Even though his reputation for tall tales preceded him, Rose knew it was an insult to call a man a liar. She saw she was out of line and blushed, not being used to kindness. “I do know of your honesty and I’m sorry, Mr. Crockett. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I can see you’re just being kind. And I do appreciate it.” Glancing quickly at the half-closed stable door, her voice lowered so he had to lean in to hear her. “Wolf isn’t with me today. I…I haven’t seen him in a couple of days,” she hated to admit. “He will show up…eventually. I just don’t want the soldiers to know I came in alone.”
Davy Crockett stood back from the mare and nodded his understanding. “Another time then, ma’am.” He touched his forehead in a respectful salute and took the reins from her to lead the mare out of the stable. Georgie Russel was waiting in the shade of the Cantina’s overhang. When Davy came out of the stable, he showed no surprise seeing his friend lead a lovely lady on a horse. Falling into step, he silently joined them on the opposite side of the mare, his long rifle tucked easily in the crook of his arm.
Walking on either side of her out of Fort Wilderness, the two scouts gave a silent warning to those few bad soldiers who were watching. Once on the rocky path, they said their farewells. Rose turned westward to head home to her cabin. Davy Crockett and Georgie Russel turned eastward toward the raft landing that would take them across the River and on to the new assignment that had just been given to them by the Major General.
The soldier who had misread her smile had climbed the rickety wooden stairs to one of the watchtowers of the Fort to see what happened with the odd trio once they left the gates. Private Daniel Crain watched the blond as she rode past Injun Joe’s Cave and approached Castle Rock, his misdirected anger at her blossoming into a living, breathing hatred. He hadn’t missed the subtle message given by the two Army Scouts. Coward that he was, he hadn’t made himself known to them, but, he noted with smirking satisfaction, they were heading to regions far across the wide River. And she was going back to her lonely, isolated cabin.
He lifted his rifle to his shoulder and sighted down its long barrel. He took his time aiming. When he was satisfied, he slowly squeezed the trigger. The hammer dropped on the empty chamber. He uttered one word. “Bang.”
Unknowing, Rose slowly rode home.
Disneyland – 2007
Wolf was tired, exhausted more accurately. Mentally. Physically. Just back from visiting his family, he had finished his shift on Security, taking some time to catch up with his partner Lance Brentwood. Two of the subjects they discussed were the ever-present dilemma of the need for Doctor Houser to remain in the past and the threat of the still-missing blackmailer Tom Bolte. Wolf could add “frustration” to his list of complaints. He had been searching for the missing man ever since that fateful day in the hospital in 1966. How could it possibly still be unsolved after all this time? he asked himself yet again.
Using the state-of-the-art technology in the War Room, Wolf had searched every Tom Bolte that came into the databases. He even checked alterations on the spelling of the name, just in case it might have been modified after the heist. Plus, because of all the odd jobs the man had done while working for Disneyland, he could have gone into any number of fields—quite a few that didn’t require reporting to the government, like cash-under-the-table construction and handyman jobs. Otherwise it would have been easy to track him through his Social Security number. Not wanting to just rely on printed data, Wolf wasn’t satisfied until he had physically followed up on almost every one of the leads to see for himself if the “Tom” he had just found was the one he wanted.
Modesto– 1975
After chasing down what seemed to be his fortieth dead-end lead in the ever-lengthening trail of blackmail suspects, Wolf was now once again deeply involved in following his latest solid lead. This time, in November of 1975, he found himself in the San Joaquin Valley, more specifically, in the central California town of Modesto. Darkness had fallen as he sat in the quiet neighborhood of Sylvan Village. Wolf had been watching a ranch-style house across from the community pool on Fairington Lane for hours. His Mustang was parked just around the corner on Bartley Drive in front of a white stucco house with high curved fences that blocked anyone inside the house from spotting his stake-out position.
Wolf was once again taking his usual cautious approach—not approaching the suspect, but just watching from a safe distance, getting a feel for the man’s movements, looking for any suspicious activity. Since he had never seen Dr. Houser’s predator face-to-face at Disneyland after he had blackmailed Walt, he had to be absolutely sure of his perpetrator before he took action.
This suspect’s name was Thomas Boalt, a part-time janitor at the newly-opened Fred C. Beyer High School just three blocks away on Sylvan Avenue. With his name phonetically similar to the Tom Bolte Wolf was looking for, this man owned a fairly nice home, had a new Harley Davidson motorcycle in the garage and a recently customized ’65 Ranchero parked in his driveway—yet, he worked part-time at a high school doing custodial work. All of this combined to make Wolf seriously question whether a part-time janitor’s earnings could support his standard of living or whether he had had $100,000 worth of help from Walt Disney. Yet, after spending several days trailing him, Wolf hadn’t yet seen anything unusual. Once again, it was all starting to feel like this was just another dead lead. That night it all changed…
Late that evening, Tom slammed shut the front door to his house and bolted into his Ranchero. It had almost caught Wolf off guard, but he quickly started his Mustang to follow. Why did I have to go with a red Mustang? he thought as he maneuvered just far enough behind so as not to be spotted tailing the suspect. It was obvious, as Tom headed right on Sylvan Avenue, that he was going out to the country. After a rapid turn left onto Claus Road, he continued north as he wound through Riverbank and ended up at a small park next to the slow-running Stanislaus River. There he stopped his truck and just sat waiting in the darkness. When he saw Tom roll to a stop, Wolf killed his headlights and pulled to an easy stop on the other side of the park. His Mustang, now enveloped in the darkness, was no longer red, but just blended beautifully into the night.
Wolf waited. After a few minutes he realized he was probably too far away to see Tom and what may be going down, and knew he needed to get nearer to the Ranchero. As he started to inch his way closer, he stopped and questioned the situation. Maybe Tom spotted me, maybe he recognized the stake-out, and maybe this was a trap! Just then, a beat-up ’56 Ford truck pulled in beside Tom’s Ranchero. After nervously glancing around, Tom got out, approached the old Ford truck, and leaned in the open passenger window.
Still too far away, with mist rising from the river to mix with the low-swirling tule fog, Wolf couldn’t tell exactly what was exchanged, but the interaction didn’t take long. Before he could steal closer, Tom was holding a hand inside his jacket as he hurried back to his Ranchero. Wolf didn’t have time to reach his Mustang before both trucks roared out of the park and were quickly out of sight. Not sure where his suspect went, but deciding this was indeed suspicious activity, all Wolf could do now was return to Tom’s house on Fairington, hoping he would return soon.
After observing similar activity on four separate nights, Wolf was now able to follow Tom afterward. He would always return down Patterson Road until he reached Old Oakdale Road, turn back onto Sylvan Avenue the short distance to Shelby Lane, then back to his home on Fairington.
Tiring of just watching and not doing, Wolf wanted to know exactly what was going down in that quiet river park. He decided to arrive earlier than the two men. Parking his Mustang on a nearby unlit neighborhood street, he hiked through the thin fog to the park and crouched down behind one of the massive walnut trees. He didn’t have to wait long.
The ’56 Ford truck arrived first this time. He just sat there with his engine idling, gray smoke billowing out of the rusty exhaust pipes that mixed eerily with the tule fog. When Tom arrived, the ’56 flashed his lights on and off
twice. Wolf was close enough this time to see Tom hesitating inside the Ranchero, looking as though he was unsure of what to do. When the driver of the ’56 did nothing, Tom shrugged and came up to the driver’s window to find out what was wrong. Wolf could hear an argument ensue with the unseen driver doing most of the yelling. Hearing the words “narc” and “followed you, idiot” over and over in the curse-filled tirade, Wolf knew he was the topic being loudly discussed and that he had been spotted. It sounded as though Tom was confused and quickly became irritated. As Wolf attempted to come in closer to hear everything that was being said and to finally get a good look at the elusive Tom, he stood from his nearby cover.
And immediately slipped on a cluster of walnuts and twigs hidden by a thick cover of leaves, sending his feet out from under him.
At the sound, easily heard by the two already-nervous men, Tom was roughly pushed out of the way by the driver of the ’56 truck as he jerked it into gear and sped off, a spray of rocks and gravel peppering the now-sprawled suspect.
Both men came to their feet at the same time, eyes locked. Wolf had enough time for a good look at the face before his own eyes dropped to the small handgun in Tom’s hand. Diving to the right, the first shot buried itself in the tree Wolf had recently used for cover.
Trying to aim at the moving intruder, Tom yelled at him to “next time, leave your red car at home, narc” and fired again, going wide.
Taking to the trees for concealment, Wolf relied on the training he had received as a boy, focusing on staying behind cover yet always moving as quietly as he could. When he could hear Tom clumsily following him through the thickening trees, Wolf began a circling maneuver.
Tom came to a skidding halt when it became obvious Wolf had gotten away. He could hear no movement through the bushes and undergrowth, no running footsteps, nothing. Turning jerkily this way and that, trying to peer through the misty fog, Tom suddenly had the sinking feeling that he, somehow, had just become the prey. The other man had moved too fast and too easily.
Gun held shakily in front of him, he started backtracking to his Ranchero, hoping he would make it there first. When he rounded one large oak, he came face to face with the dark, silent, angry-looking Wolf. He tried to get off a shot, but found his arm suddenly pinned to the tree by a knife that came out of nowhere. “Who are you? Why are you following me?” he demanded, trying to still the nervousness in his voice.
The threat of the gun now removed, Wolf came in closer and studied the face glaring at him. This man seemed far too young. “Are you Tom Bolte?” he demanded. “And don’t even try to lie to me.”
“Who wants to know?”
Wolf allowed a growl deep in his chest. The pale eyes staring at him grew wide. “Answer me,” Wolf said quietly.
“Yeah, I’m Tom. Who are you? A narc? You going to arrest me?” The wide eyes showed dilated pupils full of fear.
Wolf ignored the questions. “Did you used to work at Disneyland?”
“What? Disneyland? Are you kidding me, man? What is this?”
“Answer me.” The tone conveyed threat and warning.
Tom picked up on that and swallowed deeply. “No. Went there for my grad night. Worst eight-hour bus trip of my life.… I never worked there. I…I’ve lived here most of my life. Why have you been following me?”
Wolf reached down for the gun that had dropped when Tom became pinned to the tree. He tossed it into the nearby river and reached up to retrieve his knife. Tom flinched. Ignoring that, Wolf merely commented, “Sorry, wrong man.” He resheathed his knife and turned to go back to his car.
As expected, as Wolf faded into the fog, he could hear a string of curses revolving around the ruined gun, a ruined contact, a ruined shirt, and a bruised ego that followed him all the way through the park until he was out of sight. Driving back into Modesto, Wolf headed to his motel on McHenry Avenue. Throwing his few clothes into his bag, grumbling to himself, “another dead lead, more wasted time, and another five and a half hour drive out of here,” he gassed up the Mustang and headed for the 99 freeway and home.
Disneyland – 2007
Over the decades, as technology advanced, Wolf’s search became more refined and extended internationally. And yet, with all that, the man he wanted seemed to have vanished into thin air.
Wolf even began to wonder if perhaps it would be better for him to go back to 1966 and just prevent the theft and the threat in the first place. Then the doctor would not have had to be put in the 1800’s. He could have continued his work…. Wolf sighed. If you change one thread in time, what else would have been affected? What would be the advances in science now? Better or worse? There was no easy answer. No, he knew he could not mess with the events that had already happened. It was all too uncertain and potentially dangerous for everyone concerned.
As Wolf continued talking, his security partner Lance tried to be encouraging, but he had been distracted, continually glancing at his watch. He wanted to get home to his wife Kimberly and their firstborn, Peter. Lance’s face always lit up when he talked about his son and how Peter keeps asking for “Unka Wolf” to come over and play horsey with him again.
When the two friends parted, Wolf felt an uncustomary twinge of jealousy as Lance walked off with his long stride. Lance had had his problems in the past, but he was doing wonderfully as a family man—and in his new position as one of the trustees for Walt Disney. When her father had died, he and Kimberly inherited the Blond-Haired Man’s position of keeping their fingers on the pulse of everything relating to Walt and his future prospects. And, he, Wolf, as one of the remaining Guardians, continued to work right along with the couple.
The small feeling of jealousy over Lance’s happy family life faded as Wolf continued his reflection on his own Guardianship and all it had entailed over the decades. There were certain aspects of it that still bothered him—even after all these years. Yes, he had been successful in his ability to retrieve the heart pendant and return it to Walt just in time, but his lack of success in finding the blackmailing perpetrator was still a thorn in his side. Before he left for the night, Lance had confirmed what Wolf thought: As long as the man was at large, the doctor’s safety was a very real concern. Wolf knew the search had to continue, even though he had little to go on at this point in time. All he basically had now was the man’s name, that he was aged thirty-five at the time of the heist, which was now forty-one years in the past. When questioned years ago, Tom’s superiors in the Maintenance Department had reported him to be an unimaginative worker who had delusions of grandeur but no backbone to implement them. That was why his supervisors had shuttled him around to different jobs, trying to find something he was good at doing or showed some initiative. By the time Wolf had retrieved the pendant from one of the flowerbeds lining the Casey Jr. Circus Train, the “unimaginative” Tom had fled with Walt’s $100,000 and somehow had managed to vanish completely. Could he still be out there watching, waiting for the doctor’s return?
Wolf paused and wondered if Tom had been someone like himself with the same abilities. As he walked through Critter Country, heading for the Security office to check out for the night, Wolf shook his head. No, that couldn’t be. He knew that others existed—the story about the wolf that had bitten his mother was proof of that—but that wasn’t what they did with their power. Or, shouldn’t do…. He wasn’t exactly given an owner’s manual when he went through the vortex that first time when he was young and suddenly found his whole life had been turned upside down.
Leaning against the wood-like railing lining the Rivers of America, Wolf stared unseeing at the barely-visible watchtowers of the old Fort Wilderness on Tom Sawyer’s Island. Almost all of the lights on the island were out as the crowds had gone for the night. The maintenance workers would soon be coming into the Park to begin their ritual of cleaning and repairs. Swallowing a sigh, Wolf felt he wasn’t doing his absolute best for Walt. Tom was still out there, he felt sure of that. He would be in his mid-seventies by now. Would he real
ly still be a threat to Doctor Houser? Wolf, Walt and the Blond-Haired Man had never intended for the doctor to be gone this long. But, as time passed, and absolutely no sign of Mr. Bolte had been found, they had to seriously question the situation. When could they take the chance? When was it safe to bring him back? Kimberly, Lance and Wolf—Walt’s remaining Guardians—had been keeping up with the latest discoveries in cryogenics. Encouraging progress was being made, but not enough for their end goal. Would Doctor Houser be able to speed things up? Was this the time to bring him back to continue the work he had already started? Or had things not progressed further because he had not been there?
Wolf had more questions than he had answers as he rubbed a tired hand over his eyes. He wished Walt was still around to talk to. Even the Blond-Haired Man was gone. His daughter, Kimberly, hadn’t yet been born when all this went down in 1966. She knew, of course, about Doctor Houser from her discussions and learning at the hands of her father. But, it wasn’t the same.
He wanted to talk to Walt, even if just for a little while to put things into perspective. It would help clear his head of all the doubts and questions that were continually assailing him.
The “how” of it was easy for Wolf. He could go just about anywhere back in time. But, where should he go? Well, he thought, where did Walt go when he needed to refresh and regroup? Wolf smiled a very wolfish smile in the darkness. That was easy. Marceline, Missouri, the small town where Walt had lived as a boy and dearly loved. Walt and his brother Roy would take trips—both publicized and private—to Marceline and they would visit the farm where they used to live and see Walt’s special Dreaming Tree. Walt and his younger sister Ruth had spent hours under that tree dreaming dreams and enjoying nature.
Wolf! The Legend of Tom Sawyer's Island Page 8