Stone Cold

27

While the bartender was getting ice, Nate slipped behind the bar and made his own drink: tea, ice, and water. It looked close enough to what he’d been sipping to pass, he thought. He needed a clear head as the guests were shooed by Liv into the cavernous dining room.

There was a preordained hierarchy to the seating plan.

Templeton and Missy sat at the head of the table side by side. Nate located his card — to the right of Missy at the end of the table. Whip was directly across from him, so the two of them were literally displayed as Templeton’s right- and left-hand men. Rocco Biolchini was sandwiched across the table between Whip and Liv.

Nate winced as Sheriff Mead took the seat to his right. Next to Mead was Judge Bartholomew, then the Wedell chief of police, Dale Miller, in his dress blues. Miller was infamous for the speed traps he maintained on both ends of town that served as his department’s primary source of outside income. The rumor was Miller took a personal cut as well. He was red-faced and crude, and had started pounding beers long before he arrived at the ranch, judging by the flush in his face and his glassy eyes.

Locals occupied all of the rest of the chairs on both sides of the long table, but two seats were empty. Nate noted the cards for the missing guests: Bill Critchfield and Gene Smith. He thought it was odd, and wondered if an explanation would be offered.

It was raucous: dozens of individual alcohol-fueled conversations going on at once among locals, ranch staff, and the people Templeton had positioned nearest to him. Nate didn’t say a word to anyone and he noted Liv was silent as well. She was attentive to all that was going on and busy surveying the guests to make sure everyone was in their correct place and the discussions were quasi-civil.

Jane Ringolsby and the ranch staff quickly served the first course: small grilled mourning dove breasts shot by Templeton himself and sausages from Templeton’s own processing facility. Red wine was poured into every glass. Nate glanced down the table. It was obvious many of the locals were nervous and thrilled at the same time — and drinking too much. He saw one woman instructing her husband which fork to use first.

Missy simply glowed while she followed Templeton’s every word. He was telling a slightly bored Rocco Biolchini how white-tailed deer were kicking the remaining native mule deer out of the Black Hills. She seemed entranced with him, Nate thought, and very well practiced in the art of alert subservience. She tittered at his jokes and shook her head solemnly while he told a story about encountering a wolverine while bird-hunting. Only once did she slip, when her eyes darted away from Templeton to Nate. Nate grinned back at her as if to say, I’m on to you.

Rocco Biolchini was deep into his story — one he had no doubt told many times — about his undergraduate years in an Ivy League university, his lack of success with athletics or the opposite sex, his early infatuation with computers and the Internet, his desire to connect similarly minded geeks into a network where they could make fun of the jocks and arrogant handsome pricks who sucked up all of the oxygen in every room — without any of the golden boys knowing about how they were being mocked. The website later morphed into in a social-media empire with millions of users.

Nate thought Biolchini spoke as if he were used to being listened to, as if the listeners were of course as fascinated by Rocco Biolchini as Rocco Biolchini was. He paused at the end of passages for listeners to say “Wow” or “Oh my God” but didn’t invite questions or urge others to add anything. It was a monologue, not a dialogue. While he went on through the salad course, Nate noticed two figures skulking outside the dining room in the great room, looking furtively around the doorframe.

The two men, Smith and Critchfield, weren’t dressed for dinner. They wore heavy coats still glistening from outside snowfall and their cheeks were flushed from the cold. They looked inside the dining room, imploring someone to invite them in, it seemed.

Nate observed what followed as Liv spotted the two men and excused herself with an exasperated smile. She strode toward the two men and walked past them so they had to follow her into the great room and farther from the guests. There was a heated exchange, with Liv refusing something at first and pointing toward the front door as if ordering the dog to go outside, but she soon relented as they continued to gesticulate. She put her hands on her hips and told them to wait where they were for the time being, then reentered the dining room and whispered a long message into Templeton’s ear.

Templeton’s eyes narrowed, but his face gave nothing away. Halfway during the message, he glanced up at Smith and Critchfield and shook his head, then looked away with annoyance. The cacophony in the room never wavered — no one else was paying attention to what was going on. Nate saw that Missy had her eyes averted from Templeton but her head cocked in a way that indicated she could hear everything that was said.

When the message was delivered, Liv paused for a response. Templeton took a deep breath, sighed, and turned toward Missy and had a whispered conversation. Then, with a tiny sour nod, he indicated, Okay.

Liv left him crisply to return to Critchfield and Smith. In a moment, the two men were gone. And when Nate looked across the table, so was Whip. He hadn’t seen him slip away.

When Liv sat back down, her eyes were downcast and there was a concerned set to her face for a moment, but she quickly recovered when one of the locals said something to her.

Nate had no idea what had just happened.

Rocco Biolchini was now into his entrepreneurial phase in the Silicon Valley, where his once-trusted partner was beginning to “put the screws to him” by turning his corporate board and the Wall Street Journal against him…

“You and me, we’re okay, right?” Sheriff Mead asked Nate, while Nate tried to put together all the nonverbal clues as to what had transpired among Smith, Critchfield, Liv, Templeton, Missy, and Whip.

“What?” Nate asked, annoyed by the interruption.

“I mean, what you said after I searched you for weapons. We’re okay, right? After all, we’re all on the same team here.”

“I’m not on anyone’s team.”

Nate didn’t want to engage in conversation with the sheriff. He’d seen the man down four quick glasses of wine and the main course hadn’t even arrived yet. Mead seemed like the type who would just get louder, although even Mead would have trouble out-trumpeting Chief Miller or Biolchini, who was reciting some of the charges his bastard partner’s lawyers had made against him in their first epic legal showdown…

“Excuse me,” Nate said. “I’ll be right back.”

He got up without fanfare and passed the locals, who seemed not to notice he was leaving the room. The din died as he stepped outside onto the front porch and closed the door behind him.

The sky had cleared and the moon now had a halo. Thick bands of stars were brushed across the sky. He could smell the fireplace smoke as the coming low pressure tamped it down. It would be a very cold night.

Smith, Critchfield, and Whip were long gone.

“Are you all right?” Liv asked, startling him. He hadn’t heard her open the door.

“Fine,” he said. “I needed a break. When the air is that thick with bullshit, I have trouble breathing.”

She laughed and said, “I’ve seen worse. Sometimes the locals get completely out of control and we need to drive them into town. They seem more restrained than usual tonight — probably because of Herself.”

Nate grunted.

“It’s probably time to come back in. The steaks are ready to bring out.”

“What happened in there?” he asked her sharply. “What did Templeton agree to?”

She paused. “I really can’t say.”

“Sure you can. It seems like an odd thing to happen during a dinner that supposedly requires mandatory attendance.”

“I told you — I can’t say. I’ve already told you too much about what goes on around here. Besides, I didn’t think you cared.”

“I don’t. But I’m stuck sitting there with the sheriff on one side, Missy on the other, and Biolchini going on and on right across from me. It’s my idea of hell on earth. If anyone’s going to bolt this place, it ought to be me.”

“Oh dear,” she said. Then: “Hold on for a second. Don’t leave. I’ve got to clear something with Mr. T.”

Nate nodded.

When Liv withdrew and closed the door, Nate acted quickly.

He was back on the porch when the door opened again. But instead of Liv, Wolfgang Templeton stepped out on the landing and closed the door behind him.

“It’s going to get cold, isn’t it?” Templeton asked, looking up at the sky as Nate had.

Nate didn’t respond.

“Liv said you saw something going on in there and it bothered you. I thought rather than have her play go-between, we could talk about it briefly ourselves.”

Nate nodded.

“Whip has been with me for a lot of years. There would be problems if I didn’t reach out to him first in an emergency situation. I hope you understand that.”

Nate squinted at Templeton in the dark. Templeton seemed to think Nate was miffed he hadn’t been chosen to go with Smith and Critchfield. Nate let him think it.

“So what’s going on?” Nate asked.

“Just a local problem,” Templeton said with a sigh. “There seems to be more and more of them all the time and they’re making me weary. I despise these situations and I’m frankly sick of dealing with them.”

Templeton spat out the last few words with the kind of vehemence Nate had never experienced in him before.

“When I moved here, this county was like some kind of transplanted backwoods Appalachia,” Templeton said. “The people were lazy, unemployed, and without hope. You’ve never seen so many EBT cards floating around. The responsible citizens were leaving in droves. It touched me and I wanted to help those who stayed, but I had no idea what kind of monster I was creating. They’ve become totally dependent on me for everything. No one has any drive or ambition — they just want to suck on the tit of Wolfgang Templeton.

“At first, I admit, it felt kind of good to be held in such regard. Every man wants to be liked and admired and looked up to. I helped everyone I could — entire families! But by helping them — giving them what they said they needed to survive — I created my own entitlement state. The more I give them, the more they want. They don’t seem capable of solving their own problems anymore, and whenever one comes up, who do they come to? Me!”

Templeton shook his head. “In the most bizarre and unexpected way, I find myself being held hostage to them. If I don’t give them what they ask, I fear they’ll turn on me. On us. They’ll keep our secret as long as the trough is full, but they keep demanding more of me. I can hardly keep up.”

Nate said, “That’s why you brought me on. To double your output.”

“Our output,” Templeton said. “We’re in this together. I thought that by stepping up what I could give them, I could live a more comfortable life without all these constant problems. But it hasn’t worked. In fact, it gets worse every day. And in order to keep up, I have to become less discriminating in the kind of work I accept. I used to turn clients away if what they asked didn’t feel right. But now…”

“Now we’ve got people like Rocco Biolchini,” Nate said. “Who just wants to get revenge on his business partner.”

“Exactly,” Templeton said, his eyes suddenly moist. Nate was surprised by the honest emotion. “Exactly, Nate. In the past I wouldn’t have even invited him here. But now I’m weighing the payoff over the justification of the assignment. I used to take only jobs when I knew we were the only people professional and thorough enough to get to a bad guy who was above the law because of his wealth or connections, and leave no trace. It is a righteous line of work. We right wrongs and make the world a better place. We take out the most expensive garbage. I firmly believe that.”

“So do I,” Nate said. “At least I used to.”

“It can be like that again,” Templeton said wistfully.

Nate repeated, “Go out and do some good.”

Templeton smiled sadly. “That’s what it was all about. After all, even the president has his kill list. We’re private sector, and the private sector is always better at everything than the politicians. But I never thought it would come to this…” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the lodge and the guests inside. “They’re all leeches who could turn on me any minute. If there were any way I could do this all again, well, I’d do it differently.”

“So what’s the latest problem?” Nate asked.

Templeton shot out his sleeve and looked at his wristwatch. “We have to get back inside — we’re keeping everyone waiting. And if we don’t eat, they’ll drink even more and I’ll have to blast them out of here with TNT.”

Templeton opened the door and held it so Nate could join him. The din of conversations coming from inside were even more out of control than before. “I know this isn’t your idea of fun.”

“It isn’t.”

“Stick it out for me, please. We need to listen to Mr. Biolchini’s proposal after the guests clear out and make a decision — without Whip — whether we’ll take the assignment based on how much he’ll compensate us. I’ll do that part of the negotiation — so you’ll be free to go.”

His plea was almost childlike, and Nate was taken by it.

As Nate passed through, Templeton threw an arm around his shoulder to guide him back toward the dining room.

“Thank you, Nate.”

“So about the local problem?”

Templeton sighed again. “Nothing momentous. Those idiots Gene Smith and Bill Critchfield got tangled up with a game warden who is new to the area. It’s their fault — they think they’re above having to pay attention to the game laws around here and they invite this kind of trouble by being stupid. They are a couple of local thugs I decided to bring inside the operation so they’d work for me instead of against me, but it hasn’t really worked out. It was a miscalculation. Thugs are thugs, just like zebras can never be horses.”

“A game warden?” Nate asked, his throat dry.

“Yes. I met him the other day and he didn’t seem particularly sharp. Certainly not clever enough to be the kind of danger to me those fools seem to think he is. But the situation escalated, and now they desperately needed to locate him. Unlike what we do, it’s a clusterfuck out there, with no one knowing who is where or what’s going on. This game warden seems to have stymied them. They came and asked for my help finding this man and eliminating the problem. They’re pretty sure they know where he is: some remote cabin twenty miles from here.”

Nate felt something cold inside that seemed to spread to his extremities and harden them, like a protective suit of armor.

“So I sent Whip to be there and make sure they didn’t screw things up again. One of our trusted locals is with this game warden, but so is his daughter. I don’t want the local or his daughter harmed or compromised. Whip said he’d see to it, and he seemed eager for the job, although he hates working with others. Apparently, Whip had an encounter with this game warden that didn’t set well with him at all, so he jumped at the opportunity to settle the score. I hate to mix our business with local affairs, but this time I didn’t see where I had a choice in the matter.”

Nate didn’t respond. The light in the room seemed to have gotten much brighter than it was when he’d left it. The conversations, if possible, seemed even louder.

“Missy overheard some of it and agreed with my decision,” Templeton said. “‘Best to nip this in the bud,’ she said.”

Nate sat down to his steak and ignored the imploring look Liv gave him from across the table.

He felt himself being transformed from within. At one point, he looked up to find Liv staring at him. She looked terrified.

Yarak.

It took a long hour for the locals to finish their steaks and desserts and clear out. Liv had to practically hoist several men and women from their chairs and point them toward the door, where ranch staff held out their coats to reclaim.

Missy had left as well, saying she was still tired from jet lag and that she’d meet Templeton in their room soon. To Nate, she said, “It was wonderful to see you again.”

Nate was grateful when he saw Liv walk away with Missy toward the stairs.

The sheriff, judge, and chief of police remained at the table to Nate’s right. Biolchini was directly across the table, lighting a Cuban cigar.

And Templeton sat at the head, glaring at Mead, obviously wishing for the sheriff to go and take the other two with him. Mead didn’t get the message, it seemed. Nate guessed that Templeton had to deal with the three law enforcement officials with kid gloves and couldn’t simply pry them out of their chairs as Liv had with the other locals.

Judge Bartholomew got the message, though, and said to Mead, “R.C., I think it’s time to call it an evening.”

“After I finish my drink,” Mead said. He slurred his words.

Templeton smoldered for a moment, then said to Nate, “I’ll go get my notebook for our meeting with Mr. Biolchini.” He said it in a way that it was clear he expected the three locals to be gone when he returned.

A moment later, Mead turned to Nate and said, “Hey — quit prodding me with your finger.”

Nate said, “It’s not my finger.”

Mead’s eyes got wide when he looked down and saw the muzzle of the .500 pressed into his ribs. Nate had retrieved it earlier from the brush outside the lodge. Mead’s sudden silence caught the attention of the judge and Miller, who turned to see what was going on.

Nate said, “If I pull this trigger, the slug will go through all three of you. I’ve dropped two men with one shot before, so this would be a personal best.”

Biolchini couldn’t see the handgun under the table on the other side. He said, “What is happening here?”

Nate ignored him. To the three men sitting side by side next to him, he said, “Ease your weapons out and put them on the table in front of you. Then slowly stand up and back against the wall.”

“Please,” Mead whispered to Bartholomew and the police chief. “He’s not kidding.”

“Slowly,” Nate said.

The semiautomatic service weapons of the sheriff and chief clunked on the white tablecloth, and their hands withdrew from them quickly. Nate was mildly surprised to see the judge surrender a snub-nosed .38 as well.

“Now stand and back up.”

“What the fuck!” Biolchini said loudly. “Does everybody here pack heat?”

Nate shushed him without looking over. He kept his weapon leveled at the three men, who were doing what they’d been told. It was oddly silent in the room.

“You too,” Nate said to Biolchini. “Up against the wall with them.”

“But…”

“I said,” Nate whispered, “go over there with them.”

When the four of them stood shoulder to shoulder, Nate got up and marched them into the great room.

Judge Bartholomew said, “Mr. Templeton would not approve.”

“No talking,” Nate said. He ordered Mead and Chief Miller to sit on the bottom two steps of the staircase, and Biolchini and the judge to stand on the other side of the thick iron railing.

“Take out your cuffs and give me your keys,” Nate said to the two law enforcement officers.

After collecting the keys, Nate told the men on the stairs to snap one of the handcuffs on their outside wrists and pass their arms through the railing. Biolchini rolled his eyes, as if he weren’t going to participate in the game, but Nate cocked the hammer back on his revolver and raised it to fire.

Biolchini and the judge scrambled to lock the open cuffs on their own wrists.

As they did, Templeton entered the room holding a leather notebook. He assessed the situation and said to Nate, “You’ve completely ruined the evening.”

Nate said, “Clear out your shit and be gone by the time I get back here. I’m giving you this one chance only.”

The reaction on Templeton’s face was one of regret.

“Yeah,” Nate said. “Me too.”

He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and wheeled toward the men on the staircase. Miller was clumsily hiking up his pants leg to reach for a small semiautomatic in an ankle holster.

Nate blew his leg off.

Miller screamed and tried to stanch the blood from the stump, and Biolchini simply fainted to the floor.

As he walked through the great room toward the door with his weapon in his hand, Nate kicked Miller’s detached shin and throw-down across the floor. From the level above, he heard Liv scream and Missy call out, “Wolfie, is everything all right down there? Wolfie!”

Liv appeared at the top of the stairs. She said, “Nate, what happened?”

He stopped and ejected the empty casing and replaced it with live .500 caliber cartridges. “I ended the dinner party.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Is Mr. T….?”

“He’s all right,” Nate said, glancing toward the dining room. Templeton still stood holding his notebook in stunned disbelief. He shook his head slowly to an internal monologue.

Nate said, “He’ll be leaving this place soon because everything has just blown up. It’s over. You better pack up as well.”

Missy joined her, wearing a purple silk bathrobe. Her face was set in cold rage.

“You son of a bitch,” she seethed. “I should have known this would happen. You’re no better than Joe.”

Nate said, “Actually, he’s better than me.”

Liv said to Nate, “But what about us?”

“There is no us. Every time there’s an us, I lose somebody who didn’t need to die. I’m toxic, and you deserve better.”

Liv’s eyes flashed. “So that’s the decision you’ve made?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What if I don’t agree with it?”

Nate said, “I wish you’d trust me on this. All of this is over, including you and me.”

He forced himself to turn his back on her as he walked to the door.

Behind him, in the saddest voice imaginable, he heard Templeton say, “Somebody get a hacksaw.”