10

Dog Watch

Mulheisen awoke to darkness. Someone had turned out the lights in the room while he slept. Only the diffused glow from the yard lights illuminated the room through the window. He felt groggy, at first, but his head quickly cleared. Had he been drugged? He couldn’t remember falling asleep. A mild sedative might have been added to the meal. But something had roused him.

He had no idea what time it was. He had no watch, of course, and there was no clock in the room. He’d heard some kind of sound. There! He heard it again. A very slight sound. Scratching or gnawing. A mouse? He listened intently, not moving, his breath held.

Again. Scratching. From the ceiling, of all places. He stared upward, still lying on his back as he had fallen asleep. There it was again, over by the light fixture in the ceiling. Something was up there. He wondered if someone could be up there, spying on him. But that didn’t make sense. If his jailers wanted to look at him, all they had to do was open the door or look in from the window.

No, it was the ceiling, all right. He stared. Then he heard a different sound, a faint, sustained creaking noise, of something in the ceiling being pried . . . like a nail. He watched and listened with great interest as this ceiling activity went on, so quietly that it was difficult to believe he was actually hearing it. Was he just imagining some miraculous rescue attempt? It was absurd. Yet from time to time the sound was just loud enough that he could be sure it was, in fact, some kind of concerted effort up there. For what purpose was another question.

This whole effort must have taken twenty minutes, but at last it stopped. Then, to his surprise, he saw the glass light fixture move, first to one side, slightly, then to the other. Suddenly, it slipped free of its metal retaining ring and he sat upright reflexively, stretching out his hands to prevent the thing from falling to the floor and noisily breaking. But it didn’t fall. A hand was sticking through the ceiling, holding on to it with just fingertips.

Whoever was holding the light fixture had heard his movement. The hand did not move. Then a narrow beam of light shone down. It moved about the room, briefly, then fell on his face. It held there, for a moment, then switched off.

Then a voice called softly, so softly that he thought it must be his imagination: “Mul?”

Mulheisen couldn’t imagine who that might be. The last friendly face he’d seen had been the kid’s, Travis’s. For a foolish second he thought it was him. Ridiculous!

He cleared his throat and said, softly, in reply, “Yeah?”

“Take the glass.”

Mulheisen got to his feet on the bed and reached up. He took the glass from the hand and set it on the bed. The arm withdrew. There was just a dark hole in the ceiling. The person up there must have methodically disassembled the apparatus from above and removed most of it through the access—the junction box, the bulb, the wires. A portion of a face appeared, a pale blur.

“You all right?” the voice inquired.

“Uh, yeah,” Mulheisen replied. He felt ridiculous, talking to this hole in the ceiling. “Who are you?”

“Be right with you,” the voice said softly. The pale blur vanished.

Mulheisen continued to look up for a moment, then quietly got down from the bed. He stood and looked around foolishly. Now what? He could hear faint sounds of movement, then nothing. After about a minute there was a sound of a key at the door and it quietly opened.

In the dim available light from the passageway there stood Joe Service. He carried a rifle in his hand, which he leaned against the wall. The last time Mulheisen had seen Service he had been in a hospital bed in Denver, in a semicoma, draped with tubes and bandages. He recognized him immediately.

“Here, give me a hand,” Service said, opening the door wider and beckoning Mulheisen toward the open bay of the drive-thru. Mulheisen stepped after him. Service hoisted a slumped guard to his feet with some difficulty. Mulheisen took an arm of the unconscious man. They dragged him into the room and flopped him on the bed. Mulheisen managed to brush the light fixture out of the way to accommodate the man. Service lifted the man’s booted feet and swung them onto the bed.

“I don’t suppose they left you any rope?” Service asked. “Wait here.” He darted out and a moment later returned with a fistful of slender but tough-looking strands of orange plastic baling twine. He rolled the unconscious guard onto his face and swiftly bound his hands together behind his back, then did the same with his ankles. Then he rolled the man back faceup.

“A gag would be good,” he said thoughtfully, looking down at his handiwork. “Well, what the hell.” He yanked the man’s shirt tails out of his belt and ripped his shirt up the front. With a length of this he made a dandy gag, which he bound around the man’s mouth and tied behind his head. “Hope he gags,” he said.

When all this was accomplished he stood up and looked at Mulheisen with a self-satisfied grin. “All right,” he said. “So they caught you.”

Mulheisen stared at him, marveling. “What the hell—” he started to say.

Service interrupted. “No time, Mul. This guy will be missed before too long. He won’t be hollering for help, but they’ll find him. Where’s your car? I didn’t see it in the yard. It’s a Checker, right?”

“I left it back in the woods,” Mulheisen said.

“How far? Well, tell me while we walk.” Service snatched the guard’s pistol, a Llama 9mm, out of the holster on the man’s hip and took a couple of loaded clips out of a pouch on the gunbelt. “Man, these guys are ready for action,” he said, approvingly. “Okay, let’s roll.”

Mulheisen went to the closet and removed his coat, pulling it on. Joe stood by the open door. “C’mon,” he urged.

Mulheisen followed as Service flitted across to the open back door of the barn and into the darkness. When Mulheisen caught up to him they were well into the woods. It was remarkable how good it felt to be free, out in the woods. The night was cool, even chilly, and it seemed to be overcast, extremely dark. They walked rapidly, hardly a quiet progress. Sticks snapped, leaves rustled. Service was obviously not concerned. He kept moving.

“It’s way the hell over there,” Mulheisen pointed ahead. “Probably a quarter mile. Where’s your car?”

“Clear out on the county road,” Joe said. “Too far. We’d better get to your car first.”

“If they haven’t moved it,” Mulheisen said.

Joe said, “I didn’t see any sign of it Maybe they didn’t get around to it yet.” He set off again, then beckoned for Mulheisen to lead the way.

Mulheisen found the road. That seemed the best way to proceed. At least, in this near pitch-darkness, they were conscious of it underfoot and it was relatively smooth and much quieter. They walked quickly. Within ten minutes they reached the hill where Mulheisen had been apprehended. The road, from this approach, branched, which Mulheisen hadn’t noticed when he’d been driven away earlier. One lane went to the right, around the hill, the other was the lane on which he’d been, he was sure. He stopped.

“Someone out there,” he whispered.

“A guard,” Joe said. They drew back. It was obvious that they couldn’t slip by the guard and stay on the road, while if they tried to walk around through the woods they’d make too much noise.

“We either take him,” Joe said, “or we go back a good ways.”

Mulheisen turned back, Joe following. When they had gone a hundred yards, Joe cut off through the woods and Mulheisen trailed after. It took another ten minutes of careful walking before they felt that they had successfully skirted the hill. Now Mulheisen took over again and led Joe to the fence. They found the spot where the deer had gotten over, but when they arrived at the Sigmiller road there was no sign of the car.

“Uh-oh,” Mulheisen said. “They’ve taken it. They must have a place to stash it. Well, that leaves your vehicle. We can get out to the county road along this old road.”

They set off again, still not taking the time to discuss the situation. There didn’t seem time for it, despite the questions bubbling in each man’s mind. It was a good twenty-minute hike to the county road. By now they both felt, without discussing it, the guard was likely to have been found.

Once they reached the county road Joe set off at a jog, headed back in the direction of Luck’s drive. They had not gone far, however, before Joe stopped.

“Somewhere around here,” he said, not very confidently. They paced on. Shortly, he turned off the road, bounding through the shallow ditch and ducking through some brush. His Toyota pickup was sitting there, not twenty feet from the road, but invisible from it.

The little truck nimbly made it through the brush and the ditch. Within a minute or two they were passing the entry to Luck’s drive, a critical point. There was no sign of activity and a short distance beyond they turned onto the paved road that led back toward Queensleap. At last, bowling along at a brisk pace, the car heater going, the two men could converse.

“What’s your involvement in all this?” Mulheisen wanted to know.

“I was in the area,” Service said. “I heard you were out of the cop business, so thought I’d look you up. Maybe we could have a little heart-to-heart.”

“That was friendly,” Mulheisen said. “But what brought you to this neck of the woods?”

“Lot of odd things going on lately,” Service said. “Like rumors that I was involved in a bombing in Detroit.”

“Rumors, eh? No truth to them, I suppose?”

“I haven’t been near Detroit in months,” Service said. “I certainly had nothing to do with any bombing. It’s some kind of setup. That’s what it feels like, anyway. I also stumbled on some mention of this guy Luck. He seemed to be one source of these rumors. So I had to check it out. I thought I’d come out to Detroit and talk to you, only you aren’t home. When I talk to your mother, she says you’re up in Queensleap, visiting the very guy who’s been spreading weird rumors about me. So I drove up here.”

“My mother!”

“Relax,” Joe said, “it wasn’t as if we went out on a date. I just bumped into her on her daily walk and chatted her up. She told me all about a hawk we saw. And a few things about her absent son. Very nice lady, but a little out of my class. I didn’t even ask if I could walk her home. Anyway, I zipped up here, checked around town, and didn’t see any sign of you. It’s not a big place, you know. So I found out where Luck lived, went out there, and being a cautious guy I didn’t feel like just walking up and knocking on the door. Besides, it’s kind of late.

“But when I got within eyeball range, I saw something was going on. Cars in the yard, a couple of guys standing around, armed . . . you could almost swear they were sentries. Another guy comes out from the barn, changes with one of the yard bulls, who goes back to the barn. Something to be guarded in a barn? It looks a little weird, you know? I mean, it’s two in the A.M., a little late for a quilting bee.

“So I take a little sniff around the premises. Pretty long-winded jaw jam, it looks like, some kind of camo Kiwanis meeting, guys coming out to get fresh air, discreetly discharge some methane.”

“Camo? A militia meeting? How many were there?”

“Oh, I exaggerate. Probably no more than six or eight guys, the principals. With some auxiliaries, the ones packing the iron. Maybe it was more like a focus meeting, or whatever they call these things. They didn’t exactly sit around beating drums and chanting, and only a few were actually in paramilitary drag, but you must have caught some of the to-do.”

“I was sleeping,” Mulheisen said.

“Sleeping! Whoa! That’s coolness.”

Mulheisen tried to explain that it wasn’t like that. “My woodcraft isn’t up to yours,” he said. He told about being scooped up, the fact that he’d evidently been given some kind of sedative in his meal.

“Popped you in the pantry, eh? With a nice bowl of warm porridge.” Joe tried to soften his amusement. “They slipped you a mickey. Crashing Luck’s party had to be a jolt for him. He had some interesting visitors. I’m surprised he didn’t call it off. I wonder if any of them knew you were out in the shed.”

“The only guys I saw were Luck’s pals,” Mulheisen said. “One of them was kind of interesting, though. They called him Hook.”

“Hook? What’d he look like?”

Mulheisen described him.

“Al-Huq!” Joe said. “Maybe.”

“Who’s he?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe it wasn’t him. I’ll have to look into it. But the guys at the party were interesting. Looked mostly like local clowns, businessmen dressing up to play soldier. What was interesting, though, was the guest of honor. The name Tucker mean anything to you?”

“Colonel Tucker!” Mulheisen whistled. “How did you know him?”

“An old friend,” Joe said.

Mulheisen was stunned. “What is Tucker doing here? Talking to Luck?”

“Got me,” Joe said, “but it doesn’t look good. I don’t suppose you’re aware, but I’m supposed to be working for Tucker.”

Mulheisen couldn’t take this in. Service said he’d explain later. The point he wanted to make, he said, was that for various reasons he’d more or less decided that he wasn’t working for Tucker anymore.

Mulheisen was dazed. “What time is it?”

Service said it was pushing four A.M.

Mulheisen felt alert and rested. If he’d been drugged, it had worn off, but this confusing information made his mind whirl.

“Let’s go by the motel,” he suggested. “I’ve got some gear there. It’s possible they aren’t aware I was staying there.”

When they got to the motel, they noticed two prominent vehicles—a sheriff’s car and Mulheisen’s Checker. The sheriff’s car was sitting off to one side; it could be perceived as being parked at the adjacent Queen’s Table restaurant, which had already opened to serve the locals, farmers and hunters, presumably.

The sheriff’s vehicle was occupied, probably by Corporal Dean, the deputy who had stopped Mulheisen the night before. He advised Joe to simply cruise on, as if they were just another vehicle passing through town. Dean, or whoever it was, was not facing the highway. At any rate, the windows of the Toyota were tinted and he’d have been unlikely to make Mulheisen.

A block farther on, they pulled over to discuss their next move. Luck’s decision that the safest place for Mulheisen’s vehicle was at the motel was a clever move. Once it was determined that Mulheisen had gone missing, the vehicle at the motel would at least suggest to any outside investigator that he’d returned from his drive the previous afternoon, wherever that might be thought to have taken him. The deputy was doubtless there to see who, if anyone, might come looking for Mulheisen. Luck would not be sure, at this point, that Mulheisen had been investigating on his own. As it had happened, an unlooked-for ally had materialized.

“By now,” Service said, “Luck probably knows you’ve bolted. Maybe that’s why the deputy is there, but I’d say it was pretty fast work if it’s so. The car was probably returned hours ago and this guy has been there ever since. But what’s he going to do if you just show up and go in the room? What do you need there, anyway?”

“Clothes, cigars, Dopp kit,” Mulheisen said.

“You can get that stuff anywhere,” Service said. “If this Luck has got the sheriff in his pocket, maybe you don’t want to be apprehended.”

Mulheisen didn’t think that was quite the case somehow. “They might have recruited this deputy, but it’s another thing to have a whole county sheriff’s department in your pocket, Joe. I don’t think they want me found. They screwed up snatching me. It wasn’t a situation entirely of their making, but once it was done they would have had to follow through. It’ll bring heat, though. Luck obviously had his hands full with his visitors. I don’t have any idea what the situation is, but I’m sure I’d be better off on the loose. If this guy busts me, I don’t think he’s running me in. He’ll be carting me back to Luck.”

“They should have just dropped you on the spot,” Service said.

“Yeah, well, that’s what I figured was the imminent prospect,” Mulheisen said, “but I’m sure Luck wanted to question me, see if he couldn’t find out what I was up to, what I knew.”

“I could distract the deputy,” Service said, “draw him away. Hey, officer, my grammaw’s on fire! Help!” He seemed keen on this kind of action. “You go in, get your stuff. You’d have your car. I could meet you somewhere else later. I’m sure I could pull it off.”

Mulheisen stared at him, incredulously. “Your ‘grammaw’?” He shook his head. “Anyway, I don’t have my keys. They took them, and my wallet. I’m not adept at hot-wiring a car. Nah. It’s probably better to just leave it.”

“Hey, how about this? We snatch the deputy! We could give him what they had in mind for you. He probably has some useful info. Plus we’d have the use of his car, the radio . . .”

Mulheisen just looked straight ahead.

“All right,” Service said. “I’m pretty good at getting into places. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get in the back way, through the bathroom window. Off the record, I have some experience at this. If nothing else, you’ll have some cigars to smoke.”

Mulheisen could see he was eager. He suddenly felt weary. “Well, if you think it could be done,” he said.

They doubled back on side streets and stopped some ways from the rear of the motel.

“This is a first,” Service said. “I’m burglarizing a motel to get a cop some cigars!” He laughed. “All right, Dutch. Wait here. If I’m not back in—”

“Dutch?” Mulheisen had to laugh.

Five minutes later Service was back, with the cigars and the Dopp kit, with Mulheisen’s draped clothes over his arm. “The suitcase wouldn’t fit through the window,” Joe explained. “Oh, and I thought you’d like these.” He tossed Mulheisen his wallet and car keys. “They must have figured it would make the mystery of your vanishing act even more mysterious.”

Mulheisen looked through the wallet. Everything was there, even the money. “It’s a mystery, all right,” he said. “Glad to see the cigars. Hope you don’t mind?” He gestured with a cigar.

“Just keep the window cracked.” Joe started the engine. “Where to, Dutch?”

“Let’s find a motel, or a hotel. Traverse City is a big enough town.”

“Traverse City it is,” Joe said. And a few minutes later, driving out of town, he spoke into the silence, “Thank you, Joe.”

“Joe,” Mulheisen said, “I always knew you were a remarkable fellow. In my estimation you’re the finest burglar I’ve ever encountered. Plus, you do a great take on the U.S. cavalry. I never knew how thrilled I’d be to see you again.”

“That sufficeth,” Joe said cheerfully. “I’m relieved myself.”

“How’s that?”

“I was afraid, back there, that you might have some cop plan,” Joe said. “Call in the SWAT team, stage a big raid on Chez Luck, and sweep up the whole mob.”

“We’re into extra innings here,” Mulheisen said. “You don’t want to make them longer.”

“Yeah,” Service said. “These night games are exhausting. Too many wheels within wheels.”

“Exactly. I’ve got to think this out.”

“We’ve got to think it out,” Joe amended.

As it worked out, they settled on a hotel. A huge hotel north of the city, towering over a fancy golf course. Very luxurious. They checked into a couple of rooms on the eighth floor.