CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Kanga, Roo, and a Big Boom Too

 

The next morning brought gentle breezes, chirping birdies, and a hot shower that, because of the condensed size of the Pequod’s water heater, did not do nearly enough to reduce the additional aches and pains Crocket had incurred as a result of crawling through the forest primeval the preceding afternoon. He hurt. Four aspirin didn’t help, three cups of dark roast Kenyan offered no relief, and his recliner, usually a bastion of respite, failed miserably. A little after noon he collected a large towel, dragged his crutches out of the closet, took off his clothes and his leg, grabbed a small thermos of iced tea, a sealed plastic bag of insurance and, because there was no “Morphine R Us” across the road, shuffled out to the hot tub.

Because he liked to spend two or three hours of self-prescribed therapy at a time in the thing, and had no desire to poach what brain cells he had left, Crockett didn’t keep his hot tub very hot. It was a location of free-floating meditation. A citadel of warm and weightless release where he could discharge the cares of his mind and let go the discomforts of his body, allowing him to escape the mundane and liberate both his spirit and his physical self. In short, nap. He was so engaged when Dundee advised him of a change in situation.

Crockett pulled himself back to reality, shifted to a sitting position, and looked down the drive at an approaching maroon Lincoln Towne Car with no front license plate. The auto rolled to a stop, dwarfing the battered Neon, and disgorged two individuals.

The driver was about Crockett’s height and thirty pounds heavier with no hair and no neck. His arms were short for his size and ended in thick hands with stubby fingers. He had scar tissue on his forehead and around both eyes, and the bridge of his nose was nearly flat. His eyes were pale blue. A body-puncher.

The passenger was about five-ten and slender with sunglasses, straight black hair to his shoulders, a heavily pockmarked face, and almost no lips. He had such economy of movement that he nearly glided when he walked. Both men wore suit jackets in the August heat. They were either selling insurance or carrying guns. As far as Crockett was concerned, both possibilities were threats.

He grasped the plastic bag under the water by his right thigh and moved to the side of the tub closest to the oncoming men. The wood, insulation, and fiberglass, combined with the water, would be as good as Kevlar bulletproofing. He crouched in the tub, only his head above the side, and waited. Dundee entered the screen house and sat between him and the visitors. The two men stopped about twenty feet away. Passenger spoke.

“Mister Crockett,” he said. “It seems we may have come at a bad time.”

Crockett shook his head. “That’s okay,” he said. “We’re pretty informal out here in the country. Please excuse me if I don’t get up.”

The tiniest of smiles flickered over Passenger’s nearly nonexistent lips. Dundee growled.

“Your dog,” he went on, “appears to be protecting you.”

“She thinks so. I don’t know how tough she is, but she’s pretty quick. Might take you two shots. That’d give me an extra half-second.”

“You misjudge me, Mister Crockett. It is not my desire that we have an antagonistic relationship.”

“No?”

“No. I am here simply to ask you a favor on behalf of my employer.”

“That would be Phillip Metzger, I presume.”

“His identity is not important. What is important, at least as far as you are concerned, is that you and he have an affable relationship.”

“Ah,” Crockett said. “The carefully veiled threat.”

“You are very astute, sir.”

“And a wonderful ballroom dancer.” Crockett directed his attention to the driver. “Light-heavy or heavy?” he asked.

Driver shifted his weight and answered in a soft voice. “I was thinner then,” he said. “Started at cruiser, finished at heavy.”

“Take the body and the head will follow.”

Driver nodded. “The trick is to not let ‘em breathe,” he said.

“Anybody I know?” Crockett asked.

“Lennox Lewis. Marvin Hagler.”

Crockett’s eyebrows went up. “No shit?”

“Did mostly okay against Lewis. Hagler kicked my ass.”

Crockett grinned. “Hagler kicked a lot of people’s asses.”

“Fast,” Driver said. “Real fuckin’ fast. Determined, too.”

“You gonna kick my ass?” Crockett asked.

“Could,” Driver said.

“Not much doubt about that. But not today.”

Passenger cleared his throat to re-direct the conversation. “Mister Crockett,” he said, “you know the location of a woman now known as Carson Bailey, I believe.”

“That’s right.”

“And you, of course, will not divulge that location.”

“Right again.”

“And if I were to, for instance, threaten your life?”

“I’d sic my dog on you.”

Passenger’s smile flickered for the second time. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“No.”

“A man like you, Mister Crockett, will go to nearly any lengths to keep both his promises and his secrets. My employer respects that. He offers you a monetary inducement of one hundred thousand dollars for the location of this woman. I assume you find that laughable?”

“I do.”

“Of course. That’s fine. Eventually we will find Carson Bailey anyway. Now comes the threat. I’m going to give you another chance to save yourself. You are asked to disengage from any further attempt to assist Ms. Bailey in any way. If you do, all will be well. If you do not, you will be killed.”

“I see,” Crockett said. “Let me ask you a question. We’ve met and talked. You’ve already made your judgment about me. Why not just kill me now? Why wait? Scared of my dog?”

Passenger’s smile flickered for the third time. “You’re too confident. In spite of what appears to be a relatively awkward and vulnerable position, you believe you have, if not an advantage, at least a chance to break even in an encounter. I’m no fool, Mister Crockett.”

Crockett nodded. “No, you’re not. Macho calls upon me to now issue my threat. If I see you again, I’ll kill you. I won’t give you a second chance. You’re partner here, I’ll just kneecap. I like him. You scare me. And as much as I hate to break this up, it’s time for you guys to leave. I’m getting waterlogged.”

Slowly, the two men backed away toward the Towne Car. As they approached the vehicle, Crockett raised his voice and spoke again.

“How long did it take Hagler to kick your ass?” he asked.

Driver stopped, partially shielded by the car’s open door. “He kicked my ass from the start. Took me out in six.” he said. “Longest six rounds of my life.”

Crockett watched the Lincoln back down his drive and head east on the road. He fell backward into the tub completely immersing himself for a moment, then surfaced, lifted the plastic bag containing the 686 Smith & Wesson out of the water, scrambled out of the tub, and crutched inside. He dripped his way back to the bedroom, lifted the satellite phone out of the charger, and punched in a number.

“Crockett. What’s up?”

“Get your ass out here, Texican,” Crockett said. “Right fucking now.”

“On the way, son. Be there in the mornin’. I’ll rent a car when I get to Kaycee and call ya when I leave the airport.”

Crockett fell back across the bed and fought the nausea rising in the pit of his stomach.

Christ.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

 

Around five, as Crockett was giggling at an Eddie Izzard DVD and wishing he’d remember to get Chief Smoot to subscribe to a satellite network for him, his phone rang. It was Satin.

“Whatcha doin?”

“Nothing I can’t interrupt for you,” he said.

“Comb your hair, what’s left of it, and put on a clean shirt. I’m taking you out to dinner.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Happy Monday. I miss you. And since you won’t initiate contact, I guess it’s up to me.”

Crockett smiled. “I’m all yours.”

“Don’t threaten me, Goddammit. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

 

They took Satin’s Jeep into Zona Rosa and went to The Hereford House. Satin had made simple small talk on the way in. After they took their seats, she ordered a bottle of Merlot and looked across the table at Crockett. The candlelight made her eyes dance and brought out her freckles.

“You’re kinda quiet tonight,” she said. “What’s on your mind?”

“Me? Oh, no. I’m fine.”

“C’mon, Crockett. Don’t try to bullshit me. I know you too well. What’s up?”

The wine steward arrived. Crockett went through the ritual of smelling the cork and sampling the vintage, as if he knew one decent wine from another. Glasses were poured and their waiter arrived. They settled on an appetizer of stuffed mushrooms to split, a Kaycee strip for Satin, a small filet for Crockett, and baked potatoes for both. After the waiter left, Satin picked up where she’d left off.

“Well?”

“Ah, this thing with Carson is gaining a little speed. I’m just preoccupied. Sorry. I’ll drink some wine and get with the program.”

“Let me repeat myself,” Satin said. “Bullshit. Stop holding back with me. It’s an insult. I’m a big girl, Crockett. Don’t lie to me, don’t patronize me, and don’t protect me. Just tell me the truth, goddammit.”

He did. A slightly abridged version of the past three days, but everything essential to bringing her up to date. Her assessment of the information was short and sweet.

“Holy shit,” she said.

The mushrooms arrived.

“So that is why,” Crockett went on after their server departed, “I have sent for reinforcements.”

“Reinforcements?”

“Yeah. Cletus Marshal. Ex-Army Ranger, ex Secret Service. Texican. Kinda remind you of Eastwood when he was in his forties. You’ll like him.”

Satin grinned and snagged a mushroom. “If he’s gonna remind me of Clint Eastwood,” she said, “I probably will. Oh my. When’s he get here?”

“Settle down. We’re in a public place. Don’t get your panties all wet, Mary.”

Satin made a face. “Hell, you don’t put out anymore,” she said. “What’s a girl to do?”

“Me? Now if you will search your tiny mind, girlfriend, you might remember things a little more clearly.”

“All these lonely nights,” Satin said. “Alone in my room. Just the four gray walls. It’s awful Crockett. You don’t know what I go through. All by myself. Nothing to turn to that doesn’t require batteries.”

Crockett fought to keep from firing a bite of mushroom across the room. Satin’s eyes twinkled and she grinned.

“Feeling better now, honey?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Crockett said. “I am.”

“Good. If that didn’t work, I was going to have to try a budding relationship between me and Carson. I don’t know if I could have pulled that off. Too much of a stretch.”

“Every man’s fantasy.”

“Nearly,” Satin said, “but not yours, huh, Crockett.”

“Nope. The exception that proves the rule.”

“You’re exceptional, no doubt about that.”

Crockett smiled. “Spread the word, willya? I need the publicity.”

“Don’t have to. Carson already thinks so.”

“Aw, jeeze.”

“Aw jeeze? What’s next? You gonna stob your toe in the dirt and go milk a cow or something? Aw jeeze, my ass.”

Crockett laughed. “Okay,” he said. “Aw, shucks?”

“You phony fuckhead. All this shy crap. You damn sure weren’t shy with me.”

“What was I?”

“Fucking charming, and you know it. You give great charm, Crockett. You play at other stuff, but you know exactly what you’re doing. Your problem is, as much as you love women, you’re still stupid enough to be carrying a torch for that Ruby chick. You don’t wanna believe that you are, but you are. That’s why you couldn’t commit to that little gal you told me about from down at the lake, it’s why you and I are just buds, and it’s why Carson will be a fool to expect too much when she gets involved with you.”

“What?”

“You are a warm and considerate man, Crockett. There’s a deep kindness about you that butts heads with your deliberate brutality. You are the sweetest man I have ever known, and the meanest sonofabitch I have ever met. That, my violent softy, is a very attractive combination. And loving a woman scares you to death, because love is what won’t let you get rid of Ruby, and that didn’t work out worth a shit.”

“What’s next,” Crockett said, “my fear of commitment?”

“You’re not afraid of commitment. You love to commit. As long as that commitment has an end in sight. You committed to that woman down at the lake. What’s her name?”

“Mazy.”

“Yeah. You committed to her, at great personal risk, until you got her out of trouble, but that was safe. You knew from the start that you couldn’t stay there and she wouldn’t leave. You committed to me because, somehow, you knew I was sharp enough and not so goddam needy, that I’d figure you out. You’ve committed to Carson in a situation that could cost you your life. And that, pal, is just gravy on your biscuits. You love it. And when that commitment takes a romantic turn, and if Carson has her way it damn sure will, ol’ Crockett’ll be there with his gentle dangerous eyes, with his flawed body and his flawed spirit, providing a place of safety, and not asking for one damn thing in return. Then, sooner or later, Carson will have to make a new life, a life that, for whatever reason is convenient, you won’t be able to be a part of. Then you’ll be alone again, just the way you like it, and it won’t be your fault. And the Ruby fantasy will still be out there, like the fuckin’ Holy Grail or somethin’, making damn sure you can make more temporary commitments if you want to, without the awful burden of having to follow through on any of them.”

Their steaks arrived, and both of them busied themselves with preparing baked potatoes. When Crockett could stall no longer, he looked up from his sour cream. Satin held his eyes.

“Got me all figured out, huh?”

Satin smiled. “Pretty much,” she said. “And keep in mind that none of that stops me from loving you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I know you do,” she said. “That ain’t the problem. The problem is, you don’t think you deserve me.”

 

The rest of the meal was not quite comfortable. They made small talk and joked with each other, sharing innuendo and giggles. Both of them were agreeable and socially acceptable, but it was a lot of work. Crockett was relieved when the meal was over, and reasonably sure Satin was, too. Her words hung over the table like clouds, and both of them were overshadowed by the possibility of a storm.

When they went outside, it seemed as if Satin’s revelations had reached the heavens. It was almost completely dark an hour earlier than usual, the sky thick with scudding clouds, the wind brisk and ripe with the scent of eminent rain. They hustled to the parked Jeep, and Satin headed for Crockett’s place.

The downpour began less than five miles from their destination and slowed their progress to under thirty miles an hour.

“Jesus,” Satin said, peering out her windshield through sheets of water and madly thumping wipers. “This is a horrible!”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, but I’d hate like hell to have a hundred miles to go in this mess.”

The wind was out of the southwest, shaking the Jeep in its fury. Less that a quarter-mile from Crockett’s drive, Satin began to fight the wheel even more than she had been.

“Aw shit,” she said, slowing down to about ten miles an hour. “Something’s wrong. The steering is pulling to the left.”

“Want me to take it?” Crockett asked.

“Naw. We’re almost there. Betcha a buck I got a flat tire.”

Moments later they arrived at Crockett’s place. Satin pulled around in front of the Neon and nosed up nearly against the screen room. They each bailed out of their respective doors and darted under cover. The electric eye clicked the light on and Crockett eyeballed the Jeep.

“Yep,” he said, shaking his head and wiping water from his face. “Right front.”

“Damn it,” Satin said.

“C’mon inside. I’ll make some coffee and grab some towels so we can dry off a little.”

Ten minutes later they were at the dinette, sipping coffee and looking out the window at a storm that had subsided to little more than a steady downpour.

“You can spend the night, you know,” Crockett said. “No strings attached. I’ll change that tire for you in the morning and off you go. Or, you can take the Neon tonight, I’ll change the tire in the morning and drive in and swap vehicles. Up to you.”

“I spend the night and one of us will find a way to attach some strings,” Satin said. “You know it and so do I. If it was me, I’d have nobody else to blame. That’d be too tough after my big speech tonight. I was really hard on you at dinner, Crockett. I’m not sure you deserved all that. Some of it was my own bullshit, I think. You were just handy and I’d already started in on you. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. I’m flattered you care enough about me to bother with tearing me a new asshole. Usually that kind of thing requires therapy or a proctologist. They’re expensive. I got it for nothing with a free dinner thrown in.”

“I’m surprised you had an appetite,” Satin said.

“I recover quickly where steak is concerned.”

“If it’s okay with you, I’ll take the Neon. I’ve gotta get up at five for work. That’s my excuse. I’ll take any I can find to get out of here with my dignity intact.”

Crockett smiled. “Not to mention your underwear.”

“Not to mention my underwear.”

“Okay,” Crockett said, slipping the Neon’s key off his ring. “I’ll be in for breakfast with the Jeep.”

“Thanks, Crockett,” Satin said. “You’re being real understanding about all this.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m wonderful. And we all know how painful that can be.”

Satin looked at him steadily. “You a little bitter?” she said.

“Yeah. A little. That much truth doesn’t go down real easy.”

“I’m sorry,” Satin said.

“But not too much. You needed to get rid of a lot of stuff. Keep this in mind, though. I still love every woman I have ever loved. That’s the tough part of relationships for a man. Even if I don’t like ‘em, if I’ve ever loved ‘em, I still do. Women are spared that, for the most part. That’s probably why you guys live longer.” He opened the door. “See ya in the morning. Drive careful.”

Satin hesitated. “No hug?” she asked.

“Don’t think so. Maybe in the morning.”

Satin shrugged, looked away, and went out the door.

Crockett heard the Neon’s door slam, the car start, and noted the reflection of the headlights through the kitchen window. When he heard the door slam again he looked outside to see Satin running around the Jeep toward the screen room. He opened the door and she scooted inside.

“Sorry to disturb you,” she said, her posture erect and stiff in spite of her rain-wet clothes. “Carson says she thinks she left her reading glasses out here when she came into town. She wanted me to pick them up for her.”

“Yeah, she did,” Crockett said, moving toward a kitchen cabinet. “I found them right after she left. Just forgot about ‘em.” He removed the glasses from the cabinet and handed them to Satin.

The explosion shook the whole bus. Crockett and Satin gaped out the window to see the Neon on fire, the driver’s side door blown away and the roof peeled back over what was left of the driver’s area. It didn’t last long. The rain did its work and within only moments the fire was out and the Neon was left smoldering in the downpour. Satin began to tremble.

“I should have been in it,” she said. “If I hadn’t come back in for those glasses, I would have been. I would have been in it. I would have been in that car.”

Crockett put his arm around her and guided the shaking woman to the couch. He sat her down, returned to the kitchen area, reassured a frightened Dundee, poured four fingers of scotch in a water glass, added several ice cubes, and returned to Satin’s side. When he handed her the Scotch, she peered numbly at him.

“Drink,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

He left her again, went into the bedroom, and came back with his heavy terry bathrobe. Half the drink was gone and Satin was visibly shaking. He stood her up, removed her blouse, put the robe on her, pulled the hood up over her head, and sat her down.

“Undo your slacks,” he said.

Without protest, she did as she was told. Crockett grabbed them by the cuffs and pulled them from her legs, then wrapped the robe securely around her. Bundled and hooded, she finished her drink and looked at Crockett where he still knelt before her.

“That was meant for you,” she said.

“Yeah. With a delay on the bomb’s igniter so I’d be sure to be in the car and driving when it went off.”

“They wanted to kill you,” Satin said.

“Yep. But they didn’t. And they didn’t kill you either.”

“Crockett, these people tried to blow you up!”

Crockett smiled. “Firm grasp on the obvious, sweetheart,” he said.

Satin gave a start and began to laugh. He took the glass from her hands, put it on an end table, and sat on the couch beside her. When Satin’s laughter turned to tears, she buried her face in his shoulder, and Crockett slipped an arm around her back. He held her like that for some time before she settled down. Gradually she collected herself, leaned away, and peered at him through swollen eyes.

“You gonna call Chief Smoot?”

“In the morning,” Crockett said. “Crime scene won’t change much.”

“Looks like I’m gonna spend the night.”

“Looks like it.”

“I don’t wanna sleep alone,” Satin said.

Crockett kissed her on the cheek and smiled. “Gotta give you an A-plus for creativity,” he said. “An ordinary woman would have just tried to get me drunk.”