Chapter 8

Pleased that he'd controlled the urge while working at ASU, he drove away. The trip had been fruitful vis-à-vis his avocation, though. He'd selected his prey for his next visit to Tempe.

Another Ute breed, he thought.

He'd have taken her this visit but the urge hadn't pressured him. The breed in Utah was still fresh in his mind. Besides, this one was magnificent! He wanted time to savor the upcoming event.

He chortled. Anticipation would make it that much sweeter. That much more satisfying.

A professor, no less, not a student, not a clerk or cafeteria worker.

He'd grown. His prey should grow in value as he became more complete. Come closer to matching his lofty stature.

My Indian Princess, he thought. My filthy, dirty Indian Princess. A professor she might be, a doctor, an archeologist, but she's still a filthy squaw whose only purpose in life is to service a white man. Me!

He reviewed his ritual, putting Dr. Leah Johnson in place of the breed he'd taken in Utah. The fantasy, the mental imagery, gave him an erection as he drove down I-10 toward California. Uncomfortably erect. He adjusted the bulge in his trousers. Better.

A truck driver in an eighteen-wheeler blasted his horn as the truck flew by. That's when he noticed he was traveling at 45 miles an hour. He stepped on the accelerator, moved his vehicle up to 75, and tried to think of other things, succeeding for about an hour.

The daydream returned, though, and instead of slowing down, he pulled off at a rest stop, staying well away from the other parked vehicles. He took out his engorged dick and stroked it as the fantasy developed. Near the end, the ritual changed. Something was added to the ritual. He climaxed as, in his mind's eye, he scalped the squaw, peeled back skin and hair with a sharp knife.

After cleaning up the mess, he drove away again.

"Gotta get me a knife," he said out loud.

Ten miles down the highway, he said, "A bowie knife."

"What do you mean you don't want me to go to Houston with you," I said to Greg. I was in my office reading a business plan that Sable had insisted I review when Greg popped in.

"I have recruited a team of ex-Special Forces personnel to get the job done," Greg said. "I'm not saying you'd be in the way, but ... ah, hell, that's exactly what I'm saying, but you wouldn't be in the way for the reasons you're probably thinking. You'd be in the way because you hired me to protect you. Your safety is my primary function, and if you were along for the take down, I'd have to consider your safety first, and what we'll be up against second. That could get me or one of my men killed."

"All right, I won't go with you to Houston," I said, which shocked Greg. He'd believed he'd have to argue a long time to convince me to stay in Arizona and let him handle the Hal Carson mess. But his suggestion solved a problem for me. I'd been worried about returning to Houston so soon after my staged demise. I feared being recognized by someone who knew me as Vince Smith.

I said, "I don't want to feel like a mushroom during this mission, though."

"In the dark eating shit?" Greg said with a grin.

"Precisely."

"I understand. I'll keep you fully and promptly informed. I'll be leaving for Houston tomorrow. Frank will be going with me. Use David as your driver while we're gone."

"Yes, sir!" I said with a grin and a salute.

Greg laughed and said, "Sorry about sounding bossy."

"That's all right. You had to be bossy to force me to see things your way – the right way, I might add. I have every confidence that you'll get the job done, Greg."

"Thanks," he said.

"To protect myself legally, I've got to say the following. I'm paying you to protect Sable by convincing her ex-husband to leave her and her sister alone. I'm not paying you to harm or kill Hal Carson or anyone. Are we clear on that?"

"We are," Greg said.

"Good. With that said, do what you have to do."

Hal Carson is a dead man walking, Greg thought.

His thought didn't surprise me.

As Greg was leaving my office, I saw Loni walking by the open door, probably to talk with her sister in the adjoining office. I connected with her, and then I connected with Sable. I couldn't maintain both connections simultaneously, but I could move from one to the other in a split-second, a technique I'd perfected years ago. In this manner, I could experience a conversation. Yes, a conversation. Most people think the words they plan to say before saying them out loud. Their unspoken thoughts would intrude, confusing the silent conversation, but I'd gotten pretty good at filtering out extraneous thoughts and putting meaningful or relevant thoughts in context.

Loni said: Hi, gotta minute?

Sable said: Sure.

Sable thought: She probably wants to talk about Clint. Like me at first, I think she's falling for the good-looking galoot.

Loni said: When are Greg and Clint leaving for Houston?

Sable said: Greg's leaving tomorrow. He's going to try to talk Clint out of going with him.

Loni said: Why?

Sable said: Greg is a warrior. Clint isn't.

I wasn't offended. I wasn't a warrior. That's why I paid Greg the big bucks.

Loni thought: Will Clint agree? Or will testosterone get in the way. I'd bet on the latter.

Loni said: Aren't you worried about Greg?

Sable thought: I'm worried sick; I love him. If I lost him now, I'd want to die. I wouldn't. I'd buck up and go on because Ginny would need me. He won't die, though. I know he won't. He's a warrior, my very loveable warrior.

Sable said: Yes, I'm worried, but Greg ... Greg was in Special Forces, Loni. He's gathered a team for the job, other warriors, proficient men he trusts. He and his men have been up against more dangerous situations than Hal Carson and his thugs represent.

Loni thought: She's spouting Greg's words. I know her. She's got to be worried sick.

Loni said: Whom did you fall for first, Greg or Clint?

Sable said: Clint.

Loni said: Thought so. What happened?

Sable said: Nothing happened. That was the problem. I made so many offers by innuendo I lost count. He didn't pick up on any of them. I'm not stupid. Neither is Clint. So it didn't take me long to figure out that he wasn't interested. That's the unvarnished truth. Then he hired Greg. Greg was interested. Boy, oh boy, was he ever! Then Ginny arrived, and ... well, Ginny and I clicked, Loni. That's when I walked away from how I felt about Clint, and in short order I fell head over heels for Greg. I love him, Loni. I love him with all my heart, mind and soul, and I love Ginny the same way.

Loni said: Does Greg know how you felt about Clint?

Sable said: Yes, but he also knows how much I love him, that I love him so much more, romantic love, not the love for a friend.

Loni said: Then you wouldn't be adverse if I took a run at Clint?

Sable said: Frankly, I'd be surprised if you didn't.

Loni said: Think I'll have any success?

Sable said: Don't know. I'm not sure, but I think he fell for a woman named Leah. Leah is Owen and Maria Johnson's daughter. Greg hired Owen to run the ranch. They'll arrive in October. Leah's an archeologist and a professor at ASU. Clint took her out to dinner, hired a limo for the date, sent flowers, the whole nine yards. Then he invited her here to go horseback riding, rented the horses, went all out again. After the ride and some time in the hot tub, they disappeared into his bedroom. I don't know what happened, but Leah hasn't been around since, and Clint ... well, he wasn't himself after that. He's just recently come out of the funk he was in.

Loni said: Clint told me he lost a loved one just before he did the painting hanging in the great room. Did someone close to him die?

Sable said: Not that I know of, but then Clint is a very private man. Maybe that's why he went into that funk. He didn't leave to attend any funeral, though.

Loni thought: It's rare when love happens after only two dates, but by definition, rare means it can happen. Leah, huh? I'll mention her name and watch his expression. How he reacts ought to tell me something.

Forewarned is forearmed, I thought. The last thing I wanted was a discussion with Loni about Leah. No, not Loni. Zane would open that discussion.

At one time in my life long since past, I played poker to pay some hospital bills and build a stake to start a business, so I knew how to calculate odds. Granted, experiencing the thoughts of the other poker players at the table gave me my edge, but I still had to understand the odds involved in the game.

With that said, I could only guess at the odds of running into someone at a ballpark in Phoenix who knew me as Vince Smith when I lived in Houston. That Leah was with this man at the ballpark had to take the odds into the stratosphere. I figured the odds of winning the lottery would be better.

Loni had suggested the ballgame. She knew Sable enjoyed baseball – at the ballpark, not on TV.

"She needs to keep her mind occupied while Greg is you know where," Loni had said to me. "Besides, Juan and Rosa have planned a day in the tall pines above Payson, I believe Sable said. Wherever, it's in the mountains out of the heat, and Pablo and Ginny are going with them."

So that's how I'd found myself at a ballpark face to face with Jim Evans.

Sable saw Leah in the crowd ahead of us first.
"Leah!" she shouted, and Leah turned to the sound of her name.

Sable was waving like crazy.

Then I saw Leah. I also saw Jim Evans. The moisture in my mouth turned to dust in an instant. I cursed under my breath and wondered how I could convince Evans that I wasn't Vince Smith, that I was Clint Wilson. I wanted to turn around and run, but that would've been stupid.

We were in range now. Would Leah help me? I connected with her, built the imaginary cable from my mind to hers and said, I need your help, Leah. The man you're with. He knew me from my previous life.

Jim? she said with a thought.

Good. She responded silently. With a little luck, this might work.

I said silently, Yes, Jim Evans. He's a lawyer. I used his law firm to do some business while I lived in Houston.

How can I help? she said.

You'll need to lie, I said.

I love you. Ergo, I'll lie for you. Tell me what to do.

Not now, but later when my resemblance to Vince Smith comes up, and it will, tell him you've known me as Clint Wilson for years, at least two, but more would be better. Make up a story that will give him doubts, and then call me and tell me the story so we'll both be on the same page. Oh, another thing. Don't tell him I'm a venture capitalist. That was my business when he knew me. Tell him ... tell him I breed straight Egyptian Arabian horses. Use parts of my back-story I told you about like the ranch in Montana.

She nodded and said, All right. This is fun, huh? She smiled.

As disastrous as the situation was, I laughed. Yes it is, I said.

Okay, get out of my head now. It's great to see you again, Clint.

Same here. I'm still in love with you, Leah, I said.

Then I got out of her head.

I got out of Leah's head and jumped into Jim Evans's.

I'll be go to hell, he thought. That's Vince Smith. A younger Vince Smith. The gray hair is gone, but ... I thought he was dead. It was in all the papers. Suicide, the papers said. Hoo, boy, have I got a story to tell when I get back to Houston.

Dammit, he recognized me. Stonewall him.

"Vince," Evans said and held out his hand. "I'm surprised to see you."

I put on a confused look. "I'm sorry. You've got me mixed up with someone else," I said.

"You sure do," Leah said. "Jim, I'd like you to meet Clint Wilson. Clint, this is Jim Evans, and Clint, this is my friend, Dr. Grace Boswell and her friend, Dr. Archibald Halliday. He goes by Archie." Then Leah introduced her party to Sable and Frank.

Clint Wilson, my foot, Evans thought. That's Vince Smith. No doubt about it. I recognize his voice, too, that Western twang. What in blazes is goin' on?

Sable introduced her sister, adding, "Loni is visiting for a couple of weeks."

"We'd better find our seats," Halliday said.

"We've got to locate ours, too," Sable said. "It's great to see you again, Leah." Then she said something that made me want to kiss her. "I expect we'll see more of you when you drop by the ranch to visit your parents."

"No doubt about it," Leah said.

The groups split up. I wasn't out of the woods, but ... ah, hell, my impromptu plan wouldn't work. Evans was too positive. Think!

I didn't have a clue.

I knew one thing for sure; the next time I changed identities I'd also change my appearance beyond removing the gray in my hair. I'd debated with myself about undergoing some cosmetic surgery, but I like my ugly mug. I was used to it. I didn't want to look at a stranger in the mirror when I shaved in the morning.

Vanity, thou name is ... what? Thomas Patterson, I guess. That's the name my mama gave me.

"I'd swear on my mother's grave that that man is Vince Smith, not Clint Wilson," Jim Evans said to Leah as they searched for their seats.

"That's strange. I've known Clint for years. He's a rancher, breeds straight Egyptian Arabian horses. I first met him through my dad while I was working on my masters. My dad's good with horses. Some say he's a horse whisperer, that he can talk horse. Dad denies knowing how to talk horse, but they sure do seem to pay attention to him. He learned how to handle horses from an old Ute Indian. My mother is a full-blooded Ute, which makes me a half-breed. Were you born and raised in Texas, Jim?"

"Yes," he said and shook his head, still amazed at Clint Wilson's resemblance to Vince Smith.

"There's our section," Archie said.

They turned left and walked down some stairs.

"I've met a few Texans," Leah said. "They referred to Mexicans as spics and called me a breed. What about you, Jim? Are you like the Texans I knew? Are you a racist?"

"No, not anymore. My father is a sexist and a racist, so I picked up those contemptible traits while growing up. As the song says, you have to be carefully taught to hate. When I became a man, I put those attitudes behind me. You say you've known him for years?"

"Who? Oh, you're referring to Clint. Yes. He ran cattle and raised quarter horses in Montana, inherited the ranch from his parents, the ranch and a pile of money. I didn't like him back then. Too cocksure, too full of himself. About three years ago, maybe a little longer, he sold the ranch in Montana and bought acreage in Gold Canyon, that's a suburb of Phoenix to the east at the base of the Superstition Mountains. Beautiful high-desert land. He said he moved south and bought desert land because he wanted to raise Arabian horses, and they're desert bred." She chuckled. "He also said he was sick of living with the brutal winters in Montana. Anyway, I got to know him again recently because he hired my dad as his ranch foreman. To be honest, Jim, I got to know Clint real well, if you know what I mean, but for one reason or another it didn't work out between us. We're friends, though, which is a good thing, what with my dad working for him."

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Long Life and Telepathy

Paul Phenomenon

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