“Is that unusual?” I asked, my thoughts still on Santou.
“You bet it is! It usually takes forever to get through the red tape and paperwork that allows mining companies to buy the public land they’re working on,” she explained. “All I can say is this company must have powerful friends in high places. Golden Shaft barely had any waiting period at all. That’s unheard of.”
I processed the information while I collected my thoughts and drove home. There was no doubt in my mind that Annie’s death was linked to the quit claim deed. The question was, what made her claims so valuable? If they really held a mother lode of gold, it only made sense that other mining companies would have known about it, as well. But I’d been told over and over right from the start that Annie McCarthy’s claims were worthless.
As I rounded the corner to my house, I was jolted out of my thoughts by the blare of Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead saturating the neighborhood. Sitting in my driveway was a beat-up, turquoise-blue Suburban, its dented license plate hanging on by a screw, emblazoned with the words “Nuke M.” I knew it had to be Noah.
I parked my Blazer on the street and walked up to find Noah stretched out inside, with eyes closed and a silver reflector tucked under his chin. A killer ray of sunlight was aimed directly onto his face, while his bare chest heaved up and down, remnants of suntan lotion clinging onto the human blanket of fur. Jenkins’s dogs futilely hurled themselves against the chain link fence, foaming at the mouth in a frenzy.
Noah opened an eye and grinned as he sat up. “Hey there, Red. I heard you had quite the fireworks here the other night. Glad to see you’re still in one piece.”
I was beginning to wonder if the bombing had made front page news without my knowing about it.
“How did you find out?” I asked.
“Word gets around.” Noah winked as he turned down the sound. “Had breakfast yet?”
I shook my head, realizing I’d skipped dinner last night, as well.
“Since it doesn’t look like your place is fit for company these days, why don’t you hop on in and we’ll see what we can find?” he suggested.
I casually snuck a peek, just to make sure Noah wasn’t driving around nude. “You might have trouble getting in anywhere without a shirt,” I offered, not commenting on his cutoff denims and boots.
Noah elevated himself off the seat an inch and whipped a crumpled Hawaiian shirt out from under his rear end with a flourish. He put it on and pulled a pair of Ray Bans from his visor.
“Voilà! Who says you can’t take me anywhere?” he grinned.
I shook my head and laughed at the thought of what Santou would have had to say about Noah.
“Hey, gimme a break, Red. With this disguise, I’m your Everyman. Your one-hundred-percent, grade-A, all-beef, all-American tourist,” Noah defended himself. “What do you think? That you might be knocked off some society list if you’re seen with me?”
I had no illusions about that. Besides, I figured breakfast wouldn’t make or break the Cindy Crawford figure I’d been yearning for. I slipped in next to Noah.
Once out of town, we saw an IHOP, which beckoned to Noah from the other side of the road. He cut off two cars as he careened across the highway. Brakes squealed and horns blared, but Noah paid no attention. The Suburban was comfortably ensconced directly in front of the restaurant in record time.
I tried to control the trembling of my fingers as I struggled with the seat belt, having come within inches of being creamed.
“Do you always drive like a maniac?” I asked.
Noah pulled a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from under his seat and took a good slug. “No. Sometimes I drive faster. It all depends on how hungry I am.”
Obviously he had worked up quite an appetite this morning. I watched as he downed an order of scrambled eggs and blueberry pancakes along with two sides of bacon and sausage.
“You done with that?” he asked, as he reached for my plate of French toast.
“You looking to OD on cholesterol?” I asked.
“You got it,” Noah nodded.
He stuffed the remains of the French toast into his mouth as he motioned to the waitress for a fourth cup of coffee. While he leaned back to digest, I filled Noah in on Golden Shaft’s patent.
“Hmm. Interesting tidbit, Red. Especially since I’ve been hearing helicopters buzzing over that way at night lately. Sounds like a damn battalion going in and out of the place,” Noah replied.
Again with the helicopters! To protect Dee, I couldn’t reveal her information, but I was curious to hear his speculations. “Harley chalks it up to black ops. What do you think is going on?” I asked. I watched Noah add five packets of sugar to his coffee.
“Beats the hell out of me. I’ve been asking myself, what does a damn mine need helicopters for anyway?” He belched loudly.
The woman sitting in front of me turned around with a glare of disapproval as I sunk low in my seat.
“And have you come up with an answer yet?”
“Nah. It’s going on the list of ‘what is it about this hellhole called southern Nevada that attracts military bases, nuclear tests sites, McDonald’s franchises, crazy Vietnam vets, whacked-out drug dealers, and eccentric millionaires anyway?’ ” Noah grinned and wiped up the few remaining drops of maple syrup with his finger. “But what the heck— it’s home sweet home. Here, Red. You pay the bill.”
I covered the damage and joined Noah outside, where he was taking deep breaths of hot Vegas air.
“I think it’s time we took another look-see at old Golden Shaft. What do you say, Porter? Are you up for a game of hide and seek?” he asked with a wink.
Considering how my morning had begun, I figured it would be the highlight of my day. But first I insisted on stopping by Lizzie’s to pick up Pilot.
“Don’t you ever go anywhere without that damn wolf?” Noah groused.
“Not if I can help it.” I grinned. “Besides, he helps keep me out of trouble.”
“Yeah, he’s done a helluva bang-up job for you so far,” Noah dryly noted as we drove past the bombed-out front of my house.
Noah waited in the Suburban while I went inside to get Pilot. I glanced in each room, but the dog was nowhere in sight. Checking out the kitchen window, I finally found him in the backyard, busy plowing his way under Lizzie’s cyclone fence. I opened the back door and whistled, but that wasn’t enough to get his attention.
“Hey, Pilot! Want to go for a ride?” I called out.
Those must have been the magic words. Pilot stopped and pulled his nose out of a hole that was beginning to resemble a tunnel to China. Bounding over, he jumped up and licked my face.
“It looks like it’s just you and me again, Pilot,” I whispered, scratching behind his ears as I thought of Santou.
Pilot jumped in the back of the van and leaned over the front seat. His paws rested on the crumpled Hawaiian shirt as he sniffed Noah’s face.
“Jesus, Porter! This mutt’s paws are filthy! And I just cleaned my van. To say nothing of my own personal appearance.” Noah huffed.
I looked at the strewn coffee cups and empty beer bottles, the Cheez Doodle crumbs that were ground into the van’s decrepit gold shag carpet, and let go of my normal guilt.
“You call this clean?”
“For me, this is immaculate.” Noah shoved the Suburban into gear.
The sun poured through the windows, baking my skin like a piece of white toast, as Noah tore down the highway. I sat back and enjoyed riding shotgun for once. I willed my mind to go blank, letting the desert work its magic on me.
We drove out of Vegas, through Henderson, and turned south toward Searchlight, as a delicious sense of freedom crept up through my toes, past my legs, and into my arms and fingers, until my whole body tingled. I gazed out the window, and the barrenness of the desert made a surprise attack. Though the air was ringing with silence, I knew that the land was as alive as Las Vegas would ever be.
The sound of gunshots broke
through my reverie. I jerked sharply forward and then fell back with a thud, nearly giving myself whiplash. Looking out the window, I saw we were still on the highway and realized I’d fallen asleep. We passed a junker of a car that backfired loudly, repeating what I had heard in my dream.
Noah turned to me and grinned. “Someone walking on your grave, Porter?”
“I’m still a little jumpy after the other night, is all,” I explained, annoyed at my case of nerves.
Noah removed the bottle of Jack Daniel’s from between his legs. “Here. Take a slug of this.”
My good sense told me it was too early in the day to start drinking, but the part of me I liked best gave the go-ahead.
“Drink. It’ll help. Believe me.” Noah shoved the bottle into my hands.
I raised it to my lips and took a sip.
“Oh, come on, Porter. You can do better than that. Or are you afraid you might get so drunk that you’ll try to take advantage of me?” he snickered.
“Yeah, Noah. That’s what I’ve been thinking.” I took a bigger gulp this time, the golden liquid burning straight down through my toes.
“Well, you can relax, Red,” he blithely replied. “I guard my virtue like a fortress. It’s one of the things Georgia and Suzie Q like best about me. I may bark and growl, but when you come right down to it, I’m just your average neutered, housebroken pet.”
The Suburban swerved off the highway and bounced onto a washboard dirt road, leaving civilization behind. Noah grabbed the bottle for another swig. All he needed was a bandana and a tie-dyed shirt to pass as a time-traveler from the sixties.
“Why do you live out in the middle of the desert, Noah?” I asked, curious to know what made him tick.
“You mean why do I prefer it to living like a sardine with all the rest of you in the middle of some goddamn development that’s gobbling up the land and sopping up what little water is left?” Noah reached behind him for a beer from his portable cooler.
“Okay. I guess that answers it,” I responded as he threw me a Bud.
Noah popped open the tab with his teeth and drank half the can as a whiptail lizard ran for his life, barely evading our wheels.
“Look around you, Porter. This place is absolutely pure. It’s the last spot of open freedom left in a country that’s overgrown and overrun,” Noah quietly explained. Then he winked. “Besides, I can’t seem to get along with anyone anyplace else.”
“That’s interesting. I can’t seem to get along with anybody here,” I commented.
“Still trying to figure out who set those pipe bombs off the other night?” Noah asked.
“Yeah,” I grumbled in irritation. “I’ve got a list that’s growing by the day, while I’m running out of time.”
I pulled two Mars bars out of my bag and threw Noah one. I figured worrying would have to burn up at least the candy bar’s calories.
“Face it, Porter. You should be scared,” Noah said. He released the steering wheel and ripped open the wrapper.
“Thanks a lot. That’s very consoling,” I replied, drowning my sorrows in a large bite of chocolate.
“I’m serious. You need to be paranoid, Porter. And you need to be careful. I have a gut feeling that we’re stepping on some very big toes here. Don’t let your imagination limit you on that. Remember, just because you’re paranoid don’t mean they ain’t after you.” He downed his bar in two bites.
It seemed I had heard the same warning from Santou only last night. The Mars bar did somersaults in my stomach.
“By the way, what’s all this ‘we’ about? When did we become a team? As far as I can tell, it’s only my rear end that’s been marked as a target.”
Noah chuckled. “Hey, Porter—when you got it, flaunt it. And yeah, it’s we. In case you haven’t already noticed, I’m in on this one. And if I were you, I’d be glad for the help.”
“And just what is this one, if I may ask?” I was annoyed that Noah claimed to have a handle on what was going on, while I still was kicking at tumbleweeds in the dark.
“I’m not quite sure yet. But as soon as I’m one hundred percent clued in, you’ll be the first to know.”
“I’d appreciate that,” I retorted.
He released the steering wheel again to gather his long oily strands of hair back into a ponytail. Then he pulled a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and doused it with the remaining beer from his can, soaking himself and the car seat in the process. Raising the handkerchief high above his head, he wrung it out, sighing as the beer ran down his face and neck and onto his shirt.
“Ahh. The pause that refreshes. You ought to give this a try, Porter.”
Pilot leaned forward, sniffing at Noah. He quickly pulled back with a whine.
“No, thanks. I think Pilot said it all,” I remarked. I knew of bums in Central Park who smelled better than Noah did at the moment.
“So tell me, Red, who was that guy at your house yesterday anyway?” Noah asked, catching falling drops of beer with the tip of his tongue.
I turned and stared at the lunatic sitting next to me, wondering if he was more dangerous than I had imagined.
Noah must have read my thoughts. “Whoa! I’m not some frigging wacko. You don’t have to worry.”
I was beginning to wonder about that. Besides hormonally challenged football players, I didn’t know of any men who chose to douse themselves with beer and then bake in the hot desert sun. And to top it off, he’d been stalking me.
“Porter, say something. You’re beginning to freak me out.” Noah wrung out the end of his ponytail. “I was going to stop by the day after the bombing. But then I saw you and Rambo walking out of the ruins looking mighty happy and satisfied.”
“What do you mean by Rambo?” I asked suspiciously.
“Aw, come on. The guy is obviously a cop,” Noah retorted.
“And what makes you think that?” If Noah wanted paranoia, I was more than happy to give him a dose first-hand.
Noah snorted. “The way he zeroed in on me and my transport. Rambo gave me the evil eye, so I skedaddled. Since you didn’t seem to be fighting him off, I decided to leave the scene and check in with you later.”
The fact that I’d been too besotted to even realize Noah had come made me more uneasy than ever. No wonder Santou worried that I needed him around.
“So are you going to tell me? Who was the guy?” Noah persisted.
“Can you give me one good reason why I should?” I countered, angry at myself.
“ ’Cause I’m your partner in crime, compadre. And it seems like you know a hell of a lot more about me than I do about you,” Noah contended.
As much as I hated to admit it, the man had a point.
“He’s a detective with the New Orleans Police Department.” I felt the heat rise to my face.
Noah pulled a stale powdered donut out of a paper bag from under his seat. “Are you telling me that you’ve got people after you in Louisiana as well as Nevada these days?”
“I’m dating the man. Okay?” I hoped that would put an end to his curiosity. Unfortunately, it didn’t.
“So did he try to talk you into moving back to the land of coonasses and ’gators?” Noah asked with a chortle.
I looked at Noah and wondered if my life was that transparent. “What are you? Psychic?”
“Nah. Just experienced.” A shower of powdered sugar fell from the donut onto Noah’s beer-stained shirt.
Before I could stop, I found myself confessing all to the man. I told him about my relationship with Santou, his proposal, and my knee-jerk reaction.
Noah was silent as we drove along the dirt road. We passed through an endless series of bumps and ruts, over rocks and around giant boulders, wending our way up the mountain, as the Suburban swayed from side to side. Finally he took a swig of Jack and passed the bottle to me.
“Listen, Porter. There’s not much happiness to be had in this world, and what there is of it is fleeting. So grab it while you can. Go, be fruitful, and mu
ltiply. The brass ring only comes around once, as far as I can tell. Don’t be a fool and think about it for so long that it passes you by. ’Cause if you do, you’ll regret it for the rest of your days. And life ain’t worth living without it.”
I didn’t answer, worried that I might have already blown it. The sharply honed lines of the mountains blurred into soft focus before me. Either I was in danger of becoming perpetually misty-eyed, or Vegas pollution was on the move south. Neither scenario made me feel any better. Only Pilot seemed to sense my mood. I felt his breath on my hair, the wetness of his nose sniffing my neck as his tongue lapped at my ear. Reaching back, I scratched him under the chin, his head resting in the palm of my hand.
By the time we reached the summit, clouds had started to move in, threatening to douse us with rain. But Noah paid no attention to the sky. Shutting off the engine, he grabbed a pair of binoculars and jumped outside, where he stood perched on the mountain’s edge, overlooking Golden Shaft mine. I opened my door, and Pilot quickly bounded out, anxious to roam after the long ride.
“Shit. I don’t like the look of this at all. Something strange is going on down there,” Noah muttered, the binoculars glued to his eyes.
I walked over and joined him, curious as to what could be wrong.
“Here. Take a gander through these.” Noah passed me the glasses.
I scanned the scene below, noticing that security had been beefed up. The front gate was now patrolled by three guards instead of just one, all armed with M-16 rifles. And then I saw what Noah was talking about. There was a frenzy of activity, but none of it was directed to hauling ore out of the mine. Instead, it looked as though workers were packing up equipment to leave.
“That’s strange. They just bought the land. Why would they be moving out now?” I asked. From this height, the mine resembled a bustling colony of ants.
“That’s a good question, Porter. Could be this mine never held all the gold that they originally thought. Or then again, it could be something else,” Noah responded.
Tortoise Soup (Rachel Porter Mysteries) Page 22