The Best Bad Dream (8 page)

“And this is Nigel Russell,” Williams said. “He's our program developer.”

Jack looked at the heavyset man with the big back brace, and smiled.

“Nice work, Jack. I thought for a second I was going to have to take the jerk out myself.”

The table howled at that, and Nigel gave Jack a mischievous grin.

Jack was then introduced to a woman who was all hunched over, Sally Amoros. Sally was the head of something called Ancient Ways.

“They gave me that post because I'm so fucking ancient,” she said. The group at the table cracked up, including Jack.

Jack then met the man with the cane, Desmond Phillips, and the man with the eye patch, Jerry Hoffman. Hoffman was an architect, and the head of new building for Blue Wolf, and Desmond Phillips was the comptroller of the corporation. They, like the others, were witty and completely free of self-pity.

“You really saved the day, Jack,” Hoffman said.

“No problem. Maybe you people need some security.”

“Thanks, but we have it,” Williams said. “Anyway, these things rarely happen. Blue Wolf is a spa vacation spot and a deeply spiritual world. If we're involved in physical ugliness . . . well, it just isn't good for the resort's image or Blue Wolf's stockholders.”

“Not to mention our souls,” Sally Amoros said, and several other members added, “Amen.”

Jack nodded.

“You know, we don't usually get bothered by the bikers because they're busy hating their rivals, the Jesters. About twice a year they war and kill one another.”

The old man laughed a little as he said it.

“More entertaining than HBO,” said Sally Amoros.

“But seriously,” Jack said, “those are some dangerous guys. What if they come back? How will you deal with them?”

“Oh, positive energy forces, meditation . . . there are many ways, all of them nonviolent.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, “that's all fine. I have a lot of respect for nonviolence myself, but do the things you're advocating get through to the morons and the haters, the guys like Lucky who are born predators? I mean they see something, they take it if they can. Can people like that be influenced by . . . whatever you call them . . . good vibes?”

“A good question,” Alex said. “And one I don't take lightly. But at Blue Wolf we're working on much more than just good vibes. Come up and I'll give you a tour.”

“I'd like that very much,” Jack said.

He felt warmth toward the old man, and thought of his own dad.

“What are you doing down here, Jack?” Alex Williams asked.

Jack reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out the photo of Jennifer Wu, and handed it to him.

“I came down to see a friend, Michelle. She and her sister Jennifer were sightseeing the other day up in Taos and Jennifer disappeared. And the funny thing is, I was intending to come see you later today. Because Jennifer Wu works for you, as a nurse.”

“I know Jennifer,” Ellen Garcia said. “Terrific nurse.”

“So do I,” said Phillips. “Nice girl.”

“Yes, I've seen her around as well. Disappeared?” Williams asked. “What do you mean?”

“I don't know. Wandered off Or worse.”

“Kidnapped?”

“Possibly, yes.”

“You think Lucky Avila might have something to do with it?”

“I don't know,” Jack said. “But Jennifer's sister Michelle knows Lucky and they had a very unpleasant run-in a couple of days ago.”

“I see,” Alex said. “Well, he's a bad sort, no doubt. But I never heard anyone say he was into kidnapping. Anyway, I'll duplicate this photo and circulate it up at the resort. If she's anywhere near there, we'll find her.”

“I'd appreciate that.”

“Meanwhile, please come up and ask around if you want to. And you're more than welcome to use any of our facilities.”

“Thanks,” Jack said, and shook the older man's hand. Like Lucky, he was surprised by Alex's strength. The old man might have a lot of wrinkles, but he was still as strong as a man half his age.

Chapter Eleven

Phil sat in the apartment drinking his tequila, furious. The thing was, he wasn't some old guy. Hell, he was still in his forties. And he had made fifty mil in his business.

But now that he had the money, the sad thing was that his wife Dee Dee wanted younger men. Phil wished he had never started this swinger thing.

It had been fun for a while, sure. But now the bitch couldn't get off unless she had some new young guy in bed with her.

She craved, absolutely craved, sex with as many men as possible.

Now she was out fucking Ziko. Of course.

Well, two could play that game. He'd get himself down to the bar and see who he could round up.

Yeah, he'd find a hot new chick. There were some women who were more loyal, and some people who would think of a man in his forties as desirable.

Yes, sir.

She'd see, and in the end he would leave her and not give the bitch a dime.

He laughed and combed his hair straight back. Looked cool, like a young, prefat Brando.

Fuck feeling bad. What he needed was a little bar action.

Chapter Twelve

Though he felt guilty for interrupting Oscar's vacation, Jack called his partner at seven in the morning.

“Hey, amigo,” a sleepy Oscar said. “You having fun in Santa Fe?”

“Not exactly,” Jack said. “See, the case has taken a couple of weird twists, and it's more than one gringo cop can handle. Now if I had a really smart Latino to help me out down here, somebody I could trust . . .”

“I must be going deaf in my old age,” Oscar said. “I just had an auditory hallucination that you asked me to give up my vacation to come down there and help you and your completely untrustworthy criminal girlfriend in a kidnapping case. I'm telling you, Jackie, I think I need to go to the ear doctor.”

Jack started laughing.

“There's nothing wrong with your ears, Osc. The next Southwest plane leaves at ten o'clock.”

“Oh, Jack . . . I don't believe you're doing this.”

“Okay, Osc, you don't have to. You enjoy your vacation, which you wouldn't be having anyway if I hadn't saved your ass that time in Cartagena.”

“I can't believe you're bringing that up.”

“I know it's a cheap shot, but that's how desperate I am.”

“Shit, amigo. That is so low of you. But I'll be there. You bastard.”

“Love you, too, Oscar.”

Jack hung up, ashamed of himself but greatly relieved. He had half the day before Oscar arrived, and there was a lot he wanted to see at Blue Wolf.

The Blue Wolf Lodge was a slick place, with modern steel and glass buildings and a medical wing where celebrities and CEOs got face-lifts and tummy tucks while they looked out at the mountains.

As Alex Williams showed him around the place, Jack saw people getting treatments called Adobe Mud Wraps, green-tinted Turquoise Facials, Cornmeal Wraps, and Volcanic Clay massages. Other people, mostly older women, were having their feet pummeled gently by so-called Mystical River Stones, and still others were having their lymph glands massaged.

The whole deal seemed like a giant hustle to him, and he wasn't getting any closer to finding Jennifer Wu.

“Look, Mr. Williams,” he said. “I appreciate your showing me around. But what I really need is to find the Holdens. Phil and Dee Dee.”

“Of course,” Alex Williams apologized. “Sorry, I got a little carried away.”

“No problem,” Jack said. “I wish I was here on vacation.”

“No, you're right. I'll get you to them right now.”

They walked across the “campus,” as Williams called it, and Jack saw the vast and otherworldly cactus gardens and the Desert Rose Meditation Center. Finally, he and his friendly host wandered out to the parking lot, where tour bus after tour bus arrived with old couples
in them. They came with crutches, canes, walkers, fancy wheelchairs, and oxygen tanks. Soon they had formed a line and were trundling along to check in at the Soul and Spirit Center.

“Let me guess, my friend,” Alex Williams said. “You're a little skeptical about all of this?”

Jack laughed and admitted that he was. “I see a lot of desperate people, closer to the end of their lives than they would like to admit. They come to these places for some kind of mud-wrap miracle.”

Williams shook his head.

“No,” he said. “We don't promise them that. Just renewal. It can be long-lasting or it can be short-term, depending on how serious they are.”

“Or how much money they spend?”

“Yes, that, too. Healing doesn't come cheap. Nor do the therapies we use. People study years and years to learn the disciplines we teach here. A great native healer, for example, has to undergo a long apprenticeship under a licensed medicine man from his tribe. It's no less than the kind of education taken by a Western practitioner.”

Jack smiled as a stunning pair of pearl-colored clouds moved overhead.

“Well, let's just say I'm more of a fan of Western medicine than you are.”

But Alex Williams wouldn't give in.

“You're wrong there, too. I have a medical degree from Harvard. What we try to do here at Blue Wolf is integrate both traditional Western practices and the best of all the other traditions. Remember, Asian, Mexican, and Indian cultures were all around thousands of years before we were and know many things we've yet to discover.”

Jack nodded his head, though Williams had scarcely convinced him.

As the older guests trudged past him to check in, Jack felt that he could see the desperation on all of their faces, and a terrible fear in their eyes.

They must know, Jack thought, that all this nontraditional, spiritual “medicine” was jive. Wasn't it obvious that having their legs pummeled with rocks from ancient stream beds wasn't going to do a damned thing for their failing hearts and crummy circulation? And didn't they know that having their skin exfoliated, and their imaginary third eye filled with some kind of fancy, heated olive oil, was going to mean absolutely zero in a fight against cancer? They must know; but they did it anyway. They had mud baths and Cornmeal Wraps, and ate lizard skins ground up in capsules, and they knew that at least some of the staff was laughing at them behind their backs while they accepted their over-the-top tips, but they went on with it, because “what if?” What if it somehow worked? What if the Cornmeal Wrap broke through some kind of molecular twenty-first-century fucked-up dying-cell cancer, and somehow stimulated youth in them? What if it worked in spite of their cynicism? What if there was some particle of truth to it all and it made them young again? Even if just for a month, or a couple of weeks or, for that matter, one weekend?

Why not give it a shot?

They found Phil Holden at the Piñon Bar. He was standing at the bar downing a margarita. He wore a green silk shirt with blue parrots on it and white pants. He looked like an eighties refugee from
Miami Vice.

Alex Williams introduced Jack, who noticed that Holden's face was bloated from alcohol.

“I understand you were up at the Tewa Pueblo yesterday,” Jack said. “Did you happen to see this girl?”

He showed Holden a picture of Jennifer Wu.

“Yeah,” Phil said, as he picked up his drink. “Yeah, I guess I did see her. She was standing over by the big round structure they got there. What's that thing called?”

“The kiva,” Jack said.

“Right, me and Dee Dee—that's my wife—we just come out of there and we saw this Chinese girl talking to some people.”

“What did they look like?”

“I don't know. Three or four guys. Not Indians, I don't think. They seemed to be asking her for directions. She kind of walked away with them . . . and she was pointing, you know, south, I guess. Like they were asking directions to Santa Fe, or someplace south of Taos, anyway.”

“You sure of this?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Well then, yesterday, when the second Chinese girl came up and asked you where her sister went, why did you tell her you hadn't seen her?”

Phil shook his head.

“I don't know why I said that,” he blushed. “I just smelled bad news coming and I didn't want any part of it.”

“What do you mean, bad news?” Jack pushed. “We think that this girl, Jennifer Wu, was kidnapped and maybe you could have stopped it.”

“Yeah, I see that now,” Phil said. “I do. But I didn't know anything about that yesterday, right? I mean, for all I know, those Chinese girls coulda been in cahoots with the bikers. They get us to go somewhere with them and the next thing me and Dee Dee know is we're out in the desert somewhere, our money gone, and bullet holes in our heads.”

Jack sighed.

“You see what kind of rides the bikers had?”

“Couldn't be sure. Harleys maybe.”

“License plates?”

“Well, they were New Mexico plates, that's for sure. But I didn't get any of them.”

“Could you physically identify any of the guys who took her?” Jack asked.

“Not really. I didn't get that close and, you know, it's dark up there. Only moonlight. Now, if you guys don't mind, I'm going to order another drink and then take a nap.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jack said. “That's just fine. But I may want to talk to you again. Okay?”

“Sure,” Phil said. “Most exciting thing that's happened to me since I been here.” He took another sip of his drink and turned away from Jack.

“Does that help you at all?” Alex Williams asked, looking concerned, as they walked outside.

“Well, it confirms one thing. That Jennifer was taken by bikers.”

“Very unsettling, Jack,” Alex said. “Do you want to talk to any of her coworkers?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Anyone she worked with in the nursing department. Speaking of which—what kind of a nurse is she?”

“Surgical nurse and a damned good one,” Alex said. “I'll work up a list of all her coworkers. You can tackle it after lunch.”

“Thanks for all your cooperation, Alex.”

“The least I can do. First, you saved me from a beating, and second, this is one of our own. We think of Blue Wolf as an extended family. What happens to one of us happens to all of us.”

“Y'know, I'd like to see Jennifer's room, if that's possible,” Jack said.

“Of course,” Williams said. “She lived on the fourth floor of the medical building, in the dorm rooms. I took the liberty of getting you a key. The only thing is, I can't allow you to ask questions of the guests on the first and second floors. Many of them are well-known people who pay quite a bit of money to have their treatments with maximum security.”