Leroy Watches Jr. & the Badass Bull (Bloodsong Series) (6 page)

This was different than what he was used to. “Thank you so much, Bill.” Sylvia kept up with the silent mouthing, “Do it. Take it.” He said, “I may take you up on it, but I’d better make that rendezvous at the Yippee-I-O.” He dropped his voice, so he’d sound like the rendezvous was top secret.

“Oh, yes, Austin, I know all about covert ops. You folks have anything to do with the Antiterrorism Force?”

Not unless we have to.
“Yes, we collaborate all the time.”

“I see. Are you collaborating with the Antiterrorism Force now? They’ve got agents combing the town. Their lead officer checked in with me and said they had reason to suspect a terrorist attack was imminent.”

“I can’t talk about that, sir.” Cogs were turning in Austin’s mind. First, what was the Antiterrorism Force doing in Las Vegas? He and most of the FBI officers regarded the ATF as a bunch of overpaid fly-boys who stole the glory after the FBI had done the work. They worked differently than the Bureau. Rather than maintaining strict lines of command and discipline, the ATF opted for a guerilla warfare model. They blended in with the population, often being indistinguishable from––he didn’t want to think it, but it was true––the overweight, out-of-shape citizenry they protected. Except they weren’t: the ATF members were tough.

The rivalry between the two agencies began the moment the ATF was formed in 1996, a response to 1995’s Oklahoma City bombing. The Antiterrorism Force was an elite unit staffed by people even more talented and better trained than the FBI’s men. The ATF was funded by legislation more sacrosanct than the FBI’s. The nation considered them the Navy Seals of antiterrorism.

Like everyone else in the Bureau, Austin loathed the ATF agents to a man. And woman. They had lots of those. Were they usurping the Bureau’s––his––jurisdiction? His hackles went up. But they were good at what they did. If the ATF was in Las Vegas looking for terrorists, odds are there were terrorists in the city. And the Bureau didn’t know a thing about it. He was high enough up on the food chain to know that the FBI was unaware of a pending attack.

This gave him plan B. If the vacation didn’t save his family, he needed another way to keep them together. The ATF presence could be the career break that he was looking for. If he could bring in the terrorists, his bosses would notice him big time. He’d get that promotion and more pay. He could spend more time with his family. Maybe move out of DC. All he had to do was infiltrate the terrorist ring in a week, while pulling off a great family vacation.

The sheriff interrupted his ruminations. “Well, Austin, if there’s any problem out there at the Yippee-I-O, you give me a call. I’ll give you a police escort back to town and see you’re set up in the biggest suite in Vegas.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll call if I need you.”

He hung up. J-man and H were staring at him like he was a rock star.

“Dad, are you a secret agent? Is that what you do when you’re gone? Catch terrorists?”

“I can’t tell you what I do, J …”

“Call me Jimmy, Dad.”

“Jimmy. It’s classified, but yes, I’m something like that.”

“Wow!” That was from both kids.

“How could you do that?” Sylvia snapped. “We could have had a nice suite. Instead of …”

“We have two cabins at the ranch. I ordered their best. They’ve got great western atmosphere. We’re going to have fun, Sylvia. I promise.”

She didn’t say a word the rest of the trip. The kids plied him with questions that he legally couldn’t answer. If he imbued his nods and grunts a little more intrigue than the job carried, he just wanted his children to love him. He wanted the admiration on their faces to stay. He wanted to be able to call them Jimmy and Hannah again.

“Is that it, dad?” Jimmy said. The boy pointed at low buildings barely visible through the loose snow blowing everywhere. The small distraction caused him to jiggle the steering wheel. The car fishtailed. They didn’t have snow tires. The snow had stopped, but the road had to be drifted a foot deep. He didn’t know how they had made it that far.

“I think that’s it, Jimmy. Sylvia, check the coordinates we got from the satellite again.”

 “How can I tell?” she snapped. “All I’ve got is a bunch of numbers. There’s nothing out here. Not even a truck stop. Please, can’t we go back to town?”

When they got closer, the Yippee-I-O Ranch was far less than it appeared in that initial snowy glimpse. It was lumps in the snow with one light, over what must be the office. The sign with the rearing horse swung upside down, almost rusted through. The brochures were an outright fraud.

“Can we go back, dad? I don’t want to go to a dude ranch. It’s scary out here,” Hannah said, leaning her face into the back of his neck. He could feel damp air condensing above his collar. She was panting with fear.

Austin made a snap decision. “OK. We’ll try it for a night. If we don't like it, we’ll call the sheriff and go to a high rise in Las Vegas. We’ll boogie on the Strip.” It wouldn’t be a ranch vacation, but it would be better than the disaster shaping up. The rodeo would still be there; they’d be closer to it. Maybe they could meet some cowboys. Everyone would be happy.

He turned into the parking lot. Someone had plowed it; its blue-white surface was iced-over and slick as an Olympic skating ring. The car swung to the left, the front end following the driveway where he steered it. The rear end pivoted in a wide swath and kept going. The car spun once, and then again, before smashing its right rear quarter panel into a telephone pole in the middle of the lot.

“Aw,
dad
,” his kids said in unison.

Austin got out of the car and looked the damage. Shit. Double shit. The quarter panel was smashed like a beer can at a ball game, with a piece of metal piercing the tire. No driving this one. He kicked the tire.

“What’s the matter with the weather people? It’s not supposed to snow in Las Vegas.” If the FBI ran the weather, there wouldn’t be snow where it wasn’t supposed to be. And who the hell plowed the lot? The Sheriff said there wasn’t a plow in the county. Why did
this
place have a plow? Why was its owner stupid enough to use it?

Austin turned toward the buildings and waved his arms over his head. “Is anyone there? Can you help us?”

A quad appeared over a mound in front of the low structures, its wheels oversized compared to its squat frame. It was getting dark. More snow gently drifted to the ground.

“I don’t have any clothes for cold weather, Austin. I would have brought clothes for snow if I knew there’d be snow.” Sylvia pulled her feet farther under herself. “I’m freezing.”

The kids ducked their heads and sat closer to each other; they stared at the Yippee-I-O like it was the Bates Motel. Sylvia sulked until the quad reached them.

“Hello. I am Niles,” the driver said. His eyes were so blue that Austin recoiled in surprise when he saw them. He looked at their battered car. “I am so sorry. I used the bucket on the tractor to clear the parking. I thought to make it better, not to do this.” He looked very contrite.

Austin heard himself saying, “Well, that’s OK. It’s the insurance company’s problem. We need to get inside. We’re freezing.”

Niles went around to the passenger side to help Sylvia. He did a double take when he saw her, an overdone ploy as far as Austin was concerned.

“Well, hello,” he said to Sylvia with some kind of Scandinavian accent. “How lucky we are to have such a nice lady for a guest. What is your name?”

“Uh. I’m Sylvia.” She seemed barely able to speak as she gazed at his sculpted face.

He raised his eyebrows and inhaled, as though testing a prime vintage.

“I need to call the car rental company.” Austin was not about to be charmed by a blue-eyed, Nordic god with blond hair down to his shoulders. He was the one with the gun and the badge.

“Yes, of course,” Niles said, taking in the beat up car and tssking. “Let me take Sylvia and the children inside and then we’ll deal with this.” He waved at the crumpled sedan as though he could magically make it disappear. “I never will know why they put that pole in the middle of the parking. Is good that it doesn’t snow more often.”

“Well, come with me.” Niles climbed on the quad. “Sit close to me so we fit, Sylvia. Pile on kids, we go for a ride.”

They drove off, leaving him with the luggage, feet and legs wet to the knee, shivering.

7

THE YIPPEE-I-O RANCH

“Oh. It’s really nice,”’ Sylvia said when Niles opened the door to their southwest style cottage. The place had rounded plaster everywhere, a crackling fire, and great western furniture. Atmosphere up the wazoo. The living room was as big as the one they had at home. A door on the other side led into the bedroom. It seemed to beckon to him, and wink.

A big mirror on the opposite wall showed Austin that his belly did not protrude as much as he thought it did, and his hair didn’t looked dyed at all. He looked good.

Sylvia went on and on about the suite, but no one was more surprised than Austin. Most of the resort seemed to be falling apart, but their two cabins and the main building looked newly renovated.

“Yah. I work for months to get this done. I always have to tell contractors what to do, so I end up doing it myself. Now I have to finish the rest.” Niles smiled, his face looking almost as crumpled as their car. “If I had known how this place was, I might not say yes when my grandparents ask me to come home and help. But here I am, working all the time.”

Niles’ unhappiness heartened Austin, but he wanted to make sure that no wrong-doing had occurred. Before leaving DC, he had researched the property, using the tax roles and assessor’s records. Nils Svanbäck owned it. The brochure said, “Welcome from your hosts, Greta and Alvar Ekstrom.” The couple in the photo waved at the camera. Nothing about Niles Pretty-Boy showed up anywhere.  “Where are your grandparents, may I ask?” He could see that Niles was the sort who would knock off old people to steal their crumbling motel.

“In Tahiti, last I hear.” His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know where they go after that. They probably stay away until I fix the whole place.”

Niles’ troubles didn’t concern him.  What lay beyond the door at the other end of the room did. He handed Niles some bills. “Thanks. Can you get the kids settled in?”

It was the biggest damn bed he’d ever seen. The room had pale plaster walls painted with flower motifs like on a Nordic chalet. Another fireplace crackled in the corner. Everything was brand new. He’d scored a honeymoon palace. Austin smiled and started to undo his belt.

Hannah’s screams caused him to tear out of the room. He stopped on the porch, not knowing whether to get his gun out of the car or help his daughter unarmed. Her cries abruptly ceased.

Austin reached the kids’ cabin to see Niles standing in the doorway.

“Is OK, Hannah. The raccoon is stuffed. Very old. I thought it cute for boy’s room. I take it away.”

“No, Niles, I think it’s cool. I’ll keep it in my room.” Jimmy came to the door and did an inexplicable thing with Niles. Making his hand into a fist, he punched Niles’ similarly configured fist. “Yo, Niles.”

“Yo, J-man. Tomorrow, I will teach you to cross-country ski after breakfast.” Waving cheerily, Niles smiled at Austin and explained. “Hannah was afraid of the stuffed raccoon. So sorry.” He walked back toward the office.

Austin wanted to arrest him.

He didn’t feel that way in the morning. He’d forgotten how lovely Sylvia was. How beautiful. Those fools downtown shopping for hookers would never know what he had in his own wife.

He roused himself sleepily, happy and content. Sylvia was making coffee at the little kitchenette in the living room.

“Where are the kids?” he asked.

“They’re out learning to cross country ski with Niles. He left a note under the door. We can have breakfast delivered here, or go to the dining room.”

“Here.”

The beautiful creature smiled. “That’s why I ordered it to come here. Should be here any second.”

Then they’d be alone.

The car rental company couldn’t get out to the ranch until the snow melted.

“That was a hundred year snow,” said the cheery idiot on the rental desk. “It’ll be four or five days at least, longer if it stays cold. But we’ll get you a top-of-the-line 4WD SUV. Gas-guzzler, but you can go anywhere in the state in it. An’ in the snow, case it snows again.”

Four or five days. That was not in Austin’s plan.

“Where are the horses?” he asked Niles. “You can ride them in snow. You see it in the movies all the time.”

Niles’ face dropped. Austin could see his eyes misting. His voice was thick when he spoke. “Minnie was a good old horse. I had to put her to sleep. She was thirty-three years old. She kept falling down and couldn’t eat. I miss her.”

“What about the other horses? The brochure showed horses.”

“There are no other horses. All the others died like Minnie. I thought of getting another one, but I don't know how to ride.”

“A rancher who doesn’t know how to ride?”