Lone Wolves

by Chesbro, George C. ;

  Garth remained very still, watching the other man, but Mary sat bolt upright on the sofa.

  “Oh, God, Jacob,” Mary said, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right, ma’am,” Andover replied. His lips again drew back from his teeth, this time forming more a grimace than a grin. “To tell you the truth,” he continued more softly, “I don’t much like people feeling sorry for me. It makes me real uncomfortable, so I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t do any crying on my behalf.”

  “Jacob, Garth and I do volunteer work for a self-help group of people with exactly the same kind of illness. Why don’t you consider coming…?” She allowed her voice to trail off when Jacob Andover raised his hand and slowly but firmly shook his head.

  “Thank you, Mary, but Garth will tell you that I was never much for joining groups. Your husband’s about the only man I’ve met in twenty years I could stand to be with more than an hour when I wasn’t drunk.”

  “He’s come to terms with it, Mary,” Garth said in a low voice, without taking his eyes off the other man’s face. “Jacob’s come to say goodbye.”

  Jacob Andover stared back at Garth for a few moments, and then said, “Yeah, that too.”

  “What else, Jacob?”

  The gaunt prospector, trapper, and hunter reached down to the stained, torn, canvas duffel bag on the floor between his feet and opened it. He took out three bulging drawstring pouches made from moose hide and a magnificent knife of blue-gray steel with a handle carved from walrus tusk. He set the items aside on the floor, zipped up the bag, and chuckled. This triggered a coughing attack. He quickly took a handkerchief out of his pocket, covering his mouth as he looked away in embarrassment. Finally the spasm passed. He wiped his mouth, looked back at Garth, and smiled wryly.

  “Since you are the only person I was able to spend more than an hour with when I wasn’t drunk, and since you’re the only human in twenty years who made me feel good to be human, I figured that makes you my sole heir. For me, the biggest kick in prospecting was always in finding the color, and I never did get around to spending much of it, what with living in the bush and all that. Even when I did need money, I preferred to keep the dust and nuggets around to remind me of why the hell I was working so hard. This is part of my last will and testament. I want you to have the gold and the knife, which I always knew you had a keen eye for. I’d have brought you my rifle, Magnum, and shotgun, but I figured they wouldn’t let me carry them on the plane, so I gave them to the bartender and two of the waitresses at the saloon in Chicken.”

  “Thank you, Jacob,” Garth said quietly. “I appreciate that. I’ll take the knife, which I have always had a keen eye for, but you’ll need the gold for medical expenses. You know you’re going to die soon, and you’ve accepted that, but there’s no reason for you not to make the most of the days, weeks, or months you have left. There are drugs and other treatments that can help you.”

  “And you’re welcome to stay with us, Jacob,” Mary said, moving closer to Garth and taking his hand. “You have a refuge in which to die with dignity, if you care to accept it.”

  Jacob Andover was silent for some time, glancing back and forth between the man with whom he had spent so little time but to whom he felt so close, and the beautiful folk singer with waist-length, whitish blond hair and blue eyes who was the man’s wife. Finally his eye misted, a single tear formed and rolled down his sunken cheek. “I thank you for making me that offer, Mary,” he said in a low voice, “but I won’t be needing to take you up on it. Now that I’ve decided what my last will and testament is going to be, I’m anxious to get on with the rest of my business before I check out. Garth, the gold stays here, but I have to ask you to wait a few days for the knife. I’ll make sure it gets to you.”

  Garth took his hand from Mary’s, and then leaned forward on the sofa, resting his elbows on his knees and staring hard at the man sitting in the wicker chair across the room. “What is it, Jacob?” he asked. “Why else are you here?”

  The other man was again silent for a time, as if considering the question. Then he said, “You remember, Garth, how you and I used to talk about the differences between living in Alaska and back East here?”

  Garth brushed his hand back through his thinning, shoulder-length, wheat-colored hair, and fixed the other man with his brown eyes. “I seem to recall we mostly talked about the different sources of danger, the things that can get a person killed.”

  “That’s right. In Alaska, it’s the environment that’s most likely to kill you if you’re not careful. In winter, when it’s forty below, you can run your car off the road or wander off a trail and freeze to death in no time at all. In the East, you couldn’t really get lost if you were trying to; there’s almost always a house, more likely a whole neighborhood, or a road with traffic, just over the next hill. In Alaska you can get your head torn off by a bear a mile or so into the bush, or get stomped to death by a moose in your driveway. The danger there comes mostly from the environment, but you can take steps to protect yourself—carry a survival pack in your car, make a lot of noise when you hike in the bush, and look out the window to see what may be standing on your front lawn before you go outside. Here, it’s the damn people crowding all around you who are dangerous, and you never know when somebody’s sneaking up behind you to mug, rape, maim, or kill. To me, this is a far more dangerous place to live than the forty-acre tract.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Mary said evenly, glancing at Garth.

  “Well, I’ve certainly killed more than my share of animals, but I always did it in self-defense, or for food or hides, or something else I needed. I could never see no sense in gunning down some moose or bison, because they’re so stone dumb they’ll just stand there and look at you while you do it. I was never much interested in killing for the sake of killing, if you know what I mean.”

  “The people who do that sort of thing call themselves sportsmen,” Mary said dryly.

  “I did me enough hunting in the war to last me a lifetime, and I never did know if the men I killed there deserved to die. But it occurred to me while I was over there that if I ever did really want to hunt something—say, for sport, or any other reason—it would be a man, and it wouldn’t bother my conscience none because the man I hunted would be some son-of-a-bitch who deserved to die.”

  “Jacob,” Garth said quietly, “do you really think I’d want that knife after you’ve used it to kill a man?”

  “Well, I guess I’d say that depends on who it was I killed.”

  “No. You’d be wrong.”

  Jacob Andover’s eye narrowed. “The way I hear it, you and that real smart little brother of yours have killed a whole lot of men.”

  “Men who were trying to kill us, Jacob. Like the bears you’ve shot. Who do you want to kill?”

  “T. L. Michael Mason,” the other man replied evenly, and smiled thinly. “He enough of a son-of-a-bitch for you?”

  Garth exchanged glances with Mary, then leaned back on the sofa and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know.”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re after the thieving, murdering bastard yourself. Janie Aglook told me how you and your brother are working for one of the tribal corporations, trying to prove not only that it was him and his men who sacked that village, but that he’s been pulling stunts like that for a long time. I’ll bet half of that collection of artifacts he’s got were stolen, but you won’t get many Inuits, Indians, or Aleuts coming to New York City to complain about him.”

  “How do you know Dr. Aglook?”

  “I never told you that story?”

  Garth shook his head. “You were never much of a talker, Jacob. You seemed pleased to seek out my company and just sit for a time, or listen to me talk, so that’s how it went.”

  “You got that right,” Andover said with a curt nod. “’Nam messed up my mind pretty good. After I left there, I couldn’t stand to be around people. A lot of us were like that, and a lot of us went looking fo
r wild places where we could be by ourselves and just sort of do what we pleased so we wouldn’t hurt so damn much. I headed for Alaska.”

  “So did a lot of other Vietnam vets,” Garth said quietly.

  “Yeah, but I went a lot farther into Alaska than the others. I wasn’t content to just camp out in the bush. I had nightmares bad, and keeping on the move helped some. I just kept heading north. Who knows? Maybe I was looking to get killed, and I almost did. After three or four years of wandering, living off the land, I made it all the way up to the Circle. A polar bear caught me out on the ice, scalped me like they do, bit through my rib cage, and damn near tore off my left arm. He must have figured I was dead, ’cause he dragged me off to an ice cave and left me to ripen up for a few days. I was found by some Inuit—Janie’s people. They put me on a sled, took me back to their village, and healed me up. I’m probably the only white man you’ll ever meet who actually likes Inuit ice cream. Anyway, you can imagine my surprise when I wake up one morning, half out of my mind with fever, to find this pretty young Eskimo woman sitting beside my bed, holding my hand, and talking to me in perfect English. With a Boston accent, no less. Sounded like a Kennedy.

  “Later, I found out that she’d been adopted by some hotshot Eskimos on the tribal corporation board, and they’d made sure she got some top schooling. When I met her, she’d just gotten her Ph.D. in cultural anthropology. She’d spent years studying Inuit in general, and this particular group of Inuit. She wrote papers about them. Finest woman I’ve ever met. If it hadn’t been for her visits two or three times a year, I’d probably have forgotten my English.”

  Mary asked, “You came back by yourself when you were better?”

  “Heck yes, ma’am. I didn’t need Janie to show me how to get back. And I didn’t mind living with the Inuit; I liked their lifestyle. Life up on the Circle was real simple. I’d go off hunting by myself a lot, but I always brought back meat and hides to share with the tribe, so they accepted me. They even gave me an Inuit name, called me the White Bear.

  “After a few years up there on the Circle, I started feeling a little better, so I headed back south. Worked on the Slope for a while, and then I went into the bush to prospect for gold. While I was living with the Inuit I learned to do a little scrimshaw, carved ivory and bone—not too good, mind you, but I enjoyed doing it. I carved a polar bear once, gave it to the couple who’d cared for me when I was mangled up. It was such a bad carving that most of those Inuit would have laughed if they weren’t so polite, but the couple appreciated my effort, and said they’d keep it always as a treasured gift. Inuit don’t lie about things like that. Now, your T. L. Michael Mason claims he got all his Inuit artifacts and carvings through legitimate trading outlets. He also claims he and his hunting buddies were never in that village that was sacked. He’s a damn liar on both counts, because that bear I carved is right now sitting in one of the glass display cases in the lobby of that big building he owns on Fifth Avenue.”

  Garth uncrossed his arms and sat bolt upright on the sofa. “Can you prove that, Jacob?”

  Andover shrugged. “Well, anybody who knows about such things would know that bear wasn’t carved by any Inuit artist— Mason ain’t the expert he claims to be. It also happens to have my initials carved into the bottom. You tell me if that proves he and his men sacked the village, raped a couple of women, stole their carvings and raw ivory, and killed a man.”

  “It would certainly help bolster the prosecution’s case. Look, if you’ll give me a deposition—”

  “I already started all that deposition stuff with some lawyers in New York Janie sent me to. I’m supposed to talk to them again next week. It was Janie who contacted me and brought me here, and it was Janie who told me where to find you here in Cairn. Nice town. That’s some river out there.”

  “If you’re working with lawyers for the tribal corporation, Jacob, then you’re doing all you can. I’m investigating other leads concerning stolen artifacts that, together with your bear, could at least prove that Mason is a thief and a liar. Let it go.”

  “I gave them the deposition, and they say they want to talk to me a few more times after they talk to other people. They want me to testify at his trial, if there is one, but there ain’t much chance I’ll live that long. Each morning now when I wake up it’s a surprise to me. Most days it’s a big disappointment. You want to know what’s going to happen to Mason? Nothing. That’s what. I ain’t been out of touch for so long as to forget how lawyers do their business, and Mason’s got plenty of those. They’ll say there’s no way to prove the couple I gave the bear to didn’t give it away to some other Inuit who sold it.”

  “Dr. Aglook has Inuit who’ll testify that the two planes that landed near their village bore the logo of Mason’s corporation, and they’ll identify him as one of the raiders.”

  Andover made a dismissive gesture with his trembling right hand. “Ten minutes after a lawyer gets one of those witnesses on the stand, he won’t know the difference between a logo and a logjam. The lawyer will say all white men look the same to an Inuit. The Inuit will end up looking foolish. That’s the way it’s going to go. The way I figure it, part of my last will and testament is to give my death to serve some good purpose. I don’t give a damn about all those bodyguards Mason has, because I don’t mind getting killed. It’s what I want. My life’s been pretty worthless, when all’s said and done, but I’d like my death to mean something. All I need to do is get close enough to Mason to cut his throat, and then justice will have been done.”

  “It’s not going to work out, Jacob,” Garth said softly.

  The other man raised his head slightly and frowned. The too-bright light in his one eye seemed colder. “No? Why not?”

  “Because I can’t let you do it.”

  “And just how do you think you can stop me?”

  “You have to understand that this isn’t the bush,” Garth replied in the same soft tone. “Here, neither of us can just go about taking care of our business any way we please.”

  “I can.”

  “No. I’m a private investigator licensed by the state of New York. I’m currently involved in a case that’s before the courts, and that limits my actions in certain ways. Information you give me isn’t privileged. I can’t learn of a plan to murder the man I’m investigating, and not notify the authorities. I could be brought up on criminal charges myself. In short, Jacob, I’ll stop you by calling in the cops.”

  The other man’s half-face grew even paler. “You’d call the cops on me?”

  “I’ve said it.”

  “You think I’m wrong, Frederickson?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think, Jacob, only what I do. I don’t care to discuss it any longer. I need to hear from you that you don’t intend to pursue Mason outside of the legal process.”

  Jacob Andover abruptly rose to his feet and picked up his duffel bag, leaving the three pouches filled with gold dust on the floor. He walked stiffly to the door of the music room, hesitated, and then turned back. “I thought much better of you before I came here, Frederickson,” he said in a rasping voice. “I won’t be seeing or talking to you again.” Then he walked quickly out of the room.

  Mary, her face mirroring her distress, started to rise to go after him but stopped when she felt the pressure of her husband’s hand on her thigh. She looked inquiringly at Garth, who raised his hand slightly to indicate she should wait. Although puzzled, Mary had learned from experience that Garth had certain very special sensibilities about certain things, and she nodded her assent.

  A few seconds later they heard the screen door at the front of the house open and close, indicating that their visitor had left. Garth continued to wait almost two minutes before he finally rose and motioned for Mary to follow him. They walked through the house and out the front door. Mary glanced past Garth down the walk and saw the hunched shape of Jacob Andover sitting on the steps leading down to the sidewalk and street. His frail shoulders were shaking as if he were c
rying. She turned toward Garth to ask how he had known the other man would not be going far, but her husband was already walking toward the slumped figure. He knelt down, put his powerful arms around the weeping man, holding the scarred head to his chest. Mary knelt down on the other side of Andover and gently stroked his back.

  “I’m so ashamed,” he sobbed into Garth’s shoulder. “I’m so damn tired all the time. Sometimes it’s all I can do to get out of bed. I was just hoping I’d have enough energy left to pay back Mason for what he did to the people who saved my life. God, Garth, I was even hoping you might help me. I don’t think I can manage it by myself. Right now I don’t have enough energy to get down to the street.”

  “You’ll stay with us, Jacob,” Garth said, lifting the frail man in his arms and starting back up the walk to the house. “We’ll talk about what can be done about Mr. Mason.”

  They never did get around to talking about what could be done about T. L. Michael Mason. Garth and Mary cared for Jacob Andover, gave him a place to live, food, and comfort. On days when Jacob was feeling stronger, he would take the Red-and-Tan bus into New York City to confer with the tribal corporation lawyers, or take walks, or run errands. Two weeks after his arrival in Cairn, the newspapers carried reports of his death at the hands of a gang of teenagers who’d tried to rob him as he was walking in Central Park. Jacob had killed two of his attackers, and severed the spinal cord of a third.

  Mary was troubled when she found her husband smiling as he read the accounts of the attack and deaths. “Garth,” she said in a curt tone she had never before used with him, “do you think what happened to Jacob and those kids is funny? ”

  “No,” Garth replied evenly. “It’s not exactly what I would describe as funny, but it does make me feel good.”

  Mary shook her head. “Garth, I can’t believe it’s you saying that. I don’t understand at all.”

  His smile vanished so suddenly that Mary, despite her knowledge that Garth was not angry, felt a slight chill. “Listen to me, Mary,” Garth said in a quiet, even tone. “We share love, but we haven’t really known each other for very long, so you’re still getting to know me. For you to understand why I feel good about what’s happened, you must first understand why I don’t feel bad. Jacob Andover was a very strange and dangerous man, but he never hurt anyone who wasn’t trying to hurt him. He had a strong, if primitive, sense of justice, and his presence in the world did not cause a blight. He was dying, slowly and painfully, in a way that was totally humiliating to him. He wanted to make his death count for something, and now it has. Those ‘kids,’ as you called them, have arrest records dating back years, juveniles charged as adults. They were rapists, robbers, and killers. They were on a rampage in the park that day, beating up and robbing, or sexually molesting, anyone who got in their way. From all the evidence cited in the news reports, the lives of the two youths Jacob killed in self defense, and the one he maimed, were irredeemable; they would have spent the rest of their lives hurting and killing people until they were put away in prison for good, or until somebody stopped them another way. Jacob stopped them. They went after Jacob because they thought he was helpless, not realizing he was a wounded bear every bit as dangerous as they were, or more so. They got what they deserved, and when Jacob died at their hands he took the evil and blight of their lives out of the world with him. It’s what Jacob, who was a decent man, wanted. That’s why I like the way things worked out. Now, if you feel sad or upset, and you appear to, I’d like you to explain that to me.”