An Innocent Client

”No, Joe. This is too weird.”

I looked her in the eye. ”You know I love you, and you know I respect you, but-”

”Don’t patronize me.”

”I’m not patronizing you, but I’m telling you I’m going. You can yell and scream all you want. You can call the damn cops for all I care. I’ve made up my mind, Caroline. I’m going.”

She took a long, slow breath. ”Have you thought this through?”

”Of course I’ve thought it through.” I sat down in one of the chairs at the table and started lacing my boots. ”I’ve thought about it all day, and to be honest, I have no clue what’s going to happen when I get down there. Maybe nothing will happen.”

”I’m too young to be a widow.”

”And I’m too young to make you one.”

I got up and grabbed a lighter out of a drawer and a bottle of water from the refrigerator. I opened the bottle, poured the water into the sink, screwed the cap back on, and headed for the garage. Leaning against the wall was an old hickory walking stick I’d bought during a trip to Grandfather Mountain, North Carolina, a few years ago. It was four feet long and hard as steel. I picked it up and looked at it. Caroline was standing in the doorway, eyeing me.

”I need your cell phone,” I said.

”Why?”

”Because mine’s at the bottom of Boone Lake. Just get it. Please?”

She disappeared for a second, came back to the doorway, and tossed me her phone.

”You’re taking a walking stick to a gunfight?”

she said.

”If things go right, he won’t get a chance to shoot at me.”

”Sometimes things don’t go the way you plan them. And speaking of plans, do you have one?”

”Sort of.”

”What is it?”

”You don’t want to know.”

”Yes, I do.”

”Trust me, you don’t.”

I walked over to the five-gallon container that held gasoline for the lawn mowers and filled the water bottle with gas.

”Are you going to throw a Molotov cocktail at him?” Caroline said.

”Not exactly.”

”Then what’s the bottle of gas for?”

”Diversion, if I need it. Or maybe bait.”

The last thing I picked up was a small flashlight off the shelf in the garage. Rio was following me every step of the way, whimpering. He knew I was going somewhere and didn’t want to miss out on the fun. I tossed the stick, the plastic bottle of gas, and the flashlight into the passenger side of Caroline’s Honda and shut the door.

”Keep Rio close while I’m gone,” I said. Caroline was still standing in the doorway with her arms folded. ”The shotgun’s locked and loaded behind the door in the bedroom. You know how to use it.”

She started chewing on her fist. I could see tears welling in her eyes. ”I want to go,” she said. ”I can’t stand the thought of sitting here waiting. By the time you get back, I’ll be insane.”

”I’ll be fine,” I said. ”Try not to worry.”

”Yeah, sure.”

”I have to do this.”

”No, you don’t.”

”I can handle myself, Caroline.” I walked up to the door and took her in my arms. ”I’ll call you on the house phone when it’s done. Don’t call me, please. I don’t want to worry about the cell phone ringing.”

”You be back here by four,” she said, ”and you better be in one piece.”

”You sound like my mother.” I kissed her and got in the car.

Junior’s place was almost seventy miles away. As I drove down Interstate 81 towards Newport, I ran through the possibilities. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that Caroline was right. I was doing something crazy and dangerous. I had a vague plan in mind, but I wasn’t sure how I was going to get close to him, if he was home. It was after midnight, so I couldn’t just waltz up to the front door and knock. Junior would have to be paranoid after what he’d done to me. If I went to the door after midnight, he’d be sure to answer it with a gun in his hand. And to make matters worse, I didn’t know anything about his house, his neighborhood, whether he had a dog. . Shit, I didn’t know a thing. When I was a Ranger, I went on several recon missions.

During the missions, my job was to make accurate assessments of enemy strengths and positions so the commanders would know what they were up

against. It would have been nice to have had the same luxury before I went to Junior’s, but I was going in blind.

The miles passed quickly, but not quietly. A debate was raging inside my head, as though a tiny Caroline was perched on one shoulder and a tiny Joe was perched on the other.

Turn around and go home. You might get yourself killed.

He tried to kill you. The sonofabitch tried to kill you.

He was stalking your wife. Your kids might be next. The police won’t do a thing.

I kept driving.

I made it to Newport in just over an hour. It’s a small town, so it took me only a few minutes to find Junior’s place, which was about a half mile outside the city limits. I was relieved to see that it was relatively isolated, the nearest neighbor more than a hundred yards away. I drove by slowly the first time.

There was a black mailbox on a post at the end of the driveway with ”Tester” stenciled on it in slightly crooked white letters. The house was a small brick ranch that sat on a rectangular lot bordered by scruffy pines. There were no security lights, and I didn’t see any lights on in the house. One of two small outbuildings looked like a garage. After I made the first pass, I drove about a mile down the road, turned around, and made another pass. I thought about Junior driving by my house and stalking Caroline. Now it was my turn.

I found an apartment complex about a half mile from the house, parked the car in a corner of the lot, grabbed the hickory stick, the bottle of gas, and the flashlight, and started walking. The streets were deserted. It was around fifty degrees, and the moon was low in the west. Some cloud cover would have been nice, but the Rangers had trained me to use the shadows. They’d trained me to make myself invisible in all kinds of terrain and conditions. They’d also taught me the value of surprise in an ambush and they’d taught me plenty about hand-to-hand combat.

If I could surprise him and get my hands on him, I knew I could handle Junior Tester.

When I got back to his place, I cut in and moved along the pine trees to the back of the lot. I crept around the entire lot, staying in the shadows of the pines, looking for a light in the house or signs of movement. Nothing. From what Diane Frye had told me, I knew Junior didn’t have a wife or kids, but I wasn’t sure about a dog. I was relieved when nothing moved or barked. Once I was sure nobody was stirring, I walked out of the trees and up to the garage.

It was big enough for only one vehicle, and it was empty. The other outbuilding was just a storage shed that contained a few tools and a pile of junk, but there was plenty of fuel for a small fire. I crept to the back of the house and stood there listening for several minutes. It was silent.

I moved slowly around the entire house, trying unsuccessfully to see something inside through the windows. No television, no radio, no bathroom light or night-light, nothing. When I’d circled the house and was again near the back door, I moved quietly up the concrete steps and turned the doorknob. It was unlocked. I stood there for a second, debating whether I should step inside and add breaking and entering to what could soon be a long list of crimes I’d committed. I decided against it. If he was there, I needed to get him outside. It was time to put my

”plan” into action.

I jogged back out to the shed and stepped inside.