Agents Hammerstein and McCullers had agreed to meet Rick in Troutdale for a final briefing. The two men had been there since six o’clock, the agreed-upon time, but so far no Rick.
Agent Hammerstein looked at his watch for the fourth time in twenty minutes: he didn’t like to be kept waiting.
“What the fuck’s keeping him?”
“Traffic, maybe.”
“Hell, it’s Saturday morning, Tom. How much traffic can there be?”
He drank another swallow of coffee out of the sixteen-ouncer he’d picked up from Shari’s Restaurant. More than wide awake now, he needed for things to start happening.
“Try calling him again, Tom.”
Tom pecked in a set of numbers.
He held the phone to his ear.
He let it ring several times.
“Nothing,” he said and clapped the phone shut.
“Maybe he hasn’t figured out how to use his goddamn phone yet.”
“The guy can blow up bridges. He oughta be able to figure out his cell phone.”
“Let’s hope he’s got a good excuse. Otherwise, I’m gonna hang his ass to dry in the sun.”
Another fifteen minutes passed before the van finally pulled into the parking lot and came to a stop two spaces away from the black Buick the agents were driving. As Rick got out and came around to the passenger door, Agent Hammerstein rolled down the window.
“Where the fuck you been, fella? You been keepin’ the United States government waiting.”
“Sorry, guys. I got a partner with me, and he’s got a hangover. I had to spend time getting him outta bed and pouring coffee down him.”
The two agents looked past Rick. They saw Peewee sitting in the van’s passenger seat. He was slumped back with a hat pulled down over his face and appeared to be asleep.
“Who the fuck’s this guy?” Bill asked.
“My partner. The whole thing was his idea. I could hardly leave him out of it. Besides, he wants to be in on the action. He’s been having wet dreams about it for a month.”
“No shit?”
“A real gung-ho trooper, huh?”
“Tried-n-true.”
The two agents exchanged a glance.
“So, what you’re telling us, Rick,” Agent Hammerstein said, “is that you got a drunk for a partner, and that you didn’t have enough sense to call us in advance and let us know about the change. I mean, didn’t it occur to you that we might want to know you planned to bring someone else into it?”
Rick shrugged.
“I admit, Peewee likes his beer. But he’s okay. Battle-tested, and all that. We were together in Kosovo. We did a few numbers on the bad guys. He’s a hundred percent.”
Agent McCullers leaned forward and took another look at Peewee.
“Speaking of being reliable, how come you didn’t call and let us know you were gonna be late? How fuckin’ responsible is that? You didn’t even answer our calls.”
“Low battery, I guess. I forgot to charge it.”
“Yeah? Well, did ja forget anything else? Like, maybe a toothbrush or an overnight bag?”
Rick grinned.
“Don’t worry…I got everything—rifles, flashlights, even a grid map of the dude’s ranch.”
“That’s a start…At least you got that part right. But tell us about this buddy of yours. Better yet, tell him to come over here. Tell him we’d like to meet him.”
“I’ll have to wake him up.”
“Open a can of beer and hold it under his nose…”
“Hey, the guy’s sensitive. He might hear ya.”
“Just get him over here, Rick.”
Rick walked over to the van and knocked on the passenger window. Peewee sat up with a start and looked around. He saw Rick standing beside the van and rolled down the window.
Rick gave him a big grin.
“The two gentlemen would like to make your acquaintance, Peewee,” he said, loud enough for the agents to hear. “Are you available right now? Is this a good time for you, or would you like to freshen up first?”
Peewee looked over at the agents and grinned.
“Tell ’em I’m on my way. I just wanna powder my nose first.”
Rick laughed.
“Better do as they say, man. They could come down on both of us.”
Peewee scratched a two-day stubble and thought it over. He wasn’t about to be rushed. “Tell the two gentlemen that, in the spirit of cooperation, I’ll honor their request,” he said.
Rick walked back to the agents’ car. “He’s pulling himself together. He’ll be right over.”
“I hope he doesn’t feel inconvenienced.”
“Nah, he’s doin’ his early-morning breathing exercises. It’s part of his daily routine. It keeps him sharp.”
“No shit?”
“A real health nut, huh?” Tom quipped.
The two agents looked at each other and laughed.
Peewee came up.
“Morning.”
The two agents nodded.
“Guys, this here is Peewee,” Rick said, somewhat in the manner of a circus barker introducing his next act. “He’s gonna be our reconnaissance specialist. With him along to guide our little band of boys and girls, we’ll get to where you want us to be at the time you want us to be there.”
Peewee fell in with the shtick.
“I’m your man,” he said, “not necessarily the better half of the team but the other half, anyway. We’re at your service.”
The two agents looked him over. Small and wiry, with sharp, angular features and dark, smoldering eyes full of mockery and defiance, he seemed the epitome of a renegade biker: an impression enhanced by a leather jacket, thick-soled, scuffed motorcycle boots, a Death Head ring on his finger, and a dark blue baseball cap that might have been worn by a car mechanic badly in need of a haircut.
“Rick tells us you got a drinking problem, Peewee,” Agent Hammerstein said. “That right?”
“I get drunk once in a while. Doesn’t everybody?”
“He also says you were the mastermind behind this whole thing. That it was your idea?”
“I’d say it was Mr. Budweiser’s idea more than mine. But I’ll take credit for it.”
The two agents chuckled.
“You don’t say much, do you, Peewee? Or maybe it’s just the circumstances?”
“I got a hangover right now. But maybe, if you two fellas like, we can all get together later and have a little love fest.”
The two agents chuckled again.
“You guys oughta form a partnership,” Agent McCullers said. “You could get double-billing on the comedy circuit.”
“We’d have to clean up our act first. Get a PG rating, anyway.”
“Yeah, I can see that. But tell me something, Peewee, and I want you to be real honest with me here…you smoke a little dope now and then, don’t you?”
Peewee thought it over.
“Only for my lumbago, and a little something to counteract the pain of living. Life’s little tribulations and all that.”
Agent McCullers continued. “You bring a change of clothing with you? A toothbrush? Mouthwash? Anything like that?”
“I usually travel light. But I got a few things. Why?”
“You put it all in some kind of bag?”
“A gym bag, yeah.”
Agent McCullers paused for effect, then said, “Why don’t you get that little bag right now and bring it over to me? Just reach inside the van and get it. Don’t fumble around for it.”
Peewee turned to Rick.
“What the fuck is this, man? Some kind of bust?”
Rick swallowed hard. To Agent Hammerstein, he said, “I’m here, man, just like you wanted, and I’m doin’ everything you want. How come you’re fuckin’ with us? Peewee’s my partner, and he’s gonna be an asset to the whole operation…”
Agent McCullers looked over at his partner and smiled.
“What do you think, Bill? Should we forget it?”
His partner snickered.
“Yeah…I suppose. We’re not likely to find anything, anyway. But I’ll tell you what I would like, Peewee, and you can take this to the bank. If you don’t clean yourself up and get with a more respectable and convincing image, I personally will haul your ass in for looking like a piece of dog shit. In case you didn’t know it, it’s against the law to leave dog shit in the street, and right now you’re in violation of that law. You dig?”
“Hey, man, I always dress like this—this is me.”
“I don’t give a fuck who it is. There’s no way in hell this group is gonna think you’re anything but a social misfit if they see you in attire more appropriate for a biker’s bar. And Rick, I credited you with more sense than that. You should have said something to the guy. You’re playing a role here, goddammit, and you need to keep that in mind. You could use a little cleaning up yourself.”
“Whadda you want us to do—buy a new wardrobe?”
“I want you to assume the appearance of someone they can identify with. The way you two are dressed now, they’re gonna wonder what the hell is up. The only way you could look more outta place is if you wore a clown outfit to a funeral for your mother.”
Peewee and Rick laughed.
“Can I borrow that line sometime?”
“You can do anything you want with it, Rick. Just clean yourselves up.”
Rick looked at his watch.
“We’re supposed to meet them pretty soon.”
“Give them a call. Tell them to go ahead without you. You’ll catch up. In the meantime, go home and change into something more presentable.”
“It’s a long drive all the way back to my place, man…”
Agent Hammerstein sat up in his seat and leaned partway out the window.
“Well, let me put this as nicely as I can, Rick…we’ve put a lot of work into setting this up, and if you fuck it up because you haven’t got enough sense to play your role the way you’re supposed to, I’ll see that both of you go to jail. You established your bona fides with us, Rick, by cooperating, and so far you’ve done a pretty fair job, but you gotta stay serious. Don’t suddenly go slack on us. We’re not playing a game here. Comprende?”
“Yeah…you want us to go home and take a bath?”
“And get rid of the stubble, maybe stop and get the hair trimmed. You don’t have to don Ralph Lauren duds or anything like that. Just try your best to look like this all means something to you, besides a romp down memory lane. Okay?”
“I’ll give them a call and let them know.”
“That’s all we ask, Rick…stay with the script.”
As Peewee and Rick walked back to the van and got in, the two agents looked on silently. They didn’t have high hopes that their pep talk would produce a sartorial miracle of any kind, and they were certain the habitual defiance that seemed an innate part of each man’s personality would probably prevent them from going over to the other side completely. They were sure to show up a bit scruffy, regardless—the hair, rather than trimmed, pulled back into a ponytail, the stubble left intact, and Rick might not bother to trade his black T-shirt for something less Gothic. Too much self-identity went into each man’s dress code, and they would do what they could to preserve as much of it as possible, even at the risk of incurring disapproval. But so long as they changed their clothes and got into something more suitable—the two agents could overlook any residual attitude needed to maintain a modicum of self-respect. They were, after all, concerned with a much bigger outcome than whether or not either Rick or Peewee conformed to their own personal dress codes.
“So, whadda ya think, Tom? Is the game finally underway or not?”
“I’d say everything’s set to go, Bill. But it’s not a done deal yet. We gotta get them out there first.”
“And even then, they gotta do what we want.”
“Nothing about this is predicable, that’s for sure.”
“I gotta feeling about Rick’s little buddy. He may be our best bet. I think, cornered, he’ll put up a fight, especially with a couple of beers in him. That’ll certainly get things moving.”
“I believe you’re right. He’ll rise to the occasion.”
“Let’s hope so. How about some breakfast, as long as we’re here?”
“Sounds good.”