He checked his watch. It was barely two a.m. “Folks get an early start here?” Stone asked, nodding at the mini-caravan of dirty Fords and Chevys.
“They’re miners.”
“Going to work?”
“Nope. Next shift starts at seven. Those boys are heading to the clinic to get their methadone pop for thirteen bucks. Then they go to work.”
“Methadone?”
“Some folks have cereal for breakfast, miners have methadone mixed with OJ in a cup. Just the way it is around here. Lot cheaper than snorting oxy up your nose or banging it into your feet. And that way you don’t get dinged for dirty urine and lose your miner’s license.” Danny pointed up ahead to a small storefront set next to a clothing shop on one side and a hardware store on the other. Apparently Home Depot and Wal-Mart had not yet seen an opportunity in the isolated hamlet of Divine.
“That’s my mom’s place.”
Stone eyed the sign. “Rita’s Restaurant and Bar. So your mom’s name is Rita?”
Danny wagged his head and grinned. “Nope. Rita ran the place before her. My mom never had enough money to switch the sign out. Then when she got some cash she figured why bother changing it. Everybody already knew it was her place. Her name’s Abigail, but everybody calls her Abby.”
Danny put a key in the front door of the restaurant and motioned Stone to follow him in.
“Does your mother live here?”
“Nope, but there’s an apartment above the restaurant. You can crash there for what’s left of tonight.”
“What about you?”
“I got things to do, people to see. Get myself patched up.” He touched his face and his leg.
“A doctor at this hour?”
“Don’t need no doctor. Hell, just feels like Friday night after a football game. Can’t let it screw up your life. I got the quick fix all right.”
“You sure it’s okay that I stay here for the night?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll be back about the time Mom opens up for breakfast. Get it all straight with her.”
Stone looked around the interior of the place. A long, polished mahogany bar with stools in front that was set at one end, with a deuce of pool tables and a 1950s-era jukebox anchoring the other end. In between were tables with checkered tablecloths and wheel-back chairs. The place didn’t smell like a bar; it smelled like lemons and fresh air. From the looks of things Abigail Riker kept her place of business orderly and clean.
“Danny, is there any place around town I can do some work? I’m a little short on cash.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Danny led him upstairs and a few minutes later an exhausted Stone was asleep on the small bed there.
A few hours later he woke up when he felt something hard touch his cheek.
It got his full attention.
Twelve-gauge shotgun muzzles usually did.
CHAPTER 12
“WHO IN THE HELL are you?”
Stone didn’t move. Swift motion in the face of a big-bore weapon was never advisable.
“Are you Abigail Riker?”
“I’m asking the questions.”
Stone saw her finger slide to the trigger.
“My name’s Ben. Danny Riker said I could sleep here.”
Stone saw her finger slide to the trigger as her scowl deepened. “You’re lying. Danny’s gone.”
“Well, he’s back now. I met him on the train. He got in a fight with some guys. I helped him out. He’s a little beat up so he decided to come back here for a bit. I just came along.”
The woman was in her early forties, petite, five-three, with narrow hips and the lean body of someone to whom food was not of much interest. Her braided hair was long and dark with hints of silver. Her cheekbones were high and tight. Her face was lovely but her wide green eyes flashed at Stone as she snapped, “How beat up is he?”
“Not that bad, mostly bruises. Can you get the shotgun out of my face? An accidental discharge would do a little more damage to me than that.”
She stepped back but kept the muzzle pointed halfway between the floor and Stone’s head.
“You said you helped him? Why?”
“It was three on one. Didn’t seem all that fair. You mind if I stand up? My back is really starting to ache.”
She took another step back as Stone stood and stretched. They heard feet on the stairs and a moment later Danny Riker appeared, his handsome face with the swollen cheek grinning as he sized up the situation.
“See you two already got acquainted.”
“Yeah,” Stone said tersely, eyeing the gun. “It was a nice way to wake up.”
His mother had seemed dumbstruck to see her son. She found her voice and said, “What the hell’s going on, Danny? You talked and talked about getting out, broke my heart, I did my crying and now you’re back?” She swung the shotgun in Stone’s direction. “And this man says only for a little bit.”
“Took a detour, Ma. Shit happens.”
“Yeah, well, shit seems to happen a lot to you.” She lowered the shotgun and looked at Stone. “This man says he helped you in a fight. And from the looks of your face he’s telling the truth.”
“He did. Took three guys out all by himself. And he throws a knife like I’ve never seen.”
She now seemed to appraise Stone in a different light. “You look a little old to be running around like Rambo.”
“Trust me, I feel it this morning,” said Stone. “I take it you are Abigail Riker?”
Instead of answering she said, “Guess you two are hungry. Come on, coffee’s hot and so are the eggs.”
They followed her downstairs where Stone could see the restaurant was already mostly full. Many of the customers were middle-aged men with coal dust rings under their eyes dressed in coveralls with reflective stripes on them.
“Miners off the night shift,” Danny explained.
If Stone hadn’t known better he would’ve thought he’d just walked into a hospital ward. Most of the men sat bent over, in obvious pain. Their hands, arms, legs, backs were all wrapped with something. Butchered fingers were curled tight around mugs of coffee. Cracked plastic safety helmets were on the floor next to feet that were encased in steel-toed boots. The men’s eyes were red and unfocused. Lung-shattering coughs filled the room.
“Hell of a way to make a living,” said Abby in a low voice as she led them to an empty table near the counter. She’d obviously observed Stone’s amazed look.
She made plates for them and a famished Stone took the next ten minutes to devour two helpings and drink down three cups of piping hot coffee.
Abby drew a chair up next to them. She eyed her son and waited until he bit into a fourth piece of toast before cuffing him on the ear.
“What was that for?”
“You left and now you’re back.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be heading out before you know it. Nobody needs to get pissed off.”
“I didn’t say I was pissed off.”
“Well, are you?”
“Yes!”
Stone observed this exchange and then, simply to break the tension, said, “Where are you headed to?”
“Don’t know. See where it takes me.”
“Where what takes you?” Stone asked.
He shrugged. “Dreams. Everybody’s got dreams. Might end up in California. Maybe in the movies. I’m tall and good-looking enough. Maybe I’ll be a stuntman.”
Abby shook her head. “How about college? That dream ever flit inside that big head of yours?”
“Ma, we’ve had that talk.”
“No, I’ve had that talk and you decided not to enter the discussion.”
“If my knee had held up, I’d be playing ball for Virginia Tech right now. But it didn’t. So what good is college gonna do me? It’s not like I was such a great student in high school.”
“You’re not stupid!”
“Never said I was. Just not book smart.”
She looked over at Stone.
“Did you go to college?”
He shook his head. “Wanted to but I ended up going to war instead.”
She said, “Vietnam?” He nodded.
“So that’s why you fight so good. You ain’t one of them crazy vets with a metal plate in your head, are you?” said Danny, grinning. “A walking time bomb?”
“The man fought for his country, Danny, don’t make that into a joke,” scolded his mother.
“I made it home without any metal plates,” Stone said.
“Ever get shot?” Danny asked eagerly.
Stone said, “I agree with your mother. College should be on your radar.”
“Well, I’ll just go sign up right now. Just give me a check for a hundred grand for Harvard, Ma, and I’m out of here.”
Abby started to say something when the door opened. Stone could sense the quiet chatter in the restaurant fading away. When he looked up he saw the big man standing in the doorway, his uniform sparkling and his Stetson perched at an angle on his head. His skin was leathery and lined from wind and sun. But it was a handsome face, its jaw tight and jutting like the lower half of a medieval helmet. The curly fringes of his dark hair stuck out from under the rim of the Stetson. His right hand rested over the top of his holstered pistol like a road scavenger’s claw over its kill.
His gaze swung around Rita’s until it came to rest on Abby Riker. He smiled. Then he saw Stone sitting next to her. And the big man stopped smiling.
CHAPTER 13
ALEX FORD WAS HEADING OUT to grab some lunch when the man approached him on the street outside of the Secret Service’s Washington Field Office.
“Got a minute?” the fellow asked, flashing his creds.
Alex flinched when he saw the Agency insignia.
Great, here we go.
“What’s this about, Agent Knox?” But he really already knew of course.
“We need to talk.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
The two men started off and soon they reached a small park where Knox sat on a bench and motioned for Alex to join him.
Knox spoke for some minutes, mostly telling Alex things he already knew.
“Your friend’s not at home,” Knox said.
“Really? I haven’t been by to see him lately.”
“But according to my sources you have been by to see the lady that was staying there. Funny, she’s gone too. What can you tell me about her?”
“Not much.”
“Let’s start with a name.”
Alex drew a shallow breath. This could get real complicated real fast. “What’s her involvement? Or my friend’s?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Her name?”
“Susan. Susan Hunter.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“No.” At least that’s the truth.
“What’s your relationship with her?”
“Just friends.”
“And why is your friend gone now?”
“Who knows? Here today, gone tomorrow. She’s just that sort of person.”
“Your other friend Oliver Stone received a commendation from none other than the FBI director for helping to break up a spy ring here in D.C.”
“That’s right. I was involved in that at the end. But he deserves the credit.”
“And he used to have a tent in Lafayette Park. A White House protestor. And he was caretaker at a cemetery. And he helps break up spy rings. Interesting career choices.”
“He’s an interesting guy.”
“What else can you tell me about this interesting guy? Like his connection to Carter Gray?”
“Carter Gray?” Alex did his best to appear baffled even as the sweat gathered under his armpits. By lying to a federal officer he’d already committed several felonies. He was digging his professional grave deeper with each word.
“Yeah. Carter Gray. Stone went to see him on the night his house was blown up. You came out the next day with him to the crime scene. I’ve talked to the FBI agents who were out there with both of you.”
“Right, right. Well, I knew that Oliver had gone to see Gray because he told me he had. I don’t know why. He asked me to come with him to meet the FBI agents. So I did. As far as I know that’s where it was left.”
“How’d you two meet?”
“Anybody who’s pulled White House Protection Detail knows about Oliver Stone. He was a fixture in Lafayette Park for a long time.”
“You happen to know his real name, or is the famous film director moonlighting?”
“I don’t know his real name.”
“I thought Secret Service agents were more inquisitive than that. Guy was right across from the White House and you don’t even know his real name?”
“It’s a free country. He never did anything threatening. Just exercising his right to protest. We just thought he was an eccentric.”
“So the name John Carr ring any bells?”
Alex had been expecting that follow-up question. “No, but it sounds familiar for some reason.”
“It was the name of a soldier whose grave was dug up at Arlington Cemetery. On Gray’s orders.”
“That’s right. I read about it in the papers. I wonder what the hell that was about?”
Knox just stared at him.
Finally Alex broke the silence. “I don’t know what to tell you, Agent Knox.”
“The truth would be helpful.”
The migraine started in the center of Alex’s forehead. “I’m telling you the truth.”
Knox looked down and shook his head slowly. When he glanced back up his features were sad. “You aiming to scuttle your career over this guy, Ford?”
“I know him as Oliver Stone. That’s it.”
“You know his buddies. Reuben Rhodes and Caleb Shaw?”
“Yes. They’re my friends too.”
“And one recently died.” Knox looked at a little notebook he held. “Milton Farb. Killed in his house over six months ago.”
“That’s right. We were all really upset about that.”
“I’m sure. Police never solved the crime?”