Liberty

CHAPTER EIGHT

They drove several miles before stopping at a pharmacy. Dane drove while Bones examined his wound, and pronounced it a mere scratch. Dane caught a glimpse of a big red gash right on the top of his shoulder and suspected his friend was downplaying it, but it did sound like the bullet had at least missed bone.

“I’m gonna get me a cold one and a thousand milligrams of ibuprofen and I won’t even feel it anymore,” Bones said.

“I don’t think drugstores in Pennsylvania sell beer,” Dane replied.

“Bummer. Maybe a nudie mag, then.”

After the drugstore, they stopped at a pay phone and looked at a phone book. The King of Pawns was the name of a pawn shop down closer to the airport.

Dane said, “That’s got to be it. The Celtic cross is the name of that logo we saw in Boston and in the pamphlet. It definitely means something to the Sons of the Republic.”

“Yeah, well, you know who else it means something to? The Klan.”

Dane nodded. “You’re right, I think I remember seeing that somewhere.”

“You think there’s any link between these jokers and the Klan?”

Dane shook his head. “Nah. These guys are about patriotism. Misguided and dangerous patriotism, but still. The Celtic cross has been around for centuries, so its importance to the Sons could easily date back to when they started a couple hundred years ago.”

“Good, because the Klan is full of rednecks, and you know how I feel about them.”

“I’d think you have enough motivation already,” Dane said.

Bones nodded and they returned to the car.

They drove in rare silence as Bones tended to his wound. The King of Pawns turned out to be in a pretty large space in a strip mall, with a big neon sign above the door. Inside, it had the same desperate feel of most such places, full of junk, which had once meant something to someone.

The pasty scalp of the man behind the counter reflected off the fluorescents on the ceiling. His face was covered with a wispy beard that couldn’t fail to hide the scars of serious acne earlier in life, though he was now at least fifty-five. He grinned at the two of them with yellowing teeth.

“Hi gentlemen. How can I help you?”

Bones took the lead in walking up to the counter. “Are you the owner?”

He said it with a smile, but towering nearly a foot taller than the man added a certain amount of urgency to the question.

The man opened his arms and let his eyes roam around the space. “This, in all its glory, belongs to me.”

Bones chuckled and held out his hand. “I’m Bones.”

The man shook the proffered hand. “I’m Isaac McLeod. Nice to meet you lads.”

Dane looked at him. “McLeod, huh? Do I detect a hint of a brogue?”

McLeod again displayed what remained of his teeth. “Ay laddie, ma faither wis fae auld Scotland.”

Before Dane could ask him to translate, McLeod laughed and his accent returned to 95 % Philadelphia. “Just having some fun. My father was from Scotland, brought me here when I was five years old. Now, what can I do for you? Couple of soldiers like you, I’m thinking you won’t be looking for some old rifle that no longer shoots straight. Maybe some jewelry for that special someone?”

Dane said, “Actually, we’re looking for something very specific. A Celtic cross.”

McLeod’s eyes darkened just a bit, though he still smiled when he answered. “A Celtic cross, huh? We get those occasionally. You looking for a specific one?”

“Have you gotten any recently?”

McLeod ran his eyes all the way up to the top of Bones’ head. Dane figured he was evaluating the risks of not answering. Apparently he didn’t like the odds. “I have. About two weeks ago”

“Can we see it?” Dane asked.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Why not? Is it not for sale?”

“Why? Are you buying?” the man asked.

Bones put his hand on the glass of the counter and met McLeod’s eyes. “Why don’t you just tell us why we can’t see it?” He made no threat, but everything about his posture suggested things could quickly get ugly for the shopkeeper.

McLeod didn’t hold the stare for more than a second. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down a couple of times as he swallowed. “I sold it three days ago.”

Dane looked at Bones who raised an eyebrow to confirm he was thinking the same thing. Could the timing of the attacks on them be tied to this? On the surface that made little sense, but then again, none of it really did.

Bones nodded. “See, that wasn’t so hard. And how big was the one you sold?”

“Maybe four inches, a round silver medallion.”

“Who did you buy it from?”

McLeod was shaking his head as if to himself. “Why does everyone want to know where I got it?”

Dane felt the tingling in the back of his skull, which he sometimes got when a piece of a puzzle was about to fall in place. “What do you mean everyone?”

“You know what most people want the Celtic cross for, right?”

Bones held up his fingers and counted off as he spoke. “Neo-nazis, KKK, other radical fringe groups.”

Dane understood some of the man’s discomfort now. “And you’re worried that’s us, right? I bet us wearing fatigues doesn’t ease your mind any, given how many of those wannabes like to play at being soldiers. You can relax on that score; we’re looking for people, not a medallion.”

McLeod didn’t look convinced, but some of the tension in his shoulders and face dissipated. “I’ll tell you what I told her, I don’t get names when I buy something. It’s much easier that way, people getting rid of stuff with sentimental value. Names make it more personal. I bought it from a scrawny guy, maybe fifty with thick glasses and a high voice. He lived in Philadelphia, I got that much.”

“How do you know he lived in Philadelphia?”

“The initial bargaining involved me offering a truly low value, which he didn’t accept. The guy said something about his apartment was only twenty minutes away and he could take it back there. I think he thought he was being a tough negotiator.”

“You said something about ‘what you told her.’ What did you mean?”

“I mean someone came in here two days ago and asked about it. An old woman. And before you ask, she wore a dark jacket with the hood up so I could hardly see her face. She was white and old, that’s about all I can tell you.”

“And you told her what you just told us?”

“Yeah. She didn’t say a word, just nodded and shuffled out of here. Kind of gave me the creeps dressed in all black like that. And she didn’t dress like an old woman, it was more like… ”

He paused. “More like in one of those Kung Fu movies with the baggy pants.”

McLeod looked up at Dane. “I know, I know, that sounds crazy. I’m just saying, she was different.”

Bones nodded. “We have an aging pencil-necked geek and a geriatric female Bruce Lee. So far I’m not feeling threatened. How about video cameras? Any chance you caught either one of them on video?”

“It’s funny you mention that. Night before last, my cameras were stolen. Someone broke in and didn’t take anything except the cameras and the tapes that go with ‘em.”

Bones said, “Interesting coincidence.”

McLeod frowned. “I don’t know about coincidence, I just hope the insurance company pays.”

For a moment, no one said anything. Dane sensed that the guy was still holding back on them. He figured he’d give one more shot at asking nicely before Bones started flexing his muscles. “Anything else you can tell us about the seller?”

“About the seller? No.”

“Look sir, we’re trying to track down something here, and if I told you more it would just put you in danger. The medallion is a piece of that mystery. If there’s anything you know that might help us, however small, we’d appreciate it.”

McLeod’s eyes dropped to Dane’s chest for just a second, and Dane suspected he was reading the name stitched on the fatigues. Civilians often did that. When the man looked up, his eyes were bright. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with national security, would it?”

Dane opened his mouth to answer, but Bones beat him to it by stepping around the counter and putting an arm around the man. “We’d love to answer that, but if we tell you we’ll have to kill you.”

McLeod stared at Bones, who smiled and put his index finger to his lips. Fear danced around the edges of the McLeod’s mouth in return.

“Okay then. Thing is, I actually bought two things off the guy. In addition to a medallion, there was an envelope. Clearly really old, nineteenth century probably. It didn’t look like much, but they guy came by the next day and thought it might be worth something. I got the medallion for a steal, so I slipped him an extra fifty for the envelope.”

Dane asked, “Do you still have the envelope?”

“Sure do. Follow me.”

He came out from behind the counter, locked the front door and put up a Be Right Back sign. They followed him through a door, which led into a narrow hallway and an area that made the public section of the store look clean and new. Off the hallway Dane noticed a small room containing a toilet and a sink with some dishes in it; and he made a note to himself not to use it no matter how badly he needed to go. At the end of the hallway was a storeroom piled high with every sort of junk imaginable.

Other than the scant strip of floor leading to it, the wooden desk in the corner was the only surface clear of debris. Bones looked around. “And I suppose you know where everything is here, right?”

McLeod guffawed. “More like I just pray every time I come in here it doesn’t come down and bury me alive. You boys may find this hard to believe, but I didn’t always plan on being a junk dealer. Things just sort of got away from me. Anyway, here it is.”

He pulled open a drawer in the desk and handed the envelope to Dane. The envelope did indeed appear old, and it had no writing on it that he could spot. It did have something embossed on the flap, some sort of complex logo in colors of red, black and gray.

The logo contained a cross in the middle, though it didn’t have the circle of the Celtic cross. On the horizontal part of the cross were three horseshoes, and in additional to various ornamentation, the logo contained an armored helmet above the cross.

Bones pointed to the top of the logo, above the helmet. “Is that a bat there, Maddock?”

Dane squinted. “Hard to tell. Those could be wings, but this is too small and worn to know for sure. The question is, what does this logo tell us?”

McLeod said, “Well it’s a Scottish coat of arms, that much I know.”

They looked at him and he shrugged. “I’ve seen a few of ‘em. We Scots are very big on clans and family history. I figured at some point I’d go look up which one it is, but I haven’t had the chance yet.”

Dane stuck his hand inside the envelope, careful not to tear it. He found nothing inside. He turned to McLeod. “You have a photocopier here? I’d like to get a copy of this.”

“Sure, up in front.”

Bones reached out his hand to take the envelope from Dane. “May I?”

He held it up to within six inches of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling. “There’s writing inside.”

Gently he squeezed it so it turned into a sort of bowl, exposing most of the surface area of the inside. Letters were scrawled at an angle, in a clear and easy to read hand. The single word, however, did not make the picture any clearer.

It read: Hamiltonban