Randy White - Hunter's moon

When he got to the fence, I hurried and helped him onto the ground. Fear is exhausting; shock is debilitating. Tomlinson was so weak, his legs were straw until he got an arm over my shoulder.

The stink was incredible.

“Sam and Rivera knew Lourdes was coming. How, I don’t know, unless Sam locked onto my telepathic warning. Which is possible. It made Praxcedes crazy. Crazier. I had time to get my legs free. Man, I bounced out of that helicopter like a bunny.”

I said, “You need a bath in disinfectant. Pigs may like you, but bacteria don’t play favorites.”

“Nope, salt water is best. Salt water cures anything. Whoops!” I was helping him toward the beach, but he stopped to pat the back of his pants. “I’m missing something, man. Hey!” He searched his front pockets, then tried his back pockets again-they had been ripped away.

“Damn. The pigs got Danson’s wallet.” He was looking back at the sty. “I was going to return it to his family. It was inhuman what Lourdes did to that man. They tied him to a pole and used a blowtorch-”

I gave him a shake. “I know, I know. Don’t talk about it.”

Tomlinson took a deep breath, shuddering as he inhaled, then let the breath go slowly. He was teetering near the abyss but fighting it.

“Okay… but I have to go back for his wallet-”

“ No. I’ll get it.”

He was still feeling for his pockets. “You’re patronizing me, man. I can tell.”

“Exactly.”

I was watching the helicopter descend toward an open area between the ranch house and the beach. It looked like a spacecraft, with its blinking lights and powerful landing beam. I told Tomlinson that Vue was aboard and in good shape. The news buoyed him. Tomlinson is a resilient man. A lightning rod for positive energy, he describes himself, and maybe that’s true. He seemed to rally.

“Doc, if you do go back”-it took me a moment to realize he was talking about Danson’s wallet again-“it would be nice to find it for his family. But while you’re there? I had some Ziploc baggies rolled up in my back pockets. About two ounces of prime weed.”

I shined the light toward the pen where the animals were still rooting among the remains of plastic bags.

“I thought pigs are evil but they’re not. They’re actually very mellow once you get to know them.”

I said, “It’s probably because you’re a vegetarian.”

Shana Waters told me, “I called New York and told them about Walt. Until it’s confirmed, though, and his relatives are notified, they’ll hold the story. Try, anyway. A lot of TV people aren’t going to get any sleep tonight.”

Tyner had given her a satellite phone, saying, “Keep it. Bring it along when you visit me in the jungle.”

Waters had replied, “Sure-when the Amazon freezes. I can tour your art collection.” Sarcastic but taking the phone, anyway.

She thought Tyner was kidding when he replied, “I’d like that. Most people don’t consider shrunken heads art.”

Waters had spent the next hour on the phone, pacing between the porch and kitchen, where I had sliced a haunch of smoked beef, provided by the vaqueros, and opened canned beans and canned spaghetti I’d found in the cupboards.

Shana had also told New York that she knew where to find Kal Wilson-Panama City.

The amphib needed a lighted municipal airport to land at night. Panama City was the closest, but it wasn’t a guess. We found a note inside the ranch house that was crumpled and partially burned. Presumably, it had been tacked to the door when Lourdes arrived. If you came for my head, you will find it at the Panama Canal Administration Building, noon, tomorrow. Kal Wilson

Wilson knew a killer was coming. How?

Vue had the best explanation. The president wasn’t forewarned telepathically, he was tipped-off tele graphically. Telegraph operators develop a unique style on the key. “Fist” is the term, Vue said. He and the president had been practicing Morse code together for months.

Wilson may not have known Lourdes was coming, but he knew it wasn’t Vue who sent the message.

What Waters didn’t share with New York were the specifics. Tomorrow’s Independence Week celebration was a huge story and she wanted to be the only network reporter broadcasting live.

“It’s what Walt would have done,” she told me. We were walking toward the Pacific, where rollers conveyed starlight before collapsing onto sand. “The network’s going to send a crew from Miami first thing. Just in case, we’re also arranging for a local crew to be standing by.”

It was 2:30 a.m., and I’d left the hammock I had commandeered as a bed, too restless to sleep. What I really wanted to do was go for a swim. But I had surprised Waters, who was standing on the porch smoking a joint. She wanted to walk with me.

When she offered the joint, I shook my head and asked, “Did Tomlinson give you that?” I’d thrown his clothes away while he was swimming and couldn’t imagine where he’d hidden it.

“No. I gave him one. Two joints, actually. His day was even worse than mine, and I figured he could use it. I’ll buy more when we get to the city.”

I was tempted to tell her to keep away from the pigs but said, “Very kind of you.”

“I like him. And he was such a mess.”

True, but cleaner now. I had searched the barn until I found veterinary-grade disinfectant soap and a bottle of Betadine. I poured half of each into a bath and told him to go soak. He walked into the bathroom carrying a bucket of ice, a bottle of tequila, and three limes.

“I’m going to attack the bastards from the inside, too,” he said. Meaning bacteria. He was weak but getting better.

As we walked, Waters talked about Key West and Danson. Neither of them recognized the president, she told me.

“I’ve been in so many hotels, staff people become shapes without faces,” she said. “Have you ever run into a friend at some place totally unexpected? They look so different until we make the association. He reminded Walt of an actor-see what I mean?”

It wasn’t until an hour later when she discovered her recorder missing and confronted Danson that they made the connection. After that, they had stood toe-to-toe, arguing, blaming each other for blowing the biggest story of the year.

“It was so damn funny the way we battled back and forth,” Waters said, “trying to beat each other. It’s true that I’ve wanted his job for years. But I’m still going to miss him.”

I wondered.

Waters spoke with warmth and regret. But I couldn’t be sure if she was sincere or trying to manipulate my opinion of her. She wanted to interview me about Wilson-she’d mentioned it in an offhand way, as if I’d already agreed.

Maybe I had, in her mind. This was a woman expert at leverage and she’d been within viewing distance when I shot three men.

But the closest she came to hinting at it-if she was hinting- was when she stopped, looked at me, and said, “In Key West, I knew you were no maintenance man. Even drunk as he was, Walt knew it, too. Who’re you with, the CIA? I’d say the Secret Service, but they’re not allowed to… do the sorts of things you seem good at.”

I said, “I’m a biologist. I was hired as a consultant on the new canal. I was with the president because I’m familiar with the area.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “That’s insulting. Do you really expect me to believe that?”

I said, “It happens to be true, but you’re right-it’s not the whole truth.” She was not expecting me to add, “I should know better. Some of the things I heard on your recorder are memorable. I apologize for underestimating you. It won’t happen again.”

The woman cleared her throat. “You listened?”