Biker

by Baron, Mike;

  “Special Air Service Regiment. And call me Bob. You calling me sir makes me think I’m back in the bloody Army and I wouldn’t care to relive those days.” Foucalt winked.

  “Honey, the TV,” Ginger said.

  Munz used the remote to turn on the sound.

  Dane County sheriff Mason stood in front of a podium. He looked like Ward Bond. “Warrants have been issued for members of the War Bonnets motorcycle gang. Deputies are in the process of serving those warrants now …”

  “Sheriff!” The camera cut to a slim blond in a power suit. “Do you have a motive as to why the bikers would attack this man?”

  “We think it was a drug deal gone sour.”

  “Bullshit!” Pratt exploded.

  The press conference continued but there was no new information. Munz cued the mute. Foucalt finished his breakfast, thanked Ginger, and went out front with a coffee-filled thermos.

  “Well look who’s here,” Ginger beamed.

  Cass in the morning still gave Pratt a hard-on and he regretted his moment of truth the night before. Cass didn’t look at him. Ginger immediately picked up on it.

  “How do you like your eggs?”

  “Just one, please, sunny-side up.”

  “How’dja sleep?” Munz said.

  “Fine,” Cass said listlessly. “Anything new?”

  “Since the War Bonnets hit that guy, no,” Ginger said.

  “Do you have any coffee?”

  Before Ginger could move, Cass got up and helped herself to a mug from the cupboard and coffee from the Mr. Coffee machine on the counter. She poured in a couple ounces of milk and three spoons of sugar. She sat, stirred, and drank.

  “Hey folks,” a deep voice boomed from the hallway. A tall black man with a shaved skull and a diamond earring wearing a sleeveless black tee that highlighted his enormous biceps, baggy cargo pants and steel-toed boots entered the kitchen. He had his own gravitational pull that made you want to get next to him.

  Charisma, Pratt thought.

  “I’m Rob Stuart.”

  Pratt got up to shake hands. “Josh Pratt. And this is Cass Rubio.”

  Cass looked away.

  “Cass,” Pratt said.

  Cass waved wanly. “Hi.”

  “Just the three of you?” Pratt said.

  Stuart showed perfect teeth. “That’s all it takes. And two of us are redundant.”

  “Moon’s dead meat if he comes anywhere near this property,” Munz said. “What kind of eggs do you like, Rob?”

  “I’ve already had breakfast but I will take a cup of that coffee.”

  Ginger handed him a mug. “Help yourself.”

  Stuart took it black. “Well I just wanted to introduce myself. We would prefer if nobody leaves the house, and it wouldn’t hurt to keep the drapes, blinds, and shades drawn. There’s no use advertising what’s inside.”

  “Which one of you is in charge?” Pratt said.

  The ivory grin. “That would be me.” Stuart dipped into a pocket and handed Pratt a card between his index and middle finger. “Call if you must—but please make sure it’s important.”

  Stuart withdrew.

  “Let me give you the grand tour,” Munz said.

  Pratt stood. Cass remained where she was.

  “You go ahead. I’ve seen it.”

  As Munz and Pratt left the breezeway the two women huddled in intense conversation.

  CHAPTER 55

  The first floor had an open floor plan with the kitchen segueing into the dining room into the living room. Nate’s office was to the right as you entered. There were two half baths. The décor was Old West with Navajo rugs, kachina dolls, and paintings of stolid Indians gazing into storms with titles like “Early Winter.” There was a Dali print on one wall. A proud buck gazed down from the living room.

  Munz pushed a button on the wall and the dining room blinds retracted with a clacking noise. Broad vertical windows seemed to let the forest in, casting the whole room in a green glow. Pratt noted how easy it would be for a sniper to conceal himself with a clear shot of the house.

  But that wasn’t Moon’s way.

  The stair to the second floor began in the foyer and split into two curves halfway up. “We can take the stairs or we can take the elevator,” Munz said.

  “Let’s take the stairs.”

  Pratt followed Munz up the broad winding stair to the second floor. A balcony overlooked the foyer. The floor was oak parquet. Munz turned east.

  “This is the master bedroom suite,” he said, gesturing Pratt in. The big room had a balcony looming over the patio that was in the trees, creating the impression of a luxurious tree house. Limbs provided easy access to the deck.

  The bed was fashioned from twisted limbs, the headboard a solid slab of hand-carved oak depicting a herd of buffalo. Pratt went to the sliding doors leading to the deck. Locked. He unlatched the door and slid it to one side. He stepped out onto the deck. The scent of blossoms walloped him in the snout. It was like stepping from an antiseptic chamber into a floral stew.

  Munz followed. “You’re worried about these trees, aren’t you?”

  “Guy could pop right into your bedroom with those limbs.”

  “That’s a hundred-year oak. I’m not going to mutilate it for some maniac.”

  “In that case it wouldn’t hurt to string some cans and bottles up here. Crude, but effective.”

  “Good idea. I have a shitload of both.”

  Munz showed Pratt the bathroom. It had a skylight, whirlpool tub, two-person shower stall and two sinks all outfitted in Kohler modern. His and hers walk-in closets. Each was bigger than Pratt’s bedroom at home. An Imelda Marcos display of shoes.

  “What do you know about Cass?” Munz said, leading the way out of the suite toward the other side of the house.

  “Not much. Met her last week on a job.”

  “Listen, it’s my business because I think she’s a deleterious influence on Ginger.”

  They entered a guest suite, king-sized bed handsomely made up with Navaho blankets, paintings of canyon lands on the wall.

  “How so?” Pratt said, walking around the room, pulling aside the blinds and peering outside.

  “I don’t know how she is now but she used to do a lot of drugs and drank like a fish.”

  “If she’s doing drugs I don’t see it,” Pratt said. “And we’ve been pretty close these last couple of days.”

  “She’s also committed to magical thinking. So’s Ginger. It just so happened that I came along and fulfilled her fantasy so she thinks it’s true. That if you do A, B will happen. This whole thing with the missing baby … I don’t know what she expects but I’m afraid it won’t be good for her or any of us.”

  “That kid is in a bad way. We’ve got to help him.”

  “Listen, I’m not entirely convinced it is her son. I’ll believe it when the DNA test comes back. If they ever find him. I have to say you’re not at all what I expected. I mean that in a good way. I thought you were going to be some kind of cowboy. You’re thoughtful, meticulous, and you keep your word. I just can’t see what a guy like you is doing with a girl like that.”

  “Can’t you?”

  “Well I mean apart from the obvious.”

  “I’m not a complicated guy, Nate. I’m not looking for Kim Kardashian.”

  “Well listen. You’re a detective. Go through her purse when you get a chance, why don’tcha?”

  “I’ll think about that.”

  A third room between the suites served as an office and overlooked the patio and pool. It was warm from several monitors and a printer quietly disgorging pages. Across from it was the elevator. Munz pushed the button. Seconds later the elevator beeped and opened.

  They stepped inside. Munz pushed the button for the basement. The doors sighed shut and the elevator descended to the bottom floor. The elevator opened into a game room with South Seas décor: tiki dolls behind the bar, bamboo curtains, a pool table, a thatched roof over the bar, tile f
loor. Faux palm trees drooped in the dim light coming off the patio. A huge flat-screen TV sat opposite the sofa. It reminded Pratt of the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey.

  Pratt had been too exhausted last night to notice.

  “Was the room okay?”

  “Fine.”

  Munz looked at the rumpled blanket and pillow on the sofa.

  The deck was concealed behind the electrically controlled blinds. Munz stepped to the wall and pushed a button. With a soft clacking sound the vertical blinds withdrew to one side, revealing a lush green landscape, soft light coming through the woods.

  “There’s beer and soft drinks in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you need.”

  “Appreciate your putting us up.”

  “Sometimes my boy Russell and his wife visit but that’s about the only time we have guests. I’m out of the house most days on site and I just like to relax when I get home, maybe watch a little golf. Ginger doesn’t entertain as much as she used to.”

  Pratt gazed out at the forest. They were sitting ducks for anybody prepared to break glass. That was without the Flintstone factor. Pratt scanned the trees and the uppers. He saw no sign of them.

  “Nate, if you don’t mind my saying, we’d all be a lot safer if we checked into a hotel under a different name.”

  “That may be, but I’m not going to let some psycho chase me out of my own house. That’s what Flintstone is for. They’re going to nail this son of a bitch if he’s stupid enough to show up here. Bet on it.”

  Munz headed for the door. “You want to help me string those cans and bottles?”

  CHAPTER 56

  Ginger insisted on cooking dinner with a lot of help from Cass. Together they made salad out of spinach, mustard greens, roasted corn nuts, red onions and cherry tomatoes. Ginger removed four huge steaks from a gargantuan freezer in the garage while Munz fired up the grill on the deck off the kitchen.

  Ginger used a walker to maneuver. It had a bicycle cage affixed to the handlebars and a squeeze-bulb horn. Cass and Ginger killed a bottle of Chardonnay. Munz and Pratt drank a croaker of triple hops from the Great Dane Brewery. Conversation flowed like sludge until Munz mentioned he had a BMW 1200S in the garage.

  They went into the garage and looked at Munz’ bike.

  Munz lit a cigar and offered one to Pratt, who declined. “So you were in prison, huh?”

  “Six years at Waupun for a crime I did commit.”

  “Well that’s refreshing. And that’s where you found God?”

  “That’s where I welcomed Jesus Christ into my heart and soul.”

  “That works for you?”

  “Has so far. What about you? You religious?”

  Munz sighed. “Hardly. I was raised Episcopalian but Sunday school didn’t take. My folks dutifully dragged us to church every Sunday but I sensed that they didn’t believe, and when you’re a kid, you figure out the ropes. If my parents didn’t believe, why should I? I understood they were doing it for appearances. My father was a Rotarian, an Elk and a Mason. I wish I believed, know what I mean?”

  Pratt nodded. “We all need to believe in something bigger than ourselves or we’re just passing time.”

  Munz blew a smoke ring and nodded. “That’s right. That’s exactly right. I guess I’ve always believed in the endless opportunities of being an American. I like to think my homes are loved by generations.”

  Pratt nodded. “A-hunh.”

  “I wish I had your faith,” Munz said.

  “Well faith’s a gift. Prayer doesn’t hurt.”

  “What do my prayers matter? I’m not sincere. I don’t believe in a God up in the heavens who made the universe in seven days. Christ. Try to get a permit in seven days!”

  “You may not believe in God, but God believes in you. You want to pray with me right now?”

  “No thanks. But we will have some bourbon.”

  “Come on,” Pratt said. “It doesn’t hurt. Give me your hand.”

  Reluctantly Munz extended his hand. Pratt gripped it and looked down. “Dear Lord, please watch over our loved ones and keep them from harm, and please help Eric find peace and his family.”

  “Amen,” Munz said choking.

  CHAPTER 57

  Munz excused himself. Business. He went into his den and shut the door.

  Pratt went out front where he found Foucalt.

  “What’s up?” Foucalt said.

  “I’m going for a walk. You might tell the others so they don’t shoot me by mistake.”

  “Well I can’t tell you not to walk, but be careful, huh? If you’re not back here in fifteen, someone will come looking.”

  Pratt patted his fanny pack. “Make it thirty.” As he went back through the house to exit on the pool side, he ran into Cass carrying glasses into the kitchen. She didn’t look at him.

  “Look, baby, about last night,” Pratt said.

  She stepped around him. “Forget it, Pratt.”

  “I’m just scared, okay? I’ve never been in a serious relationship before.”

  “And you’re not in one now. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry and I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Yeah. Right.” She turned her back and went into the kitchen.

  Pratt watched her go with lustful regret. He toted up the pluses and minuses. The pluses: totally hot bod. She loved him. Knew how to fire a gun and drive, which in Pratt’s limited experience was rare. Wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.

  The minuses: she seemed to have an animus toward Jews and blacks, and who knew who else. She seemed to have a teeny drinking problem. She apparently had no use for organized religion and Jesus in particular. Then there were the dogs.

  “Jesus,” he said quietly, “I can’t ask your guidance on this since you are involved. I’ll just have to figure it out by myself.”

  Pratt exited the first floor onto the rear deck. Bonner stood at the rail in camo fatigues surveying the woods through a pair of binocs. He put down the binocs and turned. “Ron says you’re going for a walk.”

  “You guys get any sleep?” Pratt said.

  “Oh yeah. We spell each other, grab a couple hours here and there. We’ll probably sleep some today.”

  Pratt wore sunglasses to hide his tired eyes and a ball cap. “Omma walk around a little. I’ll be back in thirty.”

  “Well naturally we’d prefer you remain at the house and confine your outdoor activities to the deck, but I can’t stop you. You going up near the road? I’ll alert the deputy.”

  “Nahh. I just want to stretch my limbs a little. I hear there’s a lake over there.”

  “There is. Well how’s this? If I don’t hear from you in thirty minutes we’re going to start looking. What’s your cell number?”

  Pratt took out one of Bloom’s cards and scribbled his number on the back. “You boys are reading from the same hymnal.”

  “Bear in mind that we’ve set up an infrared perimeter, so you might get a call if you trip the line.”

  “I wondered about that. What do you do at night?”

  “We have night vision goggles.”

  Pratt stepped down off the wide redwood steps and headed into the woods. Cass had told him that the estate contained six acres including waterfront property for a small lake. He could smell the lake but not see it. The day was overcast with a hint of rain. Dark cumulus clouds stacked up over the western horizon. Pratt had always loved walking in the woods with summer in his nose.

  The wind whistled through the trees. Birds chirped. Squirrels scuttled through the ground cover. He saw a gleam of green through the trees. The lake. Pratt moved silently from rock to root, taking care not to step in crackly leaves. As a child he’d spent endless hours in the woods playing Indian. He could creep with the best of them.

  Pratt thought he saw movement off to his right but when he looked there was nothing. Maybe it was Stuart. Pratt froze and listened. The woods felt empty of humans, the birds unperturbed
in their search for bugs and berries. Pratt pressed on Injun style. The lake grew until he stood on its rocky shore watching the whitecaps whipped up by a sudden wind. The lake comprised about twenty acres with two baronial mansions visible, each extending a pier from the opposite side, each pier festooned with a boat lift holding a buttoned-down speedboat.

  Pratt stood at six. The houses were at eleven and twelve. At three was a county park indicated by open space and a concrete ramp leading into the water. A fisherman was pulling out an aluminum skiff ahead of the rain. Woods came right up to the water except for these three features.

  Suppose Moon wanted to sneak up on them. He’d put in a boat at the park and get out here, Pratt thought. Nothing to stop him but three Flintstone guys.

  And Munz and Pratt. The builder suffered from Big Man syndrome, the need to assert himself, to lead, to solve the problem. He got a kick parading around the property with a pistol on his hip. Made him feel dangerous. Pratt worried that Munz might yank that gun out and blow his foot off. Or Pratt’s head.

  He imagined the Flintstone boys felt the same way about him.

  Pratt was at a turning point. With the exception of Lowry’s dogs and Ginger’s son, every job he’d taken had come through Danny Bloom. The lawyer had been his friend and champion. Pratt wasn’t a natural entrepreneur. He could do the job but he was lousy at selling himself. He was too blunt. He didn’t know how to schmooze. A lot of people didn’t like the Jesus thing.

  He might advertise. Take out an ad in the Yellow Pages. Go on Craig’s List. Go on Angie’s List. Maybe he should take one of those business classes on how to be a better executive. He did not want to serve summonses and repo cars forever.

  If he ever found the boy. Try as he might to steer clear of that dark star, the image of Eric had burned itself into his retina and was always there, just over the horizon, waiting to overwhelm him with its tidal force. He nourished a hatred so profound it could burn a hole in steel plate. Maybe Moon was just a surrogate for Duane.

  Dear Lord let him come. And let me kill him.

  Was it right to pray for another man’s death? Pratt wished he knew someone he could ask.

  His cell phone tickled his thigh. He pulled it out. “Pratt.”