Double Blind (19 page)

"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?"

Chapter Eighteen

At precisely eight o'clock that Wednesday morning, Henry Lightstone and Bobby LaGrange entered the pancake house, stood inside the doorway, and looked around.

"You see him?" Lightstone asked.

"Yeah, the guy with the ratty beard and dark glasses in the back booth, next to the rest rooms." Bobby LaGrange nodded toward the rear of the restaurant.

"This the same crazy old fart who's supposedly blind, but rides a motorbike all over town?"

"Uh-huh." A pained expression darkened Bobby LaGrange's tanned features even more. "You sure we've got to go through with this, Henry?"

"You'd rather go over to the warehouse and help Larry figure out how to transfer 750 giant tarantulas and about thirty poisonous snakes into a couple hundred glass terrariums?"

"Yeah, right, never mind," LaGrange muttered as they walked toward the booth.

The Sage greeted Bobby LaGrange warmly.

"You brought a friend?" he noted the obvious as he motioned the two men to the opposite bench where Wintersole had sat the previous morning.

"He's an old school buddy of mine," LaGrange explained as they sat down. "Henry, Sage. Sage, Henry."

The two men nodded at each other.

"I told Henry about how we met at my ranch last weekend, and about those Indian battle charms you said you could get," Bobby LaGrange went on easily. "Figured you wouldn't mind if I brought along another potential customer."

"I'm always interested in trying to help fellow travelers in this terribly confusing world." The old man lifted his dark glasses and appraised Lightstone with his squinting, red-streaked eyes. "Do you believe in ancient superstitions, Henry?"

Lightstone shrugged. "I believe there's a whole bunch of things we don't understand. And my luck's certainly been down lately. Running across Bobby after twenty-some years is about the best thing that's happened to me since my girlfriend took off. So I figured, what the hell, an Indian battle charm might help some, and it sure as hell can't make things any worse."

"Things are never as they seem, but they can always be better than they are," the Sage replied wisely.

"You know" — Lightstone smiled — "my grandmother used to say things like that."

"Really?" The old man leaned forward in the booth with his thin arms wrapped protectively around his cup and saucer. "Was she a seer?"

"A what?"

"A seer — someone who sees glimpses of the future," the Sage explained.

"I have no idea. All I know is that she used to tell me stories about good and evil spirits."

"The ancient stories. Good against evil. Light against darkness," the old man whispered excitedly.

"Yes, that's exactly it," Lightstone replied, instinctively going with the flow of the conversation. "She talked about how the spirits were in balance, harmony — I think she called it — like the day and the night, one following the other into eternity . . . except —"

"Yes?" The Sage leaned forward so eagerly he seemed ready to pounce on Lightstone's next words.

"I don't know. It's been a long time." Lightstone smiled apologetically. "As I recall though, she said some kind of disaster would occur if anything ever destroyed the balance. The darkness could gain strength and overwhelm the light. She called it something, but I can't—"

"The Apocalypse?" the Sage whispered hopefully.

Henry Lightstone smiled, this time in apparent recognition.

"That's it, the Apocalypse. That's what she called it, too." He stared above the Sage's head at nothing, as if remembering something from his distant past. "Man, I'd forgotten all about those stories. You bring back some interesting memories."

"Your grandmother was a seer," the old man stated flatly. "Which means you possibly received the Gift as well."

"Really?" Lightstone eyed the old man skeptically. "I don't have any sense of that — being able to see the future."

"No, of course not." The old man quickly glanced around the restaurant and lowered his voice. "You wouldn't be aware of it, until something — or someone —awakens the spirit within you. And even then, you would only see glimpses. We're never allowed to see the whole truth."

Then, for thirty seconds or so, he seemed lost in thought, leaving the other two men to sit in silence.

"So, you think a genuine Apache Indian battle charm might help me make peace with my ranch spirits, and get my buddy's life back on track?" LaGrange finally pressed the old man gently.

The Sage appeared to rouse himself out of a deep trance.

"Oh yes, without a doubt." He spoke hesitantly at first, but his voice gradually grew stronger. "Unfortunately, my sources at the reservation couldn't talk a very stubborn woman out of the particular charm I wanted for you." He shrugged his narrow shoulders. "It happens sometimes. Most of the Apache women will usually sell their family artifacts for a reasonable amount. But every now and then —" He held his wrinkled hands out as if to say, "What can you do?"