Authors: James D. Doss
Comparing Notes
The lawmen placed their orders (grilled almond trout for Charlie Moon, baked lasagna for Scott Parris). They waited until the waiter had closed the door to the Silver Mountain Hotel’s bijou private dining room before resuming their conversation.
The tribal investigator kicked the exchange off thusly: “So you told Pug Bullet what we wanted him to know.”
“That I did.” The chief of police popped the lid on a crystal candy jar and helped himself to a complimentary chocolate mint. “Now, no matter how things turn out, the DA can’t complain that he wasn’t informed about our mutual suspicions of Sam Reed’s…ah…” The strain of recollection creased his brow. “His
nefarious
activities.”
The Indian smiled at his friend’s latest conquest. Scott had mastered about a dozen words from his girlfriend’s list.
He offered the heavy candy jar to Moon and watched the Indian help himself to a chewy caramel. “Now tell me how things are going with our slippery friend.”
Moon commenced to unwrap the sugary treat. “From what Theodora tells me—that was her name today—Sam Reed was more than a little suspicious about her story.” He paused to invite the expected response.
“No kidding.”
I told him Reed wouldn’t go for it
. “The scam was pretty hokey—a lawyer representing a mysterious gambling industry committee that deals harshly with cheats. Either make restitution or wake up stone cold dead some warm morning.” The cop snorted. “Who’d go for a con like that?”
“Sam Reed did.” Moon grinned at his friend. “He caved in the end.”
The chief of police was goggle-eyed. “He actually bought all that guff?”
“Swallowed the whole boulder, moss and all. My lady friend tells me our big fish turned green at the gills when she explained what’d happen if he didn’t make the payoffs to the specified charities.”
Being a typical male, Parris hated being wrong. “It was awfully
fortuitous
that he bought that lie about those charities being fronts for criminal elements involved in gambling.”
Moon corrected his friend’s misconception. “Theodora told him the truth—that with one exception, the charities were on the up-and-up.”
The town cop’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Exception?”
Charlie Moon placed the unwrapped candy on the saucer beside his coffee cup. “The lady has to cover her expenses.”
And make an exorbitant profit.
The county’s senior sworn officer of the law wished he hadn’t heard that. This business was getting downright
nefarious
. “Where was you when the lady pulled the con?”
“Right there in the Sugar Bowl, in a corner booth behind a couple of potted palms. I watched the whole thing go down.”
“I bet that was entertaining.”
“More fun than a three-ring circus and all the cotton candy you can eat.” Moon popped the caramel into his mouth and chewed for a while.
Parris exhaled a wistful sigh. “Wish I could’ve been there with you.”
“Me too, pard. But somebody had to deal with the DA, and that was your department.”
“So what’d Reed do after the lady made her pitch and hit the street?”
“Soon as Theodora took her leave, our bad boy made a beeline for Cattleman’s Bank.”
“That’s great, but…”
“But what?”
“I don’t mean to sound mean, Charlie.” He jutted his chin. “But I wish she’d taken that slippery rascal for everything he owned.”
“You don’t really mean
everything
.”
“Yes I do—right down to his skin!” The vindictive cop grinned. “And left him wearing an iron-hooped wooden barrel, like in the old comic strips.”
“That’s way too ambitious, pard. When setting up a scam, the secret to success is knowing just how far to push the mark.”
Parris picked up a sticky red Gummi Bear.
I don’t know why kids like these things.
He returned it to the crystal jar. “You figure Reed’ll eventually figure out he’s been had?”
“Somewhere down the road, he’s bound to get a little suspicious.” The rancher shook his head. “But right now, the fella’s spooked like a high-strung horse that’s just stepped on a timber rattlesnake. Theodora did a first-rate job on him.”
Scott Parris could not suppress his natural curiosity. “Where do you know this woman from?”
“Met her on the res, about nine years ago.” Moon took some time to enjoy the memory. “I did the shady lady a favor when she and her daddy were arrested for running a gambling scam on our Southern Ute casino.”
Parris found a coffee-flavored truffle in the jar. He undressed the red-foiled sweet straightaway. “Sounds like crime runs in this family.”
“Yeah. Today, Poppa was her driver.”
The cop chomped down on the tasty treat. “Ware’s er mobba?”
“Theodora’s momma’s doing five to seven in an Illinois clink. Sweet little old lady took a big fall for real-estate fraud.”
“Sub fabbly.” Parris swallowed.
The Ute nodded. “Crooked as a bucket of corkscrews.” Moon’s smile wouldn’t go away. “But I like ’em.”
“Well, it’s all over and done with. Still, I wish there was some way to make Sam Reed pay big-time for setting up his wife and that…that
nefarious
Chickasaw.” Parris searched the candy jar for a sweet delectable and found it—another truffle, this one with raspberry crème filling. “Aside from the killings, he made us look like dopes.”
“Let’s not be too hard on Professor Reed. Don’t forget that he gave me that insider tip about the hoof-and-mouth outbreak down south of the equator—and that you’re four hundred bucks the better from that wager he paid up on.” Moon’s winnings, in the five-figure range, were also a considerable consolation to him. But this was still not the proper time to mention this enrichment to his buddy.
“I haven’t forgotten about that, Charlie. But Reed didn’t make the bet or drop the cow-disease tip to help me and you.” Parris popped the truffle into his mouth.
That is de-lish!
After properly savoring the treat, he completed the thought. “That was all part of the bastard’s plan to get us on the stakeout, so—in case he was suspected of doing something underhanded in connection with what was going down—he’d have a couple of highly respected—practically
legendary
—local lawmen to provide him with an iron-clad alibi.”
Moon was amused by his friend’s overheated self-esteem.
“I’d like to see him suffer a little more.” Parris licked his fingers. “But I guess hoaxing him into donating a chunk of his fortune to widows and orphans is enough to even the score.”
“I wasn’t trying to even a score, pardner. Way I see things, we did him a big favor.”
Parris squinted to see Moon’s point. “By discouraging his gambling habit?”
The ardent poker player shook his head. “That part was his punishment.”
“Then what was the big favor?”
“Maneuvering the rich man to give away money he doesn’t really need to desperate folks who don’t have two thin dimes to rub together.”
“Excuse me, Charlie—but I don’t believe Sam Reed would consider that an act of kindness on our part.”
“Not today, maybe. But I bet that he’ll end up feeling mighty good about what he’s done.”
I bet.
The two magic words. “How long before this transformation happens?”
Moon: “Oh, let’s say by this time next month.”
“Even money?”
The Indian nodded. “Let’s say a U.S. government engraving of Tom Jefferson.”
Scott Paris did not have a two-dollar bill, but common copper pocket change was legal tender for all debts, public and private. “You’re on.”
“Sucker bet,” Moon said with evident pity. “By this time next week, all ten of those charities will be letting Sam Reed know how much good he’s doing in the world.”
Parris produced his characteristic snort. “Which is just another way of saying they’ll be filling his mailbox with requests for more donations.”
“They’ll also be showing him pictures of skinny little children who’ve got enough to eat, and sick people who’re getting effective treatment.” The Ute Catholic ended his sermonette with: “Good works are habit-forming.”
Parris was about to make a snappy comeback when their conversation was interrupted by a barely perceptible thumping on the dining-room door.
“Wa-hoo!” the hungry cop hollered. “Bring on the grub!”
Charlie Moon shared neither his friend’s enthusiasm nor Parris’s assumption that the waiter had already returned with their food. The Ute had recognized the distinctive request for admission, which was more on the order of—
A gentle rapping.
A mere tappity-tapping.
The Uninvited Guest
In the hallway outside the private dining room, someone announced his presence with a tentative “ahem.”
“C’mon in,” Charlie Moon rumbled.
The door opened a crack, to reveal a vertical slice of Samuel Reed’s face. “Excuse me, I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“You’re excused,” Scott Parris grumped.
Now hit the bricks.
Moon gestured the man in. “Have a seat.”
With a wary glance at the chief of police, the uneasy man eased himself inside. “I won’t be a moment.”
“Help yourself to a piece of candy.” Parris pointed at the jar. “If you’re still here when the food shows up, you can pay for the eats.” He regarded the party crasher with frank suspicion. “How’d you know me’n Charlie was here?”
“I’m living at the hotel nowadays.” Reed leaned his ivory-knobbed cane in a corner, hung his homburg on a hatrack, and slipped into a chair beside Charlie Moon’s. “One of the employees told me you were having a meal in the Paiute Room.”
“And you figured you’d drop by.” Parris gave him the gimlet eye.
“Well, yes.” Reed met the cop’s hard gaze. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Speaking of minds,” Moon said, “what’s on yours?”
Unsure of how much he should reveal to the lawmen, Reed thrummed his fingers on the dining table. After considering several options, he decided on the minimalist approach. “I have recently had an unsettling encounter with an attractive lady that I’d never laid eyes on before today. I thought I’d ask whether either of you two know anything about her.”
Each of the men instantly assumed his best poker face, which was world class in Charlie Moon’s case and fair to middlin’ in the instance of Scott Parris.
“Her name is Theodora Phillips,” Reed said. “She represents herself as an attorney.”
Parris waited for his friend to take the lead.
Which Charlie Moon did in about 250 milliseconds. “Is
she
in town?”
“She was.” Reed blinked owlishly at the Ute. “The lady left a few hours ago.”
“That’s
fortuitous,
” Parris said.
The man who’d been royally flimflammed looked from one steely-eyed cop to the other. “Is Ms. Phillips a disreputable person?”
Parris rolled his eyes.
Moon scowled but held his silence.
“Well tell me!”
The Ute looked at the white cop.
Parris sighed. “You tell him, Charlie.”
Moon did. “Don’t
ever
mess with Miss Phillips.” The period at the end of this bottom line was the size of a cast-iron skillet.
Reed’s mouth gaped. “That’s it?”
The tribal investigator nodded. “End of story.”
“But you can’t just leave me hanging—”
“Sure we can.” Parris’s eyes twinkled. How brightly? Like a couple of two-for-a-dollar sparklers on the Fourth of July.
Moon should’ve left it there, but the merry Ute couldn’t help himself. “It’s what’s known in the trade as a
short
story.”
Reed’s lips went thin. “Gentlemen, this is not funny!”
“Neither’s that lady lawyer,” Moon said. “And don’t tell me and Scott what kind of business you were conducting with her.”
Parris shook his head. “We don’t want to know.”
“Forget you ever heard of her,” the tribal cop warned.
Reed’s face paled to a chalky white. “The people she is associated with—are they as dangerous as she suggests?”
The lady’s dangerous associates exchanged knowing looks.
“Some folks who’ve crossed paths with ’em might say so,” Moon said.
Parris added, “Those few who’ve lived to talk about it.”
“But I expect their reputations are puffed up some.” The Ute’s eye-twinkle was more like a pair of fireflies at five hundred yards. “All of ’em together probably haven’t personally maimed and killed more than a dozen men.”
Parris agreed with Moon’s estimate. “I’ve met tougher guys at Methodist Church socials.”
It appears that my fears were justified.
Reed thrummed his fingers on the table again. “Earlier this afternoon, I donated a significant amount of money to several worthy charities.”
“Did you, now?” Charlie Moon was already feeling two dollars richer.
The wealthy man nodded. “For the very first time.” He stopped finger thrumming long enough to slap his palm on the polished wooden surface. “And do you know what?”
The Ute shook his head. But he knew.
Scott Parris held his breath. He knew, too.
“It felt
good
!” Reed commenced to thrumming again. “From this day forward, I intend to contribute ten percent of my earnings to those who are less fortunate than myself.”
Parris’s mouth twisted into a sarcastic grin. “There’re plenty of us around.”
“Tithing is a time-honored practice and good for the soul.” Moon looked down his nose at the novice philanthropist. “But are we talking gross or net?”
The man of business thought it over. Thrummed harder. “Gross, by golly!”
“Now that’s the spirit!” Moon shot his friend the Look.
It’s payday, pard.
Scott Parris stuck his hand into his pocket and came up with eight quarter dollars.
“Thank you kindly.” Moon arranged the shiny coins into a neat stack. “Looks like some local official has been knocking off parking meters.”
“Consider it advance payment for assassinating eight local lowlifes of my choice.” Parris aimed a finger at the Indian, cocked it. “I’ll give you the list tomorrow.”
And Sam Reed’s nefarious name will be right at the top.
“What’s this all about?” The object of Parris’s ill thoughts hated being left in the dark.
“Nothing important,” the Ute said. “A small debt Scott owed me. Which reminds me—you still owe the both of us.”
The recently fleeced citizen blinked. “Owe you what?”
“The rest of your story.”
Reed arched both brows. “Story?”
The chief of police scowled at the paneled wall. “This danged room has an aggravating echo problem.”
Moon patted the wealthy man on the back. “You never finished your short story.”
“The one where you
remember the future
.” Parris put on a mocking smile.
“Oh, that.” Samuel Reed cleared his throat in preparation for a flimsy excuse that never got past his lips.
“Here we are.” Moon made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the occupants of the exquisite little hotel dining room. “Three chummy hardcases sitting around a smoky campfire.”
“Chewing on rotten buffalo jerky,” Parris added.
Moon aimed a reproving look at his friend. “That’s
rancid
buffalo jerky.”
“Oh, right.” Parris took a moment to grind his molars on the imaginary rancid flesh. “Thanks, Charlie.”
“Don’t mention it, pard.”
“This past-its-sell-by-date buff jerky’s not half bad,” Parris said. “But ain’t we washing it down with some genuine campfire coffee?”
“You betchum.” Moon tipped an imaginary tin cup of black coffee. “We’re sipping cowboy java whilst filtering the grounds between the gaps in our teeth.”
“That is
betwixt
the gaps.” Reed smiled at the cheerful cops. “And I believe you two comedians have quite made your point.”
The taller and leaner of the comics set the make-believe hot beverage aside. “Then it must be about time to hear the rest of your story.”
“If you insist.” Reed turned up his nose and sniffed. “But you will not like it.”
The Ute allowed himself just a hint of a smile. “That’s what you said that night during the stakeout.”
A peculiar expression began to creep its way over Reed’s face. Like a dead soul staring into the abyss and preferring blindness to what he saw there, his eyes seemed to glaze over. “I do have a tendency to repeat myself.” As he withdrew from his unsettling vision, the scientist’s mouth curled into a slightly lopsided grin that suggested a mild stroke. The situation was far more bizarre than the clever lawman could possibly have imagined.
Every word I utter simultaneously passes through countless lips.
A madman’s thought? Hard to say.
Moon’s faint smile had slipped away.
Reed’s right. I won’t like it.
Scott Parris:
This’ll be off-the-scale creepy.
Both assumptions were correct.
But if he had tried with all his might, Samuel Reed could not have cared less what they thought.