by Alan Cook
Chapter 22
Jock insisted on driving us in his car, even though
it was smaller than our Nissan. I couldn't blame
him if he didn't want to ride with someone who
usually drove on the wrong side of the road.
Arrow had to squeeze into the back seat and
we were grateful that it was only seventeen
miles to John O'Groats.
It rained intermittently and the gusts of wind were
cold. "How much does it rain here?" I asked Jock
as he navigated the narrow road between
pastures full of sheep and cows.
"There's an old Scottish saying: If it isn't raining
now it will rain soon."
That was comforting for us desert dwellers of
Southern California. I wondered how Larry, the
walker, was faring.
"Look at those funny red cows," Arrow said.
"They look so cute with their long hair. It's even
over their eyes."
"Highland cattle," Jock said. "Not terribly useful
except for postcards for the tourists. Other
breeds are more profitable."
We came down a slight grade into John O'Groats,
which consisted of a number of houses and the
John O'Groats Hotel, but not much more. Beyond
the rocky cliffs we could see the waters of the
North Sea, looking relatively calm compared to
what they must be like when the storms come
that the area is famous for.
"This is where Larry started his walk," Arrow said.
"Walk?" asked Jock.
She explained about Larry's quest.
"He's a bit daft, wouldn't you say?"
I had heard that the UK was a nation of walkers,
but apparently there were exceptions.
Jock turned off into a side street and parked in
front of a small but relatively new house. The
tiny yard looked well cared for and the white
front door was freshly painted.
Michael McTavish was expecting us; Jock had
telephoned him earlier. He answered the door
promptly to Jock's knock. He ushered us into the
house and shook hands with Jock and then with
Arrow and me. Then he led us to some worn but
still comfortable chairs in front of a fireplace with
a real fire in it, saying, "There's a chill in the air.
Perhaps this will help to warm your bones."
I suspected there was always a chill in the air here.
"The missus is running some errands," he said,
almost apologetically, "but she baked these."
He pointed to a plate of cookies on an end
table. There was also a pot of tea.
"Biscuits," Arrow said, taking a cookie when
Michael offered them to her. "See, I'm learning."
She took a bite. "Delicious."
As he poured each of us a cup of tea I noted
that Michael McTavish didn't seem to smile much.
Smaller than average height, he was also quite
thin. His lined face and graying hair assured me
that he was in the same generation as Ned and
James.
Michael and Jock doctored their tea with milk
and sugar. Arrow also took some sugar. I
tasted mine and decided that adding sugar was
the correct thing to do to diffuse the bitterness.
We sipped in silence for a minute, as I wondered
how to start the conversation. Then Jock said,
"Well, Michael, these two come from Los Angeles
and they know some old mates of yours."
"Who do you know, then?" Michael asked.
I mentioned Ned, James and Elma and watched
his face.
A look of recognition crossed it, but he didn't
smile. He said, "I knew them all." He hesitated
and said, "It has been many long years since I
have seen any of them."
"About thirty years?" Arrow asked.
Michael nodded. "Close to it. We were young
and carefree then. We were always together.
I hoped it would last forever, but one day
James and Ned left and never returned. I
believe Elma left some time later."
"I have some bad news about Ned," I said. I told
how he had been shot, without mentioning drugs.
"In San Francisco, did you say?" Jock asked. "Was
it the mafia, do you think?"
"I don't think so. In fact, he was shot in Chinatown,
but we don't think it was the Chinese mafia, either."
"Any clues?" Jock asked, deadpan.
"No clues."
Arrow launched into a brief history of what all
three had done since they left Wick. She told
about the marriage of Ned and Elma and a
summary of their business pursuits, without
glorifying them or mentioning money.
When she was through, Michael said, "That's quite
a story. Maybe I should have left too. The missus
was always after me to go, but somehow I never
got around to it. I do have me own business,
though. Selling woolen goods. If it's warm sweaters
you're after, we've got 'em. I'm even starting to do
some business on the Internet, but it's slow going."
"Have you got a website?" I asked.
"Yes, but I'm having problems getting the
customers to visit it. I'm trying to learn the
code and how to make it look pretty; I hired
a boy to put it together, but he costs money."
"Karl is an expert at creating websites," Arrow said,
giving me more credit than I deserved. "Let him
take a look at yours. Maybe he can help."
"And Arrow is an expert in marketing," I added.
"A pretty lass like yourself?" Michael said, dubious,
looking her over.
However, he led us into the tiny spare bedroom,
which he used as a home office. The state-of-the-art
computer equipment looked out of place in this remote
corner of the world, but Michael soon established a
connection to the Internet.
His website was bare-bones and I immediately
thought of a dozen ways it could be improved,
with better organization, use of color and modern
graphics techniques. A thought occurred to me.
If we could get on his good side he would be much
more likely to talk freely to us.
"I have some ideas," I told Michael. "If you like I'll
do some work on it, but I won't change any of
your existing pages so when I'm done you can
either use my suggestions or stay with what you
have. I can also get you hooked up with the best
search engines."
"I can't afford to pay you."
"No, no, this is fun for me. I wouldn't charge you
anything."
The look on Michael's face told me that he didn't
believe in taking something for nothing. I said,
"There is something you can do for us in return.
Elma asked...Elma is, umm, writing a book about
her early life in Scotland. She asked us that if
we were able to locate someone who knew her
and Ned and James, to have them tell us their
memories of those days so that she could use
them in the book."
Michael considered. "A book, is it? And she would
send me a copy?"
"Of course."
"I wouldn't mind reliving those days." He said it,
wistfully.
There was another thing we had to do--get rid
of Jock. Since the computer room wasn't large
enough to hold four people Jock was standing
outside the door looking like a guy who had just
missed the bus. I said, "Jock, this may take a
while. We really appreciate you bringing us here,
but you don't have to stay. We'll find our own
way back."
Jock wasn't going to be dismissed that easily. Since
the reason he had helped us was clear I turned to
Arrow and pleaded with her, using my eyes. She
squeezed past me and took him by the arm. I
couldn't hear what she said to him as she guided
him to the door, but I assumed she was bargaining,
perhaps promising him a date for tonight. It was
worth it, I told myself.
# # # #
Michael's wife returned while I was pounding on
the computer and Arrow and Michael were going
over his financial records on the dining room
table. I was completely engrossed in
programming, working fast to make up in speed
what I lacked in ability.
Michael had told us something about his wife so
when I heard the front door close I immediately
knew that I should show myself. I went quickly
into the dining room. Arrow and Michael were
sitting at the table with their heads close
together. She had convinced him that she did
know something about marketing.
Mrs. McTavish entered the room on her way to the
kitchen, with two large bags of groceries in her
arms, just as I got to the back of Arrow's chair
and put my hands on her shoulders. Michael
looked up, startled at the appearance of his wife.
He said, "Hello, dear, let me help you with those,"
sounding like a boy who has been caught
watching an adult movie on cable. He quickly
got up and took the bags from her. "These two
have come from Los Angeles to find out about
life here when we were young. Karl and Arrow,
this is my wife, Heather."
We said hello and Heather, who was short and
thin, like her husband, nodded, without speaking
or smiling and followed him through a swinging
door into the kitchen. We could hear their voices
then, speaking softly but rapidly, with Heather's
demanding and Michael's placating.
Arrow shrugged as if to say she couldn't help it
and she'd seen it all before.
I said, "What did you promise Jock to get him
to leave?"
"Not what you think. Although we may have to
meet him for a drink."
"So you included me."
"I'm certainly not going alone."
Michael came back into the room and said, "We
would like to have you stay for lunch."
Lunch. I looked at my watch. Time flies when you're
jet-lagged and don't know what time it really is. I
said, "Why don't we take you both out for lunch.
Is there a place nearby...?"
"The hotel's about the only place and we can do
better. You haven't eaten until you've tried
Heather's good hearty soup."
"We'd love to stay for lunch," Arrow said in a loud
voice. "I'll help Heather in the kitchen while you
two go over what Karl's done on the website."
She disappeared through the swinging door, the
soul of domesticity, and we could hear her
complimenting Heather on her kitchen.
Michael looked at me in relief as he cleared his
papers off the table.
# # # #
"James was the leader of our gang, if you want
to call it that. He was the one with all the ideas,
some of them pretty daft. Ned was his best friend.
They shared everything, including Elma."
Michael stopped to eat a spoonful of soup, which
was indeed both good and hearty. He and I each
had a glass of beer. Arrow and Heather drank tea,
although I knew by now that Arrow detested it.
"I was younger than Elma," Heather said, "but I
always thought she was a wild one. Two
boyfriends at the same time and then running
off to America all my herself."
"She's quieted down a lot," Arrow said. "Raising
three kids will do that to you."
She and Heather laughed together; Heather had
also raised three kids. Suddenly the two of them
were best buddies. Arrow had apparently convinced
Heather that she was sweet and innocent, in spite
of the fact that she was traveling abroad with
somebody who wasn't her husband or even her
intended.
Heather jumped up from the table and scurried
into the kitchen.
"I understand that James invented something called
The Game," I said, attempting to steer the
conversation.
"Aye, The Game," Michael said. "James liked to play
games that he was good at. He was always looking
for an edge. I remember one time I played it..." He
stopped and glanced at Heather, who had just
returned with a lamb dish.
"Let's hear what you have to say, Michael
McTavish," Heather said, placing the dish in
front of him. "Don't stop on account of me. I
already know enough about your sorry youth to
convince your father to disinherit you."
"Small loss that would be," Michael said. "Well, this
was before you were in the picture, Heather. You
were still a skinny child..."
"You were no Adonis, yourself."
"There was this girl I had my eye on..."
"And who would that be?"
"Nobody you would remember. If you wish to hear
my story, woman, then let me tell it. James knew
her and promised to fix me up with her if I won
The Game. The penalty if I lost was to run
through the center of town with no clothes on."
"I don't remember that."
"If you were smart you were snug inside by the
fire. It was a miserable day, rain and wind, and
few people were about. I almost caught
pneumonia."
"If I had seen you naked I would have had more
sense than to marry you."
"I take it you lost The Game," I said, smiling.
"Yes. I had practiced, but at the last minute James
changed the rules and I had to throw for different
squares. That was like James."
"Elma said that a boy got killed as a result of The
Game." Arrow said this casually, as if to make
conversation, but she stole a glance at me as
she said it.
"Killed?" Michael had a puzzled expression.
"Was that the Stewart boy?" Heather asked. "As
I recall he fell onto the rocks."
Arrow and I looked at each other again, but we
kept quiet.
"Dickie Stewart," Michael said, as if remembering.
"He was part of the group. One day he took it into
his head to climb the cliff from the beach. He must
have slipped. It was very sad."
"Did he climb the cliff as a penalty for losing The
Game?" I asked.
Michael took a sip of beer, then another. After
a few more sips he said, "As I recall I was laid
up in bed at the time--influenza I think it was,
and I don't know the details."
"But you must have talked to the other boys,"
Arrow said, with a tinge of disbelief.
"I don't recall that. I went to Dickie's funeral, of
course, even though I was still a bit rocky. By
the time I had recovered the affair was over
and forgotten."
"Perhaps there are other members of your group
still here who would know what happened,"
Arrow said.
"Why is it so important?" Michael asked. "No
good can come of it now. And there are many
other stories I can tell you."
"It isn't important," I said. "And we would love
to hear your stories."
# # # #
Michael drove us back to the hotel after regaling
us with stories for two hours. Arrow had brought
a tape recorder with her and made a great show
out of recording what he said so that we could
maintain our credibility.
When he mentioned boys by name we asked him
their current whereabouts. We also slipped in
the names Elma had given us. According to
Michael, one member of the gang was dead, one
was in London, but none were still in northern
Scotland. He said he had lost track of several
others. Apparently, they were more adventurous
than Elma had given them credit for.
The hotel desk had a message for Arrow from Jock,
saying that he had some information for us.
"I'll call him from my room," Arrow said as we took
the elevator--pardon me, the lift. "I want you to
be with me."
We went into her room and she called the number
given on the message. Jock asked her to meet
him; Arrow invited him to come for a drink at the
hotel. Jock said he'd like her to go to his place;
she said she would bring me along. They agreed
to meet at eight.
When she hung up she said, "He sounds horny and
he's not my type. If you don't want to go we
can cancel."
"Did he say what kind of information he has?"
"No, he just said that we'd find it very
interesting."
# # # #
We drove our car to Jock's flat. Jock had offered
to pick us up, but Arrow had said we'd drive and
got very specific instructions from him. He said
it was only five minutes from the hotel.
His instructions turned out to be good and we
arrived at his place without mishap. Jock let us
into the first floor flat. Another man was there
who Jock introduced as his roommate. I didn't
catch his name. He was big, larger than Jock,
and he had what seemed to be a permanent,
slightly stupid grin pasted on his face. He couldn't
take his eyes off Arrow.
The room we entered gave me an uncomfortable
feeling, the kind you get when you stumble on a
slice of life that makes you think, "This could
have been me." It wasn't just the messiness of
the room and disrepair of the sparse furniture
but a feeling that the occupants either had lost
hope or didn't care.
The ancient telly showed a British sitcom; Jock
turned it off and offered us beer. We both
turned him down. He and his roommate had
mugs. I decided that we should get out of there
as soon as possible and I knew Arrow felt the
same way. She just barely perched on the edge
of one of the few chairs. I stood.
"Well, Jock, tell us what you found out," I said,
hoping to make this short and sweet.
"I have a friend with some connections," Jock
said, relishing the word "connections." "He knows
everything that goes on here."
I felt like saying that couldn't be much of a job,
but I held my tongue.
"I ran the names of your three friends past him,"
Jock continued. "He recognized one of them."
"Which one?" Arrow asked.
Jock disappeared into the next room. Arrow tried
to converse with the roommate, who was sitting
opposite her and still grinning at her, but he only
grunted in reply.
Jock returned with two more bottles of beer and
gave one to his roommate. He said, "Are you sure
you won't have a beer?"
Arrow and I shook our heads in unison.
He took his time opening a bottle and pouring
some beer into his mug, carefully, so as not
to have any of the foam spill over the edge.
My arms itched to shake his information out
of him.
Finally satisfied, Jock took a sip, set down his
mug and said, "It was James Buchanan my
friend recognized. He has been here in Wick
within the past year."
"What was he doing here?" I asked.
"Before you kicked me out, yesterday, I heard
Michael McTavish say that he had not seen any
of them for 30 years. But Michael saw James
Buchanan when he was here. In fact, they met
at Mackays Hotel. So Michael is playing some
sort of a game with you."
"Are you sure?" Arrow asked.
"Are you doubting my word?"
I was inclined to trust Michael over Jock, but on
the other hand I couldn't think of any reason
why Jock would lie to us. We asked him some
more questions, but he stuck by his story. He
wouldn't tell us the name of his contact. He
also didn't seem to have any more information.
Arrow stood up and said, "Thank you very much,
Jock. We appreciate you telling us this. We
don't want to intrude on you any more so we'll
leave now."
She edged toward the outside door and I started
to follow her. Jock's roommate stood, still grinning,
and moved between Arrow and the door.
"You're not intrudin', Dearie," Jock said. "But you
are," he said, turning to me. "You may leave now."
I didn't say anything. I thought I could handle
Jock, one on one, but his roommate was a
different story. Arrow made a quick movement
to go by him. He grabbed her from behind and
wrapped his arms around her. He lifted her as
if she were a pile of laundry and turned to face
Jock and me while she ineffectively kicked at his
legs. As he set her down he momentarily
squeezed the breath out of her and she
became limp.
I wanted to wipe the grin off his face, but knew
I couldn't. Think fast. "I'm not supposed to tell you
this," I started, "because it's classified information,
but Arrow and I are here on a special mission." I
looked at the roommate. "I'll tell you about it if
you let her go."
He had slid his hands under her sweater and he
was very deliberately feeling her up. At least
she could breathe, but if anything, the grin on
his face had broadened. Arrow's look was one of
pure terror. Jock had a sneer on his face.
The roommate had given no indication that he
understood me, but I had no choice but to
continue. Looking mostly at the roommate I
said, "You've heard of the CIA. Arrow and I are
members of the CIA. If anything happens to her
others will come looking for you. I don't want to
scare you, but you will be eliminated and your
bodies will never be found."
Roommate was looking at me, still grinning,
but there was a hint of something else there
too--perhaps fear? His hands had stopped
moving although he still held one of Arrow's
breasts firmly in each hand.
"If you're CIA, show us some identification,"
Jock sneered.
I slowly reached into my pocket and pulled out
my wallet. All I had was a California driver's
license and I wasn't going to show that to Jock
because he would see through it immediately.
I unfolded my wallet; my driver's license was
visible through a plastic window. With my thumb
and forefinger I slid the license up slightly so that
the large-print word "CALIFORNIA" was hidden by a
leather strip at the top of the window.
While I did this I took several steps toward Arrow and
the roommate. I flashed the driver's license at him,
long enough for him to see my photo but not long
enough for him to read any of the smaller print still
showing. He grunted, but didn't move to free Arrow.
I refolded my wallet and stuck it back in my
pocket. I pulled my hand out of my pocket and
in the same motion grabbed a small appliance
sitting on a table, probably a CD player. The
cord tightened as I picked it up; I jerked the
machine, yanking the cord out of the socket,
and then smashed the machine against the
roommate's head.
He tried to put his hands up to defend himself, but
they were impeded by Arrow's sweater. By the
time he ripped her sweater open it was too late
and the blow had landed. Freed from his grip,
Arrow twisted away from him and ran to the door.
Roommate stood holding his head, stunned,
giving me the opportunity to hit him a second
time. The machine cracked open. As Arrow
opened the door Jock grabbed me from behind.
In one of those super-strength moments you
read about I whirled around, breaking his grip
and hit him with the remains of the machine.
I followed Arrow out the door and to the car,
which was fortunately only a few steps away.
She ran around it to the passenger side. I
dropped the last piece of the machine and fumbled
for the keys as I came up to it.
I looked back to see Jock standing in the doorway,
trying to decide whether to follow us. He evidently
thought better of it because by the time I got the
door open he still hadn't moved. Arrow and I got in
and locked the doors before I started the car.
Then I drove off.
# # # #
Arrow was still shivering when we got to her room,
even though I had given her my jacket to wear. I
went inside to make sure she was all right. As soon
as I closed the door she fell in to my arms, put her
head on my shoulder and sobbed. I patted her on
the back and made what I hoped were soothing
noises. I eased us over to the bed and sat us
down on it.
Her shaking abated after a while. When she had
calmed down enough to talk she said, "Don't
leave me."
I persuaded Arrow to wash her face and hands
and even clean her teeth while I went back to my
room and did the same. When I returned she was
under the covers and indicated that I should join her.
I took off my shirt and belt, leaving on a T-shirt and
jeans. I climbed under the covers. Arrow still wore
her jeans and bra. Her mangled sweater lay in a
heap on the floor.
I turned out the light. She went to sleep in my arms.
Much later, I also slept.
Aces and Knaves copyright ©2002 Alan L. Cook
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