8

Kane opened the door to his hotel room and found two men in topcoats standing inside.

“Please come in, Mr. Kane,” one of them said politely. “We need to talk.”

Kane stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Who are you and what do you want?” he asked.

Both men were in their late twenties and over six feet. One was dark-haired and the other blond, but otherwise they were as alike as two peas in a pod: fit, short-haired, clear-eyed, and clean-shaven.

“Oh, he sounds crabby, doesn’t he?” the dark-haired one said.

“Yes, he does,” said the blond one. “I hope it’s not contagious. I hope we don’t get crabby, too.”

Kane took a few steps into the room, took off his overcoat, and dropped it on the bed. The two men’s eyes followed his every move.

“I’ve had a long day,” he said, “so you can cut the comedy and get to the point.”

The dark-haired man took a case from his topcoat pocket and flashed a badge.

“I’m Sergeant Smith,” he said with a smile. “This is Trooper Jones. We’re with the Alaska State Troopers Criminal Investigations Bureau.”

“Smith and Jones?” Kane said.

“Yeah,” the other man said. “We get a lot of comments about that.”

Kane said nothing. The three of them stood there looking at one another.

I really don’t need this, Kane thought. I’m sore and tired. I just want to take some aspirin and go to bed.

But the two men looked content to just stand there, so he said, “Perhaps you could tell me what the state troopers are doing breaking into hotel rooms.”

The two men looked at each other.

“We didn’t break into this room, did we, Trooper Jones?” the dark-haired one said.

“Why, no, Sergeant Smith,” the blond one said. “The door was open. Mr. Kane must have forgotten to close it.”

Smith shook his head.

“That was just an invitation to crime, wasn’t it?” he said. “Don’t you think Mr. Kane should be more careful?”

Jones nodded.

“He certainly should be more careful,” he said, “especially when he leaves something like this lying around.”

He pointed to the coffee table. Kane took a couple of steps forward, as if to see better what he was pointing at. On the table was the hotel towel, unrolled to show the pieces of the .45.

“Perhaps you could tell us what you are doing with this, Mr. Kane,” Smith said.

Kane shrugged.

“This is Alaska,” he said. “Anyone can own a gun. Or a hundred guns.”

“Not anyone,” Jones said. “Not a convicted felon.”

Kane gave him a grin.

“Yeah,” he said, “that’s right. So I guess it’s a good thing I had my record wiped clean, isn’t it.”

The two men looked at each other again.

“Just what are you doing in Juneau, Mr. Kane?” Smith asked.

Kane thought about telling them the truth. But their vaudeville routine was getting on his last nerve.

“I’m here for the golf,” he said.

“Golf?” Jones said. “There’s no golf here in the winter.”

“I must have been misinformed,” Kane said.

The two men looked at each other again.

“It sounds to me like Mr. Kane thinks he’s funny,” Jones said. “Does it sound that way to you?”

“It does,” Smith said. “It sounds like he thinks he’s funny. Do you think you’re funny, Mr. Kane?”

Kane looked at the two men and shrugged.

“Why don’t the two of you just leave,” he said, his voice edgy with sudden adrenaline, “before I call some real cops.”

Smith took a step forward. His nose was nearly touching Kane’s.

“We don’t need any more comedians in Juneau right now,” he said, trying to make his voice sound hard. “We have the legislature.” He smiled at his own joke. “Why don’t you plan to be on the next airplane out of here.”

Jones moved a couple of steps to his left so he could see Kane over Smith’s shoulder. Kane took a half-step back, the backs of his legs hitting the bed.

I wonder if, to someone watching from above, it looks like the three of us are doing some odd dance, he thought.

“I don’t think I’ll be leaving soon,” he said. “Now that I’m here, I think I’ll see the sights.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Smith said and slapped Kane across the face. He leaned close and said, “On the airplane, tomorrow.”

Kane sighed and kneed Smith in the groin. Smith squealed. Kane put his hands on Smith’s shoulders and shoved. He flew backward and banged into Jones, who was trying to get something out of the pocket of his topcoat. Jones fell onto the coffee table. The coffee table collapsed and the pieces of Kane’s .45 slid onto the floor. Kane pivoted and hit Smith with his elbow. Smith went down at his feet. Jones was lying on his side amid the pieces of coffee table, still trying to get something out of his pocket. Kane took a couple of quick steps and kicked him on the chin. Jones stopped trying to do anything at all. Smith was stirring, so Kane kicked him, too. He lay still.

Kane stood there taking deep breaths for a few moments, waiting for his heartbeat to slow, then went through their pockets. Smith’s badge said, “Souvenir of MGM.” Jones’s overcoat pocket contained a .38 revolver, the hammer snagged on the pocket’s lining. Jones didn’t have a badge, but he did have a .32 automatic in an ankle holster. Smith wore a .38 on his belt and a matching .32 auto on his ankle. Each had a roll of bills in his pocket, but neither carried any ID whatsoever.

Kane piled all the guns on the bed. Then he dialed the Juneau police and asked the dispatcher to send somebody up. He picked up the pieces of his own gun, wrapped them in the towel, and put them back on the closet shelf.

The two men were just beginning to stir when the police arrived.

“These men broke into my hotel room and threatened me,” Kane said. “They pretended to be Alaska State Troopers. The dark-haired one hit me. They don’t seem to be carrying ID. Their guns and phony badge are on the bed.”

“How do we know that’s what happened?” one of the cops asked.

“Just that I say it,” Kane said, “but you can see the guns and phony badge on the bed. And the desk clerk will confirm that this is my room. I’m telling you that I didn’t let them in. That’s enough for a collar right there.”

There was more palaver when the two men were on their feet, but the police took the men and weapons away on Kane’s promise to come down in the morning and swear out a complaint.

Kane locked the door behind them, retrieved the towel from the closet, sat, turned on a lamp, and examined the pieces of the .45. They looked okay, but he was too tired to assemble them to be sure. He left the pieces on the nightstand, got up, opened the dresser, and unrolled a pair of socks, revealing two wedges. He put the wedges in the crack under the door and tapped them into place with his foot. Maybe it’s locking the barn door, he thought, but I’ll sleep better.

He brushed his teeth, took a couple of aspirin, removed his clothes, and climbed into bed. He lay for a while thinking about the two men, but didn’t get very far. So he thought instead about Dylan. What I need is a plan, he decided as he fell asleep.