Aces and Knaves

Chapter 22 THE GAME

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.