d accumulated plenty in his sheltered accounts to live a decent life for a decade or two.
And if Harvey increased his fee? He could manage. His ready resources had built up tenfold since his previous visit. Price faded in importance to cooperation and a quality product.
At the soft creak of the interior door, he turned from staring out to a peaceful street scene.
“Father will see you.” Disapproval transformed the woman’s face to a weary frown. “Remember to leave through the back.”
Two minutes later, he stepped into a plain office and pulled the door firmly closed. He moved his gaze past a narrow line of smoke rising from a pipe in a round glass dish to the thin, elderly man profiled at the window.
“How long has it been?” Harvey drew a white handkerchief from his pocket and began to polish his half glasses.
“Two years, one month, and three days. I remember you like to be precise.”
“I suppose I should feel a certain satisfaction in that. What do you want to be called?”
He licked his upper lip. His nerves threatened to betray him. He blinked to banish the image of the new unwelcome resident in his adopted home. One of them had to leave the village. If he didn’t slip the wrong word into an unavoidable conversation then she’d pick up something from that infernal grapevine. He needed a secondary option in place, ready at a moment’s notice if his secrets began to unravel. Harvey controlled his access to that sort of insurance policy. “Jason Young would be nice. He’ll require the complete package for international travel.”
“It’ll cost you.”
Only in dollars. He unbuttoned his coat, reached into a pocket, and held up a plain thick envelope. “Unofficial copy of my birth certificate, my biography, and down payment in used Benjamins.”
“How complete is that biography?” Harvey picked up the pipe and drew cherry flavored tobacco to a glow without losing eye contact.
“Jason travelled to France last summer. I added a little pleasure to my business with a weekend in London. My ex-wife re-married and lives in Dallas.”
“And what sort of business does Mr. Young travel for?”
“Brewing.” Jason kept remnants of truth in all his identity selections. The late Mr. Young worked for a malting company currently owned by a French food conglomerate. As to the ex-wife, well, that marriage ended in an uncontested divorce a dozen years ago and she’d not cared enough to attend his funeral.
Harvey accepted the envelope and thumbed through the contents. “Current address?”
“How does Minneapolis sound?” Jason managed a small smile for the master forger.
“Premium work will make this a one-third down payment.”
Jason nodded agreement. Certain things a person in his position didn’t argue. He would resist Harvey’s timing if it didn’t suit him. Disputing price with a man known in the proper circles for quality could only bring trouble.
“Over there.” Harvey gestured to a bookcase and removed a camera from a lower desk drawer. “We’ll need different poses for passport and driver’s license.”
Chapter Seven
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The familiar sound of a basketball game in progress ratcheted Laura’s heart rate and attention up a notch. Athletic shoes squeaking against hardwood floor vanished in the shouts of a crowd. She breathed in the scent of serious exercise seeping from the gymnasium and worked to keep her smile internal.
How long? Too long? Fourteen or fifteen months at least since she and Scott worked up a Sunday evening appetite with a game of one-on-one in the driveway. She focused on the fresh green cougar stamped on her hand and willed her mind to skip further back.
High school basketball memories gave her a solid, positive place. She contributed to the team from her placement as first or second on the bench. Her parents attended home games, arriving from work early in the second half. She wanted to call up their faces in the crowd, keep the images pleasant tonight. Instead, the instants of darkness at each blink brought back the lonely exercise of this past spring, summer, and autumn. Free throws in the driveway became exercise without joy when there was no hope Scott would appear.
“Good evening.”
Laura turned and found a small, simple smile for Marge, the village librarian. “What do you have for sale at your table?”
“Raffle tickets at a dollar each. Sign the half you drop into the jar for the prize of your choice. We’ve got a nice selection this year.”
Laura purchased her tickets and shifted her mind into new resident mode. With careful consideration, she dropped stubs into the containers for a fire extinguisher, ten gallons of gas, gift certificates from several local businesses, and an automobile winter emergency kit. She chose the final container as the buzzer sounded.
“Cats ahead by three.” A teen flung the words to Marge and continued toward the concession window.
“Cats? Who’s playing this game?” Laura had seen a poster or two around town but they listed “preliminary games” without specifics. The main event, Volunteer Fire Department challenging the Crystal Springs High School Faculty, remained half an hour away.
“Current game is seventh and eighth grade boys, public vs. St. Mathias,” Marge reported while waving at a new arrival. “That signal was end of the third quarter. Sounds like this will be a close one.”
“I better find a seat then. Don’t want to miss the ending.”
Three steps inside the gym, Laura spotted Amy on the third row. Brad’s sister waved large in her direction and she hurried to join her. A familiar face would be good.
“Saved a place for you.” Amy patted a spot of bleacher.
“I suppose you overheard Mrs. Miller urging me to attend.”
“Don’t make me reveal my sources. I also noticed you read the poster twice on your way out this morning.”
“I figured you were observant. It has to be more than luck that my coffee cup never gets below a third when you’re around.” Laura moved her attention to the court where the teams broke out of their circles to begin the final quarter.
“Brad’s one of the referees?” Laura’s attention locked in on him next to the timer’s desk.
“Yeah,” Amy replied in an easy tone. “My brother added another occupational hat to his collection at the beginning of the season. Soon he’ll need a larger closet to hold them all.”
Real estate salesman. Freelance journalist. Basketball official. Laura ticked off the jobs revealed to her in these few days and opened her mouth to ask about others when Amy broke the silence.
“Brad never seems content with only one of something. He wants multiple jobs, multiple guns—”
“Multiple girls?” Laura blurted.
“Not to my knowledge. But then, I’m the sister.”
And I have no business asking. Laura felt her fair-skinned neck heat. “Sorry. My mouth got ahead of the brain for a moment.”
“No harm. He’s never brought a girl home to Mother.” Amy chuckled. “As to the mind and tongue coordination. If I had a quarter . . . ”
Laura focused her mind on the game and began to filter Amy’s rambling narrative. Ten youth and two adult figures moved from one end of the court to the other, swirled around the basket, and dashed off in the opposite direction.
“They’re putting in Eric.”
“Who?”
“My youngest, number eight,” Amy pointed at a public school player.
Laura began to pay special attention to a youth with a mop of sandy hair falling low enough to brush his eyebrows as he trotted down the court. His long arms and thin body with uneven coordination fit her memory of Brad during her last few summer visits.
Her gaze shifted back and forth between uncle and nephew as they dashed around the floor. Once she actually lost track of the ball. Her ears tuned in to the official whistle while the scoreboard and clock faded in importance. Her attention fastened on the ball as if she moved among the players. “Go Cougars.” Amy stood and clapped as Eric took the free throw line.
Laura’s back and shoulder muscles aped Eric’s movements as he bounced the ball twice, paused, and shot. The ball caressed the backboard, hesitated, and dropped through the net.
Laura exhaled and risked a glance at the score as the spectators around her erupted in cheers. Eric’s point put the Cougars three ahead of the opponents with one minute remaining.
“He’s going to be one happy boy tonight.” Amy beamed as Eric went to the bench a few seconds later.
“Does he get much playing time?” Her attention remained on Brad tossing the ball to the sideline player. She didn’t see anything uneven in his movements as he sprinted around the teens. Shiny stainless steel yielded to flesh colored fiberglass with a hint of metal at the elbow. If he felt shy with his prosthesis exposed in the short sleeve shirt he didn’t telegraph it to the public.
Laura allowed Amy’s words to wash over her now, willing to sort out anything important later.
Brad’s movements held her attention and soon her imagination put her on a court with him. She reached out, attempted to steal the ball he controlled expertly with one large hand. Her hand swatted air. He pivoted. The ball bounced once and he released a shot.
The final buzzer burst the scenario.
• • •
Brad steadied the bottle of Gatorade on the counter with his hook and broke the seal with his right hand. An instant later, he closed his eyes in pleasure as cool lemon lime bathed his throat. He relaxed among the activity in the commons area as basketball fans took advantage of the break before the main attraction to purchase snacks, sign raffle tickets, and play the several carnival style games set up. One more game to go.
Frequent glances to the entrance failed to give him a glimpse of Laura. The last time he’d seen her was . . . at the farmhouse? Only yesterday morning? When would he get a chance to continue that conversation? Ask his own set of questions about her previous sixteen years? Well, not the obvious one, her marriage and how it ended lay out in public view.
“Evening, Myles.” He saluted the insurance man with his half empty drink.
“New shirt?”
“Keeps me from getting confused with the junior high students.” Brad mentally compared the man in front of him with the photo on Sharon Starr’s wall again and confirmed his opinion the two men could pass for brothers if not twins.
“As if that would happen. You got any particular information on the main event? Have you managed to pick up the odds in your official capacity?”
“Odds and the referee in the same sentence? That sounds like a betting man.” Every month or two, a rumor surfaced that Myles visited a bookmaker in St. Paul. Until this moment Brad considered the information interesting but now he began to weigh the amount of truth in it.
“Only a fool would wager on a charity game.” Myles came close to mixing a laugh into his words.
Brad nodded agreement and waited while Myles purchased a large square of homemade fudge. “Question for you. Ever deal with Jim’s Gun Shop outside of Wagoner?”
“He carries a lot of used
equipment.”
“Figured that much. Ad in yesterday’s paper caught my attention. Listed a re-loading press at a price that’s tempting. I’m thinking it might be worth a drive and a look see.”
“If you’re into that sort of labor, it could be a good deal.”
Brad gave a silent nod and swallowed the last of his drink. “It can get tedious, I’ll grant you. And over the counter can get pricy.”
“I get most of my ammo from the dealers at the competitions.”
“Is the public welcome to buy at those events?” Brad swung into an easy gait aimed toward the gym.
“Certainly. Rather like a miniature, mobile gun show at every match. You interested in joining us? Grapevine claims you’re good.”
“You’re smart enough to not believe what you hear in this town. But I’m good enough,” Brad tossed his empty bottle into a recycle bin. “I’ll get back to you for details in a couple of weeks. Now, it’s time for me to go earn that big paycheck the shirt represents.”
“Stripes look good on you, Asher.”
“I aim to keep them vertical.” Brad controlled the laugh at his own joke while enjoying Myles’ brief smile.
He walked along the side of the court shaking his head. Time with Daryl plus studying the private investigation trade was making him overly suspicious. Until proved otherwise, he needed to continue his belief that Myles was merely another village businessman. Insurance sales still strikes me as an unusual occupation for anyone private or reticent.
Brad reminded himself he wasn’t an expert in these things. His psychology training focused on getting a team of men to place an objective and the group above safety and self. Vocational selection didn’t enter into things months after basic training and the Army’s shuffling of personnel into specialties.
The barbershop conversation and the incident at the airport threatened to replay in detail. He pushed the thoughts back. The next time he worked at the office computer, he’d dig deeper into Brian Klipper’s background.