Orchid Blues

26

Peck Rawlings got the ball rolling. "Well, Ham, tell me something: what do you think of our current president of the United States, William Henry Lee?"

Ham said nothing, but held his nose.

Everybody smiled a little.

"I guess you've got some support around here for that opinion," Rawlings said.

"I believe somebody took a shot at him during the campaign," Ham said. "Pity he wasn't a better shot."

"You think his opponent was the better man, then?"

"Yes, but not much better."

"Who would you have preferred?"

"George Wallace, maybe, but he wasn't running, and anyway, he was a little too far to the left for my taste."

Rawlings seemed pleased with that assessment.

"And what do you think of our present form of government?"

"I think it was a great idea that got royally screwed up along the way, especially in the twentieth century."

"I can't say I disagree with you," Rawlings replied.

Ham sipped his brandy.

Mack Harston leaned forward in his chair. "Would you change things, if you could?"

"Sure, but what could I do?"

"Maybe more than you think."

"I'd be interested in hearing about that," Ham said.

"It's better to light a candle than to curse the darkness," Jim said.

"So I've heard, but I'd prefer a flashlight."

"Your proficiency with various weapons might represent a flashlight," Rawlings said, getting up and taking a manila folder from his desk. He sat down again and opened it. "Your service record says you fired Expert with everything the army gave you."

"My service record?" Ham said, genuinely surprised. "You've got my service record?"

"I have," Rawlings said.

"How in the hell did you do that?"

"Let's just say that we've got friends in useful places. I get the impression from reading it that you don't have much compunction about killing."

"I've never had any compunction about killing somebody who needed it, but I don't intend to spend the rest of my life on death row. They say the death penalty isn't a deterrent, but it sure is for me."

"That's a smart way to think," Rawlings said.

The phone on the desk rang, but it was picked up somewhere else in the house. A moment later, Emily Harston came to the door. "It's okay," she said to her husband, then she closed the door.

Ham sipped his brandy. "You planning on killing somebody, Peck?"

Rawlings smiled. "Oh, I'm just speaking hypothetically."

"Okay."

Suddenly Rawlings stood up, placed the file on his desk and turned to Ham. "Well, Ham, it's been a real pleasure having you out here." The others stood up, too.

Ham figured he'd been dismissed, so he stood up, too. "I've enjoyed it. Please tell Betty for me that it was a real fine dinner, and I appreciate the trouble she went to."

"That's what women are for, isn't it?" Rawlings said, leading the group out of the den and toward the front door. On the front steps, he paused and offered Ham his hand.

Ham took it.

"Thanks again for coming," he said.

"Good night," Ham replied and walked out to his truck. He got in, started it, backed out of the driveway and drove away. When he was back on the main road, he opened the glove compartment. His pistol was still there. He drove on slowly toward Orchid Beach.

Then, as he reached the outskirts of town, he saw a vehicle a couple of hundred yards behind him, lit by a streetlight but showing no headlights. "Why, I believe I'm being followed," he said aloud. The vehicle followed him all the way to the turnoff to his little island.

When he reached the house, he went inside, and instantly, he had the feeling that someone had been there. He switched on some lights and walked slowly around the place. The chair where he watched TV in the evenings had been moved. He knew, because there were indentations in the rug where the chair legs had formerly rested. A phone was on the table next to the chair. First, he switched on the TV and found a noisy cop show, then he picked up the telephone receiver and, while holding down the flasher, unscrewed the mouthpiece, then removed the disk that rested there. Behind it was a small electronic something-or-other that had been soldered into place. His phone had been bugged. He gently replaced the disk and screwed the receiver together again.

He went into his little office, opened a desk drawer and found his portable cell phone. He unscrewed the cover and examined the insides. Apparently, they had missed it. He went back to the living room, then through the kitchen, and closing the door softly behind him, out to the little dock behind the house. He sat down on a post and called Holly.

"Hello?"

"It's me. You been home all evening?"

"Yep."

"Didn't leave the house?"

"Only for a few minutes, to walk Daisy. How was your evening?"

"Let's talk about it tomorrow," he said. "Lunch?"

"Sure. Your place?"

"No, not here. Your place, at noon. When I get there, don't say anything until I've looked around."

There was a brief, puzzled silence. "Okay," she said finally.

"See you then."

"Good night."

Ham punched off, then returned to the house, turned off the TV and went to bed. When he had been asked to leave so soon after dinner, he had thought he'd somehow screwed up, but if they had tapped his phone, he was still in the game. He slept well.