‘You bet!’ said Jake. ‘What does Luke have to say about playing games, boys?’ he asked his three charges, who looked at him with adoring eagerness.
‘We’re all playing games,’ answered the oldest boy brightly. ‘But the wise man … learns to make his own rules.’
‘You know where my father is,’ I insisted.
‘I do?’
‘He’s here. In Lukedom. Now.’
‘He is?’
I couldn’t be sure from Jake’s responses whether he was lying or not.
‘Say,’ said Jake, shooing the boys off to another corner of the room. That lovely woman you brought with you phoned once last night and three times today.’
‘Honoria?’ I asked, momentarily knocked off track.
That’s her name,’ said Jake. ‘Great gal. Little highstrung maybe.’
‘Did she say what she wanted?’
‘Said to tell you – and this is the exact quote: “All forgiven. I want to have our baby.” Jake beamed at me. ‘Congratulations.’
Jesus. What next? Jake’s round grinning face stared up at me like some troll.
‘The FBI is here in Lukedom,’ I said to wipe the smile off the troll’s face. They’re about to arrest my father.’
‘Hey. how about that!?’ said Jake. ‘Exciting times.’
‘You don’t believe me?’
‘’Course I do,’ said Jake, taking me by the elbow and steering me out of the meeting room and into the hallway, glancing back at the boys as he did so.
‘Aren’t you going to try to protect him?’
‘I’ll certainly think about it.’
‘And you might mention to him that I’m trying to see him.’
‘If I see him,’ said Jake, as we strolled down the hall.
‘And do you think you’ll see him?’ I asked sarcastically.
‘I doubt it,’ said Jake.
‘Damn it! I’ve been here almost a week!’ I said, pulling myself out of Jake’s grasp and halting. ‘I’ve worked with diceguides and played some of your damn games. Now the FBI is here and you still haven’t told me anything!’
‘Four of them, right? And one has been here as long as you have.’
‘You knew?’
‘Oh, well,’ said Jake, looking modest, and moving again down the hall. ‘Not everything that happens here escapes our attention.’
‘Does all this have something to do with the secret airfield and secret underground building up on the mountain?’
Jake came to a halt again, his cheerful, unperturbed manner at last broken. He had arrived at his office, which was open.’
‘Airfield?’ he said with a frown. ‘Underground building?’
That’s right,’ I said, triumphant. ‘A secret door in the wall of that old mine entrance on this side of the mountain, and undoubtedly another secret door on the other side where the airstrip is. And my father is there!’
‘Wow. That’s terrific! When did you find this out?’
‘Yesterday afternoon,’ I said.
‘Actually.’ said Jake, now moving briskly into his office, ‘it was the early evening, wasn’t it?’
Losing my smile I followed him slowly into the office.
‘You acknowledge, then, that there’s a secret building up there?’ I pressed.
Jake sat down at his desk and pulled out a large wooden drawer on the right-hand side. He then swung around in his swivel chair and looked up at me with more seriousness than I’d ever seen in him.
‘Sit down. Son,’ said Jake. ‘It’s time we had a talk.’
‘You’re damn right.’ I pulled a chair briskly over and sat opposite Jake.
Jake nodded, then turned back and pressed a button under the overhang of the desktop. He then reached into the large open drawer and seemed to slide something forward from the rear. He groped around for a while and then pulled out a small mahogany box. Swinging back to face me, he held the wooden box on his lap.
‘You’ve done a fine job,’ said Jake.
‘Where’s my father?’
‘You’re absolutely right about there being a building in that mountain,’ said Jake, ‘though we’d appreciate it if you’d keep it to yourself.’
‘That depends. Are you going to tell me where my father is?’
Jake looked at me for a long moment and then sighed. He looked down at the mahogany box, jiggled it slightly there in his lap and sighed again.
Yes,’ he said. ‘I am.’
‘Well?’
Jake cleared his throat, looked again down at the box and then back at me.
‘He’s here,’ said Jake.
‘I know that. But where?’
‘I mean here,’ said Jake and he nodded at the box in his lap.
I looked at the box, then back at Jake. ‘What are you talking about?’
Jake cleared his throat again, then slowly undid the tiny gold latch on the lid and opened the box. He then pulled his chair towards me and placed the open box in my lap.
Inside were two small worn green plastic dice and a larger bronze die of about two inches in each dimension. There was also an envelope.
‘What’s this, some sort of corny symbolism?’ I said. ‘My father exists in dice?’
‘Actually,’ said Jake. ‘Your father is sealed up in that bronze die. His ashes, that is. Your father is dead.’
On the surface I felt only the tiniest of tremors reverberating at some level so deep I was only vaguely aware of it.
‘Really,’ I said coldly. ‘How convenient.’
‘Yes. It is convenient in some ways.’
‘Why hasn’t the waiting world been told?’ I asked
‘Oh, rumours of Luke’s death abound. He’s died at least a dozen times since he disappeared. Apparently one of the deaths must have taken.’
‘You don’t seem very disturbed by it.’
‘No, no. not at all. Anyone who uses the dice is, as you know, quite a pain in the ass.’
‘So why didn’t you tell me this when I first arrived?’
‘Ah, well,’ said Jake, leaning back in his swivel chair and grinning. ‘Luke always liked complications. He didn’t want to keep things simple. This box and its contents are for you.’
Still not knowing what to believe, I looked down at the box: two plastic dice, the bronze die supposedly with Luke’s ashes, and the envelope. I looked back at Jake.
‘My father left these for me?’
‘That’s right.’
‘The bastard!’
‘He certainty didn’t treat you right,’ said Jake amiably, ‘that’s for sure. But still, you ought to open the envelope.’
I took the envelope out of the box. It was unsealed. I slid my finger into it and pulled out the contents: a single handwritten page with Luke’s signature at the end. I looked up at Jake.
‘Read it,’ said Jake.
‘You know its contents?’
‘He consulted me about it,’ said Jake. ‘Yes, I’ve read it.’
I looked down and read the note:
Dear Larry,
I don’t expect you to forgive me for leaving you and Lil and Evie so totally. Nevertheless, I’ve never stopped thinking of you and over the years have followed your life closely.
Now that I’m going, I want to leave you a final message, one I hope Jake will get to you when you’re ready to receive it. Since messages should never be sent except when the receiver is ready, I may be gone a day, year, or decade when Jake finally decides the time is ripe.
The message is simple: carry on my work.
When Jake gives you this, you probably won’t be willing to do that. I understand. By abandoning you I closed you up to the possibilities of living that I offer, and it will take either age or misery to reopen you. But at least you’re ready for the seed.
Someday carry on my work – for your own sake if not the world’s. Jake – or his successor – will tell you more when you’re ready.
Luke
I think I remained with my
head down and eyes on the page long after I’d finished reading. A part of me felt that this was all a hoax, that this was just another test that my father and Jake had prepared for me as part of some initiation into God knew what. But I was also feeling a weight in the tummy that I supposed might have something to do with grief. I became aware I was violently jiggling my right foot. I finally looked up at Jake.
‘Such a heartfelt apology,’ I said. ‘Such an outpouring of parental love.’
Jake shrugged.
‘You have to read between the lines,’ he said.
‘That’s for sure. There’s certainly nothing in the lines.’
‘Your father never was big on saying the obvious,’ said Jake.
‘Is that supposed to mean it’s obvious that he loved me?’ I said bitterly.
‘Maybe,’ said Jake. ‘Not many daddies think enough of their kids to want to leave their kingdom to them.’
‘What’s he mean he’s been following my life?’ I asked, stuffing the letter back into the envelope.
‘Can’t say,’ said Jake. ‘I guess it means what it says.’
‘And if he knew I’d reject his offer even after you think I’m ready, then why make the offer?’
‘Well, if I’d sent this to you three months ago, you’d have sneered and been happy your daddy was safely out of the way of your social life,’ said Jake. ‘Now, because of the things you’ve done and had happen to you lately, you may sneer, but your curiosity has been whetted. You now know your daddy hasn’t just been playing games for twenty years – or rather the games he’s been playing may be a little bigger than you thought.’
Still holding the box, its lid now closed, I stood up.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry … if my father is dead … but all the rest is … meaningless.’
‘Yeah. I suppose so.’
‘They’ve caught Luke!’ said Rick, bursting into the room, out of breath. ‘They’ve got him!’
I looked from Rick back down to Jake, who looked both surprised and worried.
‘When? Where?’ barked Jake.
‘Just now,’ said Rick, still gasping for breath. Two of those narcs were taking him to the Hazard Inn.’
I looked once more at a frowning Jake and then, tucking the wooden box under my arm, stepped around Rick and began running down the hall.
38
Nathanial Pult had grown tired of the crowd of eager believers who came to question him about whether he’d found Luke Rhinehart yet. It didn’t bode well for his enterprise that by one o’clock the whole town knew they were looking for Luke, although it was encouraging that many who came into the lobby hoping to find Luke said that they themselves had seen or even talked to him within the last week. But Putt wondered why, if they had recently seen him, they were so anxious to see him again.
By a quarter to two more than thirty people had gathered in the lobby, all chattering away. Since Putt had never been in this hotel in the early afternoon he had no idea whether this crowd was normal or abnormal. Come to think of it, everything at Lukedom was abnormal. Which meant the crowd was normal.
Putt felt dizzy for a moment from the way his mind was working and glanced nervously at his watch. The big clock that hung on one wall was of no use since – it had taken Putt about an hour to realize it – the clock ran backwards. It thus registered the correct time only twice a day – by accident. Like the newspapers Putt had seen. All the newspapers and magazines strewn around the tables and chairs of the Lobby, and for sale in the local newsstand, were from one week to one decade old. Apparently the date of the day’s daily newspaper was chosen at random by Lukedom’s master computer. Putt himself had browsed for more than fifteen minutes in a copy of Time magazine before he realized that the fucking issue was two years old! Belfast, the Palestinians, congressional corruption, huge budget deficits – it seemed like today’s news but was apparently two years old! Only when he read a paragraph that referred to San Francisco winning the Superbowl did he realize something was fishy.
There was a disturbance at the front entrance and suddenly a big man half staggered into the lobby, coming to a halt not far from Putt.
‘I told you to keep your hands off me!’ the man shouted back at a duster of people entering behind him.
Putt then saw Agent Rogers and a Lukedom policeman among them, Rogers looking red-faced, dishevelled and sweating.
‘Got him, Nat,’ Rogers said harshly.
Putt stared at the figure before him for a long moment. He was a big man, a little over six feet tall, but slender and slump-shouldered. He had thinning grey hair and a hangdog expression. The poor guy had aged and shrunk so much in twenty years Putt could hardly recognize him. Had Rhinehart purposely transformed himself to avoid recognition?
‘What’s your name?’ Putt asked him sharply.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded of Putt.
‘I’m Agent Putt of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Who are you?’
‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ he said.
‘Several other people already identified him,’ said Rogers. ‘He even admitted it to me once – but before I told him who I was and read him his rights.’
Putt nodded.
‘Sit down, Rhinehart,’ Putt said. ‘Has Agent Rogers read you your rights?’
‘Yes,’ said the man, ‘but I’m not sure I remember them all.’
‘So now you deny being Luke Rhinehart?’ Putt asked
‘Oh, no, I’m your man all right,’ he said. ‘But only sometimes.’
Sometimes. Naturally. Oh, Jesus, here we go.
Then there was another commotion and Hayes and Agent Massion arrived. They had a prisoner too. When Putt saw this man he stood up.
The man they’d brought was older, naturally, and he’d lost a little weight, and his face was more lined and his hair thinner, but as he squinted through thick glasses at Putt, Putt felt a chill of recognition. This guy could be the real Rhinehart! Must be the real Rhinehart! He even had the same mad gleam in his eye. After twenty years! Justice triumphs!
Putt tried to remain calm.
‘And I suppose you think you’re Rhinehart too?’ he asked the newer prisoner.
The man simply looked at Putt with a sly smile.
‘He tried to escape,’ said Agent Hayes.
‘I’ll bet he did,’ said Putt, examining the man carefully, trying to feel again that chill of recognition which he had briefly fell on first seeing him. The face was definitely a little different, damn it.
‘Had a little plastic surgery, I see,’ Putt suggested.
The man smiled again and stroked his nose.
‘You like it?’ he said.
Putt frowned.
The voice seemed different too – although it was so long ago … And Rhinehart was an actor, he could change his voice with no trouble at all. Putt turned to the tall mournful-looking local police chief who was standing attentively nearby.
‘Well, Chief,’ Putt asked. ‘Do you recognize this man as the real Luke Rhinehart?’
The chief moved two steps forward to take a closer look at the man. He studied the other man carefully.
‘Can’t be sure, Mr Putt,’ said the chief. ‘I wouldn’t want to call it one way or the other.’
Putt sighed.
Macavoy. Macavoy could identify him; he’d seen Rhinehart arguing with his son yesterday. Where the hell was Macavoy?
As if on cue, Macavoy burst through the surrounding spectators and gazed dazedly at the strange cluster of agents and suspects that stood in a semi-circle in front of Putt. Looking confused, he finally turned to stare at Putt.
‘Well?’ said Putt, narrowing his eyes at the stupid expression on Macavoy’s face. ‘Which one is the real Rhinehart?’
‘The, uh, real Rhinehart?’ Macavoy echoed dumbly.
‘Yes. The man you saw yesterday arguing with his son.’
Macavoy looked dismally from one suspect to the next. A facial tic spurted across his cheek.
??
?Uh, that one, sir,’ said Macavoy.
At first Putt thought he was pointing to the second man, the one that Putt had briefly felt must be the real Rhinehart. But something about the gloomy and reluctant way Macavoy pointed made Putt realize something was amiss.
‘Which one?’ he asked again.
Macavoy cleared his throat.
‘That one,’ he said. ‘The police chief.’
Putt turned from Macavoy to look at the police chief, who turned and smiled at Putt. Putt tried to retain his dignity. The police chief looked as much like old Luke Rhinehart as Putt himself did.
‘You’re Luke Rhinehart too?’ asked Putt dully.
‘That was yesterday,’ Abe Lister said with a frown. ‘Today I’m the police chief.’
Putt nodded.
‘And today I’m an FBI agent,’ he said gloomily.
39
I arrived in the lobby of the Hazard Inn in lime to see the comic fiasco of the three Luke Rhineharts and realize that the FBI had fallen victim to having too many informers and not enough information. I left.
As I emerged into the hot sunshine again, a twinge of fear made me realize that it might be better if I were not in Lukedom during a major FBI bust – the whole world of Lukedom was not something a Vice President and Chief Trader at BB&P should be associated with.
As I hurried back to collect my belongings at the inn, I suddenly saw Kim on the other side of the street walking in the same direction – with Way. I felt a burst of anger, then a dull depression: my father was dead and now so was Kim. I kept on walking, looking straight ahead. Inside the Do Die Inn I ran up the stairs to my room and began throwing my stuff into a suitcase, beginning with the mahogany box. I was just finishing up when Kim entered.
‘What’s happening?’ she asked. She looked flushed and was breathing hard, as if she too had run up the stairs.
‘I’m leaving,’ I said. ‘I found out what I came for, and I’m leaving.’
‘You found your father!?’
‘He’s dead.’ I snapped the suitcase shut and yanked it off the bed.
‘Oh, no,’ said Kim, looking shocked. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s the best thing that could have happened,’ I said angrily. ‘Hope you enjoy your stay.’ I took a swift look around the room and headed for the door.