Aces and Eights
Part 3: Pickup
Luke was out for just about twelve
hours. When he awoke, his condition seemed to have improved. He even redressed
his wounds, far better than I had. It seemed that he had some familiarity with
the practice. He spent the following day lying around my apartment, recovering,
and asking me repeatedly to check the windows for any would-be intruders. There
were none, and when he seemed strong enough to talk without passing out, I felt
that it was time for my enlightenment.
"Okay, Luke," I said on
the second day of his recuperation, "How about an explanation? I think this
case warrants one."
He said nothing, filling the space
with several mouthfuls of tuna fish sandwich.
"Don't tell me you expect the
silence routine to work. You know me better than that."
He put his sandwich down and looked
at me, considering. Though he was in less than perfect shape, there was a
sparkle in his eyes. "Would you believe that I was mugged?"
"No," I said,
"because, for starters, you're a big guy, and most muggers pick easy
targets. Secondly, you were armed. You even had an extra clip in your jacket
pocket. Then there's the fact that your wallet wasn't missing; I checked when I
stripped you and put you in bed. Also, you had slash marks over about sixty
percent of your body, not the calling card of your typical
take-the-money-and-run mugger. So, in answer to your query, no, I wouldn't
believe that you were mugged."
He sighed--an uncommon mannerism for
Luke--and said, "I didn't think so. Well, this could get complicated, but .
. ."
Suddenly, the phone rang.
Luke smiled, obviously relieved by
the interruption. Cursing, I pushed my chair back and followed the ringing
sounds.
"Hello," I said into the
receiver.
A few seconds of silence followed.
Then, "You are foolish to protect him. It could cost you." The voice
had a strange accent.
Shocked and annoyed, I said,
"Who is this, and what in the hell are you talking about?" I heard
Luke rising behind me.
"I'll be coming for him
tonight," was all I got, then the mysterious caller hung up.
"Damn," I said, carrying
the phone back to the kitchen table.
"Who was it?" asked Luke.
"Prank call, probably, unless .
. ." I gave my friend an appraising look. "It sounded like it might
have been those friends of yours. You know, the ones who did the slice-and-dice
trick on you. If it was, they'll be here tonight."
He looked grave. "There's
something you have to do for me."
I considered. Luke and I had been
good friends up to that point, but it seemed as if he was about to ask me to do
something that could be dangerous, potentially lethal even, judging by what had
happened to him. The way I saw it, a decision either way--to help him or to
avoid risking my neck--constituted a turning point that would, respectively,
strengthen or weaken our friendship, depending on my choice. I realized then
that I liked Luke a hell of a lot. It went beyond the fact that we had spent a
great deal of time together pursuing Mother Nature and the good times she could
provide; there was just something about him--some diffuse, unpinpointed quality
that I liked.
"Okay," I said, "Name
it."
He smiled. "I won't forget
this."
"Whatever. What is it you need?
Money? A plane ticket?"
"No, nothing like that. I left
something in a bus station; in a locker there. I need you to get it."
"Sounds too easy. What's the
catch? What's keeping you from walking in yourself and taking whatever it is you
want?"
"The bus station is being
watched, and the people watching over the station would recognize me."
"I see. But what if they
recognize me? Whoever made that call implied that I was putting myself in danger
by protecting you."
"That was probably a hollow
threat, intended, no doubt, to scare you into throwing me out." He grinned.
"You won't, will you?"
"Of course not." Then I
began to wonder about whatever it was that the locker contained. What could it
be that was so important?
"Drugs?" I asked, studying
his face for a reaction.
"No," he said calmly.
"What then?"
"Items of sentimental value: a
ring, some paintings. In a bag."
"And someone is guarding the
bus station, hoping you'll tip your hand by showing up to retrieve them?"
"Right."
"Tell me something," I
said, "is the observing party more interested in you or your goods?"
He chuckled. "Both, but me
mostly." He grew serious. "I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important.
All you have to do is go to the station, pick up my stuff, and bring it back
here."
"How do you know that your
adversary hasn't beaten me to it? Your locker could be empty by now."
"They don't know which locker
is mine and I've gone to great lengths to protect its anonymity. I've erected
certain . . . defenses which should've kept them out."
"Traps?"
"Sort of, but they won't affect
you. They can only be triggered by selected types. Trust me." His smile was
disarming.
"Okay, I'll do it. But what
happens after I get your stuff and bring it back?"
"You make your move to Texas,
and I skip the country, stay hidden for a while. Safe and simple. I'll contact
you at a later date and explain all this over Tex-Mex and pina coladas."
"All right," I said after
a moment's deliberation, "tell me which bus station."
"The one closest to your
favorite restaurant. Here's the key . . ."
I raised my eyebrows at him.
"You sound like someone might be listening right now."
He grinned and shrugged. "You
never know. The people that are out to get me take their work very seriously. In
fact, I want you to take the pistol." He gestured to the other room.
"Come on, Luke. This is
starting to sound like a spy flick."
"Take the gun, Nigel." He
said this firmly, sans amusement.
"Sure, okay; if you think it
might help." I was starting to get nervous. Walking from the kitchen table
into the living room, I picked up the pistol from where it had lain since the
day of Luke's enigmatic arrival.
"Change clips," he said.
"I had to use it before I made it to your place."
"You shot at somebody? You're
kidding?!" I could not imagine Luke actually firing a weapon at someone
with the intention to kill or even harm. But then, after reviewing the events of
the last two days and the way he was acting, I decided I could imagine it.
"I'm not joking. You might need
it."
I left the room to get the other
magazine. When I returned, Luke was holding the pistol, and had already removed
the used magazine. I started to hand him the full one, but then stopped, seeing
something that I had not noticed before.
"These don't look like normal
bullets," I said, removing a round from the clip and holding it up.
"They're silver," said
Luke, answering my unasked question.
"What?!"
"Please, don't ask. It would
only make things more complicated and time is a factor in all this."
"All right, all right, all
right. I won't even ask; but later I'd really like an explanation." I
replaced the bullet and handed him the clip.
"Fair enough," he said.
I went into the bedroom, grabbed a
dark-colored jacket and my favorite pair of hiking boots. When I returned he was
standing to the side of the curtainless kitchen window, peering out. My watch
said seven-thirty-five; it was getting dark outside.
"I guess I'll be off now, since
you seem to be in such a hurry."
"Nigel, you have my word, I
will give you the whole story someday. You deserve no less."
"Okay," I said, relaxing a
little. I walked toward the back door.
"Be careful." He put the
gun in my hand and I dropped it into my right jacket pocket.
"I will be. 'Bye." I
stepped out onto my patio. He nodded and closed the door; the lock made its
clicking noises.
I looked around cautiously. There
was no one on the patio, unless you count the potted plants that I had been
planning as a farewell gift to Jennifer, the schoolteacher who lived in the
apartment next to mine. I turned and looked down now into the courtyard, four
levels below. The pool lights gave the area a soft blue glaze. I saw nothing out
of the ordinary, so I walked down the stairs. My parking-space neighbor had
parked his car too close to mine, and I had to squeeze myself in. I started the
engine after hesitating for a couple of seconds. The thought of a bomb had
crossed my mind briefly.
I backed out and drove toward the parking lot exit. I was getting as paranoid as Luke.