Chapter 14 - Quiet
I guess I slept most of the day. Then through the night. Its looking like night coming again soon. That makes it late morning this time of the year. Waking up with the broken and cracked ribs is the real torture. Every morning breath, breaks all over what began to heal over the long sleep. These little snicks of white hot pain every morning, will morph over time into bigger softballs of red hot pain explosions.
The little hair thick mending spots that crack every morning? Are slow to form hairs that touch. Eventually, you manage a morning breath with no tell-tale crunching and popping. It takes long weeks, I've done it before. All they can do, is toss me a vest I can adjust to control my breathing. It helps, and prevents life's little impacts getting around.
That's care though, and that's later. This is reminiscent of combat. I'm in the field. I've got to get reinforcements here, to get myself help. I can talk soft, with my teeth almost clenched but not quite.
"Morning, honey. How did you sleep."
"I got some nice little naps in. I'm sore as hell."
"Yeah. How's the goat doing."
"I, did pillows and blankets in the corner, by the oven. I'm scared to lay against you and your ribs, don't take it personal. The goat, well... kind of snuggled me like a teddy bear."
"That's nice. I meant, how's he doing... shitting and pissing."
"He goes in that far corner. Down there. Fine for now. I don't plan on staying here any longer than I have to. You care about the decor? I find goat shit, appropriate for a theme here. And, just in case you were curious. Goats, apparently... shit pellets, like rabbit turds. Its almost not like shit at all, that way."
"I might piss over there myself, to keep from opening the door. I'm actually scared to take a shit."
"There's a bathroom, down there. See that closet, to get to the other side? Its not a closet, its a tiny ancient bathroom. And yes, it works."
"We have water."
"Cold, and hot. Panic, how is the power out and the water isn't freezing here."
I glanced around and tried to drink in my surroundings. Turn of the century old farmhouse. Gas. The old cast iron gas pipes were flowing. Makes sense. Its just gas under pressure, through pipes. Infrastructure that its hard for even winter to get to it. Pipes in the ground, tend to just flow. I'm seeing the old steam heaters in every room. The gas is on the boiler, but there's no pump. So, it just keeps the water under boiling, idling. That makes the downstairs basement in general warm.
When the electric comes on this place will warm up like toast. Now I'm guessing what goes with that. The big old fashion gas hot water tank. The ready availability of all that hot water. The heat from the boiler comes up from the basement and takes the chill off the ground floor. This big old gas stove is a natural heater. No power means no cell phone to me, but I have to check.
"Can we order a pizza yet? I'm thinking take out."
"No phone yet. You need to rest. I can move around. You have any instructions for me."
"I'm a selfish asshole. See if you can locate some cardboard. And maybe an old bed sheet."
"I started on rags with one."
She came at me with a bigger and a smaller cardboard box she had found and dumped out.
"I want you to flatten out those boxes, carefully. Cut the corners straight and careful. I need you to make me a field medical device. You're going to make chest armor, basically. With the cardboard, work slow, be careful. Cut my arms out. We want it to overlap each other, the two big pieces. Then? You cut strips of bed sheet. We slowly get it snugged and tied up."
I winced and gasped through the fitting up of her trimming the cardboard. Lifting my arms, she has to help me all gentle. But getting the first couple strips of bed sheet adjusted, was torture. I had her go back and take up the slack across several of them, slow over time. I winced and gasped, when it was finally snug enough to help. It limited my breathing. A bed sheet rag with the head hole cut out made a soft base layer. The cardboard armor tied on with love works for now. I can't wait to adjust the real vest. Sometime soon, I hope.
Its working. Its easier for me to give her my arm over her shoulder, to get me into the chair.
"All right. How's your leg. I saw you limping."
"Just sore. Why."
"How do you think about a little hike to the barn. You can follow the goat tracks. It might even be a shortcut."
"I'm your pack mule. Nice."
"My gear bag should still be there. Clothes, food, drinks. I only got one special request."
"What's that."
"Two things, really. You can't hit the barn, without feeding the animals. Just, you saw where I put the food. Each pen, has a big sack out near it. And the second thing. Its a barn. See if you can get me a sledgehammer. I want it for a cane."
I made her take the big automatic. Finger off the trigger, down the gun for trigger control. Keep the gun in her hand, don't hesitate to light anything up you don't like. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, before I saw her trudging back. My gear bag shoulder strap over her right shoulder. Carrying what looked to be an eight pound sledge, I'd guess. Gun resting with her arm down on the gear bag. Smart girl.
The goat followed her out and back as well. Its our adopted little buddy now. She seemed proud to show off her haul. The metal gallon fuel container for the lantern heater. That was up on the counter and survived the fight. Packs of jerky and steaks. MRE packs. Clothes. Our little netbook laptop satchels.
"Remember, I already snooped around some while you slept. That fridge, is loaded for breakfast. Eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes. Coffee, sugar, creamer. I got tea bags, too. And honey. There's a freezer downstairs, packed with meat. Can we make a big breakfast? I found the cast iron pots, you know."
"Sure. If you don't mind cooking, I'm a little..."
"My treat."
I was doing about as well as I could expect, given what I had dealt to me. The eight pound sledge, had the nicer composite handle. Stronger and lighter. The squared off sledge business head kept it upright and stable next to me, when unattended. A little heavy to drag around, but the perfect height and strength for a leaning cane. The keeping itself upright trick made it invaluable to get around easier.
"I've never seen, this big of a cast iron frying pan. I don't think, anyways."
"Trivia? I think that's what the old timers called a fried chicken pan."
"Well, its a breakfast pan, now."
She gave me a running commentary. It was our only entertainment in the dim house with the power off. The gas stove, the kitchen, the running water. It made it the logical center of operations in a down tome winter situation. Man, one of these gas stoves in a cabin? Its a heater and a stove. The lantern on low for light, completes the close and intimate atmosphere.
Her kitchen commentary started with a pound of bacon, and she suspected a pound or more of loose sausage. Bacon and sausage made a puddle of grease that smelled great. Then over a dozen eggs. Two over easy on bacon grease toast for each of us to start. Some over easy, some scrambled with bacon and sausage. Then, an omelet. In addition to being well stocked for breakfast, there was an impressive array of bread, buns, sandwich meats and spreads and cheeses of all kinds.
My impression of a gutted farmhouse preserved as a free lunch room, shed, break room deal was seeming accurate. Lots of coffee and powdered creamer and sugar. Work style. What would wellhead workers want in their break room, anyways. Hearty breakfast in the field. Sandwich lunches. Blue collar guy break room cuisine. The cots were useful back when they were drilling and working on the sites. I could see them all gathering here for breakfast, then dispersing to check on all the sites. Then back for lunch, and whatever else.
After cooking, she surprised me. Both coffee and tea. Extra tea bags, soup bowls with handles for tea and coffee mugs. High stepping in my view of the world. Workers. Cups of soup, for lunches. I thought sugar and honey both, was a nice touch. Out of place for as grim of a situation as we were in. We barely noticed or mentioned the human body not far away. Until the heat was on, he could keep for now.
Zar made a second trip out to the barn. Extra food for the animals, check the water situation for each of them. Another pack run for everything else. The winter sleeping bag was a little prize. Z was I thought generous. Trading me extra pillows up on my warm table for comfort, also up and out of goat wrangling height. She snuggled with our new best friend, the goat. There was a thin hall to the wall and corner created by the giant old black gas stove. The goat exploited this area. Zar did as well. They snuggled on the winter sleeping bag.
A late lunch might well become dinner. We were into the idea of sandwiches, then I talked her into hot sandwiches. There were packets of common things. Chili, taco, a few normal gravy packets. Chipped ham got hot BBQ and into a toasted cheese sandwich. What seemed like good quality roast beef got the same treatment, albeit with a gravy packet. We went with a hot cheese we both liked, and a slice of cheddar to go with it.
One of the little trinkets she scooped up I had gotten to the barn for us was my little crank radio. Small waterproof speaker. Built like a little plastic tank with recessed armored everything. You crank the handle for a couple minutes, it runs a long time on AM, FM and a few shortwaves. Hey, the weather is leveling out. Looks like the snow is about all over, at least the deep drifting stuff. An inch or two in pockets here and there, like you can expect for normal. The ice storm seems done, as well. Temperatures were expected to get close to breaking freezing tomorrow.
The next day saw breakfast. A readjustment, of my improvised field rib care armor. The eight pound sledge is as I already related, handier than I would have thought. A six or a four might even be the best thing ever. I like the self standing but sturdy walking cane idea. We each grabbed an ankle of our dear departed friend, and tugged him inch by inch to the far end of the other side. Away from the stove. Colder. Dead asshole storage, I guess. Very painful, and I wasn't as much help to Z as I would have liked. I'm on injured reserve, and used for consulting purposes right now.
On the third day, the sun made something of an entrance. What I first thought to be a late sour stomach shock, grew into I'm actually sick. It becomes clear, over time. Over going on three days now, I'm getting hotter and sweatier. Lightheaded and too easy to fatigue. Dizzy spells. Doesn't feel like the flu, though. Reminds me of blood poisoning, to be honest.
I explained to Zar and had her repeat instructions back, to make sure she had them committed to her memory banks. If I was right, and I was almost certain that I was. My prognosis, was not grim yet but it would soon get that way. I would grow slowly more sick and weak, until I was in and out and finally out of it. I needed strong broad spectrum antibiotics, as soon as possible. IV and oral, both. I explained it had taken me a couple days to slowly get sick, for the infection to build up steam. I was looking at that many days unconscious, that was a time frame to save my life.
I got this infection, young around the equator. I was in combat. Animal shit in a cut. Hell, probably did it again. I remember it did a real number on me. Took me days to recover. I gave Z a basic pep talk on blasting the shit out of anything that barged its way through the door, that didn't call ahead and RSVP us. Just in case I fall unconscious and can't handle my own shit.
I drifted off early that third day. Zar with limited resources, tried propping me up in my chair, and even feeding me. I was more trouble now than the goat to have in the house. I was embarrassed I needed help to get taken to the bathroom. The two closet door, broom closet turned into shared bathroom even sported a tiny sink and standing shower. Early, what. Thirties forties. Hard for me to guess. Not my field of endeavor.
Zar had me lean on her. I felt like the better part of an invalid. I couldn't get the water cold enough, I was burning up. I was in a daze, as I sat and watched Zar wash clothes like an old time housewife must have done once upon a time. Her dirty blonde hair falling in a streak around her face. Bar of soap, water and rinsing in a scrub bucket and drying over the gas stove turned down onto simmer temperatures. Two hundred was a great place to slip clothes over and dry them quick without melting stuff.
Clean clothes didn't make me feel like a new man, but she dressed me. I drifted off into what was to become my first fever dream. My head was on the stout wooden table, shoved into the corner and wall of the holy stove. The dark recess down the wall to black stove gap, was ink that the lantern on low light did not pierce in any adequate fashion. I saw a pair of red dots, that I took for eyes.
They were evil, they were satanic scary eyes. Fascinating all the same to look at, though. They were goat eyes. Goat, symbol of evil and black magic. My heresy, was befriending the goat. Zar was now a witch, and the goat was the witch's familiar. Odd, a witch was supposed to have great power. Z the condemned witch, showed her power. She raised a one bar signal on her cell phone. I got shaken awake if gentle for this good news. I might not die, after all.
The lingering effects of the weird fever dream were poignant and stuck with me, harder to cast off than regular dreams which flit out of memory quick. I was part evil, because I had killed people for work when I was young. I was part good, though. My fate was mixed.
I'm pretty sure I got goat nuzzles and kisses, alongside Z's own. A voice call was in and out. I told her to end her call. I got my phone out. A decked out burner I liked as my favorite. Merry's burner work phone. Instant high priority. I had Z text the signal to Merry's burner work phone. Panic 800. I whispered in pants while sweating ice cold bullets, that Panic was me. 800, was our own personal 911 distress call. 911, minus one... is 800. I explained that even if she had to work through text only to Merry, do it. Give her a rundown of exactly what happened. Get uncle Mike and Junior here, stat.
Mike and Junior will realize that shit went sideways here. Foul play, looking like the smart money for that bet now. I'm close to unconscious soon, then a few days before death. Mike needs to be here, and he'll want to be here. He might want to put a lid on this, and so far I have it sealed up tight for him.
Merry surprised both of us, once she had a few terse text descriptions of the lay of the land here. An hour and a half later, Zar seemed excited with her conversation that I really had trouble following. Something about people on the way, with help. An hour or two later, had me shaking the cobwebs to what I found a familiar voice. Pounder. And there she was, his girlfriend. I could hear them better than see them, everything was indistinct and blurry.
Some guy introduced himself as an off duty EMT and paramedic. I explained myself to him. I thought a saline drip would stabilize me and buy me way more time. And, it would further prove my own case, that it was an infection I had. He went off on the back of Betty's snowmobile. Some time later he tromped back in, and I got the redneck equivalent of field medical care.
Saline IV had me clearheaded and wiped out, then I began to come around and just gain a tired, weak baseline. There I am. Weak but stabilized. My impeding doom measured in hours, just got a couple day extension. If Merry was trying to become St. Merry and be recognized as a true saint, she first needed to be recognized for three miracles. Miracle one, I was willing to grant. EMT paramedic scared up and pressed into duty. That saline drip, has me humming soft. He's on another ambulance home base run, to get bags of IV antibiotics. He said he only has the weak stuff, general course to start with until proper care takes over.
I said give me all you got. The more temporary time I can buy, is longer for me to make it to civilization and real medical care. St. Merry went out of her way to grant me her second miracle. Armed help was on the way to our location. Of course, bikers. Big strapping farm boys, some of them make fine bikers. Seven foot tall bad guys don't grow on trees.
Merry was herself national property of an outlaw motorcycle gang. She has her own reputation, and must have scouted up a local branch here in the sticks near me. I was awake enough for a couple bikers that finally showed up on snowmobiles. Two of them had pump shotguns, and the third had a short AR rifle with a neat looking sling.
Their story. Merry was AKA known to them as Christmas, and just about anyone who was anybody, knew about Christmas. That was their own Bloody Mary. She had her own rap sheet before she ever dated her first biker. She had video floating around, of her putting three drunk FBI wives into the emergency room, because they were fighting her three on one and started a brawl at her late night steakhouse she worked at. When the cops came, they handcuffed her and tasered her and beat her up more. That's how she started dating a biker that didn't appreciate her situation, at all.
He saw a cute six foot tall brawling farm girl, and as a national enforcer himself... that was a prestigious girlfriend to have. Crazy bitch put three FBI wives into the emergency room single handed. She's a legend, just for that. Instant gang property. Which is gang protection.
When Christmas had a lone wolf dirty FBI agent come in the middle of the night to her motel apartment to murder her in her sleep, they ran into her boyfriend who stayed over late that night to allegedly have coffee, watch old DVD movies, and have snacks with Bitty Kitty, the cat. Said boyfriend ventilated the dirty FBI agent, no less than fourteen times. While taking one through the shoulder. Protecting, in the biker's world? Their property.
Apparently, killing a federal agent and both living to tell the tale, and even getting away with it in their eyes... is like being royalty. So Christmas then went on to sign her famous artwork. Sixteen dirty city cops loaded up into four rentals, and made the road trip out of DC to rural Pennsylvania sticks. To find and put a final stop to... one pesky steakhouse waitress they were sure they located. As far as any official report goes, thirteen of those cops were found in dead piles in front of her cement shack she was staying in, up on a hill behind the biker bar. Two more were disabled and located at the scene. The last was picked up in a disabled car not far from the scene he fled.
With thirteen dead cops to her name, it made her a star in her biker world. Her citizen boyfriend, even has one. The joke is, I'm her property. These bikers were located in a small local chapter. An off brand turf bar side club. One of the many tryout farm clubs, for the Pagan's MC. A national was on the computer, asking for any family in this zip code area, to step up and volunteer to help. It was family on the line.
To a farm club, going out of their way to render aid for a national property asking for help? Too tempting of a tidbit to pass up. So I got my own medical ambulance crew guy, Pounder and his girlfriend helped with transportation in all this snow. Now I got three big serious looking but smiling friendly faces in the bikers. Thor, their leader no less. With henchmen Wheel short for Wheelie, and Slick. His rear tires looked like big racing slicks, everyone said. Thor had the AR and sling, Slick and Wheel had the pump twelve gauges. Saint Merry, on a roll with miracle number two. Armed security I can trust. Amen.
Protecting a law abiding citizen, is a nice PR stunt to pull. A fact the bikers are not unaware of, and how they present to the public. Their general rule. If you're not messing with the bikers? The average citizen, has more to fear from the cops than from the bikers. Saint Merry was still baking her third miracle.
Me and Zar got text messages. Junior and Uncle Mike were both on their way. They had drivers, to a certain point. They were being picked up by snowmobile, and run in relay team fashion in. Teams of snowmobiles, running from turf bar to turf bar. Having fun, drinking and partying on public roads to celebrate no police and no fear. Party time, for off road fun. Several hours would see them in.
I was reasonably stabilized. Weak and under water, but conscious and lucid. Biding my time. I was losing my own battle to stand and walk, keeping my ultimate destiny at bay... for now. A flurry of texting and commotion had me hear the approach before I saw the results. The last relay snowmobile team came pouring in. Pounder and his girlfriend escorted them out and back in. A couple more guys with shotguns, a guy with a thirty thirty in a scabbard.
There was no security risk now. Anything coming in would take one look at the lay of things, and ooze off into the background. Big serious looking guys waltzing around with shotguns and hunting rifles. Now two adult guys dressed different, walking around with a constant entourage on their heels. Junior an Uncle Mike hit the site. I know I got my pass fail course passed, because I'm alive and so is Zar. I can get my grade now, on how I did.
Mike just leaned down all unobtrusive, his hands on my shoulders.
"Any chance we could talk now, Panic."
JR joined in.
"Yeah, Kemosabi. I can't wait to hear this."
Mike and JR accompanied me into the kitchen. Our little command center, for now. Coffee and tea, always on. Egg sandwiches, hot sandwiches on demand. Mike started slow. He eyeballed JR then me, before smiling at Z. Can she hear this, I know that look.
"Mike? Your call. There's not much she doesn't know. You see her face. See her limping. The way she holds her ribs when she sits down. Not sure I'd even be here, if she didn't jump in and help."
Mike sighed.
"I know."
He looked again at JR. Judgment call, Junior partner. Judgment call. JR looked at me for my input.
"She has blood on her hands. She finished him off. Now at this point, what family secrets are you hiding from her. She was there for every interview and deduction I made on this hot mess you packaged up and sold me as a little nuisance errand, boys."
Now they both exchanged glances. Junior started in. That patented soft husband's voice. Poking to see how many weeks he's sleeping on the couch over this one.
"Honey? How are you. All things considered. You have to believe me. If me and Mike had, so much as any inkling of, what would... we'd have never..."
"Yeah. We do this later. Do what you need to do, right now."
JR cocked his head at Mike. Your call, boss. Mike poked the pond gentle with a stick, to see the ripples.
"You okay, Zar."
She nodded yes.
"That's good. I'm sorry. Hell, we're both sorry. There's no way in a million years, this should have---"
"Well? It did. Move on."
She's all business about this.
"Can, you tell me the short version of what the hell happened here. Before we debrief Panic."
"Depends, Mike."
"On what, Z. Lie and enjoy stretching the truth to your friends later on. Always tell your commanding officer the truth about troop numbers, in the heat of battle."
Zar just blinked at him.
"Mikey?"
"Yeah."
"You working, right now? Or, are you here to help out."
Mike pinched his nose, he can keep his frustration down with the best of them. We share that, the belief that results matter more than tactics and reasons.
"Both, Zar. Both. I just need a rough outline, up front. Please."
"Well, if you're working? I want my lawyer. And I'm not so much as helping you spell my name correctly."
Mike just smiled and gave me and Junior both... the look. What the hell did I do, to deserve this.
"Honey? Ask Merry. I'm your Uncle Mike. You can tell me everything? I swear to god, it doesn't leave this room. Straight up? There's how things actually are. Or, were here. I need the raw information, so I know exactly what's going on. There's something in play? Around this mess. I need information, to make a decision about all of that. Now, that needs to be as close to the truth, as I can get to."
Mike sighed.
"Now. That said, that's just one layer. Let's call that one? The official, unofficial, truth layer. On another level, there's what gets written down, on various reports. Depends on what level that report, is written for. I run long standing cases, Zar. I routinely, and I stress that word... how routine it is for me. I hold things back. I change things. Yeah, I sometimes cover whole things over with bullshit. But I need to know what's really going on, so I can decide what to do, and how to play things."
"I'm a dancer, Mike."
"I've seen you dance, a couple times. You're good at it."
"Thanks, Mike. Nice speech. How do I know that's not you tap dancing, putting on a show for me and my report."
JR tried to murmur in all gentle, and she cut him off with just a look.
"Guys? There's a... dead, body? Right around the corner, and down the hall. When you go to the bathroom over there? I advise not opening the other door. If you catch my drift."
Mike took back over.
"I know, Z. Sorry about that."
"Mike. I shot him, to kill him. I helped drag his worthless ass that far off, so it wouldn't stink up the kitchen. I ain't heard jack shit yet, about how I don't need no damn lawyer."
JR shrugged while glancing from his wife and over to his boss. Fair call, chief. On you.
"I dig where you're coming from, Zar. I hear you. Now that I think about it? I honestly don't know what I was thinking. You don't work with me, you don't know my reputation. And anything I tell you, how do you know its not just to butter your ass up, so I can fuck you later with whatever I get out of you. How am I doing. I know how shit can go sideways, dealing with the cops. Trust me on that one, if I understand nothing else? I got that down as lesson number one."
He had her quiet attention. He went on. Mike has mad skills with these little pep talks.
"Now then. I certainly don't expect you to take my word for it. Maybe, you trust your husband's hunch. Or, you go farther back with Merry. Ask her. Or if you value Panic's opinion, he's right there. If I'm lying, I'm dying. Under arrest? No, Zar. I can write you right out of the report. Right now. Black your name out, non essential crime victim. Suspected fake ID. I do shit like that? Every day, Zar. And I'll tell you something else. I have the juice, to do it. No one wants to hear about it. No one mentions it. Everyone just kind of trusts me? To work my magic act. Which, if you're curious? I'll share with you. Before you share back, with me."
He had her attention, god is he good. This is getting close to the wrap the American flag around their shoulders speech, do it for your country, little girl. I was in combat. I fell for that one a number for times, trust me. Mike's a master of the pep talk, though. I'll just watch the master at work. He's not called the Magician, for nothing.
This hot mess? Its a shit-storm that just went off. Like a small tactical nuke, there was a mushroom cloud on the horizon. That's Mike's job. Jump on shit-storm tornado's, and wrestle them across a finish line no one thinks is perfect, but just about everyone can live with it. He tells the press if they need answered what he wants them knowing and putting out there. He has levels of reports, from bullshit baby food for other local cops to file, all the way up to official unexpurgated eyes only intelligence files he sees updated and kept up.
"So Z. From the bottom of Mike the Magician's heart. And, you got like three people close to you, to use as a guide whether or not to trust my word. You don't tell me shit, except you want a lawyer? God bless. You can go home anytime you want. No report entry. I'll just say... female crime victim, was getting a ride in the winter storm. Left before I arrived on site. I can report her first name, as related to me by witnesses I trust. I could hear a first name wrong. I think it was, what... Sarah, wasn't it? I guess Sarah slipped off, in all the excitement."
Mike waited.
"That's if you clam up. If you tell me the truth, so I can make better decisions? Same deal. Go home whenever you get a ride. Sarah, must have had enough excitement, and ran off scared she was in trouble for self defense. Panic, Junior. How's that one wash, you boys think."
I nodded, I liked it. JR was more thoughtful.
"I like it, too. I like the crude effectiveness, of naming her Sarah, right up front. She's a hearsay write in. And, what does Sarah get described like. From only credible witnesses, of course. Panic? Short brunette, you said."
"Oh, real short. I mean she says five one or five foot even? I honestly think she's covering. For being, like, four eleven or some shit. I mean at what point? Does really really short, turn into legally a midget. I mean, bitch was that tiny. And brunette? More like, so dark brown, it was like black hair. But, when light hit it? You'd see, like, colors run down the thick black hair. Like, dark red or brown highlights. I mean, I'm no expert in these matters. I'm a straight white guy, after all. And this Sarah girl I picked up needed a ride? Pretty sure I remember she said, Sarah? Was, the American version of her name. She was, a little... Arabic, exotic looking. Cute little thing. I mean, I teased her about being all cute, under that big black garbage bag, they make their women wear over there, you know? Cute little thing, really. Fuck it. I got a thing now, for cute little Arabic chicks. From meeting her. There, I said it."
JR chuckled to Mike, grinning back at him.
"JR. Our consultant, has some excellent bullshit for the report."
"Oh, indeed he does. Mike? Back to you."
"So you see. Z. Or, should I say... Sarah."
He winked at her, to put her at ease and coax a chuckle out of her. He has the charm when he turns it on.
"Pretty please, With sugar on top. Tell Uncle Mikey what happened. In your own words. Just give me the straight dope I need to decide things on, honey. All I ask. Walk out of here? You were never even here."
She gushed, and started at the beginning, up until they arrive. Mike sighed. JR sighed. Junior started pinching his nose, he picked it up from Mike. Working too close with him for too many years now.
"JR? What's your opinion. On your... information war, as you always so adroitly state it. I got how many yahoos tramping around out here? I bet I could get paper on some of the bikers. And no, its not game day for that shit. Right now? I'm happy as a pig in shit, to get their help. Never thought I'd live to see the day, but... god damn outlaw bikers? Are my best security right now, on short notice. What do you say, Junior. We'll just leave that out of the report, too."
JR looked around, and gestured through the wall. At the elephant in the room no one was speaking much of.
"Mike? Your sweet little, side operation to help out another agency. It just went off like a nuclear bomb in our faces. What, the, hell, Mike."
"I got one bar, Junior. I need to start calling people. I just don't know what or who yet. I'm being honest, here. With all of you. I don't know much more about all this? Than anyone else here!"
I coughed first.
"Mike?"
"Yeah, Panic."
"When I got nothing? I learned to invent shit, until it starts explaining and predicting stuff for me. Its how I fly blind, with some idea what the hell I'm doing."
Everyone has to strain and lean in to hear me, talking with a broken jaw.
"Panic? You're right. You, were the boots on the ground, here. You have experience. You got any ideas? Anything."
"I got a few. Yeah."
"Give me your take on this. You? Were here. Not me, Go."
"Well. Straight off. I'm gonna go out on a limb, and say its fair to assume, that... foul play, might have been involved, here. Anyone disagree with that referee call."
No one countermanded my given. I can go and pretend that's logical to build on now. Conjecture, keep it logical. This, is the ephemeral inductive step. The other steps. The problem, stating it. You want the solution, and it follows rules. But how you crack the nut and get started, with formal mathematical proof? Its the phantasmagoria that is... and I give you, with no further ado... the humble inductive step.
That, is your... creativity, and insight. Anyone else could solve this, given that inductive step. If you get even close with a good inductive leap for a premise? Its obvious, shit starts working. You can refine it to suit conditions and results. Merry made me go straight cold turkey on guts once, and it paid off big time. Saint Merry has pulled off three miracles, thus enshrining her canonization in my own little church. I'll worship at her feet like an icon, when I finally make it back home. Maybe Saint Christmas, has more zip to it. She's not even in this conversation, and her big presence in my life still echoes and looms even in her absence. Her fourth possible miracle? Answers. The bent I'm taking, I'm running on her advice to run with gut hunches, and treat them like facts.
"Junior. Bear with me. Pretty sure if I say... man in the middle attack? You can feel me."
Junior sighed.
"Do I have to quote chapter and verse to convince you, I know what that is? I do. But, continue. Mike?"
Mike groused.
"Typical. Shit's hairy. You two, want to gab in Martian. Go on."
Junior wiggled his eyebrows at me.
"Pigeon Man. At, your service. How's this mess, like a man in the middle attack."
"That, is my first hunch. Now, I learned over many years, and many high school and college classes. That first hunch, if you got nothing else? Always, write that down on any test. Its right, way more often than its wrong. If I had a nickel, for every damn time I successfully built some logical reason, to take me off my original no reason hunch, and talked myself out of it? Man, a bunch of times."
"I feel you, Senpai. Go with that."
"My hunch. Mikey? You were handed, what. It was supposedly a no big deal, no high stakes, standard meet and greet. Two city faggots with cute hair meet up, make goo goo eyes. Go kiss and exchange the secret codes. The over the top cloak and dagger routine? Kind of makes sense, to make the whistle blower feel like he's getting professional help. If you follow my drift there. No one, could fuck this up. I mean, the way you sold me? Its no big deal, white collar criminal whistle blower bullshit. Some corporation cheating on their taxes, no doubt. And that? Was the story you were sold on. Mike, am I lying?"
"That's the story I was sold, Panic. Yeah. Go on."
"I got that much. Mikey. Your gut hunch. Your turn. How god damn weird is this, whole setup."
"The truth? Out, of left field. Like, I'd think aliens would have a better chance, going down Pigeon Creek on a raft, with Jesus Christ on board... before I'd see the FTC, the Federal Trade Commission? Ask me, to do an inter-agency favor. Handle, this important but not all that important? Meet and greet. See it through, so the principals feel, professionals handled their case."
"Mike. How high up, did the... old boy network go on this. What were the, you know. The brownie points traded. What was that shit like, without disclosing real information. Just the generalities, will do me good, here."
"Okay. I like your intuition on this, Panic. The, golf with the mayor aspect of it all, as I've heard you phrase it? Hmm. Very nice pedigree, I'll say that much. Assistant director. And no, not my assistant director, mind you. The only one bigger than him. He, had me out to a free, big giant lunch. Don't you know."
"Oh, Uncle Mike. He got his ass, just all buttered up. Extra salt and extra cream. Do tell, do tell."
"Okay, yeah. I got my ass all lubed up. Now picture this one, Panic. The only higher up assistant director, above my own pet assistant director? He got a call. Could he help out. Its the FTC. They just do the usual, document meeting the witness thing. The whistle blower? Is antsy. Real, fucking antsy. Says, some guy slid off the road, that said he was going to talk. I mean, worry warts come crying in all offices, Panic."
"Scared witness. Not trusting, FTC office drones with his life. I mean, I can see this one. I might not trust their judgment, with my own safety. Good for him. How am I doing."
Mike nodded along with me. His look said it, keep going.
"Now Mike. I ask you. Now, not back then. With hindsight. How smart was the whistle blower, thinking someone one ran someone off the road, to shut them up. Be honest, here."
"Off the record? Looking better, every minute. I got a dead body, right through the wall, Panic. But, continue."
"So. I had a lot of time to think about this one. Mike, once again. When would you hand something like this off. Be honest."
"Well... if the thing looked like it was radioactive, and it had potential to blow? I'd want to hand it off, sure."
"Mike. I'll go you one better, for conjecture. Lets say, you knew it was going to go radioactive. You wanted it, out of your hands. Hey, an outside agency, we were told handles this thing routinely? Fumbled the ball."
Mike gestured with his chin, upwards. More. Its plausible.
"Mike. I ask you. How could anyone, know this was going to blow up. Without somehow knowing? That a loose end was being cut off. I got a dead body in there, that says they were serious about this. Now Mikey. I'm going to go out on another limb, here. I'm going to predict? The snow's coming, when this suddenly comes up. Tell me I'm wrong."
"You're not wrong. Keep going."
"y point is, someone knew that was going to blow up. They passed it off, a hot potato. Its your mess, out of nowhere. What would you be expected to do about this."
"Well... I'm, Mike the Magician. I handle..."
I finished for him.
"Exactly! You're known? For handling radioactive shit-storms. Who better, to hand this one over to."
Mike mulled it over. Food for thought. JR cut in.
"Kemosabi. Back at the ranch? You led off with, a man in the middle attack. That, was your big hunch. I must have missed it. Maybe, you could fill that in for me."
"Sure thing. The classic man in the middle attack. Its an internet trick. You have a start point, and an end point. And in the middle? You have that nether world. In theory, you simply intercept the message in the middle. You now, keep doing it. You tell home base, what you want them thinking. You tell the man in the field? Again, whatever you feel like telling him."
"And your gut tells you, that's what you're seeing here."
"Yeah. Think, and be logical. What were we given. A location, and that's it. That location, though. That, was down to the inch. I was located, once you sent me to look into this? To keep hitting... that location."
JR finished for me.
"And really, it was just dumb luck. That we even got to send you on this, errand. Car goes off the road, in a snowstorm. Without my wife needing a ride? This wouldn't even have happened. No one, could have planned... you showing up."
"My point, exactly. The snow storm? Really would have covered this up, just fine. What could anyone, even do. Send the murder investigators out. To the location. They'll draw a one hundred yard grid, and search it for molecules. After it thaws out. Mike said it, remember. As soon as the snow is coming? This meet and greet, comes up over a big power lunch."
Me and Junior, we both looked at Mike. For guidance. He made the rolling motion with his hand. Keep going, boys.
"One more time, Panic. Where, is my man in the middle attack. The cell tower, went down. What are you even..."
"May I continue? Thank you. Someone, wants a loose end tied off. The whistle blower, is the obvious guess. Now. On our end?We only get to know, what. The location, he disappears from. And really, it was just lucky I could even swing by, and look for where the city boy went off the road in the deep country snow."
JR nodded.
"Keep going."
"The guy. He makes the diner, then he disappears. At, this location. I went there, one too many times. And judging by my experience, your whistle blower? Is long gone. Just my best guess. I was almost long gone. Do the math. But, its a man in the middle attack. You gotta see it, at least that much. You send him out in the middle of nowhere. All, professional like. Hey. I made my contact, I'll check in, after we exchange the information. Which, never happens. Look what happens to me? Sitting around that location. More than once. They took him out, right before he makes contact. He was expected. The FTC says, we let the professionals at the FBI handle something this important. What did they do. Man in the middle, that was the strategy. We have a home base, the FTC. We have the hand-off, to the FBI to just handle it. Here's a location. Now someone? Had a camera that looked like Junior's craft work, was the only reason I found it. I copied that SD card, by the way."
"Really. You can go over that with Pigeon man, later. Man in the middle."
"Yeah. They intercepted the whistle blower, at the diner. He's a scared amateur. Here's some big, friendly guy. Hey, snowstorm. Sorry I don't have the secret handshake. But, how else do I know you were going to be here, you know. I was told, you have information for me. Can I have it? And... that's about all it would take. The whistle blower? Never sees it coming, until its too late. Once he gets fooled into handing over the information? He's toast. And its in the spirit of the man in the middle attack? Because think. You send the message, the meeting out. Something happens, and you just get a location. Its actually, too perfect. Without me coming along, and parking on top of the Houdini location, spooking them? They got away with this. Snow melts? Guy's just... poof. Hes, gone."
Me and JR looked at Mike to referee the conjecture.
"Its a possible, plot line. If we're even close, we can take pointers from that. Maybe. So, if you think your hunches are somewhat correct, and all that. Riddle me this. How the hell do I react, to this shit-storm."
"If I wasn't picking Zar up. If I wasn't swinging through, to look for the wrecked car. Lets pretend, that's how it went down. Because that? Is what they expected, whoever designed this mess. Without me here, what would your official response have been. Given the snow emergency."
"Uh, can't send anyone out. Sit tight, we'll look for your meeting guy you say went missing, in the snowstorm... when it, thaws out. I mean, I'd put some lipstick on that pig first, but that's what I'd really be saying."
"And wouldn't the guy and his information and his car, just kind of... poof? Disappear."
Mike thought about that one.
"Yeah. Someone, played a trick on the Magician. How I react, is key, here."
I shrugged.
"They, and that's whoever they even are? I know this much. They have the money and contacts and resources, to hire... goon squads. They've proven, they have the willpower, to carry out direct hits. With confidence, I might add. This? Was not, some unimportant favor. No. This, was important. You don't hire professional goons like him in there, over nothing. No, this was big."
Mike cut in now.
"That's just it. This, is supposed to be... some routine white collar indiscretion, that sort of thing."
I needled him all gentle.
"That's the story you got sold. How's that wash, right now."
He grunted and nodded, sure.
"Here's my idea, Mike. You got a lid on this, for now. You can wait, and just say you can't find that car. Hell, you can bring in a state police investigator, and he'll stake out a one hundred yard circle. We both know, they'll commence to collecting hairs and fibers. But, there's nothing in, that circle. But, that's what you put out there."
"Tell the other side, what they expect to hear. Not a bad start. While I really do, what. I can't let this slide."
"Play both ends against the middle. Now, only you know the truth. That their guy disappears, though their goon disappears, too. Out of sight? Out of mind. You, seem to give it the once over, nothing to see here."
"While I really, am doing... what."
"You? You're the only good guy, prepared on this. You, get the same state police investigator out here. Early, now. He, talks to me and sees what went on. He's on your side. Let him document this, shit stain of a meeting. Then? He can arrange the one hundred yard dog and pony show, later. You're prepared, both ways. Your quarry? Doesn't know you're onto them."
Mike prodded index fingers up into his chin now, cogs turning. Practical concerns, it was always practical stuff for him. Okay. Lets say I like this take on things. We got manpower out there, marching around. If we even think we clamp a lid on this? We get that lid on right now."
JR held his finger up.
"Mike? I heard Zar, tell the bikers. Don't go on that side, there's a dead guy over there. Its fine, its just self defense. The biker? Said hey, lady. Sounds like none of my business. I don't need to go tramping around the dead body. Thanks for the heads up. Those guys? Ain't calling any newspaper reporters."
Mike nodded along.
"Which leaves. The towing guy, tossing beer cans all over my scene. His girlfriend. The ambulance guy now, too."
"I can handle, Pounder and his girl. I'll give him a couple hundred bucks, to be quiet. Its an official investigation. We can't alert the bad guys. And the ambulance guy? Mike, you or JR... or hell, both of you. Give him some cool speech. You just get your state police investigator out here, and on board? You got this."
In other news, Z found what she believed to be pork chops and lots of them. A jar of BBQ sauce, and bang. You'd never even know a dead guy was in a natural cooler over there on the other side of this rectangle. I spent most of the meal in quiet contemplation of my own selfish situation. I know medically, I'm right. I have a bad infection. I also know, I just kicked the can down the road and not all that far. I can only take tiny nibbles of pork to tongue around and swallow.
The temporary relief from the weak and inadequate light routine antibiotics? Will get overwhelmed by the bad infection they weren't designed for. My infection, will now be low level resistant. It will come back, and with a howling vengeance when it arrives.