Bluetick Revenge (20 page)

“I’ll bet there were a few who didn’t appreciate it. Nobody said anything, because they didn’t want to take a chance that
you were having a bad day. Then you met Joy and she brought out the best in you. Jayne has the same effect on you, and it
took you more than twenty years to find her. If all she wants in return for hanging out with your sorry ass is to adopt a
child, you’d be a fool not to doit.”

“If you’re so high on the concept, why aren’t you and Bobbi raising up a bunch of little McCutcheons on a peach farm out in
the country?”

“Here’s the thing,” Scott said. “You and I are a lot alike. We both believe this world is full of stupidity and misery. We
both doubt the existence of God. We both suspect that life is meaningless. But here’s the difference: I’m okay with all that,
and you’re not. I see life as a hilarious cosmic riddle, and if a comet smashed into Earth tomorrow, I’d die laughing. But
deep down you’re an idealist. You want the world to be free of suffering; you want there to be a God; you want life to have
meaning. Jayne’s giving you a chance to reduce suffering, to give meaning to your life, and maybe even to find a way to believe
in God.”

“This might be the deepest conversation we’ve ever had,” I said.

“Well, fuck, we’re in Vegas in a room two hundred feet above the desert with a fireplace and purple carpeting, it’s three
in the morning, and I’ve had a lot of beer. What do you expect?”

W
E FLEW BACK
to Denver two days before Christmas and made it back to Nederland before noon. I was pleased to see that my home was still
standing. I was not pleased to learn that Special Agents Valeska and Livingston had visited while I was gone. “They wanted
to ask y’all some questions,” Ray said.

I phoned Matt and explained the situation. “Do I have to talk with them?” I asked.

“I think you should,” he replied. “You don’t have to share confidential information you received from Karlynn or me, because
that’s protected by the attorney-client privilege, but I think they can ask you about your efforts to track her down. Might
as well do it without making them drag you in front of a grand jury.”

“Tell you what,” I said. “I want to finish up my Christmas shopping today and tomorrow. See if you can set something up with
them tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you at your office before I meet with them.”

“You want me to sit in on the interview with you?”

“Yeah, and I also want the whole thing on tape or there’s no deal.”

“They wont agree to that,” he said. “That’s FBI policy.”

“They’ll agree to it if they really want to talk with me,” I said. “Trust me, I used to do this for a living.”

I volunteered to make dinner that night because I had a yen for grilled salmon. Jayne wanted to help and turned on the oven
to preheat it. “We won’t need the oven,” I said. “I’m going to grill it.”

“It’s twenty degrees out,” she said.

“I know, but I don’t want baked salmon. I want grilled salmon.” I went out on the deck wearing my flip-flops and lit the gas
grill.

After dinner Ray and Prince went back to Ray’s camper. Jayne and I stayed up and watched
Casablanca
. We both love that movie. Her favorite scene is when Ingrid Bergman tells Sam to play “As Time Goes By.” My favorite scene
is when Humphrey Bogart shoots the Nazi officer, Major Strasser, and walks off into the distance with Claude Rains. But then,
I always was a romantic.

“What about the money?” I asked.

“If they ask about that, I’ll advise you not to answer. All you’re going to talk about is your efforts to track her down.”
We were in Mart’s office. We had spent the past hour preparing for my interview with the feds.

“Works for me.”

“Where is the money, by the way?”

“It’s in a safe place.”

“Can you account for what you spent, if it ever comes to that?”

“Down to the penny.”

We walked over to the Federal Building. Before we arrived, I stopped at a downtown convenience store to buy a forty-four-ounce
diet Coke.

Valeska and Livingston greeted us and led us into a nondescript interview room. We took off our coats, and Matt set his digital
microrecorder down on the table.

“No tapes,” Livingston said.

“We’re going to record it,” Matt said. “That’s the deal.”

“We take good notes,” Livingston said.

“I don’t want there to be any disagreement about what was said,” Matt explained.

“The Bureau’s policy is—”

“Take a good look at me,” Matt said. “Do I look like I give a shit about the Bureau’s policy?”

Valeska and Livingston exchanged glances.

“Fine,” Livingston said, “record the goddamned thing if it makes you happy.”

“Now that we have the testosterone issues settled,” Valeska said, “can we get on with the interview?”

Matt started the recorder and made a statement about the date, time, location, and who was present.

I told them about picking up Karlynn at Matt’s office and taking care of her up until she ditched me.

“What were you doing at the furniture warehouse?” Livingston asked.

“I had to talk with a kid who works there.”

“About what?”

“Nothing that has anything to do with Karlynn or the Sons of Satan.”

“You left her in your truck?” His tone suggested he could not believe I had been so stupid.

“Yes.”

“And she was gone when you came out?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do then?”

“I called Mr. Simms, explained the situation, and asked if he wanted me to try to track her down.”

“What did he say?”

“Don’t answer that,” Matt said. “It was a conversation between you and me in a matter pertaining to a client, and it is absolutely
privileged.”

I looked at Matt and said, “He told me that if I didn’t find her he would personally bury me up to my neck in a giant anthill
and smear my ears with jam.” Valeska allowed a modest smile. She looked nice. A lot of women look nice. In the brief silence
that followed my smart-aleck answer, the question I found myself asking was, how do you decide which one to marry?

“Were those his exact words?” Livingston asked sarcastically.

“No, but the gist of the conversation was that I should try to find Karlynn and convince her that it was in her own best interest
to return.”

Then I went into a detailed explanation of the efforts Scott and I had made to locate her. I told them about the posters we
had put up, the phone calls we had received, and the sighting of her at a truck stop in Twin Falls.

“And that’s where the trail went cold?” Livingston asked.

“Yes.”

“So then you returned to Colorado?”

“No, we continued north into Boise and ultimately up into northern Idaho. But we never got another lead.”

“I hear you had a run-in with some of Bugg’s friends while you were up there.”

“We had a little skirmish.”

“Why do you think Bugg’s men would try to kill you?”

“Jealous of my good looks and quick wit,” I said. “It happens a lot.” Livingston just tapped his pencil. “Look,” I said, “it
all goes back to the dog.”

“What dog?”

“The champion bluetick coonhound I liberated from Bugg in order to convince Karlynn to cooperate with you guys in the first
place.”

“You think Bugg tried to have you killed because you stole his dog?”

“Yeah.”

“How would Bugg know you stole his dog?”

“I think some of his guys saw me with the dog up in Idaho.”

“Were you aware of the fact that Karlynn took nearly half a million dollars in cash from Bugg before she disappeared on him?”

“Don’t answer that,” Matt instructed.

“She never said anything about it to me,” I said.

“You bought a new truck while you were in Idaho?” Livingston said.

“What has that go to do with the price of tea in China?” Matt said.

“It was a pre-owned truck,” I said. Matt looked at me, concerned about where this was headed. “There wasn’t much left of my
old truck after Bugg’s guys attacked us. We figured it was best to get rid of it and buy something that wasn’t the same color.”

“Paid cash?” Livingston said.

“Yes.”

“Where did you get the cash?”

“Don’t answer that,” Matt said. Now he was pissed. And worried.

“I withdrew twenty thousand dollars from a savings account on the day Karlynn disappeared. Check my bank records.”

“Do you always withdraw large sums of cash before you set out on these types of trips?”

“No, but in this case I knew I would need money to pay people for information they provided to us, and I was in a hurry to
get on the road.” Matt relaxed, leaned back, and betrayed what might be called a barely noticeable Zen smile.

The interview reached its natural conclusion before lunch. “Mr. Keane,” Valeska said, “as a former federal prosecutor I’m
sure you know that aiding in the disappearance of a fugitive and making false statements to federal agents are serious offenses.
In the event of a conviction, they carry severe penalties. If you have been less than completely candid with us, now is the
time—”

“I didn’t help her disappear. I tried to track her down and convince her to return. The last sighting of her was in Twin Falls.
And the only false statement I made today was when I told you my attorney had threatened to bury me in an anthill and smear
my ears with jam.”

I stood. Matt stood. They stood. They thanked me for my cooperation, and we all stood. In the elevator on the way down, Matt
looked at me and said, “I am humbled by your very presence.”

I did some Christmas shopping while I was downtown, then drove to my brother’s gym. He was at the front counter when he saw
me. He looked at me and said, “Of all the gym joints in all the towns in all the world, he walks into mine.”

O
N
C
HRISTMAS MORNING
Jayne and I drove to Boulder to open presents with Nancy and Jimmie. It was just the four of us; my brother and family were
spending the day with his wife’s parents, and Uncle Ray had opted to stay in Nederland with the dogs.

We did not talk as much as we normally do when we are alone in my truck. She was hoping I would say something about the adoption
issue, and I didn’t know what to say. We listened to Jose Feliciano sing Christmas songs.

Nancy and Jimmie had erected an environmentally friendly imitation Christmas tree and decorated it with tinsel, ornaments,
and, for reasons I am not exactly clear on, a number of Jimmie’s baseball caps. We opened presents one by one. I can’t recall
all the gifts, but I know I gave Jimmie a telescope Scott had helped me select, as well as a new football. Jayne gave me two
expensive regimental ties—she knows I love stripes—and several books I had wanted, including a handsome hardcover book about
former heavyweight champ Jack Dempsey. I gave her a pair of sapphire earrings and a number of books she had wanted. Buck,
Wheat, and Prince also gave Jayne a gift—a gift certificate to use at Victoria’s Secret. Who can doubt that a dog is a man’s
best friend?

* * *

A few days later I drove Jayne to the airport. We arrived early, checked her bags, then bought coffee at Starbucks and sat
across from each other, separated by a round table that was much too small. Once she went through the security checkpoint,
I would not see her again for several months, maybe not even until the end of the school year.

“I hate saying good-bye,” she said.

“Me too.”

“I particularly dislike it when I am not sure whether I am saying good-bye for a few months or whether I am witnessing the
end of a relationship that means a great deal to me.”

“Me too.”

“You’re afraid,” she said. “Afraid you won’t live up to your own ideas of what constitutes being a good husband, what constitutes
being a good father. Afraid you won’t be perfect.”

“My brain is telling me that starting a family at this age is not a good idea.”

“That logical mind of yours has served you well over the years. It has helped you survive hardship and accomplish great things.
But it hasn’t brought much happiness, has it?”

I said nothing. She looked at her watch and said, “Well, I guess I should head to the gate.”

I walked her over to the line of people waiting to get inspected, detected, and rejected before being allowed to proceed to
the concourses. I put my arms around her and said, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said. “Work on listening with your heart.”

I watched as she went through the X-ray machine and stepped onto the escalator down to the trains. She blew me a kiss just
before her head disappeared.

Back in Nederland I gave Uncle Ray his present, a brand-new Bellini shotgun. He inspected it and said, “Well, this here sho’
looks to be a fine shotgun, son. I tell ya, your ole uncle Ray is gonna do just fine with this beauty.”

To say I was depressed would be an understatement. But after forty-plus years of stoicism, I lacked the ability to cry. I
watched a meaningless football game on TV, drank some red wine, and started reading about Jack Dempsey, one of my all-time
heroes. Any man who would walk thirty miles across a desert to fight another man in a saloon for twenty bucks has a quality
not many men possess these days.

I fell asleep in my recliner, and when I woke up, Ray had built a nice fire in the fireplace and was heating two chicken pot
pies in the oven. “So what we gonna do ’bout this Bugg fella?” he said.

“I have to make peace with him or wait for him to come after me and kill him.”

“Why wait for him to come for you? Just kill him and claim self-defense. Ain’t nobody gonna take the word of a dead drug dealer
over yours. Hey, did I ever tell ya ’bout the time I spent six months on an attempted murder charge ’cause the police thought
I had tried to kill your ole uncle Jake? See, what happened was, Jake’s first wife got hopping mad at him one night and gutshot
him, but when the sheriff came, she flashed her pretty little eyes and blamed it on me. Took me six months to clear my name.
Jake did three tours in Vietnam and never got a scratch, then come home and got gutshot by ole Lucy.”