Nelson Demille - Wild fire

I reached Canton and found Scheinthal’s Sporting Goods, where I bought a box of.40-caliber rounds for Kate and a box of 9mm for myself. Everyone in law enforcement should be using the same caliber handgun, like in the military, but that’s another story. I also got us four spare Glock magazines. The proprietor, Ms. Leslie Scheinthal, needed ID for the ammo purchase, and I showed her my driver’s license, not my Fed creds.

I needed to change my socks, which had recently become forensic evidence, so I bought a pair of wool socks that would be good for collecting more rug fibers and hairs in Mr. Madox’s dining room and library.

Of course, all this investigative technique stuff would become moot if Madox slipped a Mickey Finn in our drinks, or shot us with a tranquilizer dart, and we woke up dead, like Harry. Also, there was the possibility of good, old-fashioned gunplay.

On that subject, I had the thought that a situation could arise where Kate and I might be relieved of our weapons. I had no intention of letting that happen without a fight, but the fact was, we were walking into an armed camp, and it’s hard to argue with ten guys who have assault rifles pointed at you. I was sure that Harry had encountered a similar situation.

So I looked around the sporting-goods store for something that wouldn’t set off a metal detector and might pass a frisk, and at the same time would be more useful in a tight situation than, say, a pair of wool socks.

Ms. Scheinthal, who was a pretty young lady-though I didn’t notice-asked me, “Can I help you with anything?”

“Well… this is kind of a long story…” I mean, I really didn’t want to get into the whole thing about my dinner host and his private army holding me up at gunpoint and taking my pistols, then me needing a hidden weapon to kill them, and so forth. So I said, “I’m… I need some survival gear.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Leslie. What do you have?”

She walked me to an aisle and said, “Well, here’s some stuff. But all camping gear is really survival gear.”

“Not the way my ex-wife camped, with a house trailer and a cleaning lady.”

Leslie smiled.

I looked over the stuff and tried to figure out what the hell I could smuggle into the lodge that wouldn’t set off a metal detector. Stun grenades have almost no metal, so I asked her, “Do you have stun grenades?”

She laughed. “No. Why would I carry stun grenades?”

“I don’t know. Maybe to fish. You know, like dynamite fishing.”

She informed me, “That’s illegal.”

“No kidding? I do it all the time in Central Park.”

“Come on, John.”

She seemed to want to help, but I wasn’t being very helpful myself. She said, “So, you’re camping out. Right?”

“Right.”

“So, do you have winter gear?”

“What’s that?”

She laughed. “It gets cold out there at night, John. This isn’t New York City.”

“Right. That’s why I bought these wool socks.”

She thought that was funny, then said, “Well, you need winter camping gear.”

“I really don’t have a lot of cash, and my ex-wife stole my credit card.”

“You got a rifle, at least?”

“Nope.”

“Well, you need to watch out for the bears. They’re unpredictable this time of year.”

“So am I.”

“And don’t think you’re safe with those peashooters you got. Last guy I knew who tried to drop a bear with a pistol is now a rug in a bear den.”

“Right. Funny.”

“Yeah. Not funny. Well, if a bear comes around your camp, looking for food, you have to bang pots and pans-”

“I don’t have pots and pans. That’s why I need stun grenades.”

“No. You know what you need?”

“No, what?”

“You need a compressed gas horn.”

She took a tin canister off the shelf, and I asked her, “Is that a can of chili?”

“No-”

“Compressed gas. You know?”

“John- jeez . No, this is like… an air horn.” She explained, “This usually scares them off, and you can also use it to signal you’re in trouble. Two longs and a short. Okay? Only six bucks.”

“Yeah?”

“And this…” She took a box off the shelf and said, “This is a BearBanger kit.”

“Huh?”

“This is like a signal flare launcher with cartridges. Okay? See, here, it says the flare fires one hundred thirty feet high and can be seen nine miles away during the day, and eighteen miles at night.”

“Right…” A little flare went off in my head, and I said, “Yeah… that could do it.”

“Right. Okay, when you fire this cartridge, it puts out a one-hundred-fifteen-decibel report. That’ll scare the you-know-what out of the bear.”

“Right. So the bear will make doo-doo in the woods.”

She chuckled. “Yeah. Here.” She handed me the box, and I opened it. It seemed to consist of a launcher, not much bigger than a penlight and similar in appearance, plus six BearBanger flares, the size of AA batteries. This little thing packed a wallop.

Leslie said, “You just put the cartridge in here, then push the pen-like button, and the flare fires. Okay? But try not to point it at your face.” She laughed.

Actually, it wasn’t my face that it was going to be pointed at if and when I needed to fire this thing.

She continued, “And don’t point it at the bear. Okay? You could hurt the bear or start a forest fire. You don’t want to do that.”

“No?”

“No. Okay, you’ll get a bright light, equal to… what’s this say? About fifteen thousand candlepower.” She smiled. “If I see it, or hear it, I’ll come looking for you.” She added, “This is thirty bucks. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“So, take the air horn and take the BearBanger. Right?”

“Right… actually, I’ll take two BearBangers.”

“You got company?”

“No, but this would make a nice birthday gift for my five-year-old nephew.”

“No, John. No. This is not a toy. This is a big flash bang for adults only. In fact, you need to sign an ATF form to buy this.”

“Adult-in-training form?”

“No. Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.”

“Really?” I took another BearBanger kit, and as we walked to the checkout counter, I silently thanked the fucking bears for helping me solve a problem.

Leslie gave me a form from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, in which I stated that I hereby certified that the BearBangers were to be used for legitimate wildlife pest control purposes only.

Well, that was very close to my intended use, so I signed the form.

There was a box of energy bars on the counter, and I took one for Kate. I would have taken two, but I wanted to keep her hungry for dinner.

Leslie asked me, “Is that it?”

“Yup.”

She rang up the ammunition, air horn, socks, energy bar, and two BearBanger kits.

I paid her with the last of my cash, and I was two bucks short, so I was going to give up the energy bar, but Leslie said, “Owe it to me.” She gave me her business card and suggested, “Stop back tomorrow and let me know what else you need. I’ll take a check, or there’s a few ATMs in town.”

“Thanks, Leslie, see you tomorrow.”

“I hope.”

Me, too.

I got back in Rudy’s van and headed toward Wilma’s B amp;B.

Bears. Madox. Nuke. ELF. Putyov. Griffith.

Asad Khalil, the Libyan terrorist with a sniper rifle, was looking good right now.

At 4:54 P.M., I pulled into the long driveway to Wilma’s B amp;B. I could see a woman peering through the window of the main house, and it was undoubtedly Wilma, waiting for her UPS lover, and she was probably wondering who the guy was in the van.