He warmed up on the treadmill, then did a strength routine that focused on his legs. Too many men only did the shoulders, which made them look ridiculous, Mac thought. Worse, it made them weak. His current routine was three parts: legs, shoulders, abs. He rotated them throughout the week, although he did some abs each time. He ran three to five miles per day, either here or from his house. Once a week he played basketball. Occasionally, he used the punching bags.
He considered that as he ran on the treadmill, setting it to a hills route. Today might be a good day for a speed-bag workout.
So, what had put him in defense mode, he wondered. Something had. Something he hadn’t registered consciously, but here he was, prepping for a fight. Or flight and he didn’t really do flight. If he had Angie along, he needed to prepare mentally that flight might be the right option. That made him grimace. Taking her was right journalistically. But his subconscious was thinking more like a Marine with a recon mission ahead.
Which was it? A news story? Or a recon mission? He thought about the journalists he’d known in the Marines — the ones who would embed on a mission. Adrenaline junkies, the lot of them. Even more than Marines. Marines went where they were told. The embeds did it because they wanted to. It was as if they needed an adrenaline fix — sometimes it didn’t even lead to a story. He’d hated having them along, because you had to watch out for them while engaging with the enemy, even if it wasn’t a direct conflict. And yeah, some of them were nearly as capable of taking care of themselves as he was. That wasn’t the point. Command had made it clear, if an embed went out with you, they’d damn better come back in one piece.
And suddenly he knew what had set all this off. Craig Anderson wasn’t acting like a Marine with an embed. He was looking forward to something, amused by something — something beyond tweaking Norton’s nose by allowing Angie to go. Well, really, there was no reason Anderson should act like a Marine, he told himself. This was a wilderness weekend with a bunch of desk jockeys, and now two journalists.
But it wasn’t. Mac knew the weekends were related to the dead bodies. He didn’t have proof — not yet. But he knew it. So, Anderson should be wary. And he wasn’t. Probably wasn’t going to include a ‘blooded’ hunt with them along, but still? He hadn’t been wary at all. Eager even. Eager to what? Test his mettle? Why did it feel like Anderson was looking forward to a test to see who was stronger — Mac? Or who?
Norton?
Anderson?
Having Angie along raised the stakes. Anderson was practically salivating. Mac took a deep breath, let it out and rotated his shoulders to reduce the tension building there. Prep for the worst, he thought. If it turned out to be a feature piece with great art? Great. If it went south? And he was pretty sure it would — then he’d be ready. And he would ensure Angie was ready.
And to be honest, he wouldn’t mind pitting himself against that asshole of a sheriff either.
Mac got off the treadmill, and got the key to the room where the punching bags were. He danced with a speed bag, then did three minutes with the heavy. Back to the speed bag. That was enough. Supper called.
And he wanted to talk to Shorty about Facebook and social media.
Turned out Shorty wanted to talk to Mac about social media too.
“I’ve been ghosting your account,” he said. Mac started to ask him what that meant, and decided not to bother. He just grunted. He’d been eating a roast-beef and provolone sandwich at the kitchen table when Shorty called.
“You’ve got two instigators among your gun nuts. Sensei who keeps a very low profile, and MLK4whites who is much more aggressive and public. I thought they might be the same man, but now I’m pretty sure they really are two different men, not just two accounts for one man. The writing is decidedly different,” Shorty continued.
Mac kept eating his sandwich. This is what speaker phones were made for, he figured.
“Keep going,” he said. “I’m eating supper. But I’m listening.”
“OK,” Shorty said. “Grunt now and then so I know you’re still there. So MLK4whites knew about your trip to Skagit. I’m thinking he’s the sheriff. Thoughts?”
Mac considered that for a moment. “His ex-wife says he’s barely tech savvy enough to use a cell phone. She didn’t think he’d be on Facebook at all. And I think she’s watching him carefully. Doesn’t mean she’s right.”
“Other possibles?” Shorty asked.
“Craig Anderson, Andy Malloy. Actually, that’s a handle I can see Malloy using,” Mac speculated. He took another bite of the sandwich.
“All right, I’ll look for them online and see where the trail leads there.”
“Sensei?” Mac asked. “He’s closed down. Quite frankly I’m appalled at how open most people are. All that personal information just sitting there? What the fuck are they thinking? But Sensei is cautious. Sensible. But then how is he getting his message out? These men find him. They become followers. I’ve requested but I don’t think he’s responded. So how is he reaching them?”
“He has responded, and you’re in,” Shorty said. “Mac, you’ve got to check your account more frequently! You won’t connect with these people if you don’t.”
“Or you could just run my account,” Mac suggested hopefully. He never got off the Facebook in under an hour. And Shorty wanted him to check more frequently? Who had time for this?
Besides the millions on it, he thought morosely.
“Unfortunately, I can’t,” Shorty said. “I don’t have your background to relate to these men. I can use a gun, and I can even hit what I shoot at. But I just use whatever gun you hand me. I can’t talk knowledgeably about them. I
