The Daisy Ducks Read online

  "What?"

  "The night you stayed at Flying K with us, I woke up in the dead of night and couldn't get back to sleep. I kept thinking of those dry-gulchers on my land. So I got dressed and decided to hike down to that arroyo in the dark to see what I could see. I stopped by your room to see if you wanted to come along, but your door was locked. When I peeked in the window, I saw you were asleep. You'd had a tough day, so I went alone."

  "Ah! And did you see anything?"

  "Not the men, but their dry camp. A week later, I took three of my men out there and set up an ambush. We grabbed two of them and turned them in."

  "That'll teach 'em," I said.

  "Now, Doc, I got to do something I don't want to do. I've been talking with Bill for two hours, and he's filled me in on a lot. Let's go get Roantis. I want both of you to follow me to the top of the mountain for a few minutes," he said quietly. "The others can wait here."

  So, with weary feet, we went to the summit. There, we left the rock face and entered scrubby woods. We walked for twenty or thirty yards through bushy tangles and creeper vines, then descended into a little hollow of bigger trees. There were ferns on the floor of it and softly sighing pine boughs overhead. We all stopped. Roantis and I looked at Kaunitz. What pronouncement was he going to make?

  "How's Bill?" asked Roantis.

  "So-so, but better than I thought he'd be. We had a long talk while you were gone. He told me everything. Actually, he hasn't been as bad a boy as we all think. Lieutenant, I asked you up here for an important reason. Straight ahead, about ten paces, is the man who tried to kill you."

  We both stared at him for a second, waiting for the grin, the punch line, the wry gag. None came. We went forward and saw an upright stone set in a small clearing. There were two little American flags, one on each side of the stone. And carved on its face was a single word:

  VILARDE.

  28

  ROANTIS WALKED up to the stone and touched it, placed both hands on it, perhaps to see if it was real.

  "It's a lie," he said in a whisper. "The one man I trusted and liked above all others was Ken."

  He dropped to one knee and stared at the name on the granite. It was a professionally carved gravestone. Somebody had trucked it all the way out there and set it on the grave. He grabbed at the ground, then let the pine needles and sand dribble from his hand slowly.

  "Where did you hear this? It's a lie."

  Kaunitz sat down cross-legged next to him.

  "Royce told me."

  "Royce is nuts. This proves it. Either he shot me or Jusuelo. Not Ken."

  "Maybe. Maybe not. You remember 1978? Ken was just back from a tour in Syria. He had a month's leave before he went back. This time to Afghanistan. Remember?"

  Roantis nodded, wrinkling his brow. But beneath the frown of disbelief a vague realization was coming to him. He nodded again. `

  "Ken wanted to fly to Kowloon then, but you said wait. Wait till the tour in Afghanistan is over, then you'll be out for good."

  Roantis flung down the handful of dirt.

  "Yeah I remember. But Ken agreed. Listen: I'd had that scrape with the law then. I couldn't even leave the state." Fred said nothing. Roantis stared at the stone. "I mean, at least he dint fight it. He went along with it."

  "Uh-huh. Because since you got the Siva in the first place, and you were his CO, he figured it was your place to call the shots. He told Royce about your probation, too. But I guess he figured if you really wanted to go, you could have. So no, the two of you didn't fly to Kowloon. Ken went to the heartland of Asia for a boonie stint and special ops. On one of them he caught shrapnel. Damn near died before they could get him out."

  Roantis kept picking up the dirt, grinding it in his palm, and flinging it down. He stared at the carved name inches from his face. Kaunitz continued.

  "So, as he recovered he began to think. He thought how close he'd come to dying, how close you'd come to getting it all for yourself And that maybe you'd half planned it that way. Meanwhile his wife, Rosie, who's sick and tired of living in trailers and government billets, meets this rich real estate developer out in California . . ."

  I squatted down on my heels and stared at the ground. The rest of the picture was easy to fill in.

  ". . . so, when Ken finally comes stateside, he finds his wife and daughter gone. Gone with the rich guy. The rich guy that he could have been."

  "So he blamed me!" Roantis blurted out.

  Kaunitz drew lines in the dirt with a stick, played with it, the way people do when they're saying something difficult.

  "Something like that. He figured maybe it was your long-range plan to take it all. Not that Royce, or any of us, believe it. But something had happened to Ken. The defeat in Nam, the near-miss in the Afghan mountains, and Rosie's desertion . . . These things can change a guy."

  A long silence followed. Kaunitz played with his digging stick. I squatted, looking at the dirt. I watched a black ant struggling headlong over twigs and pebbles, as if on a great mission. Did he know where he was going? Did any of us?

  "So by last fall, Ken had it in his mind—had convinced himself, you know—that all his troubles could be placed on you. He needed somewhere to put all his misery and —"

  "I know, I know!" shouted Roantis, getting to his feet. He paced back and forth in front of his comrade's grave. "I get the picture, Freddie. When he called me about getting the Siva in October, he was setting me up. Tracking me. For weeks I knew something was up. I been doing this stuff long enough to tell when somebody's on my backtrail. But I never thought it would be him."

  "Royce told me that when he first saw Vilarde a few months ago, Ken felt betrayed all around. He hated the army. He hated America. He hated Rosie. He hated you. All he wanted was enough loot to take off and forget it."

  There was that word again. And I thought back to my little visit to Moe's trailer, when he'd warned me of the Siva, saying it would taint everything it touched. As usual, he was right. "Just about then, he ran into Jusuelo. The two fit together like meshed gears. Both Hispanics felt used and betrayed by the Anglos. They thought it was time they worked for themselves. Jusuelo was making some big drug hauls out of the Caribbean, where he grew up. Now he needed a big chunk of cash to make the biggest buy ever. And, of course, Vilarde knew just where to get it . . . and get even with you at the same time, lieutenant."

  Roantis began walking back. We stood up and followed him through the brush, talking as we went.

  "Ken followed me to Doc's house and ambushed me there, out in the country. Makes sense. He wouldn't do it in the city. He takes the key, and then he and Jusuelo fly to Kowloon with both keys, retrieve the Siva, and peddle it."

  "Yeah. Royce thinks it was somewhere in the islands, like maybe Grand Cayman, where they sold it. They took the cash from that, made the big buy south of the border somewhere, and arranged for a series of drops by air. The first two drops went okay. The third one, Doc, is the one you jinxed."

  "I didn't mean to—it was an accident."

  "Yeah, like everything else you managed to do," growled Roantis.

  "How did Royce and his little rascals get involved in it?" I asked. "Was he in from the beginning?"

  "Naw. Jusuelo was looking for an FOB—that's forward operations base to you, Doc—and South Florida was getting hot as hell. Jusuelo tracked Royce down out here when he heard he was back in country. It didn't take him long to realize that Royce, with his survivalist thing, had the perfect hideout and cover for his operations, including a farm in the wilderness that could be used for the drops. Royce resisted at first, but Jusuelo offered him money, arms, supplies, and help. Finally—and this shows what a bad egg he'd become—he found a way to take advantage of Royce's instability and enslave him."

  "Yeah. He got him doing the hard stuff," I said. "I could tell that when I first met him."

  "Yep. What he did to Bill, all right. So enter Vilarde, and there you have it."

  "And then Jusuelo killed Ken for h
is cut," said Roantis.

  "Oh no. I mean, Jusuelo turned bad, but not totally rotten. He was true to Vilarde till the end. What happened was, after they unloaded the Siva and went south to make the buy, they flew back to Miami. From there they headed back this way, the two of them driving a brand-new Caddy Eldo with a satchel full of leftover cash. That, plus the cash they'd gotten from the first two drops, was what Jusuelo carried away on the flatcar this morning, by the way."

  Kaunitz threw his digging stick away. He held it by one end and flung it sidearm, and it made a whirring noise as it sailed out over the valley.

  "So anyway, somewhere in Georgia they stop for supper and then go to a road joint for a couple of beers. I guess they were celebrating pretty good. Maybe doing some coke too. Who knows? Anyway, they were flying high and feeling no pain. They're on top of the world. just when they're about to leave, a bunch of locals come in and start in on them, giving them shit, like why don't they go back to Mexico with the other bean bandits—shit like that, you know. Well, you can imagine they weren't about to put up with it, especially a hothead like Jusuelo. One thing led to another, and the two Ducks were cleaning house on these guys when one of them pulls a blade and sticks Ken a good one, right in the side."

  "Oh Christ," grunted Roantis. "What a goddamn waste."

  "But see, according to what Jusuelo told Royce, Ken had enough beer in him, and enough God-knows-what too, he didn't feel it hardly. Jusuelo gets the blade from the other dude and sticks him back. Guy passes out on the floor, bleedin' like a stuck pig. So both Jusuelo and Vilarde know it's getting hot. They can't afford to stick around and get pulled in. Both were good enough field medics to stop the bleeding enough to make it back here and go to a clinic or outpatient ward and get Ken sewed up. So they hightail it out of there, Jusuelo driving. Ken says he's tired and he'll get in back and rest. He falls asleep. When Jusuelo tried to wake him an hour later, he was gone."

  "Jesus," I said.

  "So they brought him out here and buried him. Doc, that was only a week and a half before you showed up here. And let me tell you something: you don't know how close you came to dying. Royce says when that plane crashed, Jusuelo went crazy to kill you. He was going to do nothing until he'd hunted you down.

  But Royce put the brakes on, saying your death would only draw Roantis and the rest of us. As it was, they didn't know Daisy was out here until they took her from your camper. But Royce described you to Jusuelo, who recognized you at the hospital. After he greased the pilot, he waited outside for you. Then what does he see but you being taken away in a police cruiser! Hell, he thought you were going to take the fall. They all thought that ended their problems. I just say you were damn lucky the police collared you there, Doc."

  "And they took Daisy. Were they ever going to kill her?"

  "Bill says Jusuelo might have, but he wouldn't let him. No, Bill thought keeping Daisy would make us back off and strike a deal. It didn't work. And we got out here fast, slipped under their wire before they even expected us. If we'd waited another day, they'd have been waiting for us . . . and probably Jusuelo and the rest of the money would have been long gone to Brazil. That's where he and Ken had planned to go: to Rio, and live like kings for the rest of their lives."

  "How can we be sure Jusuelo is dead?" I said a little uneasily.

  "I think it's a safe bet," said Roantis, taking me aside. "And now, Freddie, if you'll wait a sec for Doc and me, there's something I gotta tell him."

  Kaunitz peeled off and went down the rock trail to the cave. Roantis sat on a boulder, and I leaned against a mountain poplar with lichens and vines all over it. Warblers sang above our heads in endless spontaneous riffs. A buzzard, with wide wings raised in a shallow V, soared in the rising hot air of a thermal. A crow cawed, and the river far below ran gray and white, making a soft whisper like white noise. I should have been relaxed but I wasn't. I did not like the way Roantis was looking at me. His knuckles were caked reddish brown with dried blood. The Colt service pistol, silver gray with the bluing gone, rode in the frayed canvas holster on his hip. The warm wind blew through his thinning hair. He looked old, old and ornery, like an outcast boar grizzly with bad teeth.

  "Well," he said, and lighted a Camel.

  "Well what?"

  "Well Freddie's ruined my day. Now I'm going to ruin yours."

  I bristled. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "What I'm talking about is what I said to you earlier. You're one of us, Doc. You may not have realized it yet, but now you're going to."

  "I don't know what you're trying to say. I helped you out is all."

  "Wait. Wait Doc," he said, holding up his hand like a traffic cop. "Hear me out. You think you're a doctor. You've got the sheepskin, too. But you're not."

  "Bullshit. But if it makes you happy to think that, go ahead."

  "I've thought it for some time. That's why I singled you out to help me. It worked. Now it turns out I'm not the only one who feels this way. You've spent time with us now. Each one of us. You were at Freddie's ranch. He's the best shot I've seen. He says you're one of the better ones he's seen."

  "Well, good for him. You know I shoot recreationally. Recreationally, Liatis. At targets."

  He dragged on the cigarette and nodded slowly.

  "Then Summers tells me you did quite a number on him in the bush last night."

  "I was scared. I got lucky. I thought he was going to kill me."

  Another drag, another nod. I hated him.

  "Finally there's Daisy. She told you her story. Her father, René Cournot, was my best friend in the Legion. Her mother was from Vietnamese nobility. After their deaths, I raised her. Still, I was gone a lot, considering my line of work, and she grew up a street kid in Saigon, Paris, and Okinawa. She can take care of herself. You cannot know just how good she is, and how deadly. During the war in Nam, she was a Roadrunner for us. The Roadrunners were indigenous personnel—native Vietnamese—who disguised themselves as VC at night and mingled with them. It was a hairy job. Daisy was great at it."

  "Uh-huh. I've had the feeling that old Daisy's been around the block a few times."

  "Yeah. You know, Daisy works for the U.S. Government now. That's what sprung Summers so fast when they tagged him at the airport. But anyway, she's good. And here's my li'l girl, who turned tricks with VC commanders before knifing them, who's won every empty-hand combat award there is—even on Okinawa. And who puts her down but good old Doc Adams. What do you say about that?"

  "Nothing. She put me down. She could've killed me. I got in a freak kidney shot is all."

  Another drag, another nod.

  "And then you set her free while the rest of us bozos are fucking around outside the cave."

  I slid my back down the raggedy tree trunk and let my butt hit the ground. I rubbed my hand through my hair, suddenly feeling very tired.

  "What do you want from me?"

  "I want you to admit, Doc, maybe only to yourself, that you don't really fit in your li'l world of suburbia. That's why you're trying to leave it all the time. You're one of us, Doc, whether you like it or not."

  "Go fuck yourself."

  He laughed at me, the Mongol eyes crinkling up at the corners. He held up his knuckles.

  "See? That's what we used on those kids when we got up in the cave. Not the guns. Know why? 'Cause one look and I knew we dint need 'em. Those kids were playing at it. They all had those Airborne T-shirts on. Bullshit. Fakes. Couple good punches and they folded up like day lilies. Not you, Doc. You're the real thing. In another time and place, with the proper training, you could've been one of the best."

  Well, I'd heard enough. I got up and stalked off down the trail. Why Roantis was trying to get at me like this was a mystery. I think he was just pissed off that I'd managed to set his girl free. Through a lucky break I'd stolen his show, and he was getting even. I also knew that he had to ask himself some pretty tough questions about his relationship with Ken Vilarde. Real tough questions. And th
e answers? They'd be even tougher. No matter how much he wanted to put his bad feelings off on me, he'd have to face them sooner or later.

  I threw on my rucksack in a foul mood. I was not going to tote the rifle back, either. To hell with it. If the rest of them had to have it, fine. But let them carry it. I stamped around and fumed, getting my stuff together. Why waste time? I wanted to get out of there and back to Mary.

  "What's eating you?" asked Summers.

  "It's time to split, that's what. Let's walk on out of here."

  "Freddie says he can't go: they have to book him. After that he's got to post bond to get out."

  "How much will bond be?"

  "Maybe five grand. Think we can come up with it, Doc?" He grinned.

  "Yeah. Maybe if we dig around hard enough."

  I felt a hand on my waist. Daisy. We turned to see Roantis come down the hill to his pack and take something out of it. A pint of booze. Damn. And he'd been clean for a couple of

  months. He didn't say a thing, just turned right around and headed back up the hill.

  "Oh-oh," said Summers. "Think I see a drunk comin' on. He goin' back up to Ken's grave. Bad news."

  The chopper came back an hour later to get Kaunitz. Hunnicutt told me they doubted they'd keep him more than a few hours, so we could walk back to the camper again, drive into town to the station, and by that time he'd probably be ready to join us.

  That is, if we could get Roantis down off that rock.

  We packed all our gear and let them take it in the chopper. When it blasted off the gravel bed and soared out over the river, Daisy and I went up there. Roantis was on his knees in front of the gravestone, hunched over with his head bowed. The tip of his forehead was touching it, his hands clinging to the top of it on each side of his lowered face. He looked like a Moslem praying. The bottle was almost dead. I put my hand on his shoulder and he stood up, reeking. He looked wonderful sad. Daisy hugged him for a long time while I stood by.

  Then the three of us went down off the rock together.