The Black Book Page 4

  As of press time, no one has come forward to confess.

  ã Copyright, Northern Idaho Sentinel. All rights reserved.

  When the ice goes out on the lakes of Minnesota, it goes amazingly fast. One day, there are ice fishermen in pickup trucks parked in the middle of the lake, and the next day the water is clear, blue, and cold. Of course, this may not occur until mid-May or later. As the Northwest Link flight came in over the Brainerd area, I could see frozen over lakes slipping below the flight path. The turbo-prop rolled up to the small terminal; a young lady dressed in Northwest Blue parka flagged the pilot to a parking spot. When the props stopped, she let down the boarding ladder, then popped open the luggage compartment to get our bags. She had the crisp blue eyes and blond hair common to her Nordic ancestors. She treated us to a smile that said she really was happy that we were there, and, that the plane hadn't crashed. I could almost hear the ice on the lakes melting, and forget about stewardess seniority.

  I was here to see Will D. Will was one of those almost-always-single types like Doc. He had been a door gunner in the Nam, and when I met him, he was still picking shrapnel out of his legs. I asked him how that happened to a door gunner. He told me that he had been flying supplies into a base in the central highlands one time. His bird had developed a vibration, and the pilot had decided to spend the night on base. As luck would have it, they expected a "Bald Eagle" that night, everything pointed to them being over-run. In spite of a bad premonition, he volunteered to walk a final perimeter patrol to prepare for the evening's festivities. The Marine in front of him had tripped off a Bouncing Betty. The rest is ancient history.

  Will had two things I needed. The first was his innate sense of when someone is trying to kill you. The second was his degree from the Colorado College of Mining. Like Doc, he was not the easiest person in the world to connect with. During the winter, he kept a room over the general store in Pequot Lakes, forty miles north of Brainerd. Summers were more problematic. He tended to fade off into the north woods for months at a time. I rented a car from the Avis people, and headed north. I found him stuffing parachute silk into a duffel bag, in preparation to leave his overheated room and the black and white Sylvania television that only got one channel. When I pulled up in front of his beat-up old truck, he gave me the kind of look he reserved for people who wear lime green golfing attire.

  "Yo, Will."

  "Yo Mamma."

  "I'm needing some help Will."

  "Any fool could see that."

  "Had breakfast?"

  "Yeah. Yesterday."

  "Got time to go up to the A-Frame lodge?"

  "Guess so."

  "Good. See you there, and I'm buying."

  "You should have said so in the first place."

  The A-Frame was five miles further north than Pequot Lakes. It catered to truckers. The sign outside said, "This is your last chance to eat. Got gas?"

  Will followed me there, and we found a Formica booth with curved plastic seats near the windows. From our table, we could see the pumps, and every truck coming through. He ordered half a pound of bacon, with six eggs over easy and whole-wheat toast. I settled for coffee.

  "So. What's this help you're needing?" He said.

  "Just a bit of your time."

  "Running short on time."

  "How's your boy doing?" I asked. "Be in high-school now won't he?"

  "Yah."

  "He'll be needing some money for college next I guess."

  "I might."

  "Just so happens a few weeks of your time would cover some of that."

  "Ok, M. The hook is set. Best start to reeling."

  "It's simple Will. I need you out west for a few weeks. The work's in the bush. Snoop n scoot. Pay's good."

  "Got a better reason than money?"

  "Best reason on earth. I have a man down. I owe him."

  "You should have said so in the first place."

  And with that, he demolished an amazing breakfast. We spent the next hour talking about the details. I left him with a cashier's check, and took a promise with me. A week from now, we would meet in Idaho.

  Enticing men to come to your aid is a simple process. Just ask. If the problem is small enough, most men will help out just for the hell of it. When problems get bigger, you need only present the man with a viable reason. Nine times out of ten, he'll help. Money is almost never part of the reason. With Doc and Will, I tossed the money on the table for two reasons. In the realms of finance, they were both ne’er-do-wells. They didn't particularly care about money after the basics of food and shelter were covered. Within a few months, both would probably be broke again. When they did have money, they tended to give it away to people who had larger problems than their own. The second reason went a bit deeper. I was going to ask them to go places and do things that could quite easily get them killed. If that happened, whatever they left behind would revert to their families.

  Women are another matter entirely. Not that they wouldn't help out if they could, but that men in general, and I specifically, don't know how to reach them. In short, men don't understand women. From a male point of view, women have won the battle of the sexes. In the process, they have lost more than they can ever regain. The least of it is falling from their pedestals. Having doors opened for you and coats placed for you to walk on are archaic gestures that can easily be thrown by the wayside. The bigger problem is that they have brow beaten the American male to the point where they are afraid to be attracted to American women. But then who am I to fault them? I’m just another battered chauvinist looking for lady fair. So, don't delay ladies, take off your bra, put on a tee shirt, and be an executive. Work sixty-hour weeks, and join us in the foxholes. Bash through that glass ceiling, attend West Point, and be all that you can be. But, when the dust clears, don't look around and wonder how you missed out. All the he-men of yesteryear are at men's mudslide encounter groups discussing their repressed fears and sipping Chablis.

  Chapter 8

  Threats Against President Get Action

  FBI and Secret Service Launch Investigation

  By: Heather Surlier

  Associated News

  May 26 - Washington D.C. The Secret Service and high-ranking officials in the FBI today announced an investigation into hate mail sent to the President, and numerous federal and state officials. The mail allegedly originated from members of a national white supremacist organization.

  "There is no question that this is a well organized, national effort," said one FBI spokesperson. "We intend to follow up on each and every one of these incidents."

  "Threats made against the President are a federal offense. We in the Secret Service take each and every one seriously." Said Jay Wiley, a Secret Service spokesman.

  Although we have not seen specific examples of the threats, we can tell you that they were apparently wide spread, crossing federal and state boundaries. Most of the threats appear to have come via email, but some were also faxed. As yet, we have had no statement from the separatist organization.

  ã Copyright, Associated News.

  For all the reasons stated, the next member of the team was harder to recruit. Angel Christensen was a registered nurse with lots of loving care for her patients and no time for anyone else. Other than being a first class healer, her claim to fame was being quite possibly the best looking woman and the worst sales person in the world.

  Crowds Spill into Hayden Lake

  Local Lawmen Left Guessing

  By: Neil Owens

  Northern Idaho Sentinel

  May 26 - Unusually large numbers of visitors have descended on the small town of Hayden Lake. Local law-enforcement-officials have been unable to account for the sudden influx.

  Chief Rick Palmer said, "Some of them claim to be looking for Gold, and others are waiting around for a rock concert we don't know about. Hell, one of them even tried to put flowers in my hair and kiss me."

  The Chief was somewh
at shaken when we interviewed him, but he did tell us that so far, things had remained peaceful. He has no immediate plans to arrest anyone, saying, "So far no laws have been broken. We don't have the damn jail space

  anyway."

  So, for the moment, the mystery continues.

  ã Copyright, Northern Idaho Sentinel. All rights reserved.

  A few years ago, in an entrepreneurial fit, I started a small software company. Angel looked to me like a natural salesperson. She was outgoing, loved to talk to people, and could get into any office in the world if a man was in charge. Unfortunately for the company, the clients never bought anything from her. They were afraid that if they did, she would stop coming back. The only solution was for me to marry her. And that, as they say, was the end of a beautiful friendship. She went back to school for her nursing degree, and moved out on graduation day. I couldn't blame her. I was working twenty hour days, and wasn't the easiest person in the world to live with. We kept it on a friendly basis, but there weren't any parts of me that she wanted to have anything to do with.

  We met outside the hospital just as she was getting off shift. She was dressed in scrubs and still as beautiful as ever. A lock of her golden hair had fallen out of place and rested across her forehead. Looking at her, I thought again that this was a woman with absolutely nothing wrong with her, except her attitude toward me. I put on a smile, and greeted her.

  "Hi beautiful. How have you been?"

  "What do you want M?" She said wearily.

  "Just to talk. We can talk can't we?"

  "Look I've had a long day. I'm not going to do it, what ever it is you want."

  "Hey. I have an idea. I'll go back out and come in again."

  "It won't make any difference."

  "Angel, we aren't married anymore. You don't have to be nasty to me." I thought this last line might be particularly effective.

  "I suppose I should count my blessings." She said.

  "Come on. It wasn't that bad."

  "Ok. Maybe it wasn't most of the time. But you never come around just to ask how I am. You always want something. Now, what is it?"

  "Damn, you're hard woman. I just stopped by to see how you were. And already I'm back in trouble. Are you sure we aren't still married?"

  She finally smiled, and said "M. I know you. Don't bullshit me."

  "Ok. I'm in need of medical attention."

  "Check yourself into a hospital."

  "It isn't for me. It's a friend of mine. I think he may be hurt bad and I need help."

  "I knew it. What's wrong with your friend? And, why don't you check him into a hospital?"

  "Well, I'm not sure. I haven't seen him yet. But, if he's alive, I know he'll need help. And you are the best help I know of."

  "Oh M. Are you ever going to grow up?"

  "I don't know. Say. How are things going at that hospice you started?"

  "Things are fine at the hospice. Or they would be if medicine was free and I had more help and fifty hours in every day."

  "Would some money help?"

  "No. Some money wouldn't help. Lots of money might."

  "Darling have I got a deal for you. How about a week of your time for a hundred grand?"

  "Learn to say no to drugs M."

  "No. I'm serious. One week, one hundred thousand dollars."

  "Where would you get that? The last time you came by you needed gas money."

  "Well I didn't ask you for it."

  "No. But you needed it."

  "Well, then I did, but now I don't. Take a look at this here check. It has your name on it."

  "M. Are you in trouble?"

  "That's what I've been trying to tell you. It isn't me, it's my old buddy McGee."

  "But you don't know what's wrong with him."

  "That's right."

  "Ok. One week, one hundred thousand. I won't get arrested will I?"

  "Not unless it's for shaming all the other women in town."

  "Don't start M. Just tell me what you want me to do."

  For the next hour, we sat over coffee in the staff lounge and I told her about McGee, and the Busted Flush, and Meyer, and Sue. She seemed real interested in Sue. I never figured out why. At the end of the hour, she had the check, and I had her time for a week. As I walked away, I thought about that chapter in the Bible, where God puts enmity between man and woman. It didn't seem like the brightest thing he ever did. This life could be a heaven on earth if men and women could just communicate.

  I still had a couple of calls to make if things were going to fall into place. Angel had reminded me of drugs, and their potential. We also needed an exit strategy. No plan is worth a damn if you can't get away clean. I'd think more about that tonight after I checked in with Meyer on the Internet.

  My next stop was to see the "Bug Buster," long haul trucker, and American philosopher. We met at a Little America truck stop in Wyoming. He was wired as tight as a champagne cork. But as always, he tended to look on the positive side of life. I asked him to get together a few trusted friends of the road. The fragments of my plan were coming closer together. Take one outrage, mix in the salt of the earth, stir until at a boil, then stand the hell back.

  From: M@google.net

  To: MoneyMan@Quays.net

  Sub: Time to move

  Meyer, I'm hoping things are well. If Sue is OK, jump a plane to Coeur d'Alene. Get me the flight info and I'll meet your plane. We need to do some strategy work. Just make damn sure Sue is safe before you leave.

  Our cover story is that we are in town to look for property to buy. Hell, we may even buy some if we need to.

  From: MoneyMan@quays.net

  To: M@google.net

  Sub: Flight info

  Meet me on Delta flight 788 arr. 5/28 20:10 Coeur d'Alene. All is well. Lenny is taking a week off to stay with Sue.

  Remember: Location, location, and location.

  Chapter 9

  Landowners Worried Over Concert

  Porta-potties in short supply

  By: Neil Owens

  Northern Idaho Sentinel

  May 28 - Landowners around the Hayden Lake area are concerned about refuse and ecological damage that may be left in the wake if a rumored concert takes place in the area. Local residents swarmed into the city council meeting last night, demanding to know what precautions the city was taking.

  Mayor Lowell Tallmadge, said that he was not aware of any concert planned for the area. The city had however ordered portable sanitary stations placed on city grounds to accommodate the influx of "Dead Heads."

  Police Chief Rick Palmer said, "I've asked for additional funds for overtime. What we need right now is traffic control, and an official presence." He went on to say, "We don't want any drug parties, or hooliganism in our town. If these people are coming here for that, they better go elsewhere."

  This reporter was able to contact the agency representing the Grateful Dead. While they would not confirm the concert, they also did not deny it. Their only comment being "No S***."

  Copyright, Northern Idaho Sentinel. All rights reserved.

  Meyer's flight was right on time as it came into Coeur d'Alene. When I asked about his luggage, my esteem for him grew even higher. He was traveling with just what he could carry on a dead run from one terminal to another. We skipped the long lines at baggage claim, and went directly to the parking lot where my Jeep Cherokee rental waited.

  A front was coming in, and the clouds that had been light and puffy during the day were turning thick and gray. The local weather guesser predicted a thirty-percent chance of showers for later that night. The temperatures had dropped into the forties, and Meyer shook like a typical Floridian. His cotton slacks were too thin, and his nylon windbreaker was next to useless. I cranked up the heater in the Cherokee and rolled up my window.

  "I don't know how people can survive in these frozen wastelands."

  "Don't worry Meyer. We'll have you warm and toasty
in no time. We can get you some warmer gear tomorrow. Is Sue Ok?"

  "Yes, she and Lenny are doing fine."

  "We have reservations at the Clark House on Hayden Lake. That will be our base of operations. I've never stayed there, but I hear it's nice."

  "As long as the rooms are heated, I'm sure it will be fine."

  We drove in silence until the Cherokee warmed up, and Meyer's teeth stopped chattering. The surrounding countryside was crowded with pine trees hiding most of the suburban sprawl. When we finally pulled into what had once been the Clark Mansion, we were both suitably impressed. The grounds consisted of twelve wooded acres, with a large grassy area stretching from the large white colonial down to the lakeshore. The mansion itself was two stories high with dormers along a steep gray roof. I could easily imagine presidents, princes, and the odd billionaire using the place for private meetings and discrete liaisons. And, the rooms were heated, and nicely decorated. We stowed our gear, then met downstairs in the dining room for coffee. I spread a map out between us, and we studied silently until the waitress came.