That Good Night (22 page)

Illuminating the thinning fog, the sun's soft light turned Casco Bay into a world of golden splendor. Bob led me on a slow walk back to the cabin on a circuitous route around the
island. If there was a Garden of Eden, it must have been like this: lupine-filled glades with butterflies enjoying easy access to pollen; osprey screeching overhead; rabbits frolicking, deer doing whatever it is deer do, and three groundhogs. Hardwoods and evergreens defined the open fields. Our way back took over two hours and my stomach was in full protest.

We came at the cabin from the rear where I caught sight of the diminished woodpile and the heavy maul driven deep into a thick tree stump. We walked around the cabin to the front porch where a man sat silently looking out over the water. He was a sorry looking specimen, soaking wet with dried green algae stuck in his hair, covering his shorts and legs. Sneakers muddy. Bob didn't hesitate. He just walked over to the guy and asked, “You want lunch?” Startled, the man stood staring at us. “Lunch,” Bob repeated. “You hungry?” The man nodded. I took this fellow to be a local with bad brain, but that wasn't the case. Bob walked past him and went to the cabin door where he stopped and turned to me. “Meet Justin Roberts,” he said. “He's the guy that's been on your trail.” Bob went into the cabin.

“Enjoying Maine?” I was trying to be nonchalant about it on the outside, but inside I was swirling. No matter what this idiot said or did, I was going to take Bob on that sailing trip and the sooner the better.

Roberts stared back at me with wolf eyes and said, “I'm just beginning to.”

Enjoying sarcasm, I asked, “Stone Island's a nice place, isn't it? Did you swim over from there or are you in the dulse trade, harvesting the local seaweed?”

“Look Lambert, I'm here for
you
. And it looks like I've
found you alive and well, so as far as I'm concerned, mission accomplished.”

“Go screw yourself,” I said. “Don't count your damn chickens just yet.”

Roberts gave me a smirk and fell silent.

Bob came back onto the porch with three paper plates, each with a ham sandwich, two gherkins, a paper napkin, and a few slices of cucumber. He handed one to Roberts then to me, set his on a small side table and went back inside. He reappeared. “Hope you like Coke,” he said, handing me and Roberts each a cold can. We sat silently, not a word said. After lunch, Bob gathered up the plates and cans, stepped off the porch and went around to the back of the cabin. Roberts commented on the fog lifting so suddenly as if it was some mysterious quirk of nature. I remained silent.

In due time, Bob reappeared, his hand clutching the maul, half sledge hammer and half axe. Without a word, he stepped up onto the porch, set the maul down next to his chair, sat down, looked at Roberts and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“You know why I'm here,” Roberts responded. “I must commend you guys for making it a bit of a challenge.”

“The challenge has just begun. You're on my island uninvited. Trespassing on private land. Maine land. And we don't take that lightly up here. Got a warrant?”

“You know I don't. I'm not here to arrest Mr. Lambert. I'm not a cop. This is a private affair. No need for the law, unless, that is…” Roberts said eyeing the heavy maul sitting to Bob's left. Roberts turned toward me. “Mr. Lambert, people are worried about you. Your sons don't know whether you're dead or alive. The folks at the nursing home, as you must know, are
responsible for all this, and believe me, they are very concerned.”

“Well you can call my sons and tell them that the insurance folks can go to hell. As far as the nursing home goes, well, screw them, too. You can leave; we're done here.”

Roberts stood. “If that's the way you want it, then that's fine with me. My report will have you back at Sunset and the insurance company off the hook.”

“Tide's comin' in,” Bob interrupted. “I suppose you tied that row boat up?”

A frown crossed Roberts's brow. “I pulled it up on shore, a good three feet. Hey, how did you know that?”

Ignoring his question, Bob exclaimed, “Three feet!” He gave a short, barking laugh. “Now there you go. Tide'll never get at it so high up on shore. This here is Maine. We have real tides here, not some piss creek that overflows when it rains. From Away folks just don't understand the ocean: it taketh and it giveth. Might try swimming. Maybe clean some of that slime off. Considering that you're going to get wet stem to stern, I'll take that phone in your hip pocket for safe keeping.”

“The phone will stay where it is. I'll be going now, and don't worry; I'll make my way back.”

Bob stood up. He was about to blow. It's rare, but I've seen it before and it is
not
pleasant. Sinewy, heavy boned, and muscular, Bob is of gentle character unless he reaches his Mount Etna point. I could feel the rumbling. If he got that maul raised shoulder high it would come down and there'd be no stopping it. Bob hefted the maul. “You have a choice. I smash that gadget of yours on a rock or I smash it while it's still in your pocket.”

“Easy Bob,” I said like I was talking down a growling German Shepherd. “Let's work this out.”

“Phone first,” Bob commanded.

I nodded to Roberts who reluctantly tossed his phone to Bob. “Now lift your shirt and drop your pants.” When Roberts hesitated, Bob started to raise the maul. The shirt went up and the pants went down and out fell another cell phone. Phones in hand, Bob left the porch to go around back to the chopping block.

Roberts pulled down his shirt and pulled up his pants. I motioned to Roberts to take a seat but he appeared more comfortable pacing the porch deck. “What is it with this guy? Is he nuts?” Roberts asked shaking his head.

“Nope, just being a friend,” I said.

“Look, I'm trying to do a job here. I might not like tracking down an old man, but that's what I'm paid to do.”

When you've lived as long as I and Bob have, you learn over time not to lose your cool. Roberts is an idiot, that's plain to see. I don't think it's dawned on the nitwit that he's on an island. He has no place to go, no one to call. He's screwed and doesn't even know it.

“You're a damn bounty hunter, that's what you are,” I said. “What the hell did I ever do to become a wanted man? Ironic, isn't it, going from being unwanted to being wanted in what, a little over a month. As far as I'm concerned you can leave now. Swim! Whatever! Do you think for one moment that Sunset or my kids care one flame in hell whether I'm dead or alive? They don't give a crap. You don't give a crap. Bob,
he
cares. You've been to Sunset. You've met the guests. Guests, my ass. Prisoners is what they are. How old are you? In your sixties? You better get your ass in gear because unless you're damned lucky, Sunset's in your future. But it's not in mine. You screwed up here, buddy.
You're trespassing on an island in Maine owned and guarded over by a tough son-of-a-bitch that could eat the likes of you for lunch. You called me an old man? Just what does that mean? That my brain has holes in it? Just what do you have in mind?”

A couple of heavy thuds interrupted my lecture. “You hear that!” I warned Roberts. “That's your phones being smashed to smithereens. Keep your
old man
bullshit going and the next thing on that chopping block will be your empty head.”

Bob returned from around back, leaving the maul behind. “You might as well sit down,” he said to Roberts. “Tide doesn't turn for six hours or so. Try swimming now and you'll look like driftwood out there.” Roberts sulked his way back to the Adirondack. Bob continued, “I don't like your trespassing, but as long as you're here, I'll treat you guest-like and I expect the return courtesy; it's the way it is here. I'm not saying you're welcomed here because you're not. But as long as you're here as I said I'll treat you like a guest. Abuse the courtesy and you'll come to regret it.” Eyeballing Roberts, Bob added, “Do you understand?”

Roberts nodded with an “I do.”

Bob walked to the other side of the porch and with his back still to Roberts, he asked, “You like the Red Sox?”

The non sequitur caught Roberts unaware. “Damned if I do, damned if I don't?” questioned Roberts.

“The maul's out back,” laughed Bob. “Just say the way it is.”

“I do,” answered Roberts. “And, I hate the Yankees.” Bob came over to me and gave me a high five. He swung around to high-five Roberts. Roberts shied away.

“Cat would've enjoyed that one,” Bob chortled.

With the mention of Cat, Roberts commented, “I've got to
admire you guys. In all the years I've worked for the FBI—don't worry, I'm retired—I've seldom come across the likes of two ol…ahhh…seasoned men pulling off something like this. I met Cat and he's destined to be successful in anything from crime to commerce.”

“Cat's a good kid,” I chimed in. “Smart. Finding his way.”

The three of us bantered about for the rest of the afternoon. Roberts wasn't such a bad guy; typical but not bad. He got a little close with questions about me buying the boat, but I simply said it was none of his damn business where I got the money. My guess is once FBI, always FBI. I could see the idiot turning me in for fraud the minute he had the opportunity, which would come eventually unless he pissed off Bob again. Bob convinced Roberts that he stank enough like seaweed to warrant a good shower, which Roberts welcomed. While he was showering, Bob and I talked about what we were going to do with him. Bob said, “Minute we let this guy loose, he'll be reporting in like a good little investigator. Can't keep him here forever. Like to make Grand Manan sooner than later; not good for me to be sitting here waiting for the pain to start. Sure as hell don't want to take him along, unless we deep six the son-of-a-bitch.”

That night the three of us ate fresh mackerel with boiled potatoes and just-picked asparagus. We washed it down with rum and Cokes. Roberts regaled us with his FBI exploits of tracking down wanted criminals and even terrorists. Bob and I listened with feigned interest. By ten o'clock, yawning out-paced conversation. Bob didn't mince words about sleeping arrangements. “You're welcome on the island, but not to sleep in my cabin,” he said to Roberts. “And should you have ideas
of sneaking away at night, I have a stout chain that says you'll be right here in the morning.”

“That won't be necessary,” Roberts said. “I give you my word.”

“Your word is about as good as a dog turd in a rain storm. I'll lend you a pillow and a blanket; you can bed down right here with a nice chain to keep you comfortable.”

During dinner, I had noticed Roberts seemed to enjoy being in the company of two
old
men. He struck me as a man confused with how to spend the rest of his life; going from FBI intrigue to tracking down nursing home escapees must have been deflating. Roberts was not ready to retire because, like a lot of retired people, his identity was still tied to his work. He had yet to find out who or what he really was. The assisted living section of Sunset and nursing were full of men like Roberts—all they could talk about was what
was
, not
is
or
what might be
but what
was
. Their lives were past-tense.

Roberts was by no means trustworthy, but I couldn't see chaining him on the porch like a dog so I offered the alternative of having Roberts join me on
That Good Night
for a good night's sleep. Perhaps, we could come to terms. With a stern warning to Roberts, Bob said, “Try to leave the island and you'll be crab meat.”

“From kidnapping to murder. That's a life sentence,” Roberts said.

“What the hell do you know about life!” Bob said. Then he turned to me, “Take this guy to your boat, save me from getting the chain, but be careful.” Bob turned and retired into the cabin. Roberts and I walked down to the boat, climbed aboard and went below. I offered to toss Roberts' still damp clothes
into the dryer. He agreed with the exception of his underwear and his leather belt which he wasn't willing to give up. I wasn't about to lend him my robe.

“I don't mean to sound disrespectful, Charlie, but this is a lot of boat to handle alone,” Roberts said while we sat in the salon sipping Black Grouse whisky.

“No, it's a fair observation, get it all the time. The fact is I'm in great shape. Before they slapped me in the nursing home, I was living in a senior suite. I went to the exercise room every day, sometimes twice a day. I did what most prisoners do, built muscle. Once they stuck me in the nursing home, it was a matter of just push-ups and calisthenics. When you sail a boat, your muscles are under constant use trying to stay upright. Some old men just sit down and melt. I'm not one of them”

“Understood,” Roberts said. “What about Bob?”

“What about him? He's lived this way all his life. He's the real thing: hunter/gatherer. He bought this island when he was in his early twenties. Spent his life at sea. Anything you see here, he built. There are still men like that around, but they're getting rarer.”

“I must admit, I kind of envy you two. I retired four years ago when the government offered a buyout for early retirement. It's how they cut overhead without having to fire anybody. I snapped it up, a bit too quickly perhaps. One day I was investigating serious crimes, the next I was twiddling my thumbs. I hoped they'd call me back to duty, but the call never came. I found out pretty soon that I didn't really have any hobbies. It drove me nuts sitting at home with the wife. She didn't like it either. Said she'd married me for better or for worse, but not for lunch. So, here I am working for an insurance company. Not
what I had in mind for retirement.”

“Well, this is my choice, drinking scotch on my very own yacht and this is where I'm going to stay. So, now that you found me, what's next? Handcuff me to a wheelchair? I'm going to make this abundantly clear; there is no way on God's green earth that I'll be going back to that maggot farm.”