The Daisy Ducks (28 page)

* * *

There is what I call a presence. When I use the term
with patients, I am referring to a faint, gnawing discomfort that is
not yet pain. When you are aware of your molar, or your elbow joint,
or your big toe, but it doesn't hurt yet, it is a presence. The same
is true of vague and indefinable noises or that intuitive sense of
the proximity of another person, that violation of your space that
signals presence, welcome or no. I was sitting upright in the bunk,
my head bumping the cabin roof. I had awakened without knowing why. I
looked at my watch: quarter to two. What was the presence I felt but
did not see or hear?

I slipped out of the bunk and stood in the camper. I
had left no light burning; the interior was completely dark. I walked
to a window, lifted the curtain slightly, and peered outside. I could
see nobody, but I had heard the chassis springs creak a bit as I
moved. That was because I had simply parked the vehicle and not set
up the leveling jacks that take the weight off the suspension system
and anchor the truck firmly. So if somebody were outside watching,
they would hear the springs, too, and know I was awake.

I sat down at the table and looked across the
clearing into the trees. Nothing moved. Everything was quiet. I got
dressed, picked up the automatic, and opened the camper's door. A
cold wind hit me; I returned and put on the motorcycle jacket and my
watch cap, then stepped outside into the darkness, shutting the
camper door behind me. The easy thing would have been to stay inside.
But then I would've been up all night worrying and wondering. The
best way to set your mind at ease, over any problem, is to face it
head-on, even if there is a risk. Standing there outside in the cold
and darkness, I savored the risk and the aloneness. Did I like it or
fear it? Both, I decided. Did I hear anything? No. I realized,
dressed in dark clothing, that I stood out against the white camper
rig, so I sat down on the ground and waited.

Before long I felt the presence again, a sound that
shouldn't have been there. I wasn't sure what it was, but it was
coming from behind me, from the far side of the truck. I have very
keen long-range hearing, especially for faint sounds. Instinctively,
I flattened myself on the ground and rolled underneath the truck,
holding the pistol out in front of my head. I saw two dark lines
advancing toward the camper. Legs. I slipped the safety off and drew
back the hammer. The legs kept winking in dark lines toward me. They
stopped not a yard from my face. The hiking boots went up on tiptoe.
The prowler was trying to see in the windows. No such luck; I'd left
the curtains closed, and he obviously hadn't seen me leave. The legs
walked around the rear of the vehicle, and I turned silently on the
earth, following him. If he ducked down for a look under the truck, I
would shoot him, because I was sure he had a gun too.

The hiking boots and jeans now stood at the door I
had just left. Again they went up on tiptoe. I was belly down behind
the rear tires, which were double tires on each side. I had the
feeling that even if he looked underneath, he wouldn't see me right
away. I wasn't resting on my stomach. I was in a low, wide crouch on
my knees and elbows, my head up, gun held out in front. And then I
got mad. Who the hell was this guy, anyway? What gave him the right
to sneak up on my camper rig in the dead of night and lay for me? I
was more than a little sick of being pushed around and questioned.
Now I'd finally had it. When the feet came back toward the rear
tires—about two feet from my face and only inches from my hands—I
put the automatic down on the grass and sucked in a deep breath. My
heart was going like a steamhammer. I knew it had to go just right or
I was in trouble, maybe even dead. Thank God for the truck's high
clearance. I could never have attempted this from beneath a car. In
fact, I thought, if I had any sense, I wouldn't be attempting it now.
And that revealed the fundamental problem: I had no sense. Mary, God
bless her heart, was right. Brains, yes; sense, no. No, wait: brains
maybe . . .

The boots paused right near the tires, toes pointed
toward me. He was trying to look in the wide galley window. I reached
around slowly so that my hands were directly behind his ankles, and I
braced my right knee up against the tire for more leverage. I had to
remember to pull straight back, not back and up, which was the
natural inclination. Then, having mentally rehearsed my moves, I
grabbed the ankles and pulled with all my might. There was a cry of
agony as the man's shins hit the bottom of the truck frame and he
went down hard on his back. I heard the air whoosh out of his lungs.
Grabbing the pistol, I rolled out from underneath the truck and found
myself on top of him, staring into shiny jet black eyes that squinted
in pain beneath a ski cap. The priest. I began to raise the pistol to
clip him on the side of the head, when he grabbed my shoulders. But
before I could bring the gun barrel down, I felt a knee under my
chest that heaved up just as the hands on my shoulders pulled down.
The world did a flip-flop all around me, and I landed on my back.

Keep moving, Roantis had told me time and again in
class. Roll, jump, run, spin, but keep moving as long and as fast as
you can. If you don't, you're dead. I rolled over three times as fast
as I could and at the end of the third roll came up on the balls of
my feet, my legs bent and the left foot forward. Where the hell was
the gun? The man came at me, waving his arms. I shot mine up to block
and was caught dead center by a sweeping side kick I hadn't seen
coming. The arms were only a diversion, and he caught me a good one.
I rolled with the kick, spun again, and came up as before. He tried
another kick, but I jumped back. As long as he kept this up, I
couldn't get close enough to touch him. And I still hadn't seen the
gun. There was another sweeping kick from Father What's-his-name, but
as the foot flew past me sideways I pushed it along hard and fast,
throwing him off balance and leaving his back exposed to me. I waded
in and threw a punch with all my strength into his right kidney. I
can't throw a punch worth a damn, but any hit to the kidneys hurts
like crazy. He grunted and spun an elbow around which clipped me in
the jaw. The world went fuzzy, and I was in slow motion. I saw the
low kick coming but could not move. It caught me in the groin, and
the pain was so bad my knees buckled. Then he moved in close, ready
to chop away at my head and throat. I was about to say the Hail Mary
when I heard a voice.

"My God, it's you!"

He leaned over and peered at me. It wasn't the priest
I had seen in the hospital. But I knew the face. How could any man
forget it. And then the ski cap came off and I saw that jet black
hair all around her face. I could even smell the sandalwood.

"It is you, isn't it, Doc?"

"Think so," I said, holding my crotch. "And
who are you?"

"I'm Daisy."
 

19

I LET OUT a slow sigh that was half relief, half
agony. I hobbled around and leaned over to ease the pain. It didn't
work.

"So you're Daisy," I moaned. "Figures.
I knew there was a Daisy somewhere in this surrealistic mess. And
lady, you're not easy to forget. So you were on your way to see
Roantis when you passed me on the hospital stairs."

"Yes."

I began to stagger over to the camper, and she put
her arm around my waist and helped me along. It made me feel really
macho, having a woman help me inside after she had beat the snot out
of me.

"Uh, this may be a silly question, Daisy, but
why hasn't Roantis mentioned you?"

"Good reasons. For one thing, the work I'm doing
now is, shall we say, sensitive. I work for the government. I'm out
of the country a lot. I came back when he was shot. That time you and
I passed each other on the stairway was the first time I'd seen Papa
in three years."

"Papa? jeez, no wonder he's kept you under
wraps."

"It's not what you think. He's my stepfather.
I've heard a lot about you, you know. I knew who you were when I saw
you the first time. Papa's spoken a lot about you."

"That's nice. But why are you down here? Did
Liatis send you down here secretly to babysit me?"

"He suspected there might be danger here. From
what I've seen on my own so far, he's right. He wanted me to keep an
eye on you, just in case."

"Well, you're doing a great job looking out for
me, Daisy. You do your job any better and I'll be dead. Gee, it's a
good thing I've had all my children."

"I am sorry, Doc," she said as she
tightened her grip around me. I grabbed her upper arm. It was thin,
but hard as cable. Once inside the camper, I sat down and stretched
out my legs. Daisy locked the door, removed her cap, unzipped her
parka, and sat down next to me. Her English had a French accent.
This, coupled with her lovely Eurasian features, made my ticker skip
a few beats. She looked down at my groin.

"How's the pain?" she asked.

"Bad. But it's happened before. It'll go away
with time. Where did you learn all the deadly stuff, anyway?"

"From Papa, same as you. And some of it I
learned on Okinawa as a kid. It's a long story. Anyway, when I knew
he was going to be all right, I volunteered to come down here. It's a
good thing you called Papa the night before you left, Doc. I barely
had time to catch a plane the next morning."

"So you beat me down here? Were you walking
around my camper rig last night? I found tracks."

"Yes. I thought the falling snow would hide
them. I was just checking up. I was doing the same thing just now,
when you grabbed me. I didn't know it was you; I was positive you'd
be inside asleep."

She winced quickly and swayed on her feet. Her eyes
closed.

"Hey, you all right?"

She was holding her stomach and her mouth twitched.
"I don't know. I don't think so. I feel sick. I feel like I want
to throw up, and it hurts in front and back."

I turned her around and pulled up her sweater in
back. just over her right kidney was an ugly bluish bruise. It seemed
to grow darker and bigger even as I looked at it. I pressed it softly
and she flinched.

"How did that happen? You fall down?" I
asked.

"You hit me there, Doc. Don't you remember?"

"Uh-huh. But I can't throw a punch. I couldn't
have done that."

"Well, you did it. You're tougher than you
think. I think I have to go to the bathroom now."

"Has it been a while since you urinated last?"

"No. I went in the bushes just before I came up
to the trailer to look inside. The cold weather makes me go a lot.
I'm not used to it."

"But now you feel some urgency?" I asked
her.

"Yes."

I didn't like the sound of it. I told her to sit on
the toilet and urinate, but not to flush it. She was in there a long
time, which I also didn't like. When she came out, I looked in the
toilet bowl. The urine was tinted a faint pink. I didn't like it at
all. I looked at her buttoning up her jeans. Her shiny black hair
cascaded all down the front of her sweater. She looked like a coed.
God, she was gorgeous. And I had hurt her. A bruised kidney is
serious, and can be critical. Daisy asked for some tea, and I brewed
it. I poured us each a dollop of whiskey. It might not be the best
thing for her, but it would take the chill off and ease the pain a
little. After she drank the whiskey and the tea she took off her
shoes, climbed into the bunk over the cab, and slipped under the
covers. She rustled around underneath them, and then the jeans slid
out from under the blankets and fell to the floor. I picked them up
and folded them. She lay there on her back, staring up at the cabin
roof. Her eyes and mouth were tight with pain.

"I'm sorry, Daisy. I thought you were Jesus
Jusuelo trying to kill me."

Her eyes widened.

"You know a lot about this then, don't you?"

"Sure do. Enough to get me killed, maybe. I
think I've seen Jusuelo, disguised as a priest, at the hospital. The
more I picture the priest's face in my mind, the more it looks like
the one in Liatis's old snapshot of the Daisy Ducks."

"It's him. I tailed you to the hospital, Doc. I
saw him leave. I tried to hide my face, but I think maybe he saw me."

"And he knows you?"

"Sure. All the Ducks know me. Papa named them
after me." I stared at the lovely young thing in the bunk. She
sure was full of surprises.

"I can't wait till Roantis gets here. By the
way, can you tell me what your connection is with him?"

"As I said, he's my stepfather. My father was
René Cournot, a foreign legionnaire. I never knew him. He was killed
at Dien Bien Phu fighting alongside Roantis. I was in Hanoi at the
time, just a year old. After Papa survived the forced march and
imprisonment, he came back and got me. My real name is Danielle
Cournot. Roantis always called me Daisy. I can't tell you more right
now. I already told more than I promised —"

She grunted and turned over on her side, facing away
from me on the bunk. Then she spoke again.

"I think I really trust you, Doc. It's a feeling
I have. I know now why Papa trusts you too. Also, you're the first
man ever to injure me in unarmed combat. I don't know what that means
. . ."