“Didn’t look like the old bastard had any muscular areas. Skinny old dude. If you can get him to stand up while you’re talking to him I’ll try hitting him in the butt. That way I can get an arm around him in case he tries struggling or crying out.”
“Sounds like a good plan.” Huddy found the mental image distasteful. It was one thing to arrange a covert operation to clean up an inanimate chemical dump, quite another to take away a human being against his will. Go on, say the word, he ordered himself. Kidnapping. Kid-nap-ping. There, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?
Not that he’d be that blunt with Pickett. There were a host of excuses he could use on Pickett if the old man required explanations. Necessary for his health, and so forth. Personally he would have prefered to be directing this operation from a distance, just as he had with the dump clean-up. Unfortunately, he couldn’t trust anyone else to do this properly. Drew and Idanha were directly responsible to him, and he had to be along to make certain everything went precisely as planned. This wasn’t like shipping barrels of waste to Baja. He intended to deliver the old man to Doctor Navis personally.
He’d even prepared excuses should something go radically wrong and the entire operation blow up in their faces. Maybe the police would stop the ambulance for some inexplicable reason. Sorry officer, this man’s sick, have to get him to a hospital. No, we don’t need an escort, thanks, not critical. We’ll just be on our way, thanks.
He didn’t think it would come to that. It shouldn’t. His preparations had been meticulous. Even the old ambulance had been doubly checked for bad brake lights and such. All they had to do was move a tired old man to a doctor’s office for a couple of days of testing. An hour and a half drive and he could dump everything in Doctor Navis’ lap and get back to his own work.
Against the resources Huddy had mustered there wasn’t a lot Jake Pickett could do.
“What if he tries to run on us before I can get behind him, Mr. Huddy?”
“He won’t,” Huddy assured him.
“I dunno. I’ve seen some old guys could really move when they had to.” Huddy tried not to look too exasperated. Drew had the brain of an uninquisitive teenager. Be easy with him, Huddy thought. You need this man. He’s no better or worse than the rest of his class.
“He can’t run. He has a bad heart, remember?”
“Oh yeah.” Drew frowned slightly. “Forgot that for a minute. Naw, you’re right. He won’t be doing any running.”
“The worst he’ll do,” Huddy went on, “is refuse to go with us and protest a lot. That we are prepared to cope with. You won’t have any trouble carrying him?”
“Are you kiddin’, Mr. Huddy?” Drew laughed, short and sharp. “Him and you both. One in each arm. I’ve had to muscle guys lots bigger than this one.”
The little stucco house was quiet, the single sprinkler sitting out front cool with morning dew. Huddy gestured for Drew to stand off to one side and out of immediate sight as he rang the doorbell. When no reply was forthcoming he thumbed the button a second time, then rapped sharply on the door with his knuckles.
“It’s early yet, Mr. Huddy,” said Drew thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s still asleep.”
“Maybe.” Huddy was frowning to himself. They walked around to the back of the house. The curtains were drawn over the bedroom window. “Can’t see a damn thing.” He rapped on the glass several times. Still no response from within.
“Old people can sleep really hard,” Drew observed.
“I know that, you idiot.” Huddy was starting to get worried.
There was a back door overlooking the now sanitized hellhole that had been the dump. Huddy knocked on it once, then tried the knob. It refused to turn. There was no sign of a deadbolt. He stepped aside and gestured to his companion. Silently Drew moved to the door. He pulled a ring full of keys and blanks from a pocket and worked on the lock for about two minutes before it turned.
Stepping back, he smiled and gestured broadly. “After you, Mr. Huddy.”
Huddy smiled thinly in reply and pushed the door open. It led to the living room. “Mr. Pickett? Jake? It’s me, Benjamin Huddy.” The only sound in the house was the distant ticking of a clock.
“Maybe,” suggested Drew, peering over Huddy’s shoulder, “the old boy already had his heart attack. That’d be funny, wouldn’t it, with us waiting on him with an ambulance.”
“You’re a riot, Drew. How come you haven’t done Vegas yet?”
“I have, but not with jokes,” said the younger man meaningfully. “We go in?”
Huddy nodded, led him inside. It didn’t take them long to thoroughly check out the little house. Jake Pickett was not there, alive or dead. He wasn’t on the bed or hiding under it, wasn’t lying limply in the bathtub or slumped over the kitchen stove. They checked the bedroom drawers but Huddy couldn’t tell if there was clothing missing. He hadn’t the faintest idea what the old man’s wardrobe normally looked like, except that he was pretty sure it wasn’t very extensive even when everything was cleaned and put up.
Drew was waiting for him near the back door when Huddy finished his inspection of the laundry closet. They’d checked out the half attic and found nothing up there but wasps’ nests and old newspapers.
“What now, Mr. Huddy?”
“I’m thinking, dammit. Back to the ambulance.” They hurried back down the trail.
The driver looked up curiously. Drew glanced at him, said, “The old man’s split.”
“We don’t know that yet,” Huddy pointed out. “He may have gone visiting. I don’t see his car but it could be in somebody’s garage. At worst maybe he’s gone shopping.”
“I remember you saying that local people hereabouts did that for him,” said Drew.
“Not all the time, I’ll bet. Let’s check the neighbors first. They know when we’re coming. They ought to see when Pickett’s going.”
It took three tries before they found a house with someone at home. The plump, dark-haired woman had a dish in one hand, a rag in the other. She stared expectantly at them, wondering at the white coats. A little girl no more than four or five clung to her mother’s dress. She sucked on her thumb and stared at the strangers out of wide eyes, naked as a guppy.
“Excuse us, Señora,” said Huddy pleasantly. “We’re looking for Jake Pickett.” No response from the woman. “Pickett?” He took a step back from the doorway and pointed up the road. The woman smiled understandingly.
“Ah, Señor Pickett, si. Yo miro…. I saw him yesterday morning.”
“Yesterday,” Huddy murmured. “Could you please tell us where he went?”
“Why you want to know?” asked the woman suspiciously.
“I’m one of his doctors.” Huddy expanded his smile, tried to look understanding. “He was having some problems with his heart.” He tapped his chest. “We were supposed to take him in to the hospital for observation.”
The woman frowned. “That’s funny. My husband saw him yesterday on the way to work. It was very early and he asked because Señor Pickett, he never go out much.”
“I know.” Huddy forced himself to remain calm. “Can you tell me please where he went?”
