Chapter 8 - Business

We had just fallen asleep-finally-when the call came. Little Julie had a cold and had been coughing and fussing all night.

Being closest, I picked up the handset and mumbled into it.

"Hello? Hello? Is this Mr. Rob Steele?"

"Yeah," I muttered. "Who the hell is this?"

"This is Sergeant Thomas, of the Los Angeles Police Department. Is Martin Steele your father?"

"Yeah. What about him?"

"He's been in a serious accident. He and the woman with him are in really bad shape... Can you come down here?"

"Yeah." I was awake. "Just a second." I grabbed paper and pencil. "OK. Give me your name and how to reach you. I'll call as soon as I know when and how I'll be arriving."

When I had that, the sergeant asked another question. "Do you know who was with him? A slender woman, with dark hair?"

"My mother," I said, dying inside. "How is she?"

"It doesn't look good. Get down here as soon as you can."

When I hung up, I turned to Audry and held her, while I shuddered.

When I got that out of my system, she asked, "What is it, dear?"

"Mom and dad. They've been in an accident in LA. They're in bad shape."

"Oh, dear! You pack a bag, while I call about flights out of here."

By the time I was packed, Audry found that the earliest practical way out was at 9 in the morning. I might as well try to get a bit of rest.

Audry, being the smart one of us, called grandma.

Hazel wasn't much more coherent than I'd been. But she woke right up, when Audry gave her the news.

"I've got to stay with the kids, but Rob will fly down there. The earliest he can arrive is about noon."

"Don't worry about it," Grandma Hazel said. "George has a new jet. We'll fly out right now. We'll pick Rob up at Bend on our way."

"Thanks grandma."

"I thought you were going to call me 'Hazel'?"

"I try. But you were just 'grandma' for an awful lot of years."

"I know, dear. And I love you a lot. We'll have somebody call, to let you know when we'll be in Bend."

Audry called her folks next. Uncle Rick insisted he'd fly down with us. If this would be his last chance to speak to his brother, he wanted to take it.

Before we knew it, we were all having an ultra-early breakfast in the big house. Elin would stay with Audry until we knew more. She'd help Shawna, the Indian girl who was our 'nanny', for lack of a better word-and she and Audry could comfort each other.

Elin let us know that we'd be in real deep trouble if we didn't call them soon and often with news.

Rick asked me to call my friend, Gary Butler, Shawna's dad, to see if we could get a couple of reliable hands from Warm Springs for a while. If mom and dad were laid up, we'd need some additional help right away.

Shawna assured me that it wasn't too early. "For something like this, it is never too early, Rob. He'd be angry if he knew you hesitated to call on him."

I called, and briefly outlined what had happened, and that Rick and I were flying out at first light. We'd need two or three good hands immediately, for an indefinite time.

Gary just said he'd take care of it and had me put Shawna on.

When she hung up, she said, "At least two hands will report to Gerry (our foreman) before the day is over. He'll try to get four, but a couple of them may have to be teenagers."

Rick and I assured her that we were grateful-and teenagers have been doing men's work, handling cattle in the west, for over a hundred years.

Mom and dad had been in LA for a combination vacation and horse show. They'd taken my horse, Windy, with them, to show him and to try to drum up additional business for the stud farm part of our operation. My big stallion, Sam, was getting on in years, but Windy, with his Appaloosa blood, was a fine replacement and we wanted to get him 'off and running'.

Windy had been stabled with friends, who had excellent security and would take good care of him. Mom and dad were staying with them, too.

We tried to call them, but only got a sleepy maid, who said they'd left last night and weren't back yet.

Dawn was just breaking when we landed at Burbank and were met by the LAPD Sergeant who had called us.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news," he said. "We haven't confirmed much of anything, except your dad and the lady with him are in critical condition. And we're not sure the lady is Mrs. Steele. There was no purse or identification on her."

We rented a car. The officer said he'd ride with us. His partner would clear the way.

Following the police car, lights and siren and the whole works, to the hospital was an unforgettable experience-it was all part of the nightmare that wouldn't go away. In the hospital, we were led right up to the ICU.

The man in one unit was dad, all right. He was asleep, with tubes and wires everywhere.

The woman in the unit next to his was not mother!

So, who was she?

Where was mother?

Rick answered the first question.

"That's the lady they're staying with," he said. "Mrs. Jennings. Nice lady and good horsewoman-though not in your mom's class."

She looked a lot like mom-similar build and hair color. But while nice looking, mom was much more attractive.

Sgt. Thomas was happy to get this information. At least he knew who the second victim was.

The lady was not expected to live out the day. Dad's chances weren't much better, according to the doctor who came to talk with us.

"Sergeant Thomas," George started, "we've helped you a bit. I think it's time someone from your department calls on the Jennings home and wakes up that maid. I'm real curious about where Mr. Jennings is. And where my daughter-in-law might be. Did the maid even check their rooms?"

The policeman smiled. "Great minds... and all that, sir. I was just looking for a phone. I think I'll use that one right over there."

In minutes, he was back with news that Mr. Jennings was, indeed, asleep in his own bed. He and Mrs. Jennings had separate bedrooms, with a door between. It seemed he snores.

Mom was in her room, too. The maid had just said whatever it took to get us off the phone, so she could go back to sleep.

A half-hour later, they joined us at the hospital.

Mom insisted, and was allowed to have a chair at dad's bedside. She held his hand and spoke quietly to him, tears slowly tracking down her cheeks. "Marty, darling... I'm here, Marty... I love you... Don't leave me, Marty... I need you..." She kept up her quiet litany, never stopping the stroking of his hand.

One or another of us would join her for awhile, then give way to another. If love and prayers could do it, we'd pull him through.

Meanwhile, Mr. Jennings was having a harder time. His wife was fighting for every breath and her body was so battered the doctors were wondering how long she could live-survival itself, barring a miracle, was out of the question.

We made a point of one or more of us spending some time with him, too. When he needed a break, one of us would hold her hand and speak to her. If she died, she would not be alone.

At noon, she did die. A kindly nurse took Mr. Jennings aside and told him she would have been in tremendous pain, had she regained consciousness. Her body had suffered too much.

Before Mr. Jennings left the hospital, a detective joined us. He wanted to know what dad and Mrs. Jennings had been doing.

"Why, they were supposed to be going to a dinner engagement with a customer of the Steele ranch. Actually, Mrs. Steele was invited, but she had a touch of flu or something, and asked my wife to take her place. I had some work to do this evening, so I couldn't join them."

"Do you remember who they were meeting and where the dinner was to be?"

"Sure. It was Mark Hammer and his son, Dick. They were interested in a horse for Dick and in breeding a mare they had, as I recall."

"Are these local people?"

"No. They're from the south, I think. Louisiana, or Alabama or something like that..."

"Where were they to meet?"

"At the restaurant. It was the New Wave on Wilshire. Nice restaurant, lousy neighborhood."

"Do you recall where they are staying?"

"Haven't a clue. They came to town for the show. You might be able to find out from the registration people."

"OK. Thanks. That's helpful... Mr. Jennings... I'm sorry to add to your grief at this time, but we're going to have to do an autopsy on Mrs. Jennings."

"What? Why?"

"Well, we don't think it was an accident. And the law requires an autopsy whenever anything other than natural causes is suspected. We'll let you know when you can have her body. It should only be a day or two."

While this was going on, the family exchanged eye contact. It seemed to us that mom and dad were targets of something and Mrs. Jennings had paid for her generous instincts with her life.

George and I went into dad's cubicle in the ICU and disengaged mom from him. "We'll take over for a bit, mom. You go to the bathroom and wash your face. Hazel wants to talk with you, too."

We took dad's hands and George said, "Marty, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand... Marty, who did this? Marty, do you know who did this to you?... Marty, squeeze my hand, if you hear me... Marty, we need to know who did this... Marty, the family won't let them get away with it, but we need to know who it was..."

If dad heard us, he wasn't able to let us know.

I wandered back out, to join mom, Rick and Hazel.

Hazel was just saying, "Where do I know that name 'Hammer' from?"

Mom said, "They're from Texas. Don't we have a branch of the family there?"

"Of course!" Hazel exclaimed. "My cousin mentioned that they were in the social set Mrs. Valkenberg ran around in, when they were in Dallas."

BINGO!

George got the detective and suggested that we needed a little meeting. Probably with the FBI included.

When we were convened-mom had gone back to sit with dad-George laid out our problems over the years with the three families. When we came to the tie-in between getting dad out to a restaurant last night, with a couple of guys associated with the Valkenbergs, the evidence was conclusive, as far as we were concerned.

Not so, for the cops. Suggestive, yes. Enough to make an arrest, or even name suspects-no.

We called in the doctor who had attended Mrs. Jennings.

"Doctor, what would you say caused the trauma to Mrs. Jennings?"

"She's been beaten with blunt instruments. I'd say a pipe. And then pummeled about the chest and extremities. If I were to make a guess, I'd say someone beat her with a pipe, or bat or big stick. Then when she was down, she was kicked-breaking bones. The damage to her skeletal structure is not consistent with an auto accident-and I've seen some horrible ones."

"How about dad?"

"Same deal. He's bigger and more robust. I still don't think he'll pull through... It will be a miracle if he lives another 24 hours. But we'll do our part to make sure a miracle can happen if it will."

"Doctor, can you test for drugs? I think these people were drugged, at least enough to dull their senses somehow, before they were attacked."

"Sure. I'll order it right now. Anything else?"

"Nothing. Thanks doctor."

"Por Nada. I hope he makes it. I hate the thugs in this town, that do that to people!"

The policemen got our drift and began to believe we were right. But they had nothing to go on.

During the night that followed, dad regained a bit of consciousness. He thrashed about, then woke, to see mom, holding his hand, dried tears on her face.

"Dory?" he whispered.

"Marty? Do you hear me?"

"Dory. I love you."

"Marty. You hang in there. Hear?"

"I'm tryin'... Love you... Tell... boys... get them... Get Hammer..."

"You can tell them yourself, Marty, as soon as you're a little better."

"Hope so... But you... make sure."

"I will, darling... Darling... darling!... Please don't leave me. I don't know how I'd live without you."

"Tryin'... Love you... Sleep now..."

"Stay with me Marty! Don't leave me!"

"Lo... ve... you..."

Mom's anguished wail brought us into dad's cubicle. All the monitors were on a flat line.

Dad was gone.

~~ ****~~

We held dad's funeral at the ranch, on a hillside he'd especially liked. It was the place he'd taken mom, the first time she visited the ranch when they were courting.

The outpouring of love and grief from his friends was incredible. People from all over the world came to pay their respects. We had well over three hundred guests.

Our Indian friends took their turn, after our pastor had finished the rites of our church. They ceremonially washed his body and clothed it in new deerskin garments. He was laid on a platform made of saplings, lashed together and covered with a bearskin. Feathers were placed on him and sand and pollen sprinkled over him. A gourd for drinking and a basket of corn were placed by his side.

Prayers were offered.

Then he was left alone, for his spirit to travel to whatever heaven it could find.

The next day, his body was cremated and, a few days later, we had a smaller internment. His ashes are forever a part of the ranch, concentrated in that spot that he especially loved.

Mom took it hard. Her grief was so great, she was almost incapacitated. By the time of the funeral, she was functional, but only with great effort.

The day after we spread dad's ashes to the wind and soil of the ranch, she asked us all to join her, in her house.

Beside the family, she'd asked Gary Butler and Tom Shaliko to be there. We were glad to have our Indian friends included, but didn't know what mom had in mind.

"Thank you all," mom started, in a very low voice we had to strain to hear. "I want you to know that the only reason I'm not on that hillside with Marty is your love, sustaining me. I wouldn't have been able to live without that."

Turning to our friends, "Tom, Gary... your people have been fantastic. Please... Please... Tell them all I love them. And I'm grateful. Marty would have been so proud... to know that you all cared so much for him."

"He did the same for us, Dory."

"Never mind, Tom. I'm grateful and I want you to tell everybody."

"OK."

"The other thing I am is mad. Mad clear through. Those bastards attacked us, our ranch and our family, for no reason except we were in the way of something they wanted. They've killed our stock and shot our friends. Now they've killed one of us and one of our friends. It has to stop. But we know that they won't stop. So. What now?"

George said, "I've been thinking on this. Would you like my ideas?"

"Yes, George, I would."

"I think I'll pay a call on Mr. Jennings-and maybe we'll have a little discussion with a couple of his staff people. I'll see if he wants a piece of this, or if he's willing to let it lay... Hell, maybe he's glad to be rid of his wife, though I don't think so."

"OK," mom said, simply.

"Then I think we get hold of anybody we can, from any of the four families-the Hammers are on our list now, too. Once we have one of them, we wring him-or her-dry. Then we go to war."

"I follow the first part," Gary said. "But what do you mean by 'war, ' in this context?"

"I mean we destroy all four families completely, by fair means or foul. We wipe out their reputations, their wealth, their standing. If we can capture one, we will, and wring him dry of everything he knows and send a completely broken husk back to the rest-if not a dead body. If some of them disappear, that's wonderful, as long as we're the ones responsible for the disappearance. If they go into hiding, we smoke them out. If they run, we pursue... That's what I mean by 'war', Gary."

"That's what I hoped you meant," he replied calmly. "I have a suggestion of my own... I think some of our cousins in Dallas should arrange to lay hands on the Hammers. I am thinking of a couple of guys who are steelworkers-you know, the 100-story high-rise kind of steel? These guys are Apache and not all that civilized. I expect that we could go a long way toward achieving our goals if we can get these guys to help."

Hazel smiled approvingly at her husband and our friends. "I didn't know you had that in you, darling. I'm pleased to learn that the man I love has a killer instinct matching my own."

Rick put in, "Gary, could your friends handle the Hammers in such a way that we could get hard evidence against them all without putting us or themselves in danger?"

Gary just grinned. It was not pleasant to see. "Be prepared to fly to Dallas. And don't have a weak stomach."

George and Hazel stayed at the ranch with us-and George left his new jet parked at Bend. Hazel spent a lot of time with mom. She was still nearly prostrated with grief. She'd do what she had to, but she really had no interest in living with dad gone.

I knew she loved him-and he loved her, as his last words proved. I'd never appreciated just how strong that love was.

Then, one morning, mom came over to our house. She strode across the ground by the corrals and practice ring with determination. Her head was up and she no longer appeared listless and uninvolved.

When she appeared in the kitchen, Audry and I gave her big hugs.

"Thanks, kids. I think I'm going to be OK... at least for a while... I lay awake a long time, last night. Dreaming of Marty and the nights we'd shared that bed. And then I thought that he would never share that bed with me again. And I got mad all over again. I'm mad clear through! I'm going to do something about those people, to make them wish they'd never heard of us...

"We know who's responsible, don't we? I don't have to pussyfoot around with Miranda warnings or any of that legal crap. I can avenge my husband... and I will, before I die, see him avenged."

Mom's plan was simple and straightforward. The sticky details would involve making sure no one got caught.

She talked to Rick and to us, "I need half the cash in the ranch accounts. I'll talk to George, too. This will take money and it needs to be cash, to avoid tracing it."

We agreed without hesitation.

In fact, we only had one question, "How can we help? He was important to all of us and we're all mad about it."

Mom smiled. "Two ways. I'll run my plans by you. You pick holes in them and suggest improvements. And I'll call on you for various chores from time to time. Is that agreeable?"

Even Elin, the gentle one, always home- and family-oriented, demanded that she be included.

Mom rode out to the box canyon archeological site, to meet with Tom Shaliko, the tribal elder. They spent a couple of days walking around, even climbing to the top of the small butte that contained the canyon; always in deep but quiet conversation.

Tom approved of mom's ideas. She was a member of the tribe, after all. He just wanted to make sure that all the bases were covered and everybody was protected. Mom came home with some good ideas and some even better contacts.

From a pay phone in Sisters, she called one of them. The result was a meeting in Santa Fe, two days later.

Horseface Sam was a full-blooded Apache and one of the world's top high steel workers. With all of his skill and far above average income, he was still all Apache. When Adoré Steele called, he was expecting to hear from her-Tom had already tipped him off, including an idea of what Adoré would ask. Tom had also told him that Adoré and her husband-and all their family-were full members of the tribe. That was unusual, to say the least. Sam didn't ask details, he just agreed to help.

When they met, mom asked, "Please call me Dory. That's the name I've gone by since I met Marty. My husband. Adoré is an affectation my mother laid on me."

Sam grinned and said, "OK."

Then they got down to serious plotting and conniving.

Mom traveled coach, having paid cash, using a different name. She arrived at Dallas/Ft. Worth and was met by a nondescript Indian, who whisked her off in a beat-up car-that ran like a watch-to a good motel.

She again paid in cash and used a different name. Since she was paying cash-a week in advance-no one asked for ID.

That evening, she was taken to an industrial complex near the airport. One section of it was full of warehouses made of solid concrete-mostly vacant. The speculator who'd built them was a bit over-optimistic about the boom in the area. No matter, they'd be leased out in a year or two and meanwhile were collateral for other ventures...

Ushered into one of the empty buildings, a strange scene met her eyes. A middle-aged man, naked, was bound securely to one of the rare supporting posts in the center of the building. He'd been there a while. He was sagging against the ropes that held him. An interesting twist was that his eyelids had been taped, so he could not close them. This made his eyes very dry and uncomfortable, and prevented him from avoiding watching the scene before him.

A younger man was suspended by ropes from the ceiling trusses, hanging by his feet, his head about a yard from the floor, his hands lashed together behind him in the small of his back.

Directly beneath him, a small fire burned. It had already singed away most of the young man's hair. Screams of agony filled the cement space and reverberated in the unbaffled area, as his head was cooked-very slowly.

Their captors hadn't spoken a word to them since they'd taken them off the street in Ft. Worth.

Mom-Dory-looked on from the shadows for a few moments, then slowly entered the pool of light around them.

"These are the Hammers?" she asked.

"That's them."

She turned to the older one, by the post. "How do you like it? Are we having fun yet?"

He just groaned and tried to turn his head so he wouldn't have to stare at her.

"You know who I am? Do you want to know why you're here?"

"Yeah. That would be nice."

"My name is Adoré Steele." His eyes widened. They really thought they'd killed her. "Do I have to spell out why you're here?"

"Hey, look. We didn't have any choice..."

"We'll get to that. Who beat my husband with a pipe?"

"I don't know," Hammer answered.

Dory grabbed his balls and squeezed hard. Her fingernails left blood on his scrotum.

"I don't give a fuck about you. All I care about is hurting you. How much pain can you stand? We'll see... Now, who hit my husband with the pipe?"

A very quiet voice answered, "I did."

"And your son? What did he do?"

"He hit you. Or, anyway, we thought it was you."

"So, describe it. Tell me what you did and what happened."

"Well, Valkenberg and Olsen gave us this stuff. We put it in the drinks at dinner. Then we drove to a warehouse area and pulled the Steeles out of the car. We each hit them a few times with pipes-Schwartz insisted that they be 'broken up' a lot. Then we kicked them, to be sure ribs were broken... Hey, it wasn't my idea. They insisted.

"Anyway, then we loaded them back into their car and crashed it... I don't get it!... How can you be here?"

"The woman with my husband was a friend. We were staying at her house... Did your wife know anything about this?"

"NO. She didn't have a clue!" he answered. His answer was too fast and his eyes shifted away from her face. This guy was a lousy liar.

Dory punched him in the solar plexus with everything she had. While he was getting his breath back, she signaled the Indians to lower his son a few inches closer to the fire. His screams brought his father back to reality.

"Now, tell me about your wife... and your daughter..."

"Carleen said we should do whatever Valkenberg wanted. It was a great chance for us. I said he might want us to do some pretty strange things and she said it didn't matter. This was our chance to make it to the really big time and we'd better not screw it up..."

Mom looked at a shadowy figure, who left the building for a few moments. He'd be back.

Then she turned her gaze to the young man who was hanging upside down.

"Don't you think it's time for these two to trade places?" she sweetly asked the Indian tending the fire, just before she squeezed Hammer's balls as hard as she could.

Without a word, Hammer senior was suspended over the fire and junior lashed to the post. Both of them screamed at the treatment. Junior when a layer of Vaseline was rubbed over his burned scalp-not very gently. Senior when his hair started to singe, the heat of the fire penetrating his scalp and starting to sink into his brain.

At this point, Hammer's wife and daughter were brought into the circle of light. They were both naked and not bad looking women. Their hands were secured behind them and their mouths taped closed with duct tape, which was ripped off. Nobody cared if they screamed in the empty warehouses.

Mom asked Hammer, "Do you have anything else to tell us?"

Frantically, he said, "Take me down. I've told you everything. I just did what I had to. Carleen made me..."

Mom asked the Indians, "Do you want either of these two?"

Sam said, "Sure. I'll take the older one. Then we'll see about the girl."

Carleen Hammer was unceremoniously thrown on the cement floor. Sam dropped his pants and raped her brutally. Her screams were overlaid by shouts and groans from the Hammer men.

When Sam had finished, mom asked her, "Tell me about the Steeles."

Carleen was made of sterner stuff than her men. She just spit and said nothing.

Mom nodded and the other Indian threw their daughter to the floor.

"Wait!" Carleen pleaded. "All I know is that Anita Valkenberg had the access to society and big money that we needed. If I could get into the really big money circles, I knew that we'd make it, too. Anita told me that her husband needed some people 'taken care of', before they spoiled things for all of us. My son, Kyle there, was doing pretty well at show jumping and you didn't know us-or that we knew the Valkenbergs..."

Mom said, "That's nice... Fuck her," to the Indian.

She had all the information she expected-and really, it just confirmed her suspicions. With her cell phone, she called her friend, Jennings. Did he want to participate in the revenge on the people who'd killed his wife?

No. He was glad to know that she'd been avenged, but didn't feel a need to participate directly. He did offer to alibi Dory any time she needed it.

The Hammer girl was raped as brutally as possible in front of her parents, then beaten severely-first with whips, then with a pipe, to break bones. Just like dad. Finally she was killed with a blow to the skull.

The rest of the Hammers knew by now that this was vengeance, pure and simple. They were sickened by what had happened to their daughter. And they knew there was no escape. Mom saw that knowledge creep into them and knew that the loss of hope-in these people who always counted on another day for another scam-was the worst punishment of all.

Two more fires were lighted and all three Hammers were roasted-very slowly. They were tied with feet attached to wrists and their genitals cooked. Then they were suspended and hung over small fires until they died from the increased temperatures within their skulls.

Finally several tons of waste cardboard was dumped over them and all set ablaze.

They had taken three days to die.

The fire department never discovered human remains in the ashes.

~~ ****~~

We already knew all we wanted to about the Schwartz clan. Both boys had died on the ranch. The senior Schwartz's were convinced that we were the cause of their boys' deaths-though they'd never figured out what happened to the younger one. His bones are still unburied, atop a knob overlooking our ranch.

Mom flew to New York, on George's jet, to confer with Hazel.

She gave her all the details on the Hammers, especially confirmation that the Valkenbergs and the others had been behind it.

We had no doubt that additional attacks against us and our ranch were being planned, even as we moved onto the offensive.

George had some contacts he shared with mom.

Mom thought we could put the Schwartz family out of the picture forever, without killing them. There were a couple of guys who were convincing as crack addicts, but who really didn't do drugs at all. They made a very good living mugging people to order.

Just what mom was looking for.