Spencerville

Charlie continued, "I told the people in Washington you had personal matters to take care of. All they want from you is a yes or no by Friday. Gives you time to think about it, if you're alive tomorrow. If you're dead, I'll tell them you're terminally inconvenienced. Anyway, after you get out of here, you're on your own. Just like old times, when I kissed you good-bye at some fucked-up border crossing or airport. But I have to feel that I've given you every advantage before you leave. Just like old times, Keith. Let me do that for you."

"Why?"

"I like you. I didn't like Chief Baxter. I don't like what he did. I want you to be happy. A happy man makes happy decisions."

Again, Keith didn't reply.

"If nothing else, think of the Porters. They have a cop in the foyer. I'll take care of that for you and for them."

"I'll take care of that." Keith asked, "Where are the Porters, Charlie?"

"Running errands."

"Where are they running errands?"

"Antioch. I sent them away. Hey, they were telling me about the Antioch rules of sexual conduct. I laughed my ass off. But it's not funny." He added, "Actually, I like them. They promised to vote Republican next time. You want another juice? I'll get it."

"No. You have to get going."

"Okay." Charlie put his juice glass on the ground and stood. He took an envelope out of his pocket and said, "I have a thousand dollars for you."

"I don't want Uncle's money."

"It's my money. Personal."

"No, it's not."

"Well, it's an advance on your pension check."

"Keep it."

Charlie shrugged and put the envelope back in his pocket. He said, "Self-reliance, chivalry, and knighthood are dead, Keith."

"Forgive me for sounding pompous, but they're not dead while I'm still alive."

"Then they'll be dead by tomorrow. Okay, I tried. Good luck, my friend."

They shook hands, and Charlie Adair walked away, across the yard and through the herb gardens, then disappeared into the cornfield, like some sort of ethereal nature sprite, which was the effect Charlie was looking for, Keith knew. Keith liked a man with style, but sometimes Charlie overdid it a bit.

Keith kept watching the wall of corn, and sure enough he saw the tall stalks start to move, then flatten as Charlie Adair drove out of the cornfield in a gray Ford Taurus.

Charlie went through a flower bed and across the lawn and stopped near Keith. "I'm at the Maple Motel."

"Good choice."

"No choice. Hey, she must be a hell of a lady."

"She is."

"Is she as good as what's-her-name in Georgetown?"

"I don't remember what's-her-name in Georgetown."

"Well, if she's that good, then you owe her a better chance than you're giving her."

"I have to do it without your help or any help from Uncle. Keith will learn how to handle problems on his own."

"As you wish." Charlie added, "You created the fucking problem."

Keith didn't reply.

Charlie said, "I mean, really, Keith, a guy who slipped in and out of East Germany a dozen times can't even get the fuck out of Ohio? Jesus Christ."

"Don't bait me. I'm not in the mood."

"You don't have to prove anything. You fucked up, now you need help. No big deal. Your problem is that your ego is too big. You never were a team player, Keith. I'm surprised you weren't killed or fired long ago. Well, you've cheated death all over the world for too many years — don't get iced here."

"Thank you for your concern."

"Fuck you, Keith." Charlie hit the gas and drove away, across the yard and out to the street.

Keith had the strong suspicion that he hadn't seen the last of Charlie Adair.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Keith drove the blue and white police car west, along a straight, flat farm road that was barely wide enough for two cars to pass. The walls of tall corn came almost up to the gravel, creating the effect of driving in a deep trench.

Keith had on Ward's hat and shirt, but so far he hadn't passed another police car or sheriff's car on the way from the Porter house. He was mindful, however, of the deputies driving their own vehicles, but he hadn't seen any uniformed deputies in private cars, nor had he seen any mounted posse. Spencer County was big, he knew, about six hundred square miles, and the distance between the Porter house and the Cowley farm was only about ten miles. With any luck, he'd get there, though he didn't know what he'd find when he did.

Keith had encouraged Officer Ward to radio headquarters and give a situation report, and Sergeant Blake had reprimanded Ward for being away from the car so long. Ward, with his own revolver being held to his head, his hands cuffed behind his back, his groin somewhat achy, and his sergeant chewing him out, was a truly unhappy man. He was less happy now, Keith suspected, bouncing around in the trunk. But that was Officer Ward's own fault and was the least of Ward's problems and the least of Keith's problems.

The farm road ended at the T-intersection of Route 8, and Keith turned onto it.