Biker (28 page)

“Sorry. I can make you forget about that.”

“Cass, if you don't let me go to sleep I'll go sleep in the rec room.”

“Fine,” Cass flounced, turning her back. She lay at the edge of the bed staring at the wall. Pratt sat on the bed, turned off the table lamp, took off his shoes, shirt and pants and lay next to her, drawing the cover up against the air conditioning. Exhausted as he was, he didn't feel sleepy. He wished he could take a pill.

Cass spooned up to him and reached for his joint. Silently he fended her off.

“I love you,” she cooed in his ear.

Pratt tensed. The words jammed in his throat. A second later Cass' foot shoved him hard in the small of his back and he landed on the floor.

Silently Pratt took his pillow and went into the rec room, where there was a blanket on the old sofa.

CHAPTER 54

Pratt woke to the sound of chairs moving in the kitchen overhead. Light crept around the perimeter of the blinds covering the view to the patio. Pratt sat up. He had a slight hangover from the booze and was stiff all over. The door to the guest bedroom was closed. Pratt stiff-walked to the half bath beneath the stair, relieved himself, splashed water on his face and washed his hands. It was just past ten.

Pratt went up the stair smelling bacon, down the hall to the kitchen, which had a twelve-foot beamed ceiling with a fan and a hanging rack of iron pots. Ginger stood at the stove in a pink terry cloth robe flipping eggs. Munz sat at the breakfast table opposite Bonner, who was digging into a plate of eggs.

“Where's Cass?” Ginger said. She sounded strong and refreshed.

“Still sleeping,” Pratt said.

“How do you like your eggs, Josh?”

“Over, medium well.”

Munz clicked on the flat-screen television stuck to the wall and cued in the local news station. They watched the weather report and a loud ad for American TV. There was nothing about the killings. The forecast called for rain, possibly heavy at times.

“'Bout time,” Munz said. “Our cropland is hurting.”

Bonner pushed himself back from the table. “Thanks, Mrs. M. I'm sending Bob in now.”

“They named your friend this morning,” Munz said. “Apparently he put up quite a struggle and managed to take out one of his assailants.”

Perry with a gun. Pratt was still trying to get his head around it. Perry had embraced every liberal cause from global warming to white guilt and had repeatedly declared that private possession of a handgun should be illegal.

You never really knew people.

Ginger slapped a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Pratt.

A man appeared at the door. He was squat and powerful and spoke with an Australian accent.

“Greetings, mates. I'm Bob Foucalt. Thanks for the tucker.”

Pratt introduced himself and Cass. Foucalt carried a sidearm in a pancake holster and a two-way clipped to his collar. “Normally I'd tell you to stay away from the windows but I hear this cobber likes to work up close and personal.”

“He doesn't use guns,” Cass said. “He doesn't like guns.”

Expect him to use a gun
.

“You know him then?” Foucalt said.

“A long time ago but some people don't change. They just get more so.”

“Ain't that the truth.” Foucalt saluted.

“Sit, Bob, sit,” Ginger said. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled.”

“Bob's a sniper,” Munz said. “Most of the time he's out there in the woods with his rifle. Served two tours in Afghanistan with the SASR.”

Pratt turned to Foucalt. “What's that, sir?”

“Special Air Service Regiment. And call me Bob. You calling me sir makes me think I'm back in the bloody Army and I wouldn't care to relive those days.” Foucalt winked.

“Honey, the TV,” Ginger said.

Munz used the remote to turn on the sound.

Dane County sheriff Mason stood in front of a podium. He looked like Ward Bond. “Warrants have been issued for members of the War Bonnets motorcycle gang. Deputies are in the process of serving those warrants now …”

“Sheriff!” The camera cut to a slim blond in a power suit. “Do you have a motive as to why the bikers would attack this man?”

“We think it was a drug deal gone sour.”

“Bullshit!” Pratt exploded.

The press conference continued but there was no new information. Munz cued the mute. Foucalt finished his breakfast, thanked Ginger, and went out front with a coffee-filled thermos.

“Well look who's here,” Ginger beamed.

Cass in the morning still gave Pratt a hard-on and he regretted his moment of truth the night before. Cass didn't look at him. Ginger immediately picked up on it.

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Just one, please, sunny-side up.”

“How'dja sleep?” Munz said.

“Fine,” Cass said listlessly. “Anything new?”

“Since the War Bonnets hit that guy, no,” Ginger said.

“Do you have any coffee?”

Before Ginger could move, Cass got up and helped herself to a mug from the cupboard and coffee from the Mr. Coffee machine on the counter. She poured in a couple ounces of milk and three spoons of sugar. She sat, stirred, and drank.

“Hey folks,” a deep voice boomed from the hallway. A tall black man with a shaved skull and a diamond earring wearing a sleeveless black tee that highlighted his enormous biceps, baggy cargo pants and steel-toed boots entered the kitchen. He had his own gravitational pull that made you want to get next to him.

Charisma, Pratt thought.

“I'm Rob Stuart.”

Pratt got up to shake hands. “Josh Pratt. And this is Cass Rubio.”

Cass looked away.

“Cass,” Pratt said.

Cass waved wanly. “Hi.”

“Just the three of you?” Pratt said.

Stuart showed perfect teeth. “That's all it takes. And two of us are redundant.”

“Moon's dead meat if he comes anywhere near this property,” Munz said. “What kind of eggs do you like, Rob?”

“I've already had breakfast but I will take a cup of that coffee.”

Ginger handed him a mug. “Help yourself.”

Stuart took it black. “Well I just wanted to introduce myself. We would prefer if nobody leaves the house, and it wouldn't hurt to keep the drapes, blinds, and shades drawn. There's no use advertising what's inside.”

“Which one of you is in charge?” Pratt said.

The ivory grin. “That would be me.” Stuart dipped into a pocket and handed Pratt a card between his index and middle finger. “Call if you must—but please make sure it's important.”

Stuart withdrew.

“Let me give you the grand tour,” Munz said.

Pratt stood. Cass remained where she was.

“You go ahead. I've seen it.”

As Munz and Pratt left the breezeway the two women huddled in intense conversation.

CHAPTER 55

The first floor had an open floor plan with the kitchen segueing into the dining room into the living room. Nate's office was to the right as you entered. There were two half baths. The décor was Old West with Navajo rugs, kachina dolls, and paintings of stolid Indians gazing into storms with titles like “Early Winter.” There was a Dali print on one wall. A proud buck gazed down from the living room.

Munz pushed a button on the wall and the dining room blinds retracted with a clacking noise. Broad vertical windows seemed to let the forest in, casting the whole room in a green glow. Pratt noted how easy it would be for a sniper to conceal himself with a clear shot of the house.

But that wasn't Moon's way.

The stair to the second floor began in the foyer and split into two curves halfway up. “We can take the stairs or we can take the elevator,” Munz said.

“Let's take the stairs.”

Pratt followed Munz up the broad winding stair to the second floor. A balcony overlooked the foyer. The floor was oak parquet. Munz turned east.

“This is the master bedroom suite,” he said, gesturing Pratt in. The big room had a balcony looming over the patio that was in the trees, creating the impression of a luxurious tree house. Limbs provided easy access to the deck.

The bed was fashioned from twisted limbs, the headboard a solid slab of hand-carved oak depicting a herd of buffalo. Pratt went to the sliding doors leading to the deck. Locked. He unlatched the door and slid it to one side. He stepped out onto the deck. The scent of blossoms walloped him in the snout. It was like stepping from an antiseptic chamber into a floral stew.

Munz followed. “You're worried about these trees, aren't you?”

“Guy could pop right into your bedroom with those limbs.”

“That's a hundred-year oak. I'm not going to mutilate it for some maniac.”

“In that case it wouldn't hurt to string some cans and bottles up here. Crude, but effective.”

“Good idea. I have a shitload of both.”

Munz showed Pratt the bathroom. It had a skylight, whirlpool tub, two-person shower stall and two sinks all outfitted in Kohler modern. His and hers walk-in closets. Each was bigger than Pratt's bedroom at home. An Imelda Marcos display of shoes.

“What do you know about Cass?” Munz said, leading the way out of the suite toward the other side of the house.

“Not much. Met her last week on a job.”

“Listen, it's my business because I think she's a deleterious influence on Ginger.”

They entered a guest suite, king-sized bed handsomely made up with Navaho blankets, paintings of canyon lands on the wall.

“How so?” Pratt said, walking around the room, pulling aside the blinds and peering outside.

“I don't know how she is now but she used to do a lot of drugs and drank like a fish.”

“If she's doing drugs I don't see it,” Pratt said. “And we've been pretty close these last couple of days.”

“She's also committed to magical thinking. So's Ginger. It just so happened that I came along and fulfilled her fantasy so she thinks it's true. That if you do A, B will happen. This whole thing with the missing baby … I don't know what she expects but I'm afraid it won't be good for her or any of us.”

“That kid is in a bad way. We've got to help him.”

“Listen, I'm not entirely convinced it is her son. I'll believe it when the DNA test comes back. If they ever find him. I have to say you're not at all what I expected. I mean that in a good way. I thought you were going to be some kind of cowboy. You're thoughtful, meticulous, and you keep your word. I just can't see what a guy like you is doing with a girl like that.”

“Can't you?”

“Well I mean apart from the obvious.”

“I'm not a complicated guy, Nate. I'm not looking for Kim Kardashian.”

“Well listen. You're a detective. Go through her purse when you get a chance, why don'tcha?”

“I'll think about that.”

A third room between the suites served as an office and overlooked the patio and pool. It was warm from several monitors and a printer quietly disgorging pages. Across from it was the elevator. Munz pushed the button. Seconds later the elevator beeped and opened.

They stepped inside. Munz pushed the button for the basement. The doors sighed shut and the elevator descended to the bottom floor. The elevator opened into a game room with South Seas décor: tiki dolls behind the bar, bamboo curtains, a pool table, a thatched roof over the bar, tile floor. Faux palm trees drooped in the dim light coming off the patio. A huge flat-screen TV sat opposite the sofa. It reminded Pratt of the monolith from
2001: A Space Odyssey
.

Pratt had been too exhausted last night to notice.

“Was the room okay?”

“Fine.”

Munz looked at the rumpled blanket and pillow on the sofa.

The deck was concealed behind the electrically controlled blinds. Munz stepped to the wall and pushed a button. With a soft clacking sound the vertical blinds withdrew to one side, revealing a lush green landscape, soft light coming through the woods.

“There's beer and soft drinks in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you need.”

“Appreciate your putting us up.”

“Sometimes my boy Russell and his wife visit but that's about the only time we have guests. I'm out of the house most days on site and I just like to relax when I get home, maybe watch a little golf. Ginger doesn't entertain as much as she used to.”

Pratt gazed out at the forest. They were sitting ducks for anybody prepared to break glass. That was without the Flintstone factor. Pratt scanned the trees and the uppers. He saw no sign of them.

“Nate, if you don't mind my saying, we'd all be a lot safer if we checked into a hotel under a different name.”

“That may be, but I'm not going to let some psycho chase me out of my own house. That's what Flintstone is for. They're going to nail this son of a bitch if he's stupid enough to show up here. Bet on it.”

Munz headed for the door. “You want to help me string those cans and bottles?”

CHAPTER 56

Ginger insisted on cooking dinner with a lot of help from Cass. Together they made salad out of spinach, mustard greens, roasted corn nuts, red onions and cherry tomatoes. Ginger removed four huge steaks from a gargantuan freezer in the garage while Munz fired up the grill on the deck off the kitchen.

Ginger used a walker to maneuver. It had a bicycle cage affixed to the handlebars and a squeeze-bulb horn. Cass and Ginger killed a bottle of Chardonnay. Munz and Pratt drank a croaker of triple hops from the Great Dane Brewery. Conversation flowed like sludge until Munz mentioned he had a BMW 1200S in the garage.

They went into the garage and looked at Munz' bike.

Munz lit a cigar and offered one to Pratt, who declined. “So you were in prison, huh?”

“Six years at Waupun for a crime I did commit.”