Spencerville

Adair looked around the room. "With friends like these, you don't have to raise pigs."

"They're good people."

"They're left-wing radicals."

"Don't check out my friends, Charlie. I don't like that."

"These are the kinds of friends I have to check out."

"No, you don't."

"Actually, they are nice people."

"How'd you get onto them? Or should I ask?"

"You shouldn't. You should tell me."

Keith thought a moment, then said, "Telephone records."

"Bingo. You haven't made many calls since you've been here, so it was easy. Don't be impressed."

"I'm not." He asked, "Where are the Porters?"

"Running errands. Hey, I never saw a man in an Armani suit step out of an iridescent van. Who was that guy?"

"Chuck. From Toledo Airport."

"Ah. Good. He coming back?"

"No."

"You're without transportation."

"I have a police car. Where's your transport?"

"I just clicked my heels, and here I am."

"Charlie... I already have a headache. What can I do for you?"

"That's not the question, Keith. Ask not what you can do for your country, but what your country can do for you."

"That's not how it goes."

"Unfortunately, Keith, that's exactly how it goes in Washington, the big tit of the world. Your country is here to help you."

"With no strings attached."

"I didn't say that."

"I don't really have time for this."

"A little time with me will save you a lot of time later. Hey, can we get out of this sty? I think I saw a clean spot downstairs."

Keith took the rifle off the bed, and, carrying Ward's gun belt and holster, he followed Charlie into the upstairs hallway, where Charlie picked up the carrying case with the scope and ammunition. It was just like Adair, Keith thought, to materialize out of nowhere, brandishing a rifle that could just as well have been in its case — Charlie Adair was all show, mostly drama and comedy, but one day, for sure, tragedy.

They came down into the front foyer, and Charlie went over to Kevin Ward on the floor and stuck out his hand. "Hi, I'm Barry Brown from Amway."

Keith almost laughed as Ward actually put out his left hand and shook with Charlie.

Charlie said, "I have some stuff that'll make that uniform look like new again. I'll be right back. Stay there."

Keith and Charlie went into the kitchen. Charlie washed two glasses in the sink and said to Keith, "There's fresh tomato juice in the refrigerator."

Keith got the pitcher out and poured two glasses. Charlie touched his glass to Keith's and said, "Good to see you alive."

"Good to be alive, not good to see you."

"Of course it is."

They drank. Charlie smacked his lips. "Not bad. Needs vodka. But maybe you shouldn't drink. You really look like shit. I guess Chief Baxter got ahold of you."

Keith didn't reply.

"Let's go out back where we can talk."

They went outside, and Charlie sat in a lawn chair, looking out over the gardens. "Beautiful."

Keith remained standing. He said, "Charlie, I'm on a schedule."

"Right. Okay, I won't be too cryptic. Here's what I know. You got back here from Washington on Saturday, missed your rendezvous with Mrs. Baxter, but by Sunday night you were both gone, according to what I've pieced together. By about nine P.M. Sunday, the whole fucking state of Ohio was looking for you on suspicion of kidnapping, but for some odd reason, the FBI wasn't notified of a possible kidnapping with probable flight across state lines. The next we hear from the Ohio police is that they've found your naked and battered person in some fuckarama out by Toledo Airport, sans Mrs. Baxter. You're in Lucas County Hospital with a mild concussion, and so on and so forth. Mr. and Mrs. Baxter are reunited and are on a second honeymoon in Florida. So I fly out to Toledo on Monday morning and look in on you, but you're still out cold. I get a local FBI guy to keep an eye on you so that Mr. Baxter doesn't return to retrieve your balls, which they tell me are intact, then I come out to Spencerville and do some old-fashioned snooping. By Monday night, I've had bean curd with the Porters, and we've become great buddies despite our political differences." He looked at Keith and said, "I went out to your place, of course. Sorry."

"It's okay."

"I don't think so. So you want to find him, kill him, and get her back."

Keith didn't reply.

Charlie continued, "Anyway, I'm staying out at the local mom-and-pop motel, and this morning I get a call from the FBI guy at the hospital, and he's all upset to have to tell me you gave him the sliperoo. I'm impressed. Not with the FBI guy, of course. I mean, the last time I saw you Monday morning, you looked like you couldn't get into any trouble. So I get a federal marshal to go out to the sister's place in wherever the hell that is and do a stakeout, then I get all kinds of phones tapped, courtesy of a federal judge in Toledo, and I come here to the Porters', taking a chance that you'd show up. Meanwhile, I've got a federal writ of habeas corpus in my pocket in case some of the locals pick you up. All I have to do is fill in the blanks. Isn't this wonderful? I can do anything I want. But I'm on the side of the angels with this one, buddy, so any minor abuse of federal power can be forgiven." He added, "We take care of our own, Keith. We always have."

"I know."

"I'm here to help."

"I know you are, Charlie. But I don't think I need your help."

"Sure you do. You need a car, clothes, and some good hunting gear."

"Why do I need that?"

"To go up to Michigan. That's what you told Terry on the phone."

Keith shook his head. "You're a piece of work. You know that? Look, I'm not going to sell my soul for a pair of boots. I can handle this myself."

"Let me apprise you of your situation. You have a cold-cocked cop in the front foyer, no car, no home, damned few friends, not much if any money, every cop in this county is looking for you, you're wearing a silk suit and tight shoes, you're walking with a slight wobble, my friend, and your only decent weapon, discounting the cop's peashooter, is that M-16, which is really not your property, but Uncle Sam's, and I might just take it with me."

"I wouldn't try that."

Charlie took out a pack of cigarettes. "The Porters said I could smoke here. They smoke grass." He lit a cigarette and said, "Isn't it a great feeling to be part of a big, powerful, omnipotent organization?"

"You tell me. Is that what you need to feel good about yourself?"

"Actually, yes. You, too."

"Wrong. Hey, I thought you were on my side. Remember? Dragons on my shield, rats in the cellar?"

"That was Friday. This is Tuesday, and you're vulnerable again."

"Wrong again. I'm on a pure quest, Charlie. I'm a knight again, and I'm going to rescue the damsel in distress from the monster. This is a good fight, and knights always do this alone. Fuck the king and all the king's men. That includes you."

Charlie thought a moment, then replied, "Okay. I get it. No strings attached, but I'm not letting Sir Keith go up there without the things he needs. I'll just supply what you need for the mission, and you go up to Michigan and take this guy out, then you get yourself to... let's say Detroit. The downtown Marriott. I'll book a room. If you don't show up by this time tomorrow, I'll assume it didn't go your way. If you do show up, you and Mrs. Baxter and I will celebrate. No strings."

Keith didn't reply.

Charlie continued, "I told the people in Washington you had personal matters to take care of. All they want from you is a yes or no by Friday. Gives you time to think about it, if you're alive tomorrow. If you're dead, I'll tell them you're terminally inconvenienced. Anyway, after you get out of here, you're on your own. Just like old times, when I kissed you good-bye at some fucked-up border crossing or airport. But I have to feel that I've given you every advantage before you leave. Just like old times, Keith. Let me do that for you."