The Collectibles (8 page)

W
hen Preston and Casey arrived at the lodge just before daybreak, Larry was waiting in his truck. They loaded the backpacks Larry gave them with their clothes and the food and water they had purchased, then bounced for what seemed like hours over the winding dirt road, the three of them crammed into the front seat of Larry's four-wheel-drive. The road followed Blooming Grove Stream for a while until it passed over an ancient wooden bridge and became narrower and rougher as they climbed higher in the hills. Finally it simply ended, with a rusted steel bar across what looked like a foot trail.

“Well, the easy part's over,” Larry said. “From here, we go on foot. Joe likes the next pond on the south side. Maybe he's up there.”

Larry led the way up the trail, which became increasingly harder to recognize. Preston, and especially Casey, had a hard time keeping up with their guide, even with his bad foot. Other than a lot of grunts, Casey never said a word.

“We've gotta keep movin',” Larry said. “If we find Joe, I'll be leaving you fellas. It'll take me a day to get back.”

Casey and Preston were taking increasingly longer stops for a drink of water and to rest. Larry looked at them impatiently but waited, and then set off again up the trail.

It seemed as though Casey was finding it harder to breathe. Like he felt some tightness in his chest. He said aloud that he had to keep his promise to himself to lose weight.

Even though the sun was no longer visible, there was still plenty of light, and Larry seemed as though he didn't really know where he was going but there was no choice other than to trust him. Larry was saying very little and just kept moving. As they climbed higher and higher, deeper into the forest, Preston was second-guessing himself.
What if Casey is right about Joe? Right about this trip? I should be back in the city taking care of my business. What if Joe is troubled? He's obviously a drop-out. He has gone through some difficult circumstances, to say the least. What if he's not all together? What if he tells me to leave him alone? Or go to hell? Maybe I am chasing rainbows.

Larry seemed to be picking up the pace. At one point, he climbed up on a large rock embedded in the side of the hill, looked down and to the left with his binoculars, and slid down again. “It won't be long. We'll be there soon.”

“Be where?” Casey mumbled. These were among the only words he had spoken since they left.

“At Four Points Pond. That's where I'm hoping we'll find Joe. It's a great spot, kind of special. Very quiet and loaded with game.”

Although there really was no longer any trail, Larry pressed on, making his own. They were climbing along large sides of rock that seemed built into the ground and looked like they had marble in them.

Out of cracks in the rock grew pine and spruce trees, some larger than Preston had ever seen. The air seemed different and so did the light. It was also getting harder for him to breathe.
There were hawks coasting high in the air, and Preston's sense of smell was working overtime. Other than the sounds of water from streams and the rustling of the wind, there was quiet. More quiet than he had ever experienced.

At last, Larry stopped and turned to Preston and Casey with a big smile on his face. “You boys must be doing something right or else you got the Good Lord on your side.”

“Why, what?” Preston and Casey asked at the same time.

“I believe we've found the man you're looking for,” Larry answered as he kept moving.

“Where? How do you know that?” Preston asked.

Without breaking his stride, Larry looked over his shoulder at Preston. “'Cause Joe has started his fire.”

“How can you tell it's Joe's fire?” Casey grunted.

“'Cause Joe makes a fire just big enough,” Larry said. “And no smoke.”

After another thirty minutes, Larry guided the two men down a steep path through rocks and trees leading to a large pond. The pond was fed by a waterfall cascading down the boulders. At the near side of the pond and the edge of the forest was a man sitting in front of a tiny fire with his back to a lean-to set against the rock side of the mountain. Larry whistled as they approached and Joe whistled back. Larry went up to Joe and whispered a few words that neither Preston nor Casey could hear. Joe nodded and motioned Casey and Preston over.

“Joe, this here is Mr. Preston Wilson, and the fella with him's name is Mr. Casey Fitzgerald. Fellas, this here is Joe Hart.” The men shook hands.

Preston tried to reconcile the man he now looked at with his memory and the mental image he had formed. This was not the fifteen-year-old, scrappy, out-of-it kid he thought he remembered, nor did he expect that. On the other hand, he did not look the way Preston had anticipated. He was shorter, but with squarer shoulders and a stronger build. Yet, something about Joe prodded Preston's memory. He now remembered Joe's eyes, having stared into them in the crevice when Joe had been lowered down and struggled to tie a rope around him.

What Preston saw now was a fully mature man with the same piercing eyes but a cold face. He seemed to Preston to have a certain confidence and presence, simultaneously comforting and intimidating. Joe and Preston stood and looked at each other for what felt to Preston to be too long a time.

“Well, I've done my part, Mr. Wilson,” Larry said as he set his pack on the ground. “There's two sleeping bags in here, two blankets and a tarp. That oughta do ya. I'll be climbing back down this hill now. So long, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Fitzgerald. See ya later, Joe.”

Joe nodded and waved goodbye as Larry returned to the trail.

“Thank you, Larry,” Preston called after him. “I'll settle up with you later.”

Larry held his right arm up, and just kept walking.

“You guys came a long way,” Joe said. “Why?”

“I don't know if you remember me, Joe.”

“I remember. How's your arm?” Joe asked with a smile.

“It's doing fine,” Preston said, not returning the look. “I wish I were doing as well. What are you doing up here all alone?”

“What makes you think I'm alone?” Joe asked.

“Well, I don't see anybody else.”

“I don't think a man is really ever alone,” Joe said. “Besides, there's a lot of animals up here. And you don't see Buck. But he's been smelling you and Larry and watching you for the last three miles. Buck is the reason I knew Larry was with you, and that's the only reason you found me,” Joe said.

At first Preston was confused. Then he had the horrible thought that Joe must be confused.
He's been up here too long. I'm screwed.

Joe looked at Preston, still smiling, and put two fingers to his lips and made a shrill whistle. Within seconds, a 125-pound, solid-black German shepherd came running from the woods, straight to Joe. Buck licked Joe's face, and then sat at his side, staring at Preston. Preston froze. While he had never had a dog as a child, he was not particularly afraid of dogs either. But this dog was big and dark and had a manner about him that terrified Preston. Buck, on the other hand, sat quietly at Joe's side with his large ears sticking straight up.

“Meet Buck,” Joe said. Preston nodded. Casey moved slightly toward the dog and said hello to him. Joe nodded almost imperceptibly to Buck, and Buck went over to Casey and licked his hand.

Casey appeared comfortable for the first time that day, as though he was falling in love with the big, strong dog that he was now petting. Buck continued to watch Preston but did not approach him.

“How old is Buck?” Casey asked. “How long you had him?”

“Buck is eleven,” Joe replied. “We . . . he's been with us . . . he's been around . . . since my Navy days.”

“You train him?” Casey asked, clearly impressed with the way the dog behaved.

“Buck never needed too much training. He's always had a pretty good idea what to do and how to do it. I did ask a buddy of mine over at the War Dog Training School at Fort Benning, Georgia, to spend some time with him and that turned out to be time well spent. He tried to get me to enroll Buck in the war dog program but we . . . I . . . wanted to have him with us. Anyway, I'm glad you like my dog, but let me ask you guys a question. Why?”

“Why?” Preston echoed, still leery of the dog.

“Yeah. Why?” Joe said, putting clear emphasis on the word. “Why are you here?”

“Because I need your help, Joe. I'm in a difficult position, and I need a smart, tough lawyer to get me out of it. You've had quite a career since you and I were last together. Very impressive. It looks to me like you're the one man who can help me, and a man that I know. I want to retain your services, hire you to pull my chestnuts out of the fire, so to speak.”

“Do you need help, too, Casey?” Joe asked.

“Casey here is an old friend of mine and my chief financial officer,” Preston said.

Casey nodded, mumbling something to himself.

Preston went on, “I hauled his ass up here because he knows all the financials and all the particulars about my companies. I figured that you would need access to all of that. That's why he's here.”

“You figured wrong, Preston,” Joe said, pushing a log slightly to its side with his boot, making the fire immediately burn stronger and brighter.

“About what?” Preston said.

“About my needing access to all of that. I don't need access to any of it, because I don't need to listen to any more about your problems. I'm sorry you've got problems, and I'm sorry that you've come all this way for nothing. You're welcome to put your tarp up and spend the night here, and in the morning, you can work your way back down the mountain. It's easier going down than coming up.”

“You don't understand, Joe,” Preston said. “I'm the owner of Wilson Holdings, which is a company that owns car dealerships all over the country. We have stores in New York, Atlanta, California, Chicago, North Carolina, and Texas. Big stores.”

“Good for you,” Joe said.

“Please let me finish, Joe.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to hear the whole story.”

“Why?”

“So you can . . . ”

“Preston, I don't need to hear the whole story. I don't need to do anything. You may need to do something or say something or address your problem in some way. But I don't. Surely, as a mega-car dealer with stores all over the country, you already have legal counsel. Probably a large firm. I'm sure they have given you advice. Whatever the problem, it is not my problem, and I do not want it to become my problem. I hope you guys brought something to eat, because Buck and I are about to have our dinner and go to bed.”

Joe arranged some thin sticks across the small fire in the form of a wooden grill and then placed two filleted trout over the tops of the sticks. Buck watched. Preston and Casey eyed the cooking fish with envy apparent on their faces as they dug into their small packs and brought out canned Cokes and several sandwiches, which Sarah had wrapped. The three men ate in silence.

After their dinner, Preston tried again.

“Look, Joe, you obviously want to be alone up here . . . or up here with your dog alone. I had no right to intrude. I apologize. I really didn't have a choice. I'm in a very difficult situation, and in fact, my businesses are going down. Yes, I have a large law firm, and yes, they have advised me. But, to be honest, their advice sucks. I owe a lot of money to a lot of banks, and all my big-shot lawyers can do is tell me to go bankrupt. I can't go bankrupt. I'd lose everything. I can't sell my properties because of the liens against them, and I can't refinance either. If I don't go bankrupt, my lawyers think there's a good chance I will be indicted for selling cars out of trust or bank fraud or both. Even if I do go bankrupt, I might not be able to discharge all my debts if the banks claim fraud. I haven't defrauded the banks or anybody else, but if I don't keep this civil – treat it as a civil matter – some over-zealous prosecutor could come after me on a criminal basis. Whichever way I turn, I'm screwed.”

“You know, it's not the trap that kills the bear when he gets caught,” Joe said. “It's the thrashing around trying to get out of it.”

“What?” Casey mumbled.

Joe ignored the question, feeding the remains of the trout on the stick to Buck and watching him lick it.

“You're right, Joe,” Preston said. “I'm between a rock and a hard place. I don't know how to get out of the trap. But from what I have learned about you, you not only know how to get me out, you've got the guts to do it. That's why you're the only one who can help me. Money is not a problem. I'll pay you whatever you want. Please. Please help me.”

“I thought money was a problem for you,” Joe said.

“I've got the money to pay you.”

“How did you get here from New York City?”

“We flew from Teterboro by helicopter to Ticonderoga Municipal Airport,” Preston said, “and then Casey talked me into renting a car from there. Why do you ask?”

“I thought we'd do better with our own car instead of a company car and driver up here,” Casey interjected.

“Just wondered,” Joe replied, obviously amazed at how rich business men continued to cling to their expensive toys even when their companies were going down. “Most of all, I wonder why in the world I should believe you, let alone help you.”

“What do you mean?” Preston asked.

Joe sat down and motioned Preston and Casey to sit as well. They did, and Joe looked at Preston. “You've probably renegotiated your bank loans with your various banks personally and with your large firm lawyers at your side or even through them in the past. Correct?”

“Yes,” Preston replied.

“How many times?”

“At least three.”

“Three, each bank?”

“Actually, yes.”