Читаем Spencerville полностью

Keith hadn't brought his M-16 rifle or his bulletproof vest, wanting to be evenly matched with Baxter. But there was no way of knowing what Baxter would show up with. In truth, it was possible that a half dozen police cars with a dozen men would surround him, and if Baxter gave the order to fire, it wouldn't matter what Keith was wearing or carrying. And Keith had no doubt that Chief Baxter would have a plausible legal scenario worked out for the death of Keith Landry.

Keith took a short break and looked at his watch. It was seven forty-five P.M. He tried to make an informed guess as to Baxter's response to the challenge. If it was true that the boy is father to the man, then Baxter would come, but not alone. However, the picture painted by the Porters was of an egotistical and conceited personality who might very well underestimate his enemy; the type of man who'd like to saunter into the station house with the news, "I just killed a bad guy out at the high school. Send a meat wagon."

He continued playing his solo game as the sky got darker. He decided that if Baxter did come alone, Baxter might never return to the station house. Keith had had a few homicidal rages in his professional career, and he was surprised at how badly he wanted to kill Cliff Baxter. No doubt this had been building in him a long time and had festered inside his soul.

Keith glanced as his watch. It was eight P.M. He looked toward the school, then at the open playing fields and adjoining streets, but didn't see any headlights or movement. He did a series of layup shots.

It occurred to Keith that Baxter's men knew, more or less, what the problem was between the chief and this guy Landry, and knew that Landry had said for Baxter to come alone. So what was Baxter going to tell his men? That Landry was bothering Mrs. Baxter, but he didn't want to meet Landry alone? In the world of male macho, this was about as sissy a thing as a guy could do. Keith realized that consciously or unconsciously, he'd put Baxter in a situation where he couldn't ask for help without looking like a total wimp, so he had to come alone, or not come at all and live with the consequences of his cowardice.

At five after eight, Landry knew that, by the unwritten rules of this game, he could leave. But he stayed, shooting baskets, dribbling across the court, but never getting too far from where the Glock sat on the hood of the Blazer. At ten after eight, he was satisfied that he'd lived up to his end of the dare.

As he walked toward his car, headlight beams appeared from around the side of the school, then a vehicle came around slowly and turned toward him, catching him in the beams.

Keith bounced the basketball casually and continued toward the Blazer.

The car, which he could now see was a police vehicle, stopped about fifty feet from him, the headlights still aimed directly at him.

The passenger door of the car opened, and a figure stepped out. Keith couldn't make him out in the glare, but he looked taller and leaner than Cliff Baxter. Keith put the basketball down, then took his shirt off the hood of the Blazer, and with it, the pistol. He wiped his sweaty face with his shirt and got his hand around the pistol grip and his finger on the trigger.

The man took a few steps toward him, then called out, "Keith Landry?"

Although Keith hadn't heard Cliff Baxter's voice in nearly three decades, he knew this was not him. He replied, "Who's asking?"

"Officer Schenley, Spencerville police." The man continued on toward Keith.

"Who else is in the car?"

"My partner."

"Where's Baxter?"

"He couldn't come." Schenley was about ten feet away now, and Keith saw he was holding something in his hand, but it wasn't a pistol.

Schenley stopped about five feet from him and asked, "You alone?"

"Maybe. Where's your boss? Looking for his balls?"

Schenley laughed, then said, "Hey, he wanted to come, but he couldn't."

"Why not?" Schenley held out the thing that was in his right hand, which turned out to be a folded newspaper. Keith said, "Why do I want that?"

"There's a story in here you should read."

"Read it to me."

Schenley shrugged. "Okay." He unhooked his flashlight from his belt and trained it on the newspaper. He said, "This here is the social column... here it is..." He read, " 'At the Elks Lodge this Saturday evening, Chief of Police Cliff Baxter will be honored by the mayor and city council in recognition of his fifteen years as police chief of Spencerville. Mrs. Baxter, the former Annie Prentis, will join Chief Baxter's friends and coworkers in relating interesting as well as amusing incidents of the chief's career.' " Schenley snapped off the flashlight. "Okay? He would have been here if he could."

Keith replied, "He knew about his party long ago. He could have rescheduled our meeting."

"Hey, don't push it, fella. The man's got obligations. Don't you got nothing better to do on a Saturday night?"

"I can't think of anything better than clocking your boss."