by Todd Borg
“This woman has a bunch of CEOs among her customers?” Diamond said.
“As far as I can tell, about half of Cassie’s Field To Fridge customers live on the lake. The rest are in expensive neighborhoods like Glenbrook and Incline Village. They are super successful in a wide range of businesses. Simple stock investing based on my scenario might work.”
“Yeah, it might,” Diamond said. “But it might not. John Mitchell could buy and lose big time.”
“Sure. But consider what the averages would be. Most successful people work in successful businesses. Tahoe people are more highly represented in the software business, for example, than in horse buggy manufacturing. Even if you invest blindly in successful fields, you are likely to do better than if you simply invested evenly across the economy. Two of the guys on Cassie’s list are billionaires. Any little thing they do can move the stock price of their companies.”
I paused.
“You done?” Diamond said.
“No. I’m just pausing so the full effect of my brilliance can sink in.”
“Be a little scary,” Diamond said, “investing in something based on your notion. What if your CEO is traveling to this little city not to pick up software business assets but to take a cooking class or buy a new boat or visit his aunt?”
“Then John Mitchell’s investment doesn’t jump, but just rides the market. That’s where Cassie’s range of customers makes the difference and spreads the risk. If John Mitchell is playing the market nine different ways, sure, some of his calls are going to be duds. But some of his investments might benefit. And maybe one goes through the roof. Either way, at the minimum, it would probably beat the averages. And consider what would happen if Mitchell figures out a big corporate acquisition? Mitchell might bet his farm and make a killing.”
“I get your point,” Diamond said with a tone I’d heard before.
“You sound dismissive.”
“Nah. Just wondering how a romance novelist fits into your scenario.”
“That’s a hard one,” I said. “Unless you’re J.K. Rowling, no publisher’s stock is going to jump on news of signing an author. So maybe this romance novelist owns controlling interest in a company on the side. Maybe she’s an aggressive business woman. Her travel could indicate plans for her own business, plans that would bump its stock price.”
“That sounds better,” Diamond said. “Could be the ball player, the rock star, and the talk show host are business owners, too. “If you look at it with that in mind, maybe your idea makes sense.”
Before we hung up, Diamond asked, “You drop off the boy down in the valley?”
“Couldn’t find anyone to take him.”
“So where is he?”
“Sleeping on Spot’s bed as we speak.”
There was a pause before Diamond spoke. “Where is Spot?” he asked.
“Sleeping next to him.”
Another pause. “Like you’ve suddenly got a regular family almost,” Diamond said.
“I’m hanging up now,” I said and hung up.
I turned off the computer and went to bed.
NINETEEN
I awoke to a noise. I stopped breathing and listened to the night. Spot wasn’t growling out in the living room, so it was probably nothing. But dogs can be in a deep sleep, too. I’d witnessed Spot sleeping through a noise, twitching his ears as he incorporated the sound into his dreams.
I lay motionless and listened. From within the thick log walls of my cabin, my room seemed as devoid of sound as it was of light. I heard the low, dull hum of the fridge in the kitchen nook. Then came the rattle/snore of Spot. The snore trailed off and then restarted. There was nothing else. I kept listening.
The focus of careful listening is fatiguing. I got drowsy. Started to nod off.
Another noise.
I sat up. Turned my head back and forth like a dog.
Nothing. Until I cupped my ears while I was facing the outer wall.
Some creature was crying. It sounded like what I’d expect if a bunny rabbit had been picked up by a Great Horned Owl.
The squeaking sound repeated over and over. As I listened, the sound got louder.
I generally accepted this aspect of the forest. For a small creature, the natural world is a harsh place, and owls, if that’s what it was, are among the most effective predators on the planet. But I’d also seen predators who picked up prey and didn’t show them the mercy of a quick kill. Add to that the fact that I couldn’t sleep while some little animal was being tormented. Maybe I could scare the owl off.
I slipped out from under my covers. Pulled on my jeans and shirt and running shoes.
Spot was now awake as I walked into the living room. He was dimly lit by the light of the readout on the microwave. Paco’s arm was over him as before. Spot was still lying down, reluctant to leave Paco’s embrace, but his head was up listening.
I walked to the front door. Spot jumped up. Paco’s arm fell to the sleeping bag, but Paco didn’t wake.
“No, Spot,” I whispered. “You stay with Paco.”
I put my hand on the doorknob, turned it quietly. As I opened the door, Paco suddenly spoke, his voice groggy.
“Where are you...”
I turned. “I’m just checking a sound,” I said. “Spot will...” But as I began to say that Spot would stay with him, Spot shouldered past me and trotted out the door.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” I said.
I flipped on the outdoor flood, shut the door behind me, and took fast steps out into the night.
“Spot, come,” I said. I didn’t want him to mess with any unknown animal. No matter how gentle he was, if he contacted a Great Horned Owl, he would likely hurt it.
I went around the corner of the cabin and saw Spot walking slowly toward an object on the ground. It wasn’t directly lit by the floodlight, but it looked light in color. About the size of a baby bunny rabbit. It squeaked incessantly.
A small noise came from behind me. I spun. A dark shape moved in the night. A popping sound. A stabbing burn on my left kidney.
My left leg collapsed as my entire body lit up with electricity. I went down. Fell to the ground.
Pain shot through me, burning my insides like a fireball. The origin was my back, but the pain was everywhere. I had no control. Every muscle was in spasm. My brain short-circuited. No thoughts but pain. No movement except uncontrolled contraction of every muscle in my body.
At some root level I realized that I’d been punched with a stun gun, with 100,000 volts or more of incapacitating juice. I was more helpless than if I’d been shot with a bullet, and the pain was much greater than that of a mere projectile piercing through flesh.
I struggled to fight it, but I was impotent against the flow of electrons. My entire body was in seizure. I had no control.
After an exhausting interval, unable to even breathe, I became aware that the current was off. I still couldn’t move, but I could begin to think. After many long seconds, I was able to turn my head. Spot was still over where he’d gone to investigate the sound. He was sitting up but his head drooped down. He was moving, but I couldn’t see what was wrong.
I focused on making my paralyzed muscles move. Turn the legs. Push with the arms. Get up onto my hands and knees. Raise one knee. Foot to the ground. I braced my hands on the knee. Push. Straighten. Stand. I was wobbly, but upright.
“GO!” someone shouted from the darkness. A deep, booming voice.
I heard movements, running footsteps, charging close, then receding. I tried to turn on my pins-and-needles legs, lost my balance, fell into the dirt.
I limped over toward Spot.
As I got closer, I could see in the glow from the distant light that he was okay. Trapped by a fishnet of some kind, but okay.
Spot pawed at the net that draped him, getting nowhere.
More running footsteps went by. Heavy. A big guy. And whimpering sounds. A car door slammed shut over in the dark forest. Engine roared. Wheels s
pun.
I reached Spot, pulled at the fishnet. The cords of the net were hooked on his claws and elbows. One of his ears poked through a small opening, his ear stud flashing in the night. He was chewing on the cords, but it was clear that he wasn’t going anywhere until I cut him free. But my pocket knife was on my night stand with my other pocket stuff.
I grabbed at the net over Spot and tried to tear it. The cords cut into my skin. They were much too strong to rip apart.
Spot would have to wait.
I put my hand on him. “I’ll be back, largeness. You be good.”
I stumbled toward the cabin, my legs still barely working. The front door was standing open. I went in, turned on the light.
Paco was gone.
I dialed Street.
She answered on the second ring.
“Listen carefully, sweetheart.” The words came broken. The Taser had affected my vocal cords just like the rest of my muscles. “Men broke in and took Paco. They are coming down the mountain. If you are very fast, you could turn up my road and...”
“And park sideways at the narrow place near the giant boulder,” she finished. “I’ll do my best.” She hung up.
Street was fast, nimble, and most important, she was quite functional within a moment of waking up.
I struggled back outside, limping, dragging my left foot which was still most affected by the shock. I got into the Jeep and drove down the mountain. At the second curve I saw their headlights three switchbacks below. Driving fast. They might get through the narrow point before Street could block it. Worse, Street might block it as they were approaching. She could get rammed. Her little VW Beetle would collapse when hit by their truck. She could get killed.
I tried to focus on driving.
I’ve driven the twisty, private mountain drive that I share with my neighbors thousands of times. I’m not a professional driver, and my Jeep is not designed for fast cornering. But I can get down the mountain faster than most. I had a hope that I could catch them.
At the big curve below the switch backs, there is an overlook of sorts. Visible in the distance, but closer than before, was the headlight glow of the other vehicle. It was still upstream from the narrow place that Street was heading for. I saw brake lights flash bright red in the night just as I came to another curve and lost my view. Maybe that meant that Street had already gotten there.
I pushed it harder. I careened around the next two curves and accelerated down the straight before the narrow spot. Up ahead were distant red lights. I turned off my headlights. The red lights up ahead turned white.
A vehicle moving in reverse. Coming up toward me.
Brake lights flashed again, and the white lights went out. They’d shifted into drive.
They turned left off the paved road. I knew where they were going. There is an old trail, easy to see, easy to navigate. It looks like a good way through the woods. But in the interest of preventing erosion and soil compaction, the Forest Service blocked it with boulders. It gave me an idea.
I continued to drive my road by starlight and by feel. I raced past the place where they’d turned off. I stopped before I came to the narrow place where Street’s car would be parked. I couldn’t see their lights through the forest, so I hoped that they couldn’t see my brake lights.
I jumped out and did a wobbly, limping jog into the forest.
I headed for a walking path where I remembered a little raised section that crossed a miniature ravine. To help hold the dirt fill in place, the Forest Service had put down a log on each side. If my memory was correct, the logs were just the right size for what I wanted. More important, I remembered that the logs were just fitted into the dirt and hadn’t been staked in place. When I got there, I knelt in the dirt and felt for one of the logs. It was about the size I remembered, eight inches in diameter and ten or twelve feet long. And while I didn’t feel any stakes, it was completely packed into the dirt. I couldn’t get my fingers around it to lift it up.
I stumbled two steps away from the trail and felt a nearby tree for low, dead branches, found one, and broke it off. The sound was loud. The men probably heard it.
By gouging the broken end of the branch into the dirt around the edges of the log, I was able to excavate a trench in the hard-packed dirt. I worked fast. I knew I was nearly out of time. I dug and stabbed and scraped with my little stick. When I had enough dirt removed to get my fingers under the log, I tried to lift. It didn’t budge. I squatted down and put my forearms across my thighs for support.
At first, it didn’t work. Then I shifted position and tried again at the very end of the log. It shifted, then came free. I lifted the end up until the log was vertical, then lowered it back down at an angle so that the middle of the log rested on my shoulder. The log teeter-tottered on my shoulder. I shifted it a bit for balance, then jogged away toward the vehicle that contained Paco.
The log was a good hundred pounds, heavy to carry while jogging, but perfect for my needs. I cut through the woods toward the old trail. The vehicle’s taillights appeared in the distance. I tried to speed up.
As I got closer I could see a figure in front of the vehicle, illuminated by the vehicle’s headlight. I couldn’t see well through the trees, but he appeared to be a very big guy. Maybe a huge guy. Big enough to move boulders. Like a bad superhero. He was bent down, rolling one of the boulders that blocked the trail. Another boulder had already been moved. As soon as he got it out of the way, the trail would be clear.
I ran faster, huffing so loud that I was worried I’d give myself away. But their engine was loud. I hoped it would provide sound cover.
I didn’t know for certain if the man rolling the boulders was alone or had a partner. As I got closer, I angled my course to let the illuminated scene be visible through the vehicle’s front and rear windows.
Silhouetted against the light was the shape of another man in the driver’s seat. Another big guy.
I couldn’t see Paco’s shape. Maybe he was too short. Maybe he was down on the floor.
I angled into the woods, moving slower, trying not to hit anything that would make noise and alert the men.
Up ahead was a pickup. The woods were so dark that I couldn’t see the color or make.
I circled through the woods until I was about twenty yards straight out from the driver’s door.
The man moving the boulders had the second one out of the way. He straightened up. “Okay,” he shouted. “You can come on through.”
I was too late. I started running toward the pickup. If the driver drove away, I was out of luck.
“C’mon!” the boulder guy shouted, gesturing.
As I got closer in the dark, I saw the driver gesturing, waving the boulder guy to the pickup.
Maybe the driver sensed me coming at the last moment. He started to turn. Lifted his arm.
My log crashed through the driver’s window, hit the driver on the tip of his shoulder, then glanced off and struck his head, snapping it sideways.
I pulled the log out and leaned it against the truck. I jerked open his door and grabbed him by the same arm that took the blow from the log. He yelled in pain, reached his hand over to his injured shoulder.
He was as advertised, superhero-sized, with the body weight to fit. I had to pull hard to dump him out on the ground where he writhed and moaned.
In my peripheral vision, I sensed the other man running toward me through the headlights. He would get to me before I could escape with Paco.
I picked up the log, held it at my side as a battering ram, and made another, stumbling run, hoping he was blinded by the headlights.
His running was jerky. I came out of the dark and into the light from the headlights just as he approached the front corner of the pickup. The headlights caught his face. The guy had a feral look, like a bull who wants to gore his tormentor. His eyes were small and close-set.
When I burst into the light beam, he tried to dodge.
The log caught him on the side of his abdo
men. He went down and curled up and howled. I raised the log high and dropped it onto his body. He yelled.
I ran to the passenger door and opened it.
“Paco, where are you?” I reached in. Felt the seat. Waved my arm through the space just above the floor. He wasn’t there.
TWENTY
“Paco!” I yelled.
“I’m here,” came a small voice from the darkness of the woods.
I turned.
Paco stepped out from behind a tree.
I picked him up and ran with him through the black forest, putting distance between us and the men. I kept going until I got to the drive up to my cabin, then turned and trotted to where I’d parked the Jeep.
Street was waiting there in the dark.
“Thank God you found him!” she said.
I set Paco down. Street hugged him.
“You okay, Paco?” I asked. “They didn’t hurt you?” I figured that the greatest hurt was his fear, but I wanted him to focus on something better.
He nodded.
“Are those the guys who chased you before?”
He nodded.
“Okay, let’s get Street’s car, and she can come up and help Spot.”
“Is Spot hurt?” Street sounded horrified.
“No. He’s just tied up.”
I took Street forward to her car. She got in and followed us up the mountain. I parked at an angle so my headlights would shine toward Spot.
Street ran over and pet Spot. “He’s trapped in a fishnet!”
“I walked right into it,” I said. “I heard a noise and walked out. Spot pushed out past me. They dropped the net on him and hit me with a stun gun.”
“That’s why you’re walking strange!” Street sounded horrified.
“Let’s get inside.” I took Paco by the hand, and we ran into the cabin. “Call Diamond,” I shouted while I fetched my pocketknife from the bedroom.
“I already called Diamond after I blocked the road,” Street said. “Lucky for us, he’s working graveyard. He’s on his way.”
“Lock this door behind me.” I ran outside.