"Who's asking?"
"Sorry, I'm Elliott Younger. And you're Garrison?"
Gage looked at the bigger man, who stood there, silent and staring blankly, like one of those blow-up snowmen people put outside their houses that eventually revealed how empty they were when not propped up by lots of air. It was obvious, just from the few moments spent among them, that the smaller man was the one doing the propping. "And what about you, big guy? Do you have a name, or are you totally incapable of speech?"
The bigger man looked at Elliott helplessly, and Elliott, smiling his askance smile, directed his remark at Gage.
"This is Dennis," Elliott said. "We all just call him Denny, of course. Please forgive his taciturn ways. He can't help it, alas."
"I'm a little slow," Denny said.
"Well," Gage said, "at least you're honest about it. A lot of people are slow but like to pretend otherwise."
"I'm a little slow," Denny repeated.
"Yeah, you said that."
"I'm a little—"
"Enough," Elliott said.
The word was not shouted—in fact, it was said only with a hint more volume than Elliott's suave whisper—but it was spoken with such sharp contempt that it still startled Gage. It also had its intended effect, because Denny looked down at his shiny shoes. Elliott never even looked at Denny when he admonished him. He kept his eyes directed at Gage, and Gage saw the way the dullness of his eyes briefly gave way to something fierce and full of rage. Only for an instant.
"Sorry about that," Elliott said. "My little brother can get caught in a loop if it's not short-circuited, and it's best to do so with a bit of force. I know I probably sounded cruel, but his frustration can mount quickly if we don't act with a fair amount of sternness. And if his frustration is allowed to build … well, he can quickly reach a point where no amount of sternness can stop him. You can imagine, because of his size, what a problem this can be."
"I don't mean to," Denny mumbled.
Elliott, smiling thinly, held up his hand for his brother to stop. "This is more information than you wanted, Garrison, so we'll leave it at that. It is Garrison, correct?"
"What do you want?"
"Now, now. I know we didn't get off on the right foot, but can't we start over on good terms?"
"I guess that depends on how you answer my question," Gage said.
"Well, we just came to have a little conversation with you, that's all."
"About what?"
"About our father, of course."
Then Gage knew who they were. Ed Boone's sons. Of course. He should have known right off, but whether it was the dog, his conversation with Quinn, or just the general surprise of coming home to find strangers prowling around his property, he hadn't had the right mindset to even suspect along those lines. He looked from Elliott to Denny and back again. Could either have been the man he'd seen, or at least thought he'd seen, skulking in the trees Sunday night? Not Denny, certainly, he was too big to fit the part, but possibly Elliott.
The sun, high above them in a clear blue sky, produced shadows on the gravel underneath all of them like miniature manhole covers. Elliott had not directly threatened him, but there was still something menacing about his phony politeness.
"Your father," Gage said, deciding to play dumb.
"Ed Boone."
"Who?"
Elliott reacted with one of his off-kilter smiles, briefly meeting Gage's eyes before looking away.
"I wish you wouldn't do that," he said. "We know full well you were at his apartment this morning."
"You were misinformed."
"Oh, I wasn't informed at all. I observed your presence myself."
"What are you talking about?"
Elliott chuckled, seemingly delighting in Gage's confusion. "What, can't believe someone else can beat you at your own game, Gage? You're not the only one who knows how to do a bit of … sleuthing."
"You were watching his apartment this morning?"
"In a way."
"Well, either you were or you weren't."
Elliott shook his head. "I've read all about you, Gage. They say you don't even have a phone. Is that right?"
"What is your point?"
"You're quite the curmudgeon, but your inability to adapt to modern life does have its disadvantages. It can create a myopic view of potential solutions to problems. Let me show you something."
"I don't want to see your Amway card," Gage said.
"Funny," Elliott said, though he didn't laugh or even smile. "They also say you've got quite the sharp wit. I suppose that can be a useful tool in certain situations. But wait. This will be instructive."
He unbuttoned his blazer, holding one side fully open to reach into the inside pocket. The interior had the shiny smoothness of black silk. Considering the smallness of the object he eventually pulled out, he might have done this without fully opening his jacket, but it was quickly apparent why he had gone to such effort. Strapped to his chest was a leather shoulder holster similar to the one Gage wore, and it seemed especially large on such a slim chest.
Seeing the holster caused a jolt of adrenaline to course through Gage's body, obviously the effect Elliott had intended. In an instant, the game had changed.
What Elliott actually pulled out to show him was a tiny white object, spherical, hardly bigger than a marble. When he held it up, he turned it so Gage could see the glass lens on one side.
"Do you know what this is?" Elliott asked.
"The first tooth you lost?"
Gage may have been startled, but he wasn't going to show it. He was keenly aware of his own gun: the obstacle his zipped-up leather jacket created, the strap over the holster that would further slow its retrieval, even the safety lever that would take a precious extra moment to disengage. He couldn't let Elliott know that any of this troubled him. "An Altoid mint from the reject pile?"
"It's a camera. A motion-activated camera, in fact. Look how small it is! What a marvel. Connects to Bluetooth to an app you can download to your smart phone, and whatever it records can be downloaded in seconds. Charges by USB. Technology can be a wonderful thing, Garrison. One just has to know how to use it."
Gage said nothing. Lady, unconcerned by the gun or any of this human business, had wandered over to the Douglas firs. She was sniffing a clump of clover that grew around the trunk of one of the trees. Denny, who seemed equally unconcerned about what was happening between Gage and his brother, watched the dog fondly.
"You see," Elliott continued, "I'm suspicious by nature. Comes from the line of work we're in. If you're not suspicious, you'll be … permanently unemployed soon enough. We haven't seen good old Daddy in many years. I just had this feeling—I do get these feelings—that maybe we weren't the only ones interested in his estate. While we were waiting for the lawyer, I thought it might be prudent to place one of these in the potted plant outside. Did you notice the plant? Being the great detective that you are, I'm sure you did, but you didn't notice this, did you?"
"What, you want an award or something?" Gage said.
"I want to know who you're working for."
"Who says I'm working for anybody?"
"People like us are always working for somebody, Garrison. I'm just less discriminating than you, since I am not motivated by anything less than monetary concerns. You, on the other hand, encumbered by inconvenient beliefs about right and wrong, good and bad, and all that nonsense, are highly selective about your chosen clients. You would not have entered my dear, departed father's apartment unless you had a very good reason for doing so. I want to know what that reason is."
"I heard the apartment would soon be for rent. I thought I'd get a jump on the competition."
"Who is it? Another relative?"
"I think it's time for you to go."
"I'll pay you double whatever they're paying you."
Now it was Gage's turn to smile. "If you think that's going to work, you really don't know me. It's those inconvenient beliefs about right and wrong, you see
."
Gage saw another spark behind those dull eyes, but it was gone quickly. Elliott glanced away, his crooked smile more forced.
"You're not the only one the camera recorded going into the apartment," he said. "You had help. I'll get the truth another way."
"Is that a threat?"
"I'm just saying I have options. If you don't tell me who your client is, I'll find out by other means."
"That sure sounds like a threat to me."
Elliott shrugged. "Call it what you will."
"What I'm going to call is the police, if you don't get off my property in the next sixty seconds."
"Careful. There's no need to take such a harsh tone."
"Fifty seconds."
Elliott went on smiling impishly, but this time he was looking fully at Gage. No sideways glances. Good. That meant Gage had his full attention. Even Denny had pried his focus away from the dog to what was brewing. Gage unzipped his jacket, and, making sure to move slowly but deliberately, opened it so his own gun holster was clearly visible. Then, with a smile, he undid the strap on the holster. Elliott's smile faded a little, though he gamely tried to keep up the bravado.
"Thirty seconds," Gage said.
"Trust me," Elliott said, "you'd never even get your piece out of the holster."
"You sure you want to bet your life on that?"
"Garrison, if you knew who you were dealing with—"
"Twenty seconds."
"This is ridiculous! We just wanted to talk. Whoever hired you can't be worth dying over."
"I don't plan on dying. Ten seconds."
"Come now, this—"
"Nine."
"Garrison."
"Eight."
"All right! We'll leave. My God, man, there's no need to escalate to nuclear war when a little diplomacy will do. You think about what I said, Garrison. Denny, let's go."
At the mention of his name, Denny perked up, straightening his back and looking around as if newly aware of his surroundings, and Gage couldn't help but think of the way Lady was called to attention when she was addressed. Part of the same canine family, it seemed. Somehow Denny managed to fold his body into the passenger seat. Elliott started for the driver's side, then stopped, looked back at Gage with one of his trademark sideways smiles, and held up one finger. He walked toward the house—more of a slither, really, smooth, flowing steps that were both deliberate and unhurried.
"What are you doing?" Gage asked.
"I want to compensate you for the plant," Elliott said.
"What?"
Perennials in clay pots flanked both sides of Gage's stoop, bright, multicolored mixtures of flowers that Zoe had dutifully maintained the past few years. They were still in bloom. Elliott stopped next to one, took out his wallet, and retrieved a twenty-dollar bill. With a bit of melodramatic flair, he placed it under the pot on the left. Then he walked back to the Mustang and stopped by the trunk.
"We'll be in touch," he said.
"Do you want to explain—" Gage began.
What happened next, the speed of it, the precision, Gage wouldn't have believed unless he had seen it with his own eyes. It was the sort of rare talent he'd heard about over the years, from cops and other detectives, but he'd always attributed it to legend and myth, akin to the fish that kept growing in size each time a fisherman told the tale of its catching.
Somewhere between the word "to" and "explain," Elliott made his move with exceptional speed. It might have been called blinding speed if there had been anything blinding about it, but Gage saw every movement perfectly well, which was exactly why it was so hard to believe.
Hand moving into the jacket.
The Sig Sauer P229 pulled out and extended.
Shot firing.
Pot on the left exploding.
Sig returned to its holster.
The whole thing happened so fast that the debris from the pot—clods of dirt, ceramic shards, and a rainbow blizzard of petals—was still settling on the concrete and the gravel long after Elliott had returned the Sig to its original location. To say the display had frozen Gage on the spot wouldn't have been fair. It would have been more appropriate to say that the whole demonstration had happened too fast to allow him any reaction at all. The gunshot was still ringing in his ears before he even managed to take a breath.
Lady was quicker to react, cowering behind Gage's legs. A semi-truck had been rumbling past on Highway 101 at just the moment Elliott fired, partly drowning out the sound. Gage, his heart thudding away in his ears, wondered if Elliott had timed it just so. Elliott, tipping his head slightly, got in his Mustang. Gage watched as the brake lights glowed white, watched as they backed up to him. He didn't move, not so much out of defiance but because he was still dumbfounded, and the Mustang's tires came within only inches of his shoes. Elliott only swerved at the last second.
He drove past, smiling his infuriating and patronizing smile.
Chapter 12
"Assassins," Alex said.
A Harley motorcycle with a poor excuse for a muffler—was there any other kind of Harley?—roared past the grocery store on Highway 101 at just the moment Alex said the word. Even with the payphone receiver pressed tight to his ear, Gage wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Or maybe he'd heard perfectly well but he couldn't quite believe that was what Alex was really saying. He asked him to repeat it.
"Assassins," Alex said again. "Hit men. Or, at least, that's what my sources in the FBI tell me. Nothing's been proven, but they've got files on both men. Where are you, anyway? Are you in Florence now?"
"No, Yachats," Gage said. "The lighthouse is about ten miles north of Florence. This seemed like the best place to stop."
"Sure. Of course, if you had a cell phone—"
"Skip it. You're seriously telling me that Ed Boone's sons grew up to become hit men?"
"That's exactly what I'm telling you."
"Man, the odds. Mercenary or working for some kind of outfit?"
"Contract killers. Anyway, that's the rumor. Nobody's been able to make any charges stick. You still think that was a good idea, your little tough-guy act back at your place? You're not bad with that Beretta of yours, but from what my people tell me, this guy is about as good with a gun as someone can get."
"Based on what he did to my pot," Gage said, "I'm liable to believe it. What else can you tell me?"
"Hold on a second. I've got to ring up someone at the register."
There was the thunk of the phone being set on the glass counter. Gage, still digesting this news, surveyed the parking lot that ran along the market and the half a dozen stores adjacent to it, searching for anyone watching him. He'd been vigilant the entire hour-long drive south on the highway, constantly searching his rearview mirror, more than once pulling off at a wayside or a gas station just to make certain nobody was following him, and saw no one suspicious, but this news made him more alert than ever.
A steady stream of traffic passed by on the highway, the sun bright on the asphalt, but nobody seemed to be watching him. A kid licking a lollipop in a green Chevy pickup across the street, in front of a ma and pa video store, was definitely looking this way, but even in his present state of mind, Gage couldn't summon quite enough paranoia to believe a boy no more than ten could be a threat to him. Whirligigs, windsocks, and banners affixed to the overhang outside the kite shop next door rippled in a strong breeze—cool but not cold, smelling of the ocean.
Lady peered at him from the passenger seat of the van, standing on her hind legs with her black paws on the dashboard. He'd planned to leave her at the house, fix her up with food, water, and her blanket, but after his encounter with Ed's sons, he'd been reluctant to leave her alone. Now that he knew what Elliott and Denny Younger did for a living, he was even gladder he'd brought the dog along—for her own safety. It wasn't that he was getting attached. It had nothing to do with that.
On the phone, the cash register rang, the door chimed, and then Alex was back.
"Two greeting ca
rds," he said. "You wouldn't believe how much I make selling those things. Hallmark must make a killing. I mean, it's just a little paper and some ink."
"Same could be said of books."
"Good point. Now back to your recent visitors. I don't have a lot on them, but I do have an interesting tidbit about why the younger brother is not quite with it."
"Yes?"
"Seems there was an unfortunate incident when they were in high school. This was when they were living in San Jose. There was a party at a friend's house, one with a pool in the backyard. The police report was that Elliott and Denny were horsing around in the pool by themselves while everybody else was inside, and Denny almost drowned. Paramedics revived him, but he was never the same after that."
"Lost a few brain cells, huh?"
"From what you told me, it sounds like more than a few. What makes it really interesting is the witness. A girl who had been sitting by herself in one of the bedrooms came to the police a week later to say she'd seen Elliott holding Denny underwater. Elliott wasn't that much smaller than him then. She said she'd yelled at him through the glass and he stopped, but she wanted the cops to know what had really happened."
"Interesting. Was there an investigation?"
"A brief one. Problem was Denny didn't remember the incident at all, so it was dropped. That's all that was in the file on them. But Garrison, I did a little digging myself, just a quick Google search because I had a gut feeling. The cops would have had no reason to see any connection here, but two years later that girl who saw him at the pool—she disappeared."
"What? How?"
"Nobody knows. She was a freshman at UC Davis, and one night when she told her sorority sisters she was going to the library, she never showed up at the library and never came home. There's a whole website on her. Very sad stuff."
Gage thought about it. "You think it was Elliott?"
"Considering what he became, maybe. Kid may have had a long memory and wanted to punish her."
"Nobody came back and questioned him?"
"Their paths hadn't crossed since high school. Nobody had reason to think of him. Even if they did, he and his brother took off right after graduation, and nobody really knows what became of them until they popped up on the FBI's radar."
A Lighthouse for the Lonely Heart: An Oregon Coast Mystery (Garrison Gage Series Book 5) Page 12