Kiss of the Bees

“You become my star pupil. I’m a teacher, you see, not only by training, but also by virtue of personal preference. I have a good deal of knowledge that I would like to impart to someone before I die, a philosophical legacy in addition to the monetary one. Then, once I’ve taught you what I know, you go out into the world and use that knowledge on the two people who are responsible for sending us both here.”

“What exactly do you mean?”

Carlisle sighed. “Don’t be obtuse, Mr. Johnson. Brandon Walker and his wife, Diana. Walker cost you your wife, your son, and your standing in the community. The woman who is now Walker’s wife, Diana Ladd Walker, is responsible for the loss of both my sight and the use of one of my arms. Once I was locked up in here, I eventually contracted AIDS, so before long, she’ll be costing me my life as well. I don’t see how it could be any clearer than that. I want them to suffer, in the same way you and I are suffering.”

“You want me to kill them?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Johnson. Not at all. I firmly believe that between the two of us, we’ll be able to devise something much better than that, something far more imaginative.”

“What’s number three?”

“There is no number three, Mr. Johnson. Only numbers one and two. What do you think, or would you like to see some of the accounting figures before you make your decision? I can show you what’s involved right now, although there’s no way to tell how much money there will be in the long run. Obviously we have no idea how long this will take, do we?”

Again there was a long silence. “This is on the level?” Mitch asked finally.

“Absolutely,” Carlisle answered. “I could hardly be more serious.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“Then, Mr. Carlisle,” Mitch Johnson said, “you’ve got yourself a deal.”

What had started out way back then as a straight business deal had become for Mitch both a point of honor and pride. By the time he completed the project it would seem to all the world that Andrew Carlisle had somehow returned from the grave to wreak his revenge on the people who had destroyed him. It would give Andy the kind of immortality he had always craved in life.

In the meantime, Mitch Johnson would be left alone, free to walk off into the sunset and disappear. That kind of heroic image appealed to Mitch. It was one of the time-honored icons of the Old West.

He had no difficulty casting himself in the mold of one of those old-fashioned hired guns. None of them would ever have turned their backs on a friend in need, regardless of whether that needy friend happened to be dead or alive.

Neither would Mitch Johnson. After all, a promise is a promise unless, as in this case, it turned into a mission.

Gabe Ortiz, tribal chairman of the Tohono O’othham Nation, left Sells early in the morning for an all-day meeting with the Pima County Board of Supervisors. At issue was the county’s most recent set of requirements designed to delay the next scheduled expansion of the tribe’s booming casino. Gabe’s appearance would be more ceremonial than anything, since most of the actual arguing would be handled by Delia Chavez Cachora, the recently appointed tribal attorney.

Gabe’s main responsibility would be to sit there looking attentive and interested, which might prove difficult in view of the fact that he’d had so little sleep the night before. It was times like this when the countervailing pressures of being both tribal chairman and medicine man proved to be almost more than he could handle.

Before the blind medicine man, S-ab Neid Pi Has—Looks At Nothing—had died, years earlier, the canny old shaman had taught Gabe “Fat Crack” Ortiz a number of important things, including the meaning of those particular words, medicine man—mahkai. Looks At Nothing had explained the obligations involved as well.

As a confirmed Christian Scientist, Gabe initially had been prepared to pass off most of what the old man said as superstitious nonsense. As the months went by, however, Looks At Nothing had taught Fat Crack to listen to the voice inside himself, to pay attention, and then to act on the resulting knowledge.

It was through using what Looks At Nothing taught him that Gabe’s business and political ambitions had prospered. Most of the time the guidance that came to him was in the form of a gentle nudge, but in the case of Diana Ladd’s book, it had been more like the blow of a hammer.

Wanda had bought him a copy of Shadow of Death at a book-signing in town. Diana had autographed it, wishing Gabe a happy birthday in her personalized inscription. And then Wanda had taken the gift-wrapped book home and kept it put away until Gabe’s sixty-fifth birthday.

She had given it to him at a small family birthday party at their daughter’s home in Tucson. As soon as Gabe held the book in his hand, even before he unwrapped it, he knew something was wrong. Something evil seemed to pulsate from inside the gaily wrapped package. Breaking the ribbon and tearing off the paper, a sense of dread seemed to fill the whole room, blurring the smiling faces of his children and grandchildren, obscuring Wanda’s loving, watchful eyes.

“Diana signed it for you,” Wanda said.

Gabe fumbled the book open to the title page and read the words that were written there in vivid red ink. “Gabe,” the inscription said. “Happy Birthday. Here’s a piece of our mutual history. I hope you enjoy it. Diana Ladd Walker.”

“Do you like it?” Wanda asked.

“Yes.” Gabe managed a weak smile, but as soon as possible, he put the book down. When the party was over and as he and Wanda were getting ready to leave, the grandkids had gathered up the presents and what was left of the birthday cake for Wanda and Gabe to take back home to Sells with them. Five-year-old Rita, the baby, had come racing to the door carrying the book. Afraid that whatever evil lurked in the book might somehow infect her, Gabe had reached down and snatched it from her hand.

Tears welled in her eyes. “I only wanted to carry it,” she pouted. “I wouldn’t drop it or anything. I like books.”