“If it’s your aunt, why don’t you approach her yourself?”
“She’s not speaking to me right now. Never advise your relatives on investing, Tomahawk.”
“So Robert and I are going to drop in on her cold and offer to buy these rights?”
“Not quite cold. Beth owes me a favor, so I had her call Mildred during half-time and explain she’d learned of a bigshot mining guy who has a great deal for her. You need to play that bigshot.”
“If your aunt Mildred is a short, tough little lady about eighty, that won’t work. She’s already met me.” Tom told them about the alley incident with Mildred, the Nash, and the ball bat.
Gary turned to Robert. “The bat sure sounds like her. I think I remember some business about a little Nash. When you first came here, we got in a poker game, including my little cousin Lenny. We were all drinking and your cards were smoking hot. You won Lenny’s car. Do I remember it right?”
“Uh-huh.” Robert turned to Tom. “He and I really got into it on this one hand. I raised a fourth time and he couldn’t cover. We agreed he could put up the Nash, the car his great aunt had just given him, instead of cash. I thought it was a cool ride. I won, full house versus a flush. I doubt he ever told his aunt.”
Gary interrupted, “So she still thinks you are Robert, Tom?”
“I assume so.”
“Crap. New plan, Robert,
you
have to play the big shot from, ah, Smith Minerals Corporation.”
“Gary, I’m no actor. I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can, you’re my main man. And Tomahawk will have your back the whole time.”
“Oh boy, I dunno.”
“Trust me, it’ll be easy. Mildred is such a sweet old thing. You’re really about to redeem yourself with me, my lad. I’m starting to feel good about this again. Now, I do need a private moment with Tomahawk. Maybe you could wait for him outside, just for a minute or two.”
“Yeah, sure.” Robert went stoop-shouldered to the front door and out to the sidewalk.
Gary’s countenance was grim. “He can’t do this unless you really back him up.”
“I’m not helping you steal an old lady’s ranch, Gary.”
“Is that what you think of me, Tomahawk? I’m doing a beloved auntie the biggest favor ever, offering fifteen grand for something that’s useless to her. She’ll probably jump at the offer. But Robert can’t stop shaking since those Indian boys chased him off, and I need to know you’re there behind him.”
“Why do we say this Smith outfit wants to buy her mineral rights?”
“Geez, Tomahawk, I dunno. I can’t do everything for you. You guys feel her out and then make up any story you like. Just get the rights. Here’s the cashier’s check. Now scoot.”
Tom still had his hand on the doorknob when he saw a green Chevy Suburban, the enormous station wagon based on their full-sized truck, slow to a crawl as it drove by the grocery store. The front passenger window was down, and the passenger’s face stared intently at the store fronts. There was something about that face. Oh
shit
, it was the Harvey and Marvin face in the Polaroid photo Dani had given him an hour or so ago. He thought, What do you want to bet the driver looks just like the passenger, Tom? Follow them!
The green Suburban accelerated after passing him and he ran to the driver door of the Plymouth. As usual, Robert had left his keys in the ignition. He jumped into the driver’s seat and hit the starter as Robert called, “Hey, hey Tom!”.
Tom was away before Robert could reach the passenger door, leaving him on the sidewalk.
Tom trailed the Suburban when it turned right around the corner, nearly hitting the curb as he reached under the seat for Renada’s little gun. I’m done being the guy being followed all over the damn country, he thought grimly. I’m going to find out where you boys are going.
Kill or be killed
.
The Suburban made a second right turn, a third, and a fourth to complete circling the block. Tom tried to stay back enough not be seen. As he rounded the last corner there was Robert, still standing at the curb looking bewildered. In a flash, the big station wagon stopped and the front right door dispensed one of the chunky brothers. Tom pulled over, confused as to what to do. He saw the twin speak to Robert, open the rear door, push him in, and join him. It was done with phenomenal speed for a tubby goon. Tom had thought he was about to gain the upper hand and had lost it in one trip around the block. He had lost Robert Matthews too.
The Suburban raced away and he followed. His main concern now was Robert, not being noticed. Why did they nab him? Wait, Tony’s brothers probably had only a verbal description of him. Depending on the accuracy of said description, Robert might fit the bill. This was looking worse and worse for him. Tom was forming a habit of getting other people in trouble.
They picked up traffic for a while as the Suburban headed out of town and Tom stayed only two cars back. But then the brothers turned on a wooded side road. He had a vision of Robert’s body being dumped from their speeding vehicle. Maybe he could rear-end them. They wouldn’t expect him to be armed, if you could call Renada’s toy pistol being armed. He mashed the accelerator and the wheezy old flathead six groaned in turgid response.
He was closing on them as a ten-point buck charged out of the trees dead in front of him. He jerked the steering wheel left and the Plymouth slewed and tilted crazily on tired old springs. Tom was headed for trees, big ones. He overcorrected the imprecise steering, slid spinning clockwise, and his left rear wheel hit gravel on the wrong side of the road.
He braked hard as he damned the weak reactions of the ancient car. These were hardly brakes at all; it was more like throwing out an anchor. Another skid as the car finally slowed, two more desperate spins of the steering wheel, and he was finally stopped in the ditch facing the wrong way. Only in the ditch, thank God, a generous two feet from the nearest maple trees.
Tom exited the car and surveyed his situation. The Suburban was gone, probably to some farmhouse where they would pull Robert’s fingernails out with pliers until he told them where to find the real Tom Hawk. He put the car in reverse and tried to get it back on the road. Only one rear wheel had contact with the pavement and the other spun merrily. There was no getting out of the ditch without some kind of a push. As he leaned against a fender, allowing his pulse to slow, he saw the distant form of a man jogging toward him. “Hey, buddy, can you help me?” Tom called.
The man ran full-out now and came in clear view in seconds. Several seconds more and he faced Tom, panting. It was Robert. “Tom, thank God. How’d you find me?”
“I saw those guys take you and followed, but a deer got in my way. Are you all right? How did you escape?”
“I’m okay. Actually, they let me go. They were identical twins, imagine that. Is something wrong with my car?”
“You need brakes, shock absorbers, and a new steering gear, but otherwise, no. What happened? What do you mean they let you go? They picked you off the curb downtown in full daylight. They wanted
something
.”
“Yeah, but I can’t guess what. They asked all kinds of questions. First they said something I didn’t understand about a pizza oven. When they talked pizzas I thought they were FBI guys after me about Gary’s phony draft deferment thing. I dropped a couple hints about me being willing to totally rat Gary out. They didn’t care.
“So I thought it was about me and the war personally. I showed them the ID I use and explained how it wasn’t my fault I wasn’t in the jungle yet and my hernia was all better now. I said I was planning to enlist tomorrow and go right over there and kill lots of gooks. But they didn’t want to hear anything about that either.
“By then I decided they weren’t FBI. I remembered Renada letting it slip today that she is worried someone from East Germany might come after her. I told them she was a loyal Communist and I was too. That’s when the driver told the other one I was some local lunatic but I still thought they were going to hurt me.
“I figured if it wasn’t about the draft or the Commies, then the elders hired these guys to scare me and shake things up about the mining and casino deals. So I offered to help them get a fair share of that. They hadn’t a clue what I was talking about. They told me they picked me up because I looked like a guy who owed them money, apologized, and put me out of the car maybe a quarter mile ahead. Geez, I hope I didn’t get Gary or Renada in trouble.”
“Robert, you handled it fine. See, you can take care of yourself.”
“I guess I didn’t do so badly. I mean, I was scared, but I pretty much kept it together.”
“You sure did. Now let’s get your car back on the road and take you back to Beth’s place.”
“What about Gary’s aunt Mildred?”
“Screw that and screw Gary. You look pale. You need a rest.”
Tom watched as Robert stood still, contemplating this. At last he said, “No, Tom, we want to stay employed. We’ve got a Cutlass to repair. I know what Gary and Renada think of me and I want to change their minds. I’ve learned something about myself today. If I can stand up to guys I think are FBI or East German Commies, I can help Gary get his deals done before he goes broke.”
Tom suspected Robert might be on a temporary deluded high. But if he was really trying to grow up, why get in the way? “You’re still willing to go out and see Mildred?”
“Yes. I need to do this, Tom, and today. Maybe those guys who just took me will report the stuff I told them and tomorrow I’ll have to run to Canada. So let’s accomplish something right now.”
“All right, then. You’re supposed to be the big shot for Mildred. Are you good to drive?”
“I guess, yeah, sure.”
“Get behind the wheel. I’ll push us out of the ditch.”
****
Robert drove further into the country than Tom had yet been. It was not particularly good to be a claustrophobe on a narrow road edged by dense woods. Tom kept watching for a green Suburban, and suspected Robert was too. They reached Mildred’s mailbox. Robert swung the car onto a gravel driveway. Tom had developed a mental image of something like the Bates Motel farmhouse from
Psycho
. The trees parted and the aunt’s home came into view. He had been off the mark. The house was not a scarred and faded wooden Victorian. It was a trim, brick L-shaped Cotswold affair with tight little mullioned windows on the first floor, end gables. and roof dormers. All was in perfect repair and Mildred’s residence looked like it could withstand a Panzer attack. The interior rooms would probably be unpleasantly small, though.
Robert had stopped the car. “What’s the matter?” Tom wanted to know.
“Maybe you can still do the talking. Maybe we can tell her you’re a bigshot named Matthews and Beth got the names backwards.”
“I don’t think so. Remember my story about meeting her in the alley?”
“Oh. Maybe we can tell her…”
A rap on the glass interrupted his ruminations. “Get out of that car, get out slowly,” a gravelly female voice commanded. Tom looked through the windshield, and there was the lady from Grant’s alley all right, pointing a double barrel shotgun at them. Tom wished he’d let Mildred keep her baseball bat as her weapon of choice. He and Robert exited and raised their hands.
She addressed Tom as he stood beside the car, “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Matthews. This car surprised me. I expected after talking to Beth that you’d come in that stupid little Nash.”
“Hello Mildred, I’m with a friend. This is his car.”
Robert climbed out and grinned nervously. Tom suggested, “Maybe you can put that gun away?”
Mildred lowered the shotgun, and Robert sagged in relief. She told Tom, “You’re only here because I feel bad about the business with the ball bat. Beth said she’d tell you she and I had talked, so why are you two skulking around in my driveway? Why didn’t you just drive up to the house?”
“We stopped to talk about something for a minute before seeing you.” Tom waved an arm at Robert and for his benefit spoke loudly. “This is Robert Smith, the Executive Vice President of Smith Minerals Corporation, come to make you an offer.”
“I’m old, not deaf, Mr. Matthews.” She looked at the faded Plymouth, which was nearly old enough to vote. “I suppose the vice president of a big minerals corporation gets this fine company car.”
Getting this woman to sign over her mining rights at a reasonable price was not going to be a cake walk. “Robert had a traffic accident. His Lincoln is in the shop and this is the only loaner they had left.”
“Yeah, and my Bentley is at the dealer for new seat leather. Well, you’re here. Let’s get this over with. Walk up to the house with me, or Mr. Smith can drive that junk heap if he thinks it can get that far.”
Robert got back in the Plymouth, but it wouldn’t start.
“God Almighty, it’s worse than that tin can Nash of yours,” Mildred told Tom.
“It floods when it gets real hot,” Robert explained.
“It’s more likely vapor lock,” Mildred told him.
“Oh.”
“Push it into that side spot of gravel. I’ll not have it blocking my drive when I have a guest coming.” Mildred pointed to a small clearing where a few pebbles could be seen under a lush canopy of broadleaf weeds. They obeyed.
As they neared her home, Tom could see a full brick two car garage behind and a bit to the side of the house. The overhead door was open, with a gleaming new black Chrysler New Yorker parked in the left-hand stall. Great-Aunt Mildred was not destitute.
She brought them into a living room that was done in Danish Modern; no bric-a-brac in sight. The room was small, but uncluttered furniture, light colors, and a large window made it comfortable for Tom. The only wall decoration was a large and colorful Native American weaving. No little old lady fussiness here.
Mildred propped the gun in a corner and motioned them to a sofa, appropriating a costly looking leather recliner for herself. “Damn Packers lost again,” she muttered as she settled in.
“It’s awful, their defense just fell apart,” sympathized Tom, struggling to establish a bond. “I guess Beth told you Mr. Smith’s company is interested in purchasing the mineral rights to this farm.”
“Yeah, she did. My question is, why?”