EARLY WITHDRAWAL (A Mitch Tobin Mystery Book 1)

by Mark Gannon

  “Cookie I’m not traveling with him, he just sort of follows me around. Maybe if you give him a bone, he’ll curl up in a corner and chew on it.”

  “That was some show you put on out there. All the boys in the cook shack took a break and went out to watch. Sure was fun to see Lowe dive for cover.”

  “Thanks Chris, but let’s just keep that talk about Cap Lowe to the quiet side. Okay? Now is that cinnamon apple spiced squash that I smell. You said you were going to try something a little different and special tonight, but that smells amazing.”

  I was hungry and not very patient with all the talk about the menu, “How about you throw that big chunk of prime rib on my plate while you and John visit? And I think I’ll skip on that squash stuff – sounds terrible. But I will take one of them over stuffed baked taters.”

  Chris glared at me for being interrupted, “I’ve a good mind not to give you any supper at all Mitch. You should know better than to insult my cooking. Who knows what might slip into your food some time.” The nasty little smile he made when he said this made me pay attention.

  My retort slipped out without my thinking, “Well the way my stomach felt last night I thought you already doctored my food. Even you complained John.”

  John defended the cooking with, “No, Mitch, what made me ill was watching you and Frank polish off all that Bud Lite and eat chips and pickles when we got back to the tent. No wonder you felt a little off.”

  Cookie said, “Good thing you guys got here. Everyone else has pretty much been through and I was worried about running out of chow.”

  I was surprised, “Cookie you’ve got to be kidding. There’s enough food left to feed an army division.”

  Cookie knew what he had to cover for chow. “Yeah, but your buddy Frank hasn’t come through yet. That man can put away almost as much food as he does beer and that’s a lot.” A six and a half foot whip cord wearing a sweat encrusted Stetson bumped me on purpose from behind. “Speak of the devil. If it ain’t the human vacuum himself.”

  Frank broke in with his whiskey voice, “Glad I got off the horse line early enough to get in for chow. There was so little left last night, I had to find some extra in the tent before I went to sleep.”

  Cookie knew better and told him, “The only reason you sign on as help for the Trail Ride every year isn’t for the money Frank. Your little Laurie sends you here so she can save on the groceries. The way you put food and beer away, you must not have to eat or drink for a month after the ride. Or do you hide all that chow in that cookie duster of yours and eat it later?”

  “Never mind any of that Cookie. Just fill this tray with as much as it will hold so I don’t have to come back too many times. Mitch, did you bring a beer for me?” I was prepared for this and set two Bud Lites on his tray. Frank would still need two or three more to make it through supper.

  “Mitch you still want your prime rib running with blood?” Cookie was leaning across the serving counter jawing at me. He knew from past rides that I wanted my meat bleeding.

  I leaned back and spoke up for my chow, “Cookie, you just make sure that critter has at least quit bellering, and then serve it up.” He was serving prime rib, apple cinnamon squash, twice baked stuffed potatoes, honey glazed carrots and chocolate mousse. This was his light meal night as he put it. Cookie had a staff of seven helping him turn out breakfast, lunch and supper plus morning and afternoon snacks and the late night extras for the poker games. The cook trailer we filed through for our chow line was twenty four feet long with a swing out awning that doubled its size. It contained grills, ovens, pots and pans to put out all this food for four days a year.

  Cookie was the camp food master for the last twelve years and he was proud of it. In real life he was owner and manager of the steak house in town. I always wondered when Cookie slept. He was here early in the morning and late at night fixing sandwiches for the late night poker crowd which sometimes included him.

  After loading my plate with prime rib and all the trimmings John, Frank and I headed from the chow tent to the meal tent. This tent is big enough to seat eighty people and close to one hundred if we shoved close together. Tables were covered with table clothes, salad dressings and a selection of steak sauces. The tent side curtains were up on three sides to let the light evening breeze carry through. The strings of overhead lights were off at this time. We would turn the lights on later for the all night poker games.

  It sure is great to come in from riding all day and sit down to a meal like this. The prime rib was a marinated miracle of beef that didn’t require a knife. Did I mention that the food was fantastic on these rides?

  The clinking of poker chips came from the far end of the tent. John said, “The boys must be starting early tonight. I see Charlie invited Larson to the big boys table.”

  The group at the center table consisted of Wagner, an oil lease specialist, sheriff Rawlins, Reggie Klein a real estate developer now married to my ex-wife, Ned Tanner a long time rancher and Charlie Gearets, my boss. Bill Larson was the only new face at the table this year. Charlie was a perennial at the center poker table on the trail ride. Every year since I started coming, Charlie was sitting at the center table playing poker with the other big boys. The center table group meant table stakes and straight poker. Pots in the thousands happened almost every night and the current pot was overflowing with hundreds. Cigar and cigarette smoke hung in the air. Poker tables at the trail ride are not governed by the non-smoking laws of bars and restaurants. Cigars are actually encouraged and in great supply.

  After the busy day and all the activity it was peaceful to sit in the dining tent listening to the soft talk of serious poker. Cards shuffled and cash ruffled. Ice cubes swirled in the plastic cups. The noise from the bar tent was muffled and strictly background static. The poker tent at night was calming to me.

  “You playing tonight,” John asked us. Frank and I normally sat in at one of the smaller tables one or two nights each year.

  “I think I’ll just take it easy tonight. I’m too wound up to pay attention and you know how poorly I play anyway,” I whispered back.

  Ned Tanner barked at the three of us past the perennial cigarette dangling below his Tom Seleck cookie duster “You boys want to lose some money? Sit down and get your cash out.” Ned had his seventy year old bowed legs wrapped around the chair holding him in place while his beer gut kept pushing him back from the table. At five and half feet his arms were too short to balance him. Ned’s sweat stained Stetson hat was tilted back on his bald head as he eyed fresh meat for the poker table.

  Sitting beside Ned was Reggie Klein, my ex-wife’s new husband. “You boys are sure welcome as long as you brought some money.” Reggie’s long six foot plus frame was a counter point to Ned - slim build except his belly, no meat and a full head of white thick hair. Where Ned was gruff and short of conversation, Reggie was chatty with a false friendliness, chatty to the point of annoyance. “Well Mitch, I especially hope you brought some money. I’ve about spent your child support. Ha ha.” Nothing like rubbing it in - I wrote a check to Em (Emily my ex) every month for several years until my son turned eighteen. Now our son Tom was a sophomore at Black Hills State University. The child support was rough but now it was college expense - ouch! What an ass Reggie was to mention something like that in front of everyone. How he made a living as a realtor and land developer was beyond me. Nobody I knew could stand him.

  Charlie smiled at me, “Stick around Mitch and watch a master rake in the money. Howdy, John. Nice outfit you’re wearing tonight. You sure added some excitement to the flag ceremony. See you boys are keeping the entertainment tent supplied.” No banter for Frank, just a nod in his direction. Charlie did not cotton to Frank and kept telling me Frank was going to lead me astray sometime.

  “Hot damn!” Reggie’s voice was up an octave as he raked in the large pot. The main loser appeared to be Ned. “You know Ned; you are going to have to sell that upper pasture yet if you keep losing like that.” T
he superior laugh that followed is what probably set Ned off.

  “It’ll be cold day in hell when you get your hands on that land Reggie.” Ned snapped back. “You know I’m damn tired of you haranguing me about selling some land. You’ve been hounding me for weeks – no make that years. You need to just back off and leave me alone. Now I’ve said that enough times that you should get it. ” Ned gave a nasty look at Reggie to emphasize his point. Reggie’s face went red as a beet and his eyes popped out. As rude and pushy as Reggie is I doubt if anyone was normally this direct about telling him off. I was glad to see someone else give Reggie a good tongue lashing. It was just surprising as Ned and Reggie normally got along just fine. Reggie must have really been hounding Ned on selling the upper pasture. By now Ned had pushed his chair back and was lunging toward Reggie. John was faster than I was and inserted himself between Ned and Reggie. There was a short scuffle that ended quickly when Charlie and Rawlins pulled Ned back.

  Charlie leaned in between Reggie and Ned. “We haven’t had a fight at this table since I’ve been playing here and we aren’t about to start now. So sit back down Ned. Reggie.” Ten seconds of Charlie staring you down was plenty. I know from personal experience. Finally Reggie and Ned both sagged back to their chairs. Charlie sat back down and put a casual note in his voice, “It’s your turn to deal Rawlins.” A few minutes later the poker was going on just like nothing had happened.

  Frank said he needed to go check on the horse line and earn some of his keep for the week. John and I headed off together to the entertainment tent. The crude wooden bar was staffed by three frantic bartenders serving up beers, and easily mixed drinks as fast as an octopus on speed. The tent side curtains were up on three sides to let the light evening breeze carry through. The tables and chairs were all moved to the east side to take advantage of the shade. With this being the first night the tent was already filling up. Back slapping, loud hellos and good natured bantering sounded all around mixed in with the sound of horses whinnying as they got acquainted on the picket line. Pickups and trailers were still pulling into camp as the late arrivers tried to off load horses, set up tents, get to the chow tent before the steaks were gone and still make it to the beverages on their way through camp. Dust was hanging in the air from all the activity leaving fine grain dust to settle everywhere. To keep the dust from taking over, the drinks were flowing fast and furious.

  Chapter 4

  Coach Fredricks

  “Hey, if it isn’t the bottom feeders together, the banker and the legal beagle. Where‘s the rest of the troublesome trio? Out shoveling shit on the horse line?” My first inclination was to take offense until I recognized the voice – Coach Chip Fredricks.

  “It’s funny you should mention horse shit. That is exactly what came to the top of my mind when I heard your voice.” Insulting the coach was now safe twenty years after he was no longer my coach. But now he was my son Tom’s (TT) coach. Aw crap. It was great to see coach but after talking with Emily I felt the need to discuss TT. It goes against my inner self to talk business during the trail ride. Now TT’s football was not business for me but it was business for Coach Chip. Coach Chip was my coach for four years at Black Hills State and now he was TT’s coach. I always got along with him and respected him. “How’s it going Coach? Enjoying the ride?”

  “Damn straight. The trail ride is always my last get away before football season interferes with my life for the next six months. And I plan to make the most of it.”

  “That’s great Coach. I hope you enjoy yourself to the max.”

  “Thanks. I will.” With that Coach turned around and started to walk off. Then he stopped and slowly turned around. “You know, Mitch, there is something I should cover with you. Remember when we switched quarterbacks in your junior year and you didn’t like Schmidt who I moved in?” I nodded. What was he getting at? “Well you needed to let Schmidt run things and get along. But instead you fought it and sat on the bench for a while until you decided to work with him. Do you remember that?” I nodded again. “Well TT needs to learn that same lesson. See if you can’t help him get over it faster than you did. Okay?” And he turned and walked off again. Well so much for not talking business while on the ride.

  After listening to some live music and checking on the liquid refreshments a second time I grabbed up a supply of ‘cold’ ones for Frank. “See you later Lonnie. You know where to find us if something comes up.”

  John caught up with me as we headed back to our tent. We weren’t talking much with each of us caught up in our own thoughts. Leaving the entertainment tent we crossed to open area where all the trailers were parked. Some were very basic two horse bumper hitch trailers like I own. Others were three and four horse slant fifth wheel hitch trailers that had complete self-contained camper units on the front. I asked John, “When are you getting something like this?”

  He gave a laugh and answered, “Not me, Mitch. I am as fancy as I am going to get. The kids aren’t interested in horses so there is no use in getting a bigger outfit.”

  Walking next to the biggest outfit we heard voices coming from an open window. A familiar voice was saying, “--and that is final. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

  A sharp nasty hiss of a voice answered. “You don’t understand. You don’t have a choice. You have a nice easy life here. It would be a shame if that big man in town reputation of yours became tarnished. Your history may come back to haunt you.”

  The first voice that I now recognized as Bill Larson said, “I don’t take threats. You should know that.”

  The hiss came back with, “I don’t make threats. I do what I say I’m going to do. You better do the same.”

  The conversation had taken both John and me by surprise and we naturally moved closer to the camper to hear. Moving in the dark I stumbled over something and put out my hand to catch myself with a whack against the side of the camper. Larson’s voice lowered and he said, “What was that?”

  Not wanting to be found snooping on someone else John and I beat a hasty retreat to our tent. As we got near our tent we met Ned headed the other way. He growled at us, “I better go check on Ernesto. He gets a little worked up around all those other horses. I swear some of those mares are in heat.”

  A beer by the fire was relaxing after the hustle of the entertainment tent. But before too long I was fidgeting. John knew my moods and didn’t question me when I headed away from our tent and went for a walk. In some ways I was built like Ned Tanner. I needed to check on my horse before I went to bed. I needed a horse conversation to get to sleep. Dan was tied up with the rest of the horses on a steel cable stretched between a large tree and one of the semi-trucks. The cable was about six feet in the air so the horses would not get hung up on ground ties. There were two of these cables each over one hundred yards long holding approximately one hundred and fifty horses. The horses were not allowed in by the tents and campers because of the flies and odor. And also because the Forrest Service wanted the damage from the horses contained in one area.

  I found Dan standing easily while chewing on some alfalfa placed there by the wranglers. He forgot about the hay long enough to wrangle some sugar cubes from me. Talking to Dan here was not the same as in my comfy little barn at home. But I needed to get something off my chest. “That voice in the trailer sounded like Larson. It would be mighty uncomfortable to have one of the bank’s bigger customers think I was spying on him. But I really wonder what they were talking about and who was in that camper with him.” Dan kept chewing his hay in his attentive way that makes you think he is listening. I stroked his forehead and between the ears and ran my hand down his neck. “You are one grand horse. Ned can have his fancy cutting horse with the bad manners. I sure am glad I’ve got you buddy.”

  I was ready to leave and head for bed when a commotion on the far end of the tie line caught my ear. A horse was snorting and blowing its nose as if in distress. I moved down that way wondering about the possibility of a mountain lion. The
re aren’t any bears or wolves in the Black Hills but a lot of cats. The closer I got the more the horse was raising hell and disturbing the rest of the horse line.

  As I came in sight of the tree marking the end of the cable Ned Tanners big stallion Ernesto showed up. Ernie was tossing his head and snorting through his nose while pawing with his front hooves. He was definitely excited by something but I could not see what it was. Where the hell are the wranglers? One of them is supposed to be on duty all night just in case something like this happens. That nasty stud swung his hind end in my direction as I approached trying to soothe him. After getting bit by him earlier I was not about to get in striking distance of the rear hooves.

  Giving Ernesto a wide berth I made it to the far side of the tree. The soft moonlight revealed a dark mass by the bottom of the tree. As I watched the dark mass dissolved into a lump on the ground and a taller lump. Going closer showed someone kneeling beside a person on the ground. The person kneeling stood up as I approached unwinding into very familiar shape. “I … I … a … just found … just found him like this.” Stammered Reggie Klein.

  Walking up to Reggie I could finally make out the lump on the ground as a body. Reggie was frozen in place and I pushed him to the side so I could make out who was on the ground. “Crap! Is that Ned Tanner? Did that crazy stud of his finally lay him out?” No answer or movement from Reggie. I bumped against Ned as I checked his neck for a pulse. This caused Ned’s body to roll towards me. That’s when I saw the knife sticking out of Ned’s chest. As I got closer the light from the camp shone on the knife handle. My brain struggled with what I was seeing. The knife looked like the same knife that my buddy Frank always carried on his belt!