Vineyard Prey Read Free Page B

Where’s your truck?”
    â€œAt the airport.”
    The Hyannis airport is almost across the street from the mall.
    â€œThat may cause some confusion among the heathen,” I said.
    â€œI hope so,” said Begay. “When’s your reservation back to the island?”
    â€œMiddle of the afternoon. You need some time to do something first?”
    â€œNo. Just get me back to the Vineyard. When we get there, can you take me up to the house? Toni’s car’s there.”
    â€œSure.”
    We drove on.
    â€œYou’re not asking many questions,” said Begay.
    â€œNot because I don’t have them. You want to bunk out with us for a while?”
    â€œNo need. I may be imagining things but if I’m right, I don’t want to get you any more involved.”
    â€œI’m already involved. I just don’t know in what.”
    â€œYou’re not involved yet. I’m sure nobody trailed me out of the mall, so you’re clear if you get me back to the house without anyone seeing me with you.”
    My rearview mirror was empty. “I can do that,” I said, “but you’re wrong about me not being involved. I’ve been involved with you since you saved my bacon in ’Nam.”
    â€œI’m the one whose bacon got saved by you,” said Begay. “Are we ever going to get this story straight?”
    I glanced at him and saw a small smile on his craggy face. “Probably not,” I said.
    When the Vietnam mortarman had dropped his rounds on us, blinded Sergeant Begay had pickedup shrapnel-crippled me and become my legs while I had become his eyes. Two half-men had become one whole man long enough to call in the gunships and the medics and to save what was left of our patrol. The argument about who had saved whom had gone on ever since and had become a joke.
    Now, after Begay said nothing for a while, I asked, “Where are Toni and the kids?”
    â€œI sent them out to Arizona to spend some time with my people. I told Toni to take the children out of school for a couple of weeks and show them where their daddy grew up. She didn’t want to go, but she went. They should be fine. The Easter Bunny has never been there.”
    I drove for a while before I said, “The Easter Bunny. It’s the wrong time of year for the Easter Bunny. It’s almost time for Rudolph.”
    â€œIt’s not Rudolph,” said Begay. “We got Rudolph. And we got the Scarecrow, too, but we don’t think we got the Easter Bunny.”
    Most of the souvenir shops along Route 28 were closed for the winter. I saw one such and pulled around behind it. We repacked the backseat with Begay snuggled between a large pack of toilet paper and an even larger pack of paper towels. All he had to do to be invisible was to hold a fifty-pound sack of oiled sunflower seeds in his lap. I found the case of Sam Adams I’d gotten earlier at Kappy’s and gave us each one before we started on down the road again.
    â€œIf you don’t want to tell me what this is about,” I said, “I won’t push it. I’ll ask Jake Spitz.”
    â€œI deserve this,” said Begay. “I’d forgotten how nosy you can be.”
    That wasn’t true, of course. Joe Begay didn’t forget things. He thought he might need someone and that he could trust me if push came to shove. He was right about the trust, but I was more than two decades past soldiering so I hoped he wouldn’t need any honed combat skills.
    â€œI’ll go to Jake if I have to,” I said, “but it might save some time if you came right out with it.”
    â€œJake is FBI,” said Begay. “This involves other people.”
    â€œIf you say so. Okay, let’s talk about something else. How about them Patriots? They gonna make it to the Super Bowl this year?”
    There was a silence, then Joe said, “All right, here’s what I know. In the last few months