The Daisy Ducks (9 page)

Mary got home at four-thirty. She loved the gifts.
That was a real smile on her face. But somehow, the feeling that
usually came out at me through her eyes didn't. It wasn't there.

Dinner would cheer her up. I had been marinating lamb
shanks in olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, wine, and crushed herbs and
mint leaves. These I browned in oil, then baked in a covered pan with
some of the marinade still in the pan, which was, in effect, braising
them. I served them on a bed of rice pilaf with a Greek salad and a
carafe of red. We sat in the kitchen nook, watching the news as we
ate.

"What are you thinking?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said absently. "I
guess I feel rather unfulfilled lately. Did I tell you I'm going to
visit my mother next month?"

"No. First I've heard of it. Want me to come
along?"

"Won't you be busy?"

"Actually, the office is being redone. Remember?
I think I'll have about a week."

"Oh, I don't know . . ."

I suddenly felt she was a million miles away. I felt
all alone: the boys were back at school, not to return again until
semester break. We cleaned up and Mary went into her pottery workshop
while I returned to the study. I sat at my desk and looked at the
rows of books in their shelves . . . out the window at the bare apple
trees. Mary, I thought, I'm smothering in your distance. Drowning in
your coldness. If it's just a game, please don't play it anymore. It
hurts.

Fred Kaunitz called me at seven o'c1ock, six Texas
time. I keep thinking that Texas is way out West. Not so; it's way
down South, at least the eastern half, and in the Central Time Zone.
His voice was deep and confident, with a relaxed drawl reminiscent of
Don Meredith.

"So you know Roantis. Is he still in trouble?"

"Uh-huh. With practically everyone."

There was a dry chuckle at the other end.

"Figures. He was a hell of a good team leader
though. I'll never forget Liatis, though I'd like to forget those
days entirely. Still have some bad dreams about 'em. He tell you what
we did over there?"

"Yes. He's anxious to find Ramon Vilarde. I
guess you called him Ken."

"Yeah. Well, I don't know where he is, Dr.
Adams. You know, those guys in the Ducks were a strange breed. They
could be anywhere, doing anything. We were like coati bears over
there. Roaming around getting into all kinds of trouble, living off
the land . . . destroying as we went."

"Fred, do you have the faintest hunch where
Vilarde might be?"

"No. I'd think Liatis would know better than
anyone since they were close. I think Ken was also close to Jesus
Jusuelo. Last I heard, he was going to be a lifer."

"Right. But then he got divorced, and quit the
army, too. He was last living in DC. About two months ago he called
Roantis to say he was flying up to meet him. Then he disappeared."

"Maybe he just changed his mind. Who knows?
Maybe an overseas job came up. Does Roantis think something bad
happened to him?"

"Frankly, yes. Do you know anyone, in the Ducks
or otherwise, who had it in for Ken?"

"Nope. But that sure doesn't mean there weren't
any. Not in that line of work."

I finished the conversation by asking Fred Kaunitz
three questions. The first was whether or not he had any desire to
see his old team commander again. He answered sure, but he wouldn't
go far out of his way to see Roantis, saying he wished to put as much
of that part of his life behind him as possible. The second question
dealt with Siu Lok's loot. Did Fred get any of it? What did he do
with it? He took his share of the gold and silver and emeralds and
cashed it in at a Tokyo shop. He spent the money on books, artwork,
and three Japanese swords. The third question was whether he would be
willing to meet with me for a few hours in early March, when I'd be
in Texas for the annual convention of the College of Oral Surgery. He
said fine, and that ended it.

I lighted a pipe and sat at my desk looking at the
list of Daisy Ducks. Jesus Jusuelo. What sort of fellow was he?
Roantis had said the best of the best as far as soldiering was
concerned: a Navy SEAL. But I'd heard amazing things about the SEALs.
Scary things. Apparently their training included some sort of
dehumanizing process that was much more pronounced than the ordinary
military variety. Some people said the SEALs were the closest things
to killing robots ever produced. I hoped that one of the Ducks knew
his whereabouts. Certainly knowing only that he was on the continent
of Africa wouldn't do us any good. But even if I could find out where
he was, I wasn't sure I ever wanted to get within five miles of him.

Just before ten the overseas operator rang up, saying
I could place my call to Manila. I talked briefly to the staff at the
VA hospital. Information on patients was strictly confidential. I
said I understood, but could they tell me if Bill Royce was currently
a patient there? They said they'd check, and they did. Bill Royce was
no longer a patient. He had been discharged in late June. Where had
he gone? They didn't know or wouldn't say.

I brooded over this interesting piece of news,
thinking how timely it was that Royce was sprung just a few months
before Vilarde disappeared. Probably just coincidence.

Afterward, I read magazines until midnight. Actually,
I looked at the pages and pictures and thought about Mary and me, and
what the hell was happening. What was happening? Then I trudged
upstairs. Mary had been asleep for an hour. At one-thirty the phone
rang. In a panic, I grabbed it. It was either a crank call or an
emergency. Like any parent with children away from home, I dreaded
the late phone call.

"Chief? Hey chief!"

The voice was heavy and slurred. The man sounded
black. I brusquely told the caller he had the wrong number and hung
up. But just before I returned to sleep a thought slipped into my
head, and before I fully considered it, the phone rang again.

"Hey chief! That you?"

"Is this Mike Summers?"

"Yeah, tha's right. Who's this?"

Summers was apparently calling from the Blue Flame
Lounge. A saxophone squeaked and honked in the background. There was
the loud murmur of a crowded night spot.

"This is Charles Adams. I'm a friend of Liatis
Roantis, who's just recovering from a gunshot wound. Can you talk for
a minute?"

Mary had turned on the light. She sat up in bed,
squinting and frowning.

"Yeah I can talk. On your nickel. I'm about
busted, man. Where's Roantis?"

"In the hospital. It's a long story. Can I call
you back tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah, lemme give you a number."

"Who is it, Charlie? What time is it?"
asked Mary.

"It's late. It's one of the Daisy Ducks:
Summers."

But Mary was unimpressed.
She was even annoyed, and frumped back down and turned over,
growling. I copied down the number Summers gave me and went to sleep.

* * *

"And so that's it. Royce is out, but God knows
where. Maybe he isn't exactly sure where he is. That leaves Jusuelo
and Vilarde not pinned down. Your guess is still as good as mine."

Roantis squinted at me over the rim of his glass. It
was a novel experience seeing him drink water. He sank back on his
pillow and stared at the ceiling.

"How did Summers sound to you?" he asked.

"Wasted. He was drunk when he first called me
and shaky as hell next morning. It seems the security firm just fired
him too. He doesn't know how long he can keep his tiny apartment in
the ghetto, and his mother is moving to her sister's in St. Louis. I
think when she splits he'll go down the chute real fast."

"Shit," murmured Roantis under his breath.
He shook his head slowly back and forth on the pillow, then lighted a
Camel. I don't know how he got the cigarettes; the doctors had nixed
them. "I tell ya Doc, this soldiering sucks the heart right out
of you. Then it takes the center of your soul and rots it away.
Summers had a lot of potential. A shame."

"I'm going out to Texas to see Kaunitz in
March."

"Yeah? Good. Freddie's a good kid. Kid? Hell,
he's pushing forty by now. He speaks good Spanish, you know."

"So?"

"Just crossed my mind. I remember him talking to
Ken and Jesus in Spanish a lot of the time. I guess a lot of people
in Texas speak Spanish."

"On the way back from Texas, I've got a two-hour
layover in Chicago between flights. I've talked Summers into taking
the train out to the airport and meeting me there for an hour."

Roantis smiled up at me, remarking that it was nice
I'd decided to accept his offer. I replied that I had not accepted
the offer. I was merely gathering a little preliminary information
for him. No way had I accepted the offer.

But he kept smiling at me. Why was he smiling?

"Where's Bill Royce gone?" I asked,
changing the subject. He shrugged his shoulders in thought.

"He's from North Carolina someplace. A little
town up in the mountains near Tennessee. Show me a map, I could
remember the name. A lot of the recon men were from the Smokies. Good
in the wilderness, you know? Anyway, maybe he's gone home. I don't
know. And maybe he's fine now. He was a nice guy when he was with us.
Then he cracked. He was real unstable then, and dangerous."

"How did he get along with Vilarde?"

"Fine. I tell you, Doc, I don't think he had
anything to do with Ken's disappearance or with shooting me. A lot of
people don't like me, you know."

"I can understand that. But Bill Royce should be
checked out. How many days and nights did it take you to get back
after you took the statue?"

"Two days and two nights."

"And during that time, could any of the other
Ducks have discovered the Siva in your pack while you slept?"

"Uh-huh. Sure."

"And what would they have thought if word got
out that you had it?"

"Hard to say. Anything could happen. But it
would be unlike them to go through my stuff."

"Yeah. But were the packs private? I mean,
didn't each of you carry stuff for the whole team? What if they were
just looking for something and didn't want to wake you up?"

"Could happen. Could happen easy."

"Is Suzanne picking you up this afternoon?"

"She was. But the car's busted again. Guess I'll
take the bus."

"No you won't. I'll drive you home. I'll come
back at three when they discharge you."

I was out the door before I remembered the beautiful
woman I had seen on the stairs.

"Hey Liatis, you don't happen to know a gorgeous
Asian girl about six feet tall, do you? Wears a white ski parka and
her hair up in a bun?"

"No, why?"

I explained the chance meeting, and he cussed me out,
saying I should have sent her to his room. I left him lying in bed,
watching
All My Children
.
 
 

6

I PICKED ROANTIS up at the hospital at three, as
promised. But I had decided not to take him back to his apartment in
Jamaica Plain. How could I be sure that whoever took a shot at him
wasn't going to try again? Brian Hannon's detectives could find no
trace of the lone gunman around Concord. Was he still in the
vicinity? It seemed he was only interested in the key, and that he'd
gotten what he was after. But who knew? Maybe he wanted Roantis dead.

So I'd called Suzanne and convinced her to pack
clothes for both of them. She didn't need much persuading, and one
quick look at her small apartment told me why. Suzanne Murzicki
Roantis was a pretty, petite, brown-haired woman ten years younger
than her husband. She had a nice pair of big blue eyes. But years of
living with a professional soldier-karate champ had taken their toll:
the eyes were dulled, the face around them lined with worry wrinkles.
Poor kid; she needed a break—probably even more than Roantis.
Suzanne was with me when I waited at the desk for them to wheel out
the ex-mercenary. He was momentarily taken aback and confused when he
saw us together, then gave his wife a dutiful hug and kiss from his
wheelchair and stared blankly ahead while I wheeled him out into the
parking lot. We got him settled comfortably in the Audi's front seat
and headed for the Adams household.

"What's going on?" he asked finally as I
helped him into an overstuffed chair in the living room. "And
how about a drink, Doc?"

"Nix on the booze. You remember what the doctors
told you. If you can stay off the stuff for another month or so,
you'll be in good shape. Now, later tonight Mary and I are going to
drive you and Suzanne down to Cape Cod. We're going to put you up at
our cottage, where you can recover in peace and safety. Nobody else
knows where you're going. In six or eight weeks, you should be almost
as good as new."

Surprisingly, he didn't fight it. The bullet had
apparently sapped a bit of his cussedness. I wheeled him into the
kitchen to help prepare dinner. I knew that a lot of protein would
help him heal, so Mary and I had put a huge standing rib in the oven.
Roantis made the mashed potatoes while Suzanne helped me make
dressing for the salad. When Mary and I make blue cheese dressing we
add onions, capers, seasoned black pepper, and a dash of white
vinegar to the cheese and oil, and blend these in the food processor
before adding the mayonnaise and additional crumbled blue cheese. It
gives the dressing more bite, makes it less heavy and cloying. We
poured this liberally over big lettuce wedges. With the meat,
potatoes, and buttered broccoli, it was quite a feed. We ate in the
kitchen nook, and when Roantis sat down, he stared at the sprig of
prickly ash that Mary had set in a vase in the middle of the table.