Hiding Tom Hawk (18 page)

Horst liked to get the rules straight up front. And, more encouraging, he did not seem intent on murdering Tom on the spot. “I don’t know you. What do you want with me?”

“A few answers. The old woman from the commerce office identified you, Mr. Robert Matthews.”

That again
. “No, she’s got it all wrong. I can explain it. My name is Hawk.”

“Be quiet. There has been enough delay.” He prodded Tom to the cargo van where the back doors stood open. He motioned with the gun. “Get in.”

Tom tightened his muscles for a fight. He’d risk taking a slug before he’d meekly climb in there. As his eyes scanned the inside of the van for a weapon, any weapon, the sickly-smelling cloth met his nose and mouth. Unfair! He struggled for only a moment. He had a semi-conscious image of Renada Schneider in a dazzling Oktoberfest costume; weeping as she laid flowers at a tall gothic gravestone labeled “Tomahawk.” A gaily-clad polka band played a Strauss waltz in the background. Then there was blackness.

****

Beth walked in as Gary was reaching to lock the front of the store. “What’s happening? Where’s Wyatt? Where’s Tom?”

He pulled her through his unlocked door. “Calm down, little cousin. I have Wyatt on ice and Tom’s off chasing bad guys. He told me about his prior employment and his current problem. Geez, what a story. And I thought Robert was too much bother to keep around. I don’t deserve this trouble.”

“Neither does Tom, but he’s the one they’re after, you self-centered jerk.”

Gary gave a low whistle. It was distorted because of that unfortunate gap between his top two front teeth that with the nose just kept him from being a handsome man. Beth had told him repeatedly that it would be no big deal to get both fixed. Never cowed by angry Indians, draft boards, the courts or the IRS, Gary was terrified of dentists and plastic surgeons.

“What are you whistling about?”

“Look at your face. Your eyes are tearing up. This guy is more than just a boarder, isn’t he?”

She had never wanted to cry in front of someone and if it were to happen, she would rather do it in front of several billion people other than Gary. She sniffled, choked, and found a Kleenex in her jeans pocket. Her cousin took her hand gently. “Lizzie has a boyfriend.”

Lizzie
. He had last taunted her that way when she was twelve. He added, “You may even have finally picked a good one.”

“I’m scared for him, Gary. Where is he?”

“I told you, he’s following a couple of guys—twins, I believe.”

“You let him go after those two alone. Are you both nuts?”

“He’s just finding out where they’re holed up. He knows what he’s doing.”

“He
thinks
he knows what he’s doing. The same thing goes for you. Where’s Wyatt?”

“In the rear of the store, locked up for Tom to talk to him when he gets back. Does that make you feel better?”

“Some.”

“Excellent. Anyway, if Wyatt’s Mafia, why hasn’t he killed Tomahawk already?”

Beth gave him a strange look. He said, “Sorry, ‘Tomahawk’ is my nickname for your boyfriend. But your newest boarder
has
had chances to kill Tom, right?”

“I don’t know. I guess so.”

“So that’s good, right, I mean, Wyatt doesn’t
look
like some Mafia hitman.”

“No, Dani’s sure he isn’t.”

“Well, there you go. She should know. Now don’t worry about Tom. Maybe he stopped back at your place. Beth, I have to get back over to the courthouse or they’re going to lock
me
up and throw away the key.”

“Who’s suing you now?”

“Let me see. I think today is either the Pentagon or the grocer’s co-operative.”

“Well, I have to do something. I’ll go over to the commerce office and ask Aunt Mildred if she saw anything funny happening around town today.”

“Good idea. Just don’t do anything to upset her about those mining rights, whatever you do. I’ve got to make that deal or I’m finished with the tribe.”

“Screw your mining deal, Gary. My boyfriend is missing.”

“Ah, just listen to you. And I feared you’d never find true love.”

“Screw you too, Gary.”

****

Aunt Mildred allowed, “Well, there was one stranger came in here this morning, Beth.”

“The stranger, was he short, stocky, dark, and mean looking? Was he middle aged?”

“He was stocky, some might say fat. But he was average height and his hair was blonde, almost white. As to being mean, he was quite pleasant to me. Middle age starts at fifty for me now but he was forty-five tops.”

That wasn’t a description of the Harv or Marv in Tom’s photograph from Dani. To be certain, Beth added, “Did this man have a California accent?”

“I wouldn’t recognize a California accent, although I understand it is their position that they’re the only people in the country that don’t have any accent. He sounded more like Lawrence Welk than Johnny Carson.”

TV bandleader Welk’s accent was German. Was it Renada’s ex, Horst, who had come to see Mildred? Great, just great; that was all they needed today. “What did he want?”

“It’s hard to say. Oh, he had some typical tourist questions, but I could tell he didn’t care about the answers. He talked like a TV police detective. The one concrete thing was if I knew Robert Matthews, the military-looking one you convinced me to let Gary send out to my place yesterday. Now that was a mistake on my part. And the screwball he brought with him, well…”

Beth cut her off. “What did you tell him about Tom—about Robert, I mean?”

Mildred looked at her suspiciously. “I may have told him I thought he was staying at your place.”

“I have to call my house.”

“The Chamber doesn’t like outgoing personal calls, Beth.”

“Yeah, you’re really busy here. Aunt Mildred, give me the phone.”

“Lordy, you’re more like Gary every day. Here.”

To Beth’s relief, Robert picked up. “Is Renada there, Robert?”

“No, Beth, she’s gone shopping.”

“How about Tom?”

“No. I’m alone. Dani is at a dorm studying with a football player she met yesterday.”

“She doesn’t take any classes.”

“Do I have to spell it out for you, Beth? Anyway, what’s wrong?”

“Robert, listen to me carefully. Horst may well be in town. Do not leave the house. If Renada and Dani come home, keep them there.”

“Oh, wow, sure. Hey, I’ve almost got that cellar door alarm wired. I had to fish an electrical line through the heating ducts. There’s mouse poop in there, you know.”

“Great. Do anything you can to keep Horst out.”

“I got it. There’s only the one two-thirty volt circuit in the house for the stove, right? That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Robert, I don’t know about the electricity. Just keep everyone who shows up at the house there until I come back and be
careful
, promise me?”

“I’ve got Indians and students after me, and you say Horst is here. I’ll be plenty careful.”

“That’s the spirit, Robert. I have to go to the courthouse and get Gary. Bye.”

She thanked Mildred. She had to find Gary, go out to the house, settle Robert down, and try to figure out where Renada had gone before Horst could find her.

****

Tom screamed,
Untie me, I’m not Robert Matthews, you lard-assed Stasi Kraut dipshit!
But the scream was only in his head. Even so, the screaming made him dizzy again, like when Horst had come in with the hypodermic needle and he had tried to scream the first time. The gag was tight. Nothing got out, nothing got in. I suppose it will help me lose a few pounds, he thought. Except I’m not the fat one, Horst is the fat one. He would have giggled if his mouth weren’t held shut.

It was incredible how well he was secured by so little rope. Horst was very efficient. Probably he’d had to learn to be. Incompetent in the production of almost everything, the Communists had raised frugal usage of resources to a high art. He was very well restrained and yet he seemed to have good blood flow to his extremities. Nice knots too, from what he could see. He would have to remember to compliment Horst on them once he was untied. Did East Germany have Boy Scouts?

Being trussed up was actually his second greatest problem. Well, maybe third, if you counted the prospect of being murdered. He chuckled to himself over this oversight. Regardless, more alarming than the rope and gag was the minuscule size of the room he was in, barely big enough for this cot and a four-drawer cabinet standing by the one slender dirt covered window. The room was growing smaller by the minute. It was an old tourist cottage bedroom he was in, the knotty pine walls and faint moldiness being a dead give-away.

Beth Kessler would know the right cleaning agents to get rid of the mold. He had watched her working in the B&B, in those tight olive green jeans. Was he having an erection? Maybe if he told Horst he really needed to see Beth now, he would let Tom go. Probably he would not, at least not until he had found and murdered the real Robert. He wondered who would get the ’52 Plymouth after Robert was dead. If Robert were to leave the Plymouth to him, Tom decided he would re-paint it gold.

He had never understood the attraction of knotty pine. He was an oak paneling man himself. But of course, once he got free of the rope, he might be strong enough to tear down the pine and escape, whereas with oak there would be no way; oak was strong.

The door opened and Horst came in and carefully removed the gag. “Are you all right?”

Tom nodded his head and it made him dizzy. “Oh hell, yes, right as rain.”

“What is your name?”

“Tomahawk. Well, that’s not my real name.”

“You carry identification papers that say you are Thomas Hawk. Is that truly your name?”

Trick question. Well, I’m not fooled, drugs or no.
“Yes, I am Tom Hawk, an innocent student.”

Horst sighed theatrically. “So you truly are not Robert Matthews?”

“Never have been, never will be. We’ve been through all that. I think. Haven’t we?”

“Where is the man Matthews now?”

This guy was asking really hard questions. Tom’s head hurt. “He must be back at the grocery store. I was filling in for him when you came.”

Horst was having trouble making up his mind about something. He said, “You look a bit like the description of Robert Matthews I was given.”

“Nah, I’m way prettier. Ask Beth. Ask Dani.”

Horst went to the little dresser, refilled his needle and came to Tom.
Ouch! You could use a little more bedside manner, Horst.
As he left, and the dizziness returned, Tom wondered if he could get Beth to let him tie her up tonight. That could be fun. The last thing he remembered was Horst talking on the telephone. He was saying, “This is where you will find the man who calls himself
Tomahawk
.”

****

Sinatra and Damone jumped off Harold’s lap yipping when the pink telephone sounded. What if he painted it red like the telephones Nixon and that Russian premier guy had? It was strange, red and pink were kissing cousins of colors, but one was so macho and the other was so girly. Harold raised the offensive receiver. “Hello.”

“Sir, this is Wyatt Stone reporting in.”

Ah, it was his goodie two-shoe gumshoe, the Swedish Dick Tracy. “What’s up Wyatt?” He picked some white Chihuahua hair off his black polyester slacks.

“I was right on top of Hawk, working in the same grocery store as him. Then, out of the blue, the sleazy little grocer, Gary, locked me in a meat cooler. It used to be a cooler, I mean. I think it’s just a storeroom now. It was dark, and moldy. I kept trying not to sneeze the first time because once I start…”

“Where is Hawk now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Gary locked me up so someone could take him.”

That sounded not at all good. “But you escaped.”

“Yes. I was alone there in pitch dark and then they changed their mind or something. The light in the hall came on and another guy, not Gary, came to the cooler like he didn’t know what was up. I flattened myself against a wall, tensed my entire body and waited for him to open the cooler door. The light came on too, and then this man stepped right through the door holding an enormous gun. I struck him right on that sweet spot of the neck with the side of my hand. He stumbled but he didn’t go down. My hand smarted. I knew from the toughness of the neck that I had the fight of my life fight on my hands.”

Such
lurid descriptions. The kid must watch a lot of television. Harold voiced what he presumed was expected of him. “And then?”

“I braced myself. He came at me, but he tripped over a Campbell’s tomato soup crate and went down. Man, his head had hardly finished bouncing of the floor before I was on him driving his skull back down. I did it again, until he was quiet—breathing, but quiet.”

Wyatt too at last fell quiet.
Good boy. You’re a hero. It makes up for all my complaints to your uncle Lester.
“Who was he?”

“I don’t know. He’s no one you gave us a description of. I took his gun and frisked him, but there was no identification. I locked him in there just like Gary had done to me. No one else was in the store so I locked up the front, snuck out the back, and came to telephone you. I think I sprained my left ankle, and it hurt so much I vomited into some flower box—real pretty flowers. I felt bad about doing that, but I couldn’t make it to the sewer.”

“Can you describe the man you fought with?”

“He was average height, muscular but yet kind of pudgy, with this weird platinum hair. He looked like one of those California surfers except flattened and widened. He was ticked off, and with his face all screwed up that way, he looked like Porky Pig. He was a killer, all right.”

But with platinum hair he was no one from Tony’s operation; that much was for sure. What on earth was going on? “Wyatt, you have to go back there and question this man. Are you close to the store now?”

“Sure. I can see the whole front of the place. Ohmigod, it’s on fire. It’s burning, the whole front is burning!”

“You set it on fire?”

“No. I even turned
off
the electricity when I left to keep someone from finding the guy. I locked up. Ohmigod.”