Double blind

Chapter Seventeen

"So, guys, what do you think?" Bobby LaGrange stepped back from the smoking grill where a dozen inch-thick steaks sizzled their way toward medium-rare.

From their seated positions around the table, leaning back in their cushioned chairs and smiling cheerfully, Larry Paxton, Dwight Stoner, Mike Takahara, and Thomas Woeshack all raised their wineglasses in salute.

"Gotta hand it to you, Bobby," Larry Paxton congratulated their host, "for an old run-down homicide detective who unfortunately got saddled with Henry for a partner during his formative years in law enforcement, you really do appreciate the finer things in life."

"First-class hut," Thomas Woeshack agreed.

"Yeah, too bad we keep showing up," Mike Takahara observed.

"Actually, I seriously considered locking the gate, barring the door, and calling the sheriff to run you guys out of the county," Bobby La-Grange admitted. "But I figured, what the hell, how much trouble could you get me into all the way out here in the middle of Oregon?"

"You don't want to know," Dwight Stoner warned, glaring ominously at Larry Paxton.

Henry Lightstone stood in the middle of the expansive wooden deck and stared up at the angular face of the towering three-story cedar-log-and-glass structure. Then he surveyed the gently rolling hills, the stretches of bright green pasture, the glistening surface of the two-acre pond, hundreds of scrub oak trees, and the high shale-faced mountains that formed a protective bowl around Bobby LaGrange's brand-new home.

"To tell you the truth, Bobby," he remarked after he completed his inspection, "I didn't know places like this existed except in movies. How many acres did you say?"

"Six-forty on the nose."

Larry Paxton blinked.

"Six hundred…?"

"One square mile, Larry, my man. Otherwise known as a 'full square' among us Oregon rancher types."

"I knew it." Paxton shook his head in wonder. "The man really was running dope off that big yacht."

"Good thing we sank it, huh?" Thomas Woeshack put in.

"Don't remind him," Stoner growled. "We haven't got fed dinner yet."

"I need to sit down for this." Lightstone sought the comfort of one of the thickly padded deck chairs, then he stared up at his ex-partner. "Okay, now let me get this straight. You, Bobby LaGrange, are an honest-to-God Oregon rancher… as in cattle ranching?"

Bobby LaGrange smiled cheerfully.

"And those really are cows out there — your cows?" Lightstone gestured in the direction of several dozen tiny black and brown figures scattered across the distant pastures.

"That's right. One hundred and ninety-two heifers, two hundred and nine steers, and at least one honest-to-God bull. Four hundred head of genuine livestock, on the hoof, more or less. Actually, less one," he added, glancing down at the sizzling meat. "I believe we're dining on Harold this evening. Or maybe Harriet. I really didn't look all that close."

"You butchered your own cow?" Thomas Woeshack gasped, duly impressed.

"Oh hell no." Bobby LaGrange gave the Native American Special Agent a disapproving look. "I just pointed at one of the damned things and told my foreman we wanted it for dinner."

"Man even has a foreman to do the dirty work." Larry Paxton nodded approvingly. "I like that. Ol' Bobby here's got style, even if he does have questionable taste in his partners and dinner guests."

"Getting back to four hundred head 'more or less,' " Henry Lightstone persisted suspiciously, "I bet you don't have the slightest idea how many of those dark spots out there really are cows, much less how many of them actually belong to you, right?"

"Well…"

"Ask him what happened when he took off in his brand-new four-wheel RV and tried to use his brand-new cattle prod to figure out how many of those animals we supposedly own are honest-to-God bulls," Susan LaGrange's voice rang out from the open kitchen window.

Lightstone raised an eyebrow.

"It was an accident," LaGrange muttered. "I was just trying to move its tail out of the way. How the hell was I supposed to know the damned prod was contact activated?"

Henry Lightstone shook his head slowly in amazement.

"I assume you no longer own a brand-new four-wheel recreational vehicle?" Larry Paxton asked cautiously.

"Tell him what the insurance man said, honey," Susan LaGrange's cheerful voice floated through the window. "How he'd never seen a four-wheeler that badly damaged since his tour of duty in Kuwait."

"The woman exaggerates," Bobby LaGrange growled defensively.

"And don't you dare leave out the part where I had to call the neighbors to move the bull to another pasture and get you down out of that tree."

Susan LaGrange walked out onto the deck with a huge platter of baked potatoes. Dwight Stoner immediately lunged out of his chair, took it from her, and placed it in the center of the table in a reverent manner while their hostess disappeared into the house again.

"These would be your genuine Oregon rancher neighbors, I take it?" Lightstone guessed. "The ones who actually know something about cattle?"

"Nice people," Bobby LaGrange commented as he poked cautiously at one of the steaks. "You guys real picky about how these things turn out?"

"Absolutely not," Dwight Stoner declared quickly before anyone else at the table could answer. "They'll eat what they get, and like it… or I'm gonna eat it for them," he added, glaring at his fellow agents.

"I'm used to eating raw whale blubber," Thomas Woeshack announced casually, "so any way it comes out is fine with me."

"Did somebody mention raw whale blubber out there?" Susan LaGrange's distressed face appeared at the kitchen window.

"Never mind." Dwight Stoner flashed the diminutive Special Agent/ Pilot a threatening look. "One more comment like that and he's not going to be eating with us anyway. Can I help you with something else?"

"Well, I have this big pan of roasted corn on the cob and — "

Dwight Stoner and Mike Takahara immediately disappeared into the house.

"Bobby, do you have any idea what you're actually going to do with six hundred and forty acres and four hundred cows, more or less?" Henry Lightstone asked reasonably when Stoner and Takahara reappeared holding two huge foil-wrapped pans and with big grins on their faces. Susan LaGrange followed closely behind with another heaping bowl of salad.

"Well, according to my neighbors, who've been doing this sort of thing ever since God made sunsets," Bobby LaGrange commenced describing the nitty-gritty of ranching, "every year or so, my foreman and I hire ourselves a couple of trusty cowhands, saddle up the horses, ride out on the range, round up everything that looks like a cow, herd them into the corral, separate the big ones from the little ones, whack the balls off all the new guys, brand everything in sight with a bare butt, turn everybody loose, and go back to the house for a beer. Which reminds me" — LaGrange reached into the nearby cooler and pulled out a pair of dripping bottles — "anybody ready for more wine?"

"Allow me," Larry Paxton volunteered, taking the bottles and holding them carefully in his scarred hands.

"Somebody better help him with the corks," Mike Takahara advised. "I don't think he knows how to open anything without a pull tab."

"Have you know I can drink fine Oregon Chardonnay with the best of them." Larry Paxton popped the cork on the first bottle and sniffed appreciatively. "Fact is, I may never leave this place. You real fond of that foreman, Bobby?"

Susan LaGrange stuck her head out of the kitchen window. "Before everybody starts eating," she announced with a grin, "save some room because I've got two apple pies cooling on the deck."

"Forget it, Paxton," Dwight Stoner warned in a deadly serious voice once he spotted the pies. "Anybody around this table gets to retire to this piece of heaven, it's gonna be me."

"I don't know, Bobby." Mike Takahara looked at their host. "If you're gonna have to pay Stoner in free meals, you'd better get that bull back into production real quick-like."

While Paxton poured the wine, they all helped themselves to the corn on the cob, baked potatoes, and salad, while Bobby LaGrange distributed the steaks, thoughtfully dropping two of the huge chunks of mildly charred meat onto Dwight Stoner's plate.

For about ten minutes, only the sounds of clattering silverware and pure unadulterated satisfaction accompanied the disappearance of a sizable amount of food.

Finally, Henry Lightstone put down a thoroughly cleaned ear of corn and turned to Susan LaGrange.

"Susan, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but Bobby and I grew up on fifth-of-an-acre suburban lots in El Cajon. Closest we ever came to livestock was the local meat market and our neighbor's Great Dane. Fact of the matter is, your husband wouldn't recognize a cattle ranch if he tripped over a branding iron and fell face first into a cow patty."

"Been there, done — " Susan LaGrange started to say, and then ducked a handful of thrown olives. "Hey, don't blame me, buddy boy," she protested cheerfully. "Who was it who said you were losing your mind when you first started talking about moving to Oregon and buying a ranch and a canoe with the insurance money?"

"All true," Bobby LaGrange admitted. "But the way I look at it, we're a hundred miles from the nearest ocean, and that pond out there is only six feet deep. So if anybody takes it into their mind to try to blow up my canoe with a wheelbarrow full of C-4, I ought be able to wade to shore without having to fight off a goddamned hammerhead shark or damn near drowning in the process. So as long as Bravo Team, Division of Law Enforcement, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service stays the hell out of Oregon, I ought to make out just fine. Which reminds me," he added suspiciously, "just what the hell are you guys doing in Oregon?"

"You really don't want to ask that question right about now," Dwight Stoner warned as he gratefully accepted another baked potato and a large helping of salad from Susan LaGrange.

"He's right," Thomas Woeshack agreed, waving his half-eaten ear of corn. "Liable to make you sick. I used to eat raw whale blubber for breakfast every morning, and I don't even want to think about it."

"Are you sure you want to hear about this during dinner, with Susan here…?" Henry Lightstone let the statement trail off meaningfully.

"That does it." Susan LaGrange grabbed an ear of corn from the tray and aimed it at Lightstone's head. "I've spent the last twenty years listening to you guys talk about ninety-three different categories of dead bodies and every depraved sexual behavior known to man, woman, and beast, so give. What are you guys doing out here?"

"Okay" — Lightstone shrugged agreeably — "you asked for it."

And he told them.

"Mother of God," a decidedly pale Bobby LaGrange whispered after his former partner finished.

"Seven hundred and fifty giant spiders?" Susan LaGrange gasped. If anything, she looked even paler than her husband.

The entire covert team nodded glumly.

"I think that's just… horrible." Susan's maternal instincts automatically kicked in. "How can they make you do something like that? If that was me, I'd… I'd crawl into my bed and pull the covers over my head."

"Don't think we haven't considered that," Lightstone commented dryly.

"Hey, maybe if you talked to our boss," Dwight Stoner suggested hopefully.

"I take back everything I said about you guys." Bobby LaGrange shuddered. "Give me that hammerhead, any day of the week."

"But what will you do if one of those snakes bites you?" Susan LaGrange couldn't have looked more stricken if she'd found herself serving dinner to a bunch of war orphans.

"Well, since we haven't received any of the antivenins we ordered yet, I guess we'd just drive like hell to the nearest hospital," Mike Takahara replied.

"Oh no, you're not!" Larry Paxton declared emphatically. "Ain't nobody gonna be driving to no damned hospital 'til we get all them things out of those boxes and into those terrariums, I don't care who gets bit by what. I'm telling you, I ain't gonna be the last one standing in that warehouse while all the rest of you crybabies are driving like hell to God knows where just because some little-bitty snake looked at you sideways."

"Got any ideas on how to fake a snake bite?" Stoner asked Mike Takahara, pausing halfway down a butter-drenched ear of corn.

The tech agent nodded. "Several."

"Good. We'll talk later."

"But… how in the world are you ever going to get those things into all those terrariums?" Susan LaGrange asked.

"We have no idea," Larry Paxton confessed. "Been thinking about trying to feed them through the air holes."

"Actually, that's not entirely true." Dwight Stoner smiled cheerfully over at Henry Lightstone. "One of us happens to be blessed with very quick reflexes, so we figure if the rest of us'll just go outside and nail the warehouse doors shut — "

"Hey, don't look at me," Henry Lightstone protested. "I'm not the one who pissed Halahan off — "

"Oh yes you are," Larry Paxton retorted. "You're the one who kissed that new agent gal and rubbed yourself all over her body."

"Henry, I'm ashamed of you." Susan's eyebrows rose in interest as she turned to Paxton. "I want to hear all the details. Every one of them," she emphasized.

"We're ashamed of him, too," the covert team leader assured her. "Which is exactly why we're not about to let him wander around the town trying to buy up all the Bigfoot souvenirs in Oregon while the rest of us are…"

"Bigfoot?" Susan LaGrange blinked. "You're investigating people who sell Bigfoot souvenirs, Henry?"

"And Indian battle charms," Thomas Woeshack reminded his superior.

Lightstone and Paxton nodded glumly.

"But how can you investigate people for killing a Bigfoot?" Susan LaGrange asked reasonably. "They're mythical beasts."

"Actually, it's a long story," Henry Lightstone sighed, "but — "

Susan LaGrange looked over at her husband. "Should we tell them?"

"No, absolutely not."

Henry Lightstone looked back and forth between his two longtime friends.

"Tell us what?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's nothing," Bobby dismissed the subject quickly. "Just rancher stuff. You know, bullshit and cow shit, and crazy old coots you find wandering the back forty. Nothing you'd be interested in."

Lightstone looked back at Susan again. "He knows something about this, doesn't he?"

"Susan, I'm warning you…"

"I'll tell you all about that agent gal — especially the body-rubbing stuff," Lightstone promised.

"Deal." Susan LaGrange grinned victoriously at her husband and turned to Lightstone. "What your ex-partner doesn't want to tell you is that tomorrow morning he plans to buy a genuine Apache Indian battle charm, and maybe even a piece of Bigfoot fur to — get a load of this — ward off evil ranching spirits."

Henry Lightstone blinked, then smiled broadly.

"An Apache Indian battle charm, and a piece of Bigfoot fur… to ward off what?"

"Evil ranching spirits." His hostess grinned cheerfully. "See, I told you he was losing his mind."

"Hey, wait a minute…!" Larry Paxton started to protest, but Henry Lightstone waved him off.

"Oh no, I want to hear more about this." Henry Lightstone turned to his ex-homicide detective partner. "Come on, Bobby, 'fess up. Just who do you intend to buy all these spiritual goodies from?"

Bobby LaGrange glared at his wife. "I think I'm gonna need a lawyer."

"Hey, buddy boy, I'm all the lawyer you're ever going to need, and don't you ever forget it," Susan LaGrange retorted. "And to answer your question, Special Agent Lightstone," she said, turning to Henry, "he's meeting some crazy old coot at the local pancake house tomorrow morning at 8:00 A.M. sharp."

"And he really thinks these things will ward off evil ranch spirits?" Mike Takahara asked.

"Ask him." Susan LaGrange shrugged dramatically.

"Hey, if you'd been up in that tree for three hours before anyone bothered to come out and see if you were okay-" Bobby LaGrange retorted defensively.

"I'd be nailing a whole damned Bigfoot hide to that tree, right alongside the bull," Stoner agreed, nodding between mouthfuls of baked potato and steak.

"Us Eskimos usually just nail a walrus penis bone to the door," Thomas Woeshack volunteered graciously. "That usually works pretty good, too, especially once they start getting ripe."

"Uh, this crazy old coot." Henry Lightstone pursued the subject of his greatest interest carefully. "You wouldn't happen to know his name, would you?"

"You mean old Sage, the soothsayer? I'm not sure." Susan LaGrange looked over at her husband. "Do we know his real name?"

If anything, Henry Lightstone's smile grew even broader as he turned to Larry Paxton, who looked totally stricken.

"Tomorrow morning, 8:00 A.M. sharp, at the local pancake house," he repeated cheerfully. "Good old Sage, the soothsayer. Talk about a once in a lifetime opportunity. Can you believe it? My buddy, the illegal wildlife dealer, saves the day again."

"What do you mean, illegal wildlife dealer?" Bobby LaGrange demanded.

"How the hell does he do that?" Mike Takahara asked Woeshack and Stoner plaintively.

"Karma?" Thomas Woeshack suggested.

"Nah, just plain dumb luck," Stoner grumbled.

"Lightstone, if you think you're gonna bail out on us on account of some stupid-ass coincidence," Paxton warned his wild-card agent darkly, "you can just…"

"No, no, wait a minute," Henry interrupted, holding up his hand. "Halahan's briefing document, page twenty-nine, and I quote from memory: 'Special Agent Lightstone will endeavor to determine subject Sage's source of materials, as well as any links he may have with other illicit wildlife parts and products dealers in the area.' "

He smiled smugly at his fellow agents around the table. "The way I just heard it, it certainly sounds to me like we just tripped across one of the Sage's primary dealers. A cattle rancher, right in the middle of Jasper County, Oregon. Who would have thought it?"

"Wait a minute, I don't think — " Paxton started to say, but Lightstone quickly interrupted again.

"'Course, I suppose I could always call Halahan and tell him that I'd really like to obey his direct order, but my boss insists that I help stuff a bunch of harmless little spiders into some little glass terrariums instead."

"I am not a crook," Bobby LaGrange muttered darkly.

"Sure you are, honey. Just not a very good one." Susan LaGrange gave her husband a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "After all, look at the kind of people you associate with."

"Yeah, you've got a point there."

"Now then, Susan" — Lightstone beamed cheerfully at his former partner's wife — "since it doesn't look like I'll need my quick reflexes tomorrow after all, do you think I could have an extra big slice of that delicious apple pie?"