Crown's Law

by Wolf Wootan

  She stepped back and adjusted her blouse. “It’s nothing like the soirees that your mother throws. This will be rather country-simple.”

  “My God, Bo! That’s not what I meant! Do you think I’m some sort of snob—looking for champagne and caviar? I meant, who are the people I’ll meet? How do you want me to characterize our relationship?”

  “Shit, Sam! I’m sorry! It’s just that . . . I’m so damn nervous! I want you to like my family and friends, and . . .”

  He hugged her again, interrupting her. “Relax, baby! I won’t embarrass you! I’ll be on my best behavior and won’t punch anybody out.”

  “Oh, Sam! It’s not you I’m worried about! I’m just afraid they’ll ask you a bunch of dumb questions—make you feel uneasy. Embarrass me!” she wailed.

  “Nonsense! Have faith in them, Bo. Besides, why does it bother you so much what they think of me, or I think of them? I’m a stranger in their midst, and curiosity is normal. And they’ll naturally be protective of you.”

  “I don’t know why I‘m so nervous! Maybe I’m taking this boyfriend/girlfriend thing too seriously and want them to approve of you . . . me . . . us,” she whispered.

  Sam thought about that for a beat, and what it implied, then replied, “Well, let’s go get their approval then, if it’s that important to you. I’ll charm their pants off!”

  She laughed. “I’m sure some of the women will like that! Some of them don’t need that much charming!”

  “See? You can lord it over them! Let them know that I only take your pants off!”

  “Thank you, Sam! You always seem to ease my fears,” she said as she kissed him.

  ***

  The roundhouse was, of course, a round building built out of heavy wooden planks—expertly fitted together—and had a pointed, shingled roof. It was painted red and had white shutters on the windows. The two massive doors were open, and Sam got the feeling that it was a round barn. Inside it had a hardwood floor and the intricate rafters had plenty of lights mounted on them so that the interior was well-lighted. A curved bar took up 30 feet along the right side, and there were dozens of tables with chairs to Sam’s left. The far side had a bandstand and plenty of floor space for dancing.

  The place was decorated in red, white, and blue for tomorrow’s festivities. There were three bartenders rushing around trying to serve the 40 to 50 people who were present already. Sam found out later that Travis was footing the bill for all drinks and munchies in honor of Bo being home. Nothing like free booze and food to draw a crowd.

  Sam endured dozens of introductions to people there, most of whom he didn’t remember seconds after they moved away into the crowd. He did remember Bo’s 39-year-old brother Billy—a strapping six-footer weighing in at 225 pounds with curly brown shoulder-length hair—and his wife Betty and their two kids, Barbara and Brian.

  They’re really into Bs, he thought.

  A little after 6:45, a country/western band tuned up and started playing standard country music and many of the guests began dancing. Bo got swept out onto the dance floor by one of her friends, and Sam leaned against the long, polished bar and sipped his Cutty and water. Bo’s brother Billy sidled up and joined Sam, a long-neck in his hand.

  “Howdy, Sam. Havin’ fun yet?” laughed Billy.

  Sam smiled and replied, “Sure. It’s fun watching Bo enjoy her friends. I’m certain she doesn’t get to do this often enough—what with her job so far away and all.”

  “Yeah, Bo’s the only one of the family that got out of this place. She picked a tough job though. She’s kind of a hero around here, but sometimes I wonder if she wouldn’t have been happier staying here. Not as much pressure,” drawled Billy.

  “She seems to handle pressure well. At least, since I’ve known her.”

  “From what I hear from Bo, you’ve handled some pressure jobs yourself,” mused Billy, prying a bit.

  “You could say that,” shrugged Sam as he sipped his drink. “I survived, so will Bo. She’s quite a woman.”

  “Yeah, she is.” After a beat, “You’re the first man she’s brought to one of these shindigs in years.”

  “Then I feel honored,” grinned Sam.

  Silence.

  Finally Sam spoke. “I can tell you’re dying to interrogate me, Billy, but Bo told you that if you did she’d kick your ass. Right?”

  Billy looked at Sam, finally smiled. “Yeah. You are a good detective.”

  “Elementary, my dear Watson. You’re the big brother, always will be, and you don’t want anyone causing little sister any hurt.”

  “Something like that. Look at her. I’ve never seen her this happy. I’d hate to see her lose that glow.”

  “Your concern for your sister is admirable, but probably unwanted by her in this particular case. Tell you what. Since you can’t question me, let me do it for you. That way you won’t get in trouble with Bo. ‘Are you sleeping with my sister?’ Answer: ‘Your sister’s sex life is none of your business. And mine certainly isn’t.’ ‘What are your intentions toward my sister?’ A concept that went away in the sixties, but I’ll answer it partially. I intend to continue treating her as the fine lady she is. I’m here at this ‘shindig’, as you call it, because she asked me to come. She said it would please her. Another thing you wanted to say is, ‘If you hurt my sister in any way, I’ll kick your ass.’ Answer: The chance of you doing that is nil. I am the toughest son-of-a-bitch you’ve ever met.”

  Smile. More silence.

  “Damn!” exclaimed Billy. “You’re something else! No wonder Bo likes you! Jerry! Another round over here!”

  Chapter 44

  Wednesday, July 4, 2001

  Durango, CO

  The next day, July 4th, was an all-day affair. Bo and Sam didn’t get much time alone together. There were large barbecues—made out of large metal oil drums cut in half lengthwise—everywhere on the large, grassy field where the aroma of ribs, chicken, hamburgers, sausages, and hot dogs filled the air. Also picnic tables, colorful umbrellas, activities aplenty—sack races, horse shoe tournaments, a horse race, and dancing to a country/western band in the roundhouse.

  In the afternoon, there was a pistol shooting contest that Travis urged Bo to enter. Bo asked Sam to enter, but he declined. She knew from his dossier that in the nineties he had been National Fast Draw Champion three years in a row, and had won the national pistol shooting contest the two times he had entered.

  Bo gave him a hug and said, “Don’t want to show me up in my home town, eh? Thanks, Sam.”

  Bo won the contest easily. Her father strutted around like a peacock.

  ***

  Over lunch at Annie’s Rib House on Thursday the 5th, Bo told Sam that she had planned a river-rafting excursion for them on Friday. They would raft down the river, spend the night on the bank, then raft down to a place where her brother Billy—or one of the hands—would pick them up and bring them and their gear back to the lodge.

  “Isn’t that dangerous?” laughed Sam.

  “I’m a certified rafting guide. It’s my turn to teach you something,” she giggled. “We’ll see if you learn as fast as I did. Doesn’t it sound like fun?”

  When Sam had left Vietnam, he had promised himself he would never sleep on the ground again. His idea of camping out was the nearest Hilton. But he couldn’t throw water on Bo’s enthusiasm.

  “Sure. We’ll have a ball.”

  ***

  Two tables away, dressed in her new purple tank top and black jeans, Candy overheard every word of their conversation. She paid her bill and left. Back in her room, she made a call on her satellite phone.

  “Where the hell are you? I want to get the hell out of Dodge!” she exclaimed.

  “Albuquerque. I brought two choppers in—I like backup. Anything new there?”

  “That’s why I’m calling. The two targets are leaving tomorrow on a rafting trip. If you want to hit them here, you’ll have to hurry,” she said.

  “Ah! Perfect! I’ll see th
at they have a little rafting accident. You’ve done well, Candy! Get your tight buns out of there. I’ll take it from here!”

  ***

  Since it was Sam’s 49th birthday, Bo wanted to make it memorable, but since she knew he didn’t want it publicized, she decided on a quiet dinner for the two of them at the historic Strater Hotel. The hotel had several forms of entertainment and a choice of dining venues. First she took him to the hotel’s Diamond Belle Saloon where there was a ragtime piano bar. Costumed dance hall girls entertained and the patrons joined in on sing-a-longs.

  After a couple of drinks, Bo took Sam to the hotel’s Henry’s Chop House where Sam ordered veal scaloppini and Bo had a favorite of hers that she hadn’t had in ages, Colorado buffalo rib eye steak.

  Then she took him back to the lodge and took him to bed. That was his favorite part of the evening.

  ***

  Friday morning, July 6th, Bo supervised the preparation of her raft. She lashed down the large, waterproof duffel bag that contained their clothes and personal things; a plastic, floatable box containing food and drinks; her dad’s Winchester rifle wrapped in waterproof plastic; and the two-man tent. Shortly thereafter, they were underway and Bo began teaching Sam the tricks of the trade.

  Bo pulled the raft out of the current a couple of times to let them rest their arms and backs, and by 3 o’clock she found a spot to spend the night. She could tell that Sam was tiring, and so was she. She hadn’t used some of those muscles for awhile either. They pulled the raft up on the shore and secured it, then flopped down to rest in the shade of a tree before unloading. Bo lit a cigarette.

  “We’re gonna be sore when this is over,” she laughed as she exhaled skyward.

  “More me than you,” he chuckled. “I hope it doesn’t affect our lovemaking!”

  They set up the tent, fixed their bed, and then Bo set up the small propane camp stove.

  “I don’t like open fires this time of year. This is not as romantic as a campfire, but much safer,” she told Sam.

  She produced a bottle of white wine, crackers and cheese and they enjoyed cocktail hour under the trees—mountain style.

  Bo laughed, “Well, Sam, what do you think? Compared to body surfing I mean?”

  “I used a few muscles I haven’t used in awhile—even in Karate. But it has been quite an exhilarating experience. Especially because I’m with you,” replied Sam as he gave her a kiss.

  “Well, you know I can’t cook, so you are elected to cook our dinner. It normally would be canned stew, but I brought some shish-kabobs. My mother skewered them for me.”

  Bo took some bamboo skewers out of the cooler. They had chunks of top sirloin steak, new potatoes, green peppers, and onions. Sam grilled them on the stove and they had their dinner under the stars.

  They crawled into their tent and had some slow sex, but exhaustion finally forced them to sleep.

  ***

  Sam heard the familiar sound of a chopper just after he dozed off. At first he thought it might be a Forest Ranger, but it was dark. He didn’t like the feel of it. He slipped on his pants and hiking shoes. As he was pulling on a shirt, Bo stirred.

  “What’re you doing, Sam?” she asked sleepily.

  “There’s a chopper out there. I’m gonna take a look,” he replied softly.

  “Chopper? How unusual,” she remarked as she sat up.

  “I’ll check it out. I’ll be right back,” he said. “Hand me the flashlight.”

  He disappeared into the night.

  ***

  In the black chopper, the man dressed in black told the pilot, “According to their GPS signal, they’re right over there. Go to that clearing and put me and Max on the ground. We’ll catch them asleep in their tent. They won’t know what hit them.”

  “Roger.”

  Sam spotted the chopper’s spotlight and moved a little closer. He saw two men being lowered to the ground. Shit!

  He used his flashlight and ran back to the tent. He stuck his head in and whispered, “Get dressed quickly! That chopper put at least two men on the ground. Hand me the carbine, my jacket, and a box of shells. There’s a big fallen tree over there. I’ll go cover the trail while you throw some essentials in the duffel.”

  “OK, Sam. I’ll hurry. Who the hell are they?” she gasped.

  “Not a clue! Did you bring your nine?”

  “Yes!”

  “Strap it on for easy access. And hurry! I don’t want us any where near this tent until we sort this out,” he exclaimed. “It’s like a big bull’s eye.”

  Then he was gone. Bo threw her clothes on, retrieved her shoulder rig from the duffel and put it on, and checked her S & W 9mm. She threw some nonessential things out of the duffel bag and stuffed in two blankets and some bottles of water, then left the tent, and staying low, headed for the tree log Sam was crouching behind. She eased the bag down and knelt beside Sam just as the light of the half moon revealed a man moving slowly down the trail. The shadowy figure had an automatic weapon leading the way and he was wearing night vision goggles. Sam handed Bo the flashlight, then pointed at his eyes, and then to the shadowy figure. She got the message and nodded. Sam carefully eased the Winchester forward and nodded. Bo aimed the flashlight at the head of the wraith and turned it on.

  Max Zucor was about 8 yards ahead of the other man. The man in black never took chances if he could avoid them. Shooting a man in the back of the head while the victim was kneeling was more his style. He was happy to lag behind a bit. Zucor was just making out the dome outline of the tent when the bright light blinded him. He screamed and ripped off the goggles as he hosed the area in front of him with automatic fire from his AK-47. Sam put a bullet in the middle of his chest, levered another shell, and shot him again as he fell.

  “Light off!” Sam whispered. “There’s at least one more of them out there.”

  Bo turned off the flashlight, shaking.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered. “He was trying to kill us!”

  “I don’t know. Cover me, I’m gonna go take a look.”

  ***

  The man in black got out of there fast. He ran back to the clearing and called the guys in the chopper and told them to hose down the tent, and anything else they could spot. The chopper moved toward the tent.

  ***

  Sam crept up to the man he’d shot and found the night goggles. The man was dead. Sam put on the goggles and took a look around. Nothing. He heard the chopper moving. It stopped over the tent, turned on their powerful spot light, and riddled the tent with automatic fire. Sam ran back to the log where he’d left Bo, bringing the AK-47 with him.

  He handed Bo the night goggles and told her to watch the trail while he went after the chopper.

  “Are you crazy? They’ll shoot you to pieces!” she moaned, her whole body trembling. She had never been in a fire fight like this before. Sam had.

  “Just watch for that other asshole! I’ll be OK,” he said as he hugged her, kissed her lips. “Be right back.”

  He ran toward the tent, disappearing into the forest like a shadow. When he got to a spot where he could get a good shot, he emptied the AK-47’s clip into the cockpit area of the chopper. It started to pull up, but then fell off to the side and exploded in a ball of fire when it clipped a tree. Sam ran to the raft, untied it, and pushed it into the river; then hurried back to Bo.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here! Is there someplace we can hide out until morning?” he panted.

  “Yes! There are some rocks and overhangs further up the mountains to the east. There’re some caves up there. Did you shoot down that chopper?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “You know the area and have the goggles. Lead the way. I’ll watch our backs.”

  She started off and he picked up the duffel and followed her, staying close so they wouldn’t have to use the flashlight and give away their position.

  After 20 minutes of steady climbing, they sat on a log and rested.

  “Are we there yet?”
asked Sam.

  “God, you’re worse than a child in a car! I’ll stop at the first decent place. You just watch our backs. It shouldn’t be much further. In any case, we’ll stop for a rest in another fifteen minutes.”

  Chapter 45

  Friday, July 6, 2001

  Colorado Mountains

  Fifteen minutes after crawling into the cave, Sam was breathing normally again. They hadn’t spoken since entering the small crevice. The area was dry and was protected overhead by a jutting slab of rock that was pushed out during an earthquake centuries ago. Bo finally whispered, “Do you think anyone survived that crash?”

  Sam whispered back, “I doubt it, but there were at least two of them on the ground before the chopper got to our tent. I killed one, so there’s at least one survivor. He’s the one who probably called the chopper in after they spotted our tent. Someone could still be tracking us.”

  “The flames from that crash will be spotted and bring in the rangers, the La Plata Sheriffs, and who knows who else. Any survivors are probably long gone. Who were those guys?”

  Sam’s face was only inches from Bo’s, but he could not really see her clearly. He wished he could see her reaction to his next statement.

  “You really don’t know? Who knew where we were? Besides your parents, that is?”

  There was a moment of silence, then Bo answered, “My boss knew I was in Durango on vacation, of course. But nobody knew that we would be camping in that spot. We didn’t even know. I chose the spot because we were tired. What’s your point?”

  “You just made it. Only the FBI knew where you were. Nobody knew I was here—not even Becky. She’s with my parents in Spain, so I just sent her an email telling her I was going out of town—not where.”

  “Are you crazy? That couldn’t have been the FBI! That makes no sense at all! What would their purpose be?”

  “You tell me, Bo. What are you working on? There could be a mole in your unit, and somebody doesn’t like something you’re doing,” replied Sam.