Chapter 5

Mikki kicked her shoes off and lay back on the couch with her latest letter from Ward. The twins were down for their mid-morning nap; Mama was over at Polly Tanaka's trying to talk Jacqui into coming home, and Daddy wouldn't be home for lunch for another hour yet. It was a rare and pleasant event for her to have a moment to herself these days.

Dearest Mikki-

I wish I could say that I was sorry to tell you this, but it looks like we won't be able to complete our contract here! No kidding, darling - Brad Kingman, the new foreman, isn't too happy with all the shooting that's been starting to flare up and is seriously considering pulling out! I know we could use the good money and everything, what with my getting so few days in last winter, but these guys' own air force, has been bombing the national palace and, the way things are shaping up, there may not even be a government around to pay for this goddamn road when we're finished with it! Anyway, Brad's going to talk with some guys from the Moroccan Highways Committee tomorrow and see what they have to say about the whole thing. The rumor is that, if they don't agree to pay us at least fifty percent of the estimate in advance, we're going to stop work at El A din. If we do, I'll be home in less than three weeks!

Listen, honey, I've got to scramble. Remember, I love you and the twins more than anything else in this world, and miss you all something terrible! Give my best to your folks and Jacqui, and send us some of that good old Seattle rain if you can - it was a hundred and fifteen degrees here yesterday!

More later,

Ward

Ward might be coming home ... WARD MIGHT BE COMING HOME! Quickly, Mikki sat up straight on the couch and reread her engineer-husband's letter. A smile crossed her inaudibly moving lips when she got to the phrase - If we do, I'll be home in less than three weeks! Wow! She was on her feet then, rushing upstairs to wake the twins and tell them. They probably wouldn't understand, but she had to tell someone! Besides, it was almost time for their lunch anyway, and she still had to put something together for Daddy.

Ted Potter glanced nervously at the clock for the third time in as many minutes. It was nearly time to go home and he didn't want to aggravate Jason Trimble any more than he had to by making him wait on him. Still, he felt bad about leaving Bill to run the shop by himself, even if it was going to be for only an hour or so, what with his right hand all bandaged up where he'd cut it on some trash cans trying to dodge that car yesterday.

"You sure you'll be okay here by yourself, Bill?"

"No sweat, Mr. Potter. June's bringing my lunch down, so, if there's any problems she can give me a hand."

June Simpson. Ted was almost sorry he had to leave. She was sure a sexy little thing, and, sometimes, he could almost swear she was throwing herself at him whenever Bill wasn't around. God, how old was she now? She was just a kid out of high school when Bill started working for him eight years ago, so she must still be on the sunny side of thirty. Man, she was something else with that red hair and freckles ... and the biggest pair of breasts Ted had ever seen on a girl that young.

"Well, if you don't think you can handle it, Bill, just hang the out to lunch sign up until I get back."

"What?" Simpson returned good-naturedly. "And lose all that good business? Why, people oughta be flocking here from miles around to see the one-armed butcher!"

Ted slipped off his bloody work apron and draped it on a hook on the wall. He still had another ten minutes or so until he had to leave, but it was better to be early than late, and there was always the possibility of a traffic jam or something.

"We'll see you around one o'clock then, Bill."

"Yo, Mr. Potter!"

"Daddy, what's the matter?"

"Huh?"

"I just told you Ward might be coming home!"

"Oh yeah, great, Mikki. That's just fine." Ted hung his coat up hastily in the hall closet. "Listen, Mikki; I'm expecting a couple of guys on business any minute now. When they come, just tell 'em I'm in the den and you go on upstairs or something, will you? It's very private."

"What about your lunch, Daddy?"

"I-I'll eat it later."

Ted turned hurriedly on his heels and entered the den, crossing immediately to the well-stocked wall bar. Man, did he ever need a drink! Quickly, he poured out three fingers of Ol' Number Seven in an old fashioned glass, and wolfed them down in two hearty gulps. He was just starting to pour again, when he heard the front door chime, followed immediately by Mikki's soft voice - "Come in, gentlemen. Daddy's expecting you."

"Hello, Potter. Remember us?" Trimble said s he and his henchman strolled into the den. "Shut the door behind you, Trimble! I don't want my girl to hear what's going on!"

Jason nodded to his lumbering bodyguard and shut the door quietly behind them. "Nice place you got here, Potter. Real 'homey' like."

"Just sit down; Trimble, and I'll get you your goddamned money?"

Ted Potter, as shaky as a cat in a tree, felt even more miserable as he feared his bluffing show of bravado wasn't working. In truth he was scared witless, not only of Trimble's reputation and his gorilla bodyguard, but that the gang leader was in some way behind Bill Simpson's hair-raising experience the previous morning. He could feel their four eyes burning a hole in his back as he stooped to unlock the bottom drawer of the desk where he had his money hidden.

"Okay, Trimble," he choked, tossing the still-standing man a bundle of rubber-band fastened hundred dollar bills. "Now, get out of my house!"

"Hey, Mr. Trimble, you want I should break this punk bastard in half?"

"Just take it easy, Toad. And you, Potter, sit down and shut up while I count my money!" Defeated, Ted Potter slumped down onto a bar-stool and waited while the natty sharkskin-suited con man counted out the bundle of bills.

"There's only twenty-five hundred here, Potter!"

"T-That's what I owe you, Trimble."

"Unh-unh," Jason shook his head. "You owe me twenty-five hundred plus five hundred interest!"

"Now, look here, Tumble! I ain't made out of money, you know! I need more time to-"

"And I ain't made out of patience, Potter! Or, didn't you get the message we left you yesterday morning!"

Ted could feel the color draining from his face. "Y-you're the one who tried to kill my helper!" he stammered in a lower voice.

"Naw, that was just a lousy warnin' - " Benko interjected. "If we'd wanted to wipe 'im out, he'd be dead now."

"Shut up, Toad. Well, Potter?"

"I-I don't have it."

"How soon can you get it?"

"Not before Monday." Trimble, ashen-faced at his own momentary loss of control over Benko, scratched nervously at his jaw. Then, glancing at his watch; "I've got another appointment at two thirty. I haven't decided what I'm going to do yet. I'll call you at your butcher shop at three. Be there." He spun on his heels, and, with his burly henchman at his rear, left the house.

As soon as they had gone, Ted spun around on the barstool facing the bar. He poured himself a drink, and then another. Then, he buried his face in his hands and fought the urge to weep. In a few minutes he heard the door open softly, and the quiet padding of feet across the floor. A hand touched his shoulder.

"Daddy? Your soup's getting cold."

"You sure you won't be needing me any more today, Mr. Potter?"

"Naw, things are pretty slow, Bill. You go on home and rest that hand up, we've got the County Health Inspector coming in tomorrow."

Simpson blinked wonderingly at his employer, failing to grasp the connection. Then, fearing Potter might have second thoughts, decided to take advantage of the situation. He'd worked for the man eight years, and it was the first time he'd ever been sent home early without a valid excuse. Hope the bastard isn't thinking about laying me off! "Well, I'll see you in the morning then, Mr. Potter."

Ted, sitting at the tiny desk shoved up against the wall behind the display case, looked up at his employee standing at the door with an expectant look on his face. "Yeah, sure, Bill. Tomorrow morning." Bill Simpson, shrugging into his jacket, nodded glumly and placed his hand on the doorknob.

"Bill?"

"Yeah, Mr. Potter?"

"You be careful now, you hear?" ' I

He watched Simpson get 'into the car with June and pull away from the curb with her driving. Then, he hung up the out to lunch sign and sat down to wait for Trimble's call. Three o'clock came. Five after three. At almost ten minutes after, the phone rang.

"H-Hello, Potter's Fine Meats ... ?"

"The price has gone up, Potter."

Up? Jesus Christ, he couldn't raise the five hundred he owed now! "H-How much?"

"I'm going to make it easy on you, Potter. Another thousand by Saturday, or-"

"You're out of your fucking mind, Trimble, I can't raise-"

"Shut your goddamn mouth and let me finish! "

There was a silence on the line then, as Ted Potter cleared his throat, fearing the worst. "Good, that's better. Now, I'm going to give you a chance to clear the slate, and it won't cost you another cent if you play ball!"

"I'm listening."

On the other end of the line Jason Trimble let his hand drop to the rising bulge in his trousers and began to rub it slowly. This was the part he liked best. "You know that cute little blonde trick that answered the door for us this afternoon when we came to see you?"

Potter could feel the bile rising in his throat. "Y-You mean my daughter, Mikki?"

"Yeah. I want her."

"Why you dirty son-of-a-bitch! I'll ... I'll kill you, you-"

"That's my price, Potter ... Think about it."

"I mean it, goddamn it! I don't care what happens, I'll ... I'll ... Trimble ... Hello ... Hello?"