DANCES WITH RATTLESNAKES

By: Kenda

 

      Author's Note: This story contains some violence and the occasional use of strong language; therefore 'Dances' is considered an intense drama. Doctor Marybeth Lambe assisted with many medical questions for which I'm eternally grateful. Any mistakes made in the final translation of facts from Marybeth are solely the author's.

 

     Extensive research brought me to the conclusion that to accurately and respectfully portray the language and customs of any particular Indian tribe is quite an undertaking. Therefore, any references to Johnny's heritage are purely fictional.

Prologue

March, 1978

        The man stared out the driver's side window of his Oldsmobile, watching as the first wave of children poured out of the schoolyard gates. The kids that made up the initial three-thirty flee to freedom didn't interest him. But then they never had. To begin with, the majority of them were boys. Boys didn't ignite the fire that burned out of control somewhere deep in his soul. After all, it wasn't like he was some kind of faggot. The few girls that were interspersed amongst the boys didn't make his groin twitch either. He could tell just by looking at them they were tomboys. Little girls who were rushing home to grab baseball mitts before joining their male counterparts in a sandlot game. He'd learned the hard way that tomboys were nothing but trouble. Too feisty, too sure of themselves, too apt to fight, kick, bite, and scream. They weren't worth the effort when there were so many sweet, mild mannered dainty little girls available for the taking.

        The man shifted in his seat. His six and a half foot, three hundred pound frame made the car too small to be comfortable. But comfort wasn't an option when being inconspicuous was a must. The Oldsmobile was a popular car right now, brown its top selling color. He blended right in with all the other parents waiting outside the Sun Grove Elementary School.

        It was late March in Arizona, but already felt like mid-July to this drifter who had been born and raised in the flatlands of Illinois. He reached over and turned the car's air conditioner up another notch. His eyes followed a group of little girls who passed by on the sidewalk right outside the passenger door.

        Too young. The oldest one in the bunch can't be more than six. They're no fun when they're that little. They don't understand what's going on. What's ultimately going to happen to them. No matter how badly they're hurting, they still think I'm going to return them to their mamas.

        The two girls who passed by next were estimated to be thirteen.

        Too old.

        He didn't like them a day over twelve. If he wanted pubic hair and breasts he could pay a prostitute for a night of fun. Many years ago he'd come to the conclusion that the age range between eight and eleven was perfect. Prepubescent as it was called. Prepubescent. He liked that word. It described what he was looking for to a T. Still young enough to have a little girl's body, but old enough to understand what he was doing to them. Old enough to sense what he planned for them, but not old enough to know why. Old enough to try to escape, but young enough to be caught time and time again until eventually, like a cat with a tortured and terrified mouse, he lost interest in his play toy and killed it.

        He felt himself harden as he caught a glimpse of the little blond girl in the review mirror. She was walking by herself, carrying a Bionic Woman lunch box in one hand and a library book in another.

        Perfect. Oh, God, she's beautiful. Like an angel. A sweet little angel and not more than nine years old I'll bet. So tiny. So petite. Oh, Lord, but she'll make sitting in the hot sun half the afternoon pay off.

        He put his car in gear and slowly followed the girl as she turned a corner. He was in no hurry. He'd done this so many times over the past thirteen years that he never made a mistake. It was a lot like fishing. You just had to be patient and toss out your bait when the time was right.

        Evan Crammer looked down at the seat. The Hershey Bar was there, along with a Three Musketeers. She was bound to like one or the other. The chloroform, ropes, blind fold, and duct tape were hidden in the glove compartment, the knife was under the driver's seat. After all, there was no need to scare her. At least not yet. There'd be plenty of time for that later.

        As Evan pulled the car over to the sidewalk he reached for the candy bars. He put the vehicle in park and climbed out. He'd never thought of it before, but today was his anniversary. Thirteen years ago on this date he'd killed his first victim. Her name had been Kathy Swanson. She was eight years old. A beautiful little girl with blond hair and blue eyes. An angel. His first angel.

        Evan finger combed his sandy brown bangs then straightened the tie on his navy blue uniform shirt. He reached into the back seat for the policeman's cap and billy club. He slid the club into the leather loop attached to his belt before setting the cap on his head with military precision. He walked away from the car, willing his voice not to crack with excitement as he stepped on the sidewalk and called, "Little girl! Sweetheart, wait up there a minute, please. I need to talk to you!"

        Heather Gaines smiled when she saw the policeman walking towards her with a candy bar in his hand. He must be one of the patrol officers she'd learned about in school whom the teachers referred to as Officer Friendly. One of the Officer Friendly's had even visited her second grade classroom the previous year. He'd passed candy out to the children that day, too. Heather liked candy. Especially Hershey Bars. She willingly followed the man to his car, never realizing the error of her ways until a chloroform soaked rag was pressed against her small face.
        
        

Chapter 1

        Roy DeSoto plopped his weary body down on the bench in front of his locker. Station 51's A-shift was coming off a straight three day tour of duty. Roy didn't think he and Johnny had quit running to the squad that entire time. The only benefit Roy could see as he slipped his shoes from his aching feet was that it was four o'clock on Thursday afternoon and none of the A-shift had to report back to the station until eight on Tuesday morning.

        Johnny trudged into the locker room, pulling his uniform shirt from beneath the waistband of his pants. He was the only man Roy knew of who was thin enough to do that so effortlessly without unbuckling his belt first.

        "Man, these three day shifts are killers," Johnny groaned as he opened his locker and pulled out a pair of jeans and a short sleeved polo shirt.

        "I thought you said you were going to like these new rotations the department was trying. You said three days on in exchange for four days off sounded better than sex."

        John blinked and placed a hand on his chest. "I said that?"

        "You sure did."

        "I actually used the phrase, 'better than sex?' "

        "Uh huh."

        "I must have been delirious from lack of sleep."

        Roy stood as he pulled on his Levis. "I thought so at the time."

        "What's better than sex?" Chet asked as he entered the room.

        "Nothing," came Johnny's quick reply. The last thing John needed was Chet being told he'd actually said something like that. He'd be sure to hear about it for the next month.

        The three men talked shop while they changed from their uniforms into their civvies. As the conversation about the last run of the afternoon wore down Roy turned to Johnny.

        "You're still picking the kids up from school tomorrow?"

        "Yep."

        "Okay. Joanne will send their gear with them in the morning then. You sure you want to do this? You don't have to, you know. We don't want to inconvenience you."

        "Roy, you're not inconveniencing me. Besides, I volunteered. I've had the kids every year on your anniversary since Jennifer was three."

        Roy nodded. That was true, but never before had Johnny taken the kids to his place for two and half days with a camping trip thrown in to boot. That first year John had watched Chris and Jennifer he and Roy had been partners just four months. The night consisted of no more than Roy and Joanne going out to a swanky restaurant and a play afterwards. They'd been home by one in the morning, thus relieving Johnny of his babysitting duties. The next year Johnny had convinced Roy to take Joanne away for their anniversary. By then Joanne knew Johnny better and had grown to love him like a brother, while at the same time trusting him with her husband's life. She had no qualms about leaving him alone for the weekend with her children. If anyone had qualms it was Roy, who knew his partner had a penchant for trouble without really looking for it. But the weekend had been wonderful. The house was still standing when Roy and Joanne returned from Carmel, and when it came time for John to go home Chris and Jen clung to his hands while begging him to stay longer. Ever since then Roy's children had celebrated their parent's wedding anniversary with the man they affectionately called Uncle Johnny. Now that Johnny owned a small ranch in the foothills of the San Gabriel mountains that included a barn, corral, four horses, a dog, a cat and five kittens, the kids couldn't spend enough time with him as far as they were concerned.

        "It's a tradition, Roy," John said now as he tucked his maroon shirt into his Wranglers. "The kids and I have been doing this for six years. Chris will be twelve in October. It won't be long before he starts thinking Uncle Johnny's just another washed up old fireman. When that day comes he'll turn his nose up at the thought of spending time with me."

        "Like the rest of us do?" Chet quipped from behind his locker door.

        Johnny didn't waste his breath by tossing his foe a well deserved, "Shut-up, Chet," but Roy could read the words on his face.

        "Chris will never think of you as washed up," Roy told his partner. "Uncle Johnny is 'the coolest' as far as Christopher is concerned."

        Chet didn't allow John to bask in the glow of that remark for long. He shut his locker and tossed his tennis shoes on the bench. He bent and slipped the right one on his foot, then did the same with his left. While he tied the laces he teased, "Hey, Roy, I'd think twice about leaving the kids with Johnny if I was you. You know how accident-prone he is. The guy's a rescue squad call waiting to happen. The last thing you want is Gage's klutziness rubbing off on Chris and Jen."
        
        "I'll have you know I haven't suffered from so much as a splinter in the last year," Johnny tossed back at Chet. "No broken bones. No concussions. No bumps, bruises, or burns. Didn't even catch that head cold you guys were passing around in February."

        "He's right, Chet," Roy smiled. "I don't know what gods Johnny's been making shrines to, but evidently he's getting favorable results. As a matter of fact it's getting rather boring being his partner."

        "Yeah, Gage, now that Roy mentions it, you haven't gotten us out of any shifts to make an unscheduled trip to Rampart. Geez, if you were a true friend a guy would think you'd make the effort to come through for us at least once every couple of months like you used to."

        "Sorry, gentleman, but what you have before you is an older, wiser, John Gage who now looks both ways before he crosses the street."

         Chet cocked an eyebrow. "Wiser?"

        Before the man could say anymore John shut his locker door and headed for the exit. "I'll have the kids call you tomorrow night to wish you a happy anniversary. What time are you leaving?"

        "We're not."

        "You're not?"

        "No. We talked about going out of town for the weekend, but then decided a couple of days at home without the kids would be just as relaxing as a couple of days away."

        "Whatever suits your fancy," Johnny shrugged. "I'll bring them home around six on Sunday night."

        "That's fine. Plan to stay for dinner. I'll throw some steaks and burgers on the grill."

        "Sounds good to me. See you Sunday."

        "Yeah. See ya'. And thanks again."

        Johnny's "No problem," was barely heard as he exited the locker room.

        "So Johnny's a good babysitter, huh?" Chet asked after the dark headed man had left.

        "You bet. Always has been, even in his younger and wilder days. The kids love him."

        "I'll have to remember that."
        "Why?"

        Chet put an arm around Roy as they, too, headed out the locker room door.

        "Roy, old buddy, the Phantom doesn't plan to be a bachelor forever. One of these days he's gonna settle down and marry himself a nice, Irish-Catholic girl. And you know what Irish-Catholic girls do best, don't you?"

        Thinking of the Kennedy family Roy guessed, "Produce lots of Irish-Catholic babies?"

        "That's right. And after the little woman and I get to about...oh, say number six, I think Gage will make the perfect nanny, don't you?"

        Roy laughed. "Chet, under normal circumstances Johnny's an outstanding babysitter. However; I have a feeling the Phantom's children just might do the poor guy in."

        "Yep," Chet nodded with an evil grin. "And that's the beauty of it."

        Roy shook his head at his co-worker as they climbed in their respective vehicles. Rush hour traffic didn't bother the blond headed paramedic that evening as much as it usually did. Each time his car came to a standstill his mind drifted to Chet's words, causing him to laugh as he pictured Johnny getting hit by half a dozen water balloons, cream pies, and flour bombs all in rapid succession.

Chapter 2

        Evan sat at the battered desk in his downtown motel room. He studied the map spread out before him. Gold stars, the kind teachers used to mark an outstanding paper, sparkled up at him from points all across America. Kankakee, Illinois. That's where it had all started when he was nineteen years old. That's where he'd abducted and murdered Kathy Swanson. Two other little girls had died in Kankakee before he'd wised up and realized a man with his desires couldn't stay in one area too long. It was right around that time the local press had dubbed him the Kankakee Killer. It was a dumb name, not one worthy of a master like Evan Joseph Crammer, but then he never had met a newspaper reporter with more than half a brain. They sensationalized and fictionalized whatever was necessary just to sell a story. Well, Evan's deeds didn't need to be sensationalized, and they certainly weren't a work of fiction. The newspaper people, and the cops, were so stupid they didn't even realize that the Kankakee Killer had now spread his work far and wide. The gold stars on Evan's map were proof of that. From Michigan to Maine, New Jersey to Florida, Montana to Texas, Alabama to Ohio, there was hardly a state he'd missed. That was his goal. To leave behind at least one victim in all 50 states. No other serial killer before him had accomplished such a deed. But he would. He knew he would, because he was a classic over achiever. Or so his teachers had always told his parents.

        "Evan is so quiet and studious. And he works so hard. Every paper has to be perfect before he'll turn it in."

        Yes, even as far back as the first grade Evan had taken pride in gold stars. He knew that caused his mother some worry as he grew older. He sat back in the rickety wooden chair and recalled conversations he'd overheard her having with his father when he was in high school.

        "I worry about him, Frank. He doesn't have any friends. At least none that he speaks of or ever brings to the house. And he's never been interested in any outside activities. Not sports, not the Boy Scouts, not the youth group at church. All he wants to do is sit up in his room with the door closed and study."

        Evan smiled when he thought of his father's reply.

        "And studying is a bad thing? Come on, Margaret, the boy's a loner because he's an only child. It's normal for only children to entertain themselves, and to excel in school. By nature they're goal oriented individuals. Mark my words Evan will go far in this world. Why it wouldn't surprise me if our son is someday a Nobel Prize recipient."

        Evan looked down at his map, the stars representing so many miles traveled.

        "Yes, Dad, you were right. I did go far."

        Evan's father had been a psychologist long before the profession was popular. Evan knew it was from his father that he inherited his analytical mind, and his ability to emotionally detach himself from his victims. Not that his father hadn't been a good man, or a good provider, but Evan never felt a connection to him. Never felt even the most remote bond. Maybe that was because his father was a workaholic who had very little time for his only child. All Evan knew as a child was that the best way to please his father was by being a good boy who did well in school and caused little grief while at home. He was probably twelve or thirteen when the first urge to hurt a child surfaced. As he matured that urge grew into sexual fantasies until it became the only way he could be satisfied in a sexual manner. Maybe if he'd had a better relationship with his father he could have talked to the man about these unsettling feelings when they first started. But, then again, maybe not. It made little difference now. His father had died eight years ago. Fittingly enough, Evan's mother found her husband slumped over his desk in his study, his face buried in a textbook. Margaret Crammer sold the house in Champaign, Illinois shortly after her husband's death. She'd moved north, to a swanky Chicago suburb in order to live near her sister. Evan hadn't seen his mother in over a year. He supposed he would soon have to make an effort to visit, but that would have to wait a few more months. He wanted to make his way to Oregon and Washington, two states that held no gold stars. But he was getting ahead of himself because California didn't have any stars yet either.

        Evan smiled as he studied the long state. California covered a lot of territory. There would be a lot of little girls between here and the Oregon border. He could add a lot of gold stars to his map.

        The man gave a satisfied sigh as he stood and walked over to his fourth story window. He looked out the grimy glass at the street below.

        How appropriate. I'm in the City Of Angels, seeking an angel.

        What few little girls Evan saw passing on the sidewalk were dark headed and looked to be of Hispanic descent. At one time the hair color of his victims didn't matter to Evan, but he'd become more fickle in recent years.

        No, no. These will never do. An angel has blond hair. Only blond hair. And blue eyes, though green or hazel do well in a pinch. But as the expression goes, gentlemen prefer blonds.

        Evan knew what he was looking for, and also knew he'd never find it in this section of town. But that was okay. He took a room in this seedy hotel where prostitutes brought their clients because he knew he'd barely be noticed by the perpetually hung over clerk who managed the front desk. Nowadays angels weren't found in the downtown section of any city. Angels were found in the suburbs. And that's exactly where Evan was headed on this Friday afternoon.

         But first he had to return to his map. He had to add a star in Arizona. As he licked it and stuck it atop the town of Sun Grove he muttered, "This one is for you, Heather Gaines. You were a good girl. A sweet girl. And now you're one of Evan's angels."
        

Chapter 3

        Tracy Nichols skipped down the sidewalk. She'd stayed after school at Park Lawn Elementary to help her fourth grade teacher, Miss Hendricks, feed the classroom hamsters, bunnies, and guinea pigs and clean their cages. Tracy adored Miss Hendricks and would miss her when the school year ended. It was April twelfth. School would be out for the year in six short weeks.

        The little girl twirled, dancing in the California sunshine. Her long, pale hair splayed out behind her. There was nothing like a Friday afternoon with no homework. Usually she walked to and from school with her best friends, Patty and Sara, but today they'd gone on without her because it was her turn to help Miss Hendricks with the classroom menagerie.

        Tracy left the sidewalk for the soft grass of the neighborhood park. There were swings, a slide, and a merry-go-round at the far end, but right now they were devoid of any occupants. She crossed the desolate baseball diamond where her brother Jeff played his Little League games on Saturday afternoons.

        The little girl saw the man sitting on the bleachers in the distance. She immediately noticed his policeman's uniform. She kept walking without giving him a second thought. As she got close to where he was sitting he smiled and waved. She smiled back and said politely, "Hello, Officer," like her mother had taught her to do.

        Tracy wondered if the man knew her dad. He was a police officer, too. She thought about asking the stranger that, but she was too shy to start up a conversation with an adult she didn't know. Besides, Tracy was hungry and knew her mother would have a snack waiting for her when she reached home.

        The ten year old gave a cry of startled surprise when she was swooped up from behind. At first she thought the big man was teasing her like some of her father's friends on the police force did whenever they stopped by the house.

        He must know my dad and he's goofing around.

        Tracy felt herself being twirled round and round, her feet flying off to the side. She laughed until she felt the man's right hand clamp over her mouth real tight, while his left elbow encircled her arms and pinned them to her sides. His left hand then nestled in the crotch of her blue jeans.

        Tracy didn't like the feeling she was getting in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't sure what the man was doing or why, but she knew it was wrong. You never touched someone like he was touching her. That wasn't right. Her mother had told her so. It didn't matter if the person was your sister, brother, or uncle. They should never touch you where this man was touching her.

        The man began running for a brown car. Tracy felt herself being bumped up and down in time with his frantic steps. His pace caused his grip on her mouth to loosen. Despite the terror that caused her heart to race, Tracy was clear headed enough to take the only advantage she had. She bit the man's palm as hard as she could. She bit him like she was biting into a meaty piece of Kentucky Fried Chicken and then held on for all she was worth. At the same time she flailed her legs back and forth. Without realizing it the heel of her tennis shoe connected solidly with his groin.

        "Ouch! You little bitch! You'll pay for that!"

        Tracy released the man's hand. She screamed the words her daddy had taught her and Jeff to say if they ever found themselves in a situation like this.

        "Help! Help me! Somebody help me! He's a stranger! He's a stranger! He's not my daddy! Help me!"

        Bill Seitz entered the park by the swing set. He was pulling a red wagon that held his sons, five year old Matthew and three year old Casey. At first he thought the struggling girl he saw in the distance was simply an unruly child being dragged home by her father. But then he heard her terror filled screams, and heard his oldest son say, "Daddy, that's Tracy. How come that man is carrying her?"

        Bill worked the night shift at an automobile factory and lived three doors down from the Nichols family. He didn't know Jeff and Tracy well since they were older than his own two boys, but now that Matthew pointed it out to him he realized the struggling little girl was his neighbor. He also realized the man carrying her wasn't her father.

        "Matt, Casey, stay in the wagon! I'll be right back!"

        Bill took off running. "Hey! Hey, you there! Put her down! I said put that child down!"

        Evan looked up. The man racing toward him commanding him to drop Tracy was slim and fast. Evan knew he could never outrun him. His size gave him an advantage in many situations, but a foot race wasn't one of them. His eyes quickly scanned the area as Tracy continued to struggle in his arms. A car was slowing down, its driver evidently curious as to what was going on. And across the street a woman was watching him while hurrying into her house.

        Oh, shit. She's gonna call the cops. I just know she is.

        "Hey, you there! Put her down!"

        Evan gave one last look at the surrounding area before making a final decision. He tossed Tracy aside like one would discard a rag doll and ran the rest of the way to his car. He'd never taken the key out of the ignition. He turned the key and gunned the engine. The tires squealed and the rear end of the Olds fishtailed as he tore into the street. The car careened around a corner before Bill was able to get the license plate number.

        A woman ran from the car that Evan had noticed, while another came from the house across the street. By this time Bill had the hysterical Tracy in his arms.

        "I've called the police," the homeowner said. "Is she all right?"

        Bill held the little girl against his chest and rocked her while keeping one eye on the boys he'd left in the wagon. "I think so. She's scared more than anything."

        "I don't blame her," the driver of the car stated. "That man was trying to kidnap her."

        "I know."

        Before the adults could say anything else a police cruiser roared to the curb. Tracy's father climbed out from behind the wheel. He'd had no idea what to expect when he arrived at the scene, but seeing his daughter crying into the chest of his neighbor had been the farthest thing from his mind.

        As soon as Tracy recognized the policeman she broke free from Bill. She ran to her father with arms spread wide. She felt herself being lifted into the air. She wrapped her arms around her father's neck and cried, "Oh, Daddy, I was so scared. That man was going to hurt me. I know he was. Oh, Daddy, that man was going to hurt me."

        "Shhh, baby, shhh," Jim Nichols comforted as he rocked his child from side to side. "Shhh. He can't hurt you now. You're safe. He can't hurt you now."

No, he couldn't hurt Tracy now. But as Jim Nichols carried his daughter to the unmarked detective's sedan that had just arrived on the scene, his stomach rolled at the thought of whose little girl the man might hurt before he was caught.

Chapter 4

        At the same time Evan Crammer was attempting to abduct Tracy Nichols, John Gage parked the Land Rover to the immediate right of the main gate of Spring Meadows Elementary School. Chris and Jennifer knew to look for him here. Ten minutes later he heard the bell ring that signaled the end of the school day. He wasn't surprised to see that Chris and Jen were amongst the first pupils out of the building.

        Jennifer's standard greeting never failed to bring that familiar Gage grin to John's face.

        "Uncle Johnny! Uncle Johnny!"

        Johnny bent down and hugged the child who was laden with backpack, lunch box and school books. The hug he gave Chris was no less affectionate, but more of a one-armed manly type exchange that befit a boy of eleven when his friends were nearby.

        "Hi, Uncle Johnny."

        "Hey, Chris. How goes it?"

        "Fine. Except for homework. How come teachers always give homework over the weekends?"

        "To keep kids out of trouble I guess."

        Johnny opened the back of the Land Rover and began loading it with the backpacks he'd given the kids this past Christmas, their school books and lunch boxes.

        "Did homework keep you out of trouble when you were a kid, Uncle Johnny?"

        John looked down into the light blue eyes both Jennifer and her brother had inherited from Roy. He winked at his 'best girl.' "Whatta ya' think?"

        "No, probably not," Jen laughed. "Besides, Daddy says you get in more trouble now than me and Chris put together."

        "Oh, he does, does he?"

        "Yep."

        "Well, it looks like I'm gonna have to duke it out with your old man, huh?"

        Chris and Jen laughed at the thought of their father and Uncle Johnny getting into a fist fight. They'd heard their father say many times that Uncle Johnny was the brother he'd never had, and Uncle Johnny had told them the same thing once. That their father was the brother he'd never had. Though they knew the two men had an occasional spat, just like Chris and Jennifer had occasional spats, they also knew their father and Uncle Johnny were best friends.

        Chris sat in the passenger seat next to John while Jen climbed in on the driver's side behind him. When everyone had buckled their seat belts Johnny pulled away from the curb. It would take a little over an hour to reach the ranch with traffic.

        "How about if we drive for a while and then stop for an early supper, guys?"

        Chris's stomach was like that of most eleven year old boys, a bottomless pit. "Great. How about pizza?"

        "Pizza's fine with me." John looked into the rearview mirror. "What about you, Jenny Bean? Is pizza okay?"

        Jennifer smiled at the nickname Johnny had called her from almost the very first day he met her. "Pizza's okay as long as you guys keep the mushrooms on your own side."

        "We can do that," Johnny acknowledged.

        As he pulled onto the freeway Jennifer rolled her window down. She laid her head sideways so strands of her long, honey blond hair could fly out the window as the Land Rover made its way toward Johnny's ranch.

_____________________________

        By eight o'clock that night Johnny and his guests were settled in his house.
After the Land Rover had been unloaded Chris and Jennifer had changed into their 'chore clothes' as they referred to them. They'd helped Johnny feed and water all the animals, then Jennifer climbed into the hay mow to play with the kittens while Chris dug for worms so he and John could fish the next day. When darkness started to fall John announced it was time to go into house. The trio was leaving by horseback right after sunrise in the morning. The trip up the mountain to their favorite camping spot would take three hours. They'd stay through lunchtime on Sunday, then head back down.
        
        Johnny and his guests entered the side door that opened into the utility room. There a dirty rancher, or fireman, could shed his clothes and make use of the sink that sat next to the washer. Or he could enter the hallway, take a sharp left, and be in a small bathroom that included a shower stall. John directed Chris to that shower stall now. Once the bathroom door closed he led Jennifer the opposite way down the hall. They entered the big, homey kitchen that curved into a dining area and great room. John had owned the ranch for three years now, and put any extra money he had into making improvements. The interior of the house had been transformed by Johnny's own hands. Oak hard wood floors had replaced old, worn carpeting. Knotty pine paneling had gone up on the walls in the great room, kitchen and dining area giving a person the feeling he'd walked into a home on a vast Montana spread. Sliding patio doors opened from the dining room onto a deck that faced the back yard and barn. Windows banked the south and west walls of the great room, running from the floor to the ceiling. A stone fireplace made up the east wall. A tan couch, two brown La-z-y Boy recliners, two end tables that held lamps, a TV set and a stereo rounded out the room's decor along with the big multi-colored braided rug that lay in the middle of the floor and a few works of Indian art on the walls.

        Jen walked through the great room with Johnny behind her carrying her backpack. They entered another hallway that contained two big bedrooms and a full bathroom. Johnny would sleep in his bedroom while Jen slept in the one across the hall. Chris would bunk on the floor in Johnny's room. As with the rest of the house, the wood paneled bedrooms had a decidedly western feel to them in both their decor and earth color schemes.

        Like her brother had been, Jennifer was instructed to take a shower and put on her pajamas. She shut the bathroom door and was soon busy doing what Uncle Johnny requested of her. John could hear the water running as he put a pillow and two blankets on the floor for Chris. He returned to the kitchen where the kids had left their schoolbooks on the table. He took a plate from one of the cabinets and placed half a dozen Oreo cookie on it. Chris appeared soon after that with neatly combed wet hair and wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a blue Los Angeles Dodgers T-shirt just like the one Johnny had on. The blond boy sat down to a snack of cookies and milk. While he ate John said, "You start on that homework when you're done eating. We're not leaving in the morning unless you have it finished."

        "Aw, Uncle Johnny, come on. It's Friday night."

        "Sorry, Sport, but that's the breaks. By the time I get you home on Sunday it'll be six or after. You're not gonna feel like doing homework then, so you
better get it done now."

        "Does Jen have to do hers, too?"

        "Yep. As soon as she's out of the shower I'll get her started on it."

        Even though the idea of doing homework on a Friday night didn't appeal to Christopher DeSoto, at least he had the assurance that his sister would be suffering right along with him.

        Jen padded barefooted through the great room five minutes later dressed in white pajamas adorned with big yellow sunflowers. She handed a brush to the dark haired paramedic.

        "Uncle Johnny, can you get the tangles out of my hair?"

        "Sure, Peanut. Come here."

        John pulled a chair away from the table. Jennifer turned her back to him and leaned against his thigh.

        Peanut was another nickname Johnny had given Jennifer not long after meeting her. But because of that she had a nickname for him in return she faithfully used whenever he referred to her as such.

        "Be careful, Walnut. If you pull on those tangles it'll hurt my head."

With mock indignantly Johnny asked, "In all the years I've done this for you have I ever hurt your head?"

        "No. But there's always a first time."

        The man laughed as he carefully brushed Jennifer's hair until it lay smooth and flat against her back. When he was finished he set the brush on the counter, poured both Jennifer and himself a glass of milk, added more cookies to the plate, and sat at the table with the kids. He supervised homework for the next half hour. In-between that project he reached behind himself and picked up the phone. He dialed Roy's number. His partner answered on the second ring. When Roy heard Johnny's voice he yelled for Joanne to pick up the extension in the master bedroom.

        "So, how goes it?" Roy asked.

        "Fine. Your kids are fed, clean, and doing their homework as we speak."

        "Homework? On a Friday night?"

        "Yep. No homework, no camping trip."

        Joanne's voice came across the line. "Uncle Johnny, you're a miracle worker. I've never been able to get either of those children to crack a book on a Friday night."

        "Guess you just gotta know the secret, Joanne."

        "I guess so. Or own horses and promise a weekend camping trip."
        "That works, too."

        Roy smiled when he heard Chris ask Johnny a question about a math problem, and in return heard Johnny give the boy a few pointers in resolving it.

        "Sorry," John apologized for his attention diversion. "Here, let me have the kids talk to you."

        Johnny handed the phone to Jennifer. She told her parents about her day in school, then replied, "I will," "Okay," and "Huh uh," to a series of instructions that Johnny assumed told her to be good, be careful, and to behave herself.

        Chris got on the phone next. He didn't talk nearly as long about his school day as Jennifer had, but then Johnny didn't expect that he would. He was so much like Roy. You wouldn't exactly call either one of the DeSoto men reserved, but neither you call them outgoing or accuse them of being chatterboxes. Chris, too, gave an, "I will," "Okay," and, "Huh uh," before handing the phone back to Johnny.

        "Anything else?" Johnny questioned both Roy and Joanne.

        "Nope," Roy replied. "Except thanks again for taking them."

        "Yes, thank you, Johnny. Thank you, thank you, thank you. As much as I love my children, each and every year you give Roy and me the best anniversary present a couple could receive."

        "My pleasure. Besides, the great thing about this anniversary gift is that it doesn't cost me any money."

        Joanne laughed, while Johnny pictured Roy rolling his eyes. The paramedic held the phone receiver towards the kids.

        "Okay, guys, one the count of three say goodnight to your folks and wish them a happy anniversary. One, two, three!"

        In perfect unison Roy and Joanne heard Chris, Jennifer and Johnny yell, "Good night, Mom and Dad! Happy Anniversary! Don't do anything Uncle Johnny wouldn't do!"

        Joanne was still laughing when Roy appeared from the living room. He was shaking his head and smiling. "I can only hope our children have no idea what that last statement means."

        "I doubt they do, Mr. DeSoto. I'll tell you, that partner of yours is something else."

        "Don't I know it."

        Roy threw himself belly down onto the king size bed. Joanne rolled onto her side, propped herself up on one elbow, and using her other hand began to massage her husband's back through his shirt.

        "It's hard to believe Johnny's been your partner for over six years now. I don't know where the time has gone. Jennifer was so little when you two started working together she doesn't remember when Uncle Johnny wasn't a part of the family."

        "No, I don't suppose she does," Roy agreed, as his wife began to undress him. "You're right, it is hard to believe that many years have passed."

        "I'll never forget the first time you invited him to dinner. He was so quiet. I thought he was the shyest man I'd ever met."

        "Johnny?" Roy laughed. "Shy?"

        "I know, I know. It didn't take me long to realize the words 'shy' and 'John Gage' don't go together in the same sentence. I suppose he was just trying to get a feel for me before unleashing his true personality."

        "I suppose. God knows that's a personality that should be unleashed slowly and over the course of several weeks."

        Joanne gave her husband's shoulder blade a gentle slap. "Roy Walker DeSoto, hush. You wouldn't know what to do without that crazy partner of yours. He brings out the best in you, and you bring out the best in him."

        "So I've been told before."

        "By whom?"

        "Dixie for one. Kelly Brackett for another."

        "Well, they're right. You two are like brothers. Exchanging sharp words one minute over some silly thing, then going off fishing together the next. I don't know what I'd do without either one of you. My husband and his partner, my third child."

        Roy rolled onto his back. He lifted Joanne from the bed and settled her on top of him. He raised his head, his lips making contacting with hers.

        "That's enough talk about my partner and your third child. Though I'm starting our celebration two days early, allow me to say happy anniversary, Mrs. DeSoto."

        As Roy slipped his hands inside Joanne's shirt she ground her hips against his and moaned, "Two days early is nice. Very nice. And happy anniversary to you, too, Mr. DeSoto. Happy anniver,....."

        Joanne wasn't able to utter any more words as her husband began to make love to her. Without the kids in the house she knew this was going to be one, long passionate weekend like she and Roy hadn't seen since their last anniversary. Right at this very moment, more than ever, she was thankful her husband had a partner as thoughtful as John Gage.

Chapter 5

        God, that little girl had made him furious. Geez, but the bitch pissed him off!

        Evan threw clothes and supplies into a backpack. He had to get away from this god-forsaken city. He had to lie low for a while. Who knew how good of a description the cops got from both the girl and the guy who had come running to her rescue.

Evan tossed a roll of bills on the desk as he flew by the glassy eyed clerk. His brown Oldsmobile was gone. He'd traded it off two hours after his botched kidnapping attempt. Now he was driving a 1971 white Chevy pickup.

It was early on Saturday morning and the streets in this section of the city were deserted. Evan didn't care. Although his groin ached at the thought of the little girl who had gotten away, there'd be more. Yes, there would most certainly be more. Someone was going to pay for what that bitch had done to him. The next little girl was going to know that he, Evan Joseph Crammer, was not a man to be messed with.

        He threw the truck into gear and headed for the distant mountains. He'd camp for a few days, then maybe head up to San Francisco. There were so many weirdoes living there now that it might take days, even weeks, for anyone to notice a missing child.

        Camping. He'd always loved to camp. That was another thing his father never did with him. There had been woods behind the house he'd grown up in, but his father never joined him on his sojourns there. Oh well, he supposed that was all for the best. By the time he was fourteen that's where he was keeping the magazines filled with child pornography. That's where he'd raped his first victim. And then his second, and then his third. He didn't kill those girls though. He'd still been in high school.

        Yes, camping was nice. It brought back a lot of fond memories. It helped him relax. Helped him think. And most of all, it helped him plan.

Chapter 6

        
        At seven o'clock on Saturday morning Johnny, Chris, and Jennifer were headed up a rugged mountain trail behind John's ranch. Johnny's Alaskan Malamute, Chief Joseph, walked along beside his master's horse. Joe, as he was more commonly called, was a majestic dog with white and black fur that people often mistook for a wolf. Johnny laughed at that thought. His gentle Joe wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone a person. He'd received the dog as a birthday gift from Roy, Joanne, and the kids a few months after he'd purchased the ranch. He knew a dog like Joe didn't come cheap. When he'd tried to tell Roy that Roy had waved a hand and gave a brusque, "Don't ask me why, but Joanne and the kids think you're worth it, Junior." Some months later Johnny accidentally found out who really thought he was worth a dog that cost somewhere in the neighborhood of three hundred dollars. He overheard Chet talking to Roy in the fire station locker room.

        "I was out at Gage's this weekend and saw the puppy you and Joanne gave him. Geez, is that a beautiful dog. He must have cost you a fortune, Roy."

        "He didn't come cheap," Roy admitted. "But Johnny mentioned one time that his family always had Malamutes when he was growing up. And you know how isolated it is out where he lives. I just thought he should have a dog. If nothing else someone will think twice about nosing around the place, or trying to break in the house, with Joe there."

        "I suppose. But why didn't you just get a mutt from the pound? Wouldn't have cost you nearly as much, and woulda' given Gage the same results."

        "Probably. But Johnny's always doing things for me. He takes the kids whenever Joanne and I are in a bind and need a babysitter, he's always coming over to help me with some project around the house, and last year when I got hurt in that factory fire Joanne told me he was a God-send. She said she doesn't know how she would have gotten through those first few days when I was in Intensive Care without Johnny at her side. So, since I don't really have the words to tell Johnny how much he means to my family, I figured Joe was the next best way."

        John almost fainted that day when he heard Chet's reply.

        "Yeah, Gage is a good friend. The kinda guy you want by your side when life hands you shit. But if you ever tell him I said that the Phantom will start visiting your locker on a regular basis."

        Roy laughed. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

        Whatever other words were exchanged between the two Johnny didn't hear. He walked away after that, going to the kitchen and drinking a glass of milk in an effort to get rid of the lump in his throat.

        Johnny and Joe brought up the rear of the procession as he and Roy's children traveled up the mountain. Chris was first, riding atop a big bay gelding named Cheyenne. Jennifer rode in-between her brother and uncle on a small, gentle mare with soulful eyes Johnny had named Niabi, which in the Waupun language meant fawn. Johnny himself rode a deep chestnut gelding with four black socks. He'd named the horse Odakota, meaning friend. Odakota had long ago had his name shortened to Cody by Jennifer, which seemed to suit both the horse and his master just fine.

        "Yuma looked sad when we left him behind this morning," Jennifer commented about the other gelding Johnny owned. "I wish he could have come, too."

        "So do I," Johnny said. He'd originally been planning to use Yuma as a pack animal, but the horse had turned up lame the other day from a stone bruise. John knew the only way for Yuma to heal was to allow him to rest, which meant no long trips carrying bedrolls and saddle bags on his back. "But Yuma's leg is still hurting him so he has to stay behind."

        "I hope Mrs. Gage and her kittens keep him company."

        Johnny rolled his eyes at the name Chet Kelly had given the pregnant cat striped in shades of gray and black who had turned up in the barn one morning this past January.

        "I'm sure Mrs. Gage and her little family will do just that."

        "Uncle Johnny, can I name the kittens before Chris and I leave?"

        "Sure. You can even take one home with you."

        Before Jennifer could voice her excitement over that prospect Chris turned around in the saddle. "Dad will never let her keep it. He doesn't like animals in the house. Besides, they leave hair everywhere and make messes, too."

        "Chris, have I ever told you you're getting to be more and more like your father everyday?"

        "Huh?"

        Johnny smiled at the boy but didn't answer. He spun his right index finger in a circle. "Turn around and keep your eyes on the trail. Remember what I told you about looking behind you when you're on a horse."

        Chris nodded and did as Johnny said. You could be hit in the head by a tree branch if you weren't paying attention to where you were going, or your horse could stumble in a hole and send you tumbling head over heels.

        Other than occasional comments from Jennifer, nothing much was said for the next hour as the trio traveled in a single file line. Johnny knew Chris loved the outdoors. He smiled as he watched the boy take in every leaf, rock and blade of grass, and crane his head to look for every bird he heard chirp. When they'd been riding for an hour and a half they came to a flat spot in the trail. Johnny told the kids to bring their horses to a halt. He climbed off Cody then walked to Jennifer's side. He lifted her from the saddle and set her firmly on the ground.

        "Hey, what's with the cowboy boots, Peanut?" he teased. "My little Indian Princess should be in nothing but moccasins."

        Jen pointed to Johnny's own cowboy boots. "What about you, Walnut? My Wise Old Indian Uncle should be in nothing but moccasins, too."

        Johnny gently tugged on a strand of Jennifer's hair. "Your Wise Old Indian Uncle doesn't want to risk stepping on a snake while wearing nothing but a flimsy piece of deer hide."

        Chris smiled as he looped Cheyenne's reins around a low tree branch. He did the same thing with Niabi's reins, while Johnny secured Cody and Joe snooped around the nearby trees.

        "Chet says you're afraid of snakes, Uncle Johnny."

        "Well, Christopher Roy, like most things where Chet Kelly is concerned, he's full of hot air."

        "I remember when you were bit by that rattler," Chris said. "You didn't look too good the day Dad brought me to see you in the hospital."

        "I suppose I didn't. I wasn't feeling too good, either."

        "So I guess something like that could make anyone afraid of snakes."

        John sat down on a nearby log, though not without checking the surrounding area first. All this talk of snakes was making him a bit more cautious than normal. He held out a canteen of water to Jennifer as she sat down next him. Chris settled in on John's other side.

        "You know, Chris, everyone is afraid of something. Admitting fear doesn't make you less of a man."

        "It doesn't?"

        "No. If being afraid of something simply makes you cautious there's nothing wrong with that, provided you don't let that fear rule your life."

        "You mean like the way you were cautious about looking around for snakes just now before we sat down, but even so that didn't keep you from wanting to go camping?"

        "Yep. Just like that."

        Chris smiled the same teasing smile Roy possessed when he'd trapped John into admitting something he didn't want to. "So I guess Chet's right, huh? You are afraid of snakes."

        Johnny pulled Chris to his side and gently roughhoused with him a long moment. "Chet might be right, but if I ever find out you repeated this conversation to him you will be one sorry kid."

        Chris laughed, then gave Johnny a quick hug under the guise of wrestling hold before pulling away. When he was younger he was as free with his affection as Jennifer, but now that he was almost twelve he knew boys didn't go around hugging people at the drop of a hat. That was okay for girls to do, but not boys. Especially not boys who were in the sixth grade.

        Jennifer passed the canteen to Johnny who handed it to Chris.
        "Uncle Johnny, how come Chet likes to tease you so much?"

        "I don't know. He just does."

        "Daddy says it's 'cause Chet is your friend, but he doesn't know how else to show it."

        "Your dad says that, huh?"

        "Yep. He told me that when I got mad at Chet. It was that time when all of you were at our house and Chet wouldn't leave you alone, and then the other guys from the station started teasing you, too."

        Johnny remembered the incident. It had happened two summers ago. What Chet was teasing him about specifically Johnny could no longer recall, just typical Chet Kelly stuff. The other guys were joining in, having a good laugh at Johnny's expense. But right in the middle of one of Chet's barbs Jennifer stomped over to the man and yelled, "Leave Uncle Johnny alone! You're always mean to him! Now I've had enough of it and I want it to stop!"

        John didn't know who was more shocked at the seven year old's outburst; himself, Roy, Joanne, or Chet. Just as Roy yelled, "Jennifer Lynn!," followed by Joanne's, "Jennifer, I will not tolerate that type of behavior!" the little girl burst into tears and ran for her room. Of course Roy and Joanne were mortified by what she'd done and couldn't apologize enough to the red faced Chet. The other guys thought the whole incident was funny and ribbed Chet to death over it. And even though Johnny had the perfect opportunity to join in the teasing, he didn't. He was too touched by what Jennifer had done.

        While Roy and Joanne attempted to salvage their backyard cookout Johnny slipped off to Jennifer's room unnoticed. There he found the girl lying face down on her bed, crying. He sat beside her, rubbing a hand over her back.

        "Jen, don't cry. Come on, Jenny Bean, it's not that bad."

        The sobbing child turned on her side. She drew her knees up to her stomach. "He made me so mad. I'm never gonna call him 'uncle' again. None of those guys, I don't care what Mommy and Daddy say about it. I'm never gonna call any of them uncle 'cause they're not my uncles. Only you are, Uncle Johnny. Only you."

        "Jennifer, Chet was just teasing me. He does it all the time. Just like Chris teases you."

        "Maybe so. But Chet doesn't know when to stop. He just keeps going, and going, and going."

        Johnny laughed. "Tell me about it, Peanut."

        Jennifer had wiped an arm across her tear streaked face as she rolled to her back. She did her best to sound brave. "Daddy will spank me for what I did, but it doesn't matter."

        "Well, it matters to me. I don't want you to get a spanking for defending my honor. But you know what you did was wrong, don't you?"

        "I...I...yes, I know," Jennifer had whispered in a tiny voice.

        "It's okay to tell someone when they've made you angry, but you can't yell at an adult, Jen. I know your mom and dad have taught you better than that, haven't they?"

        Jennifer gave a reluctant nod.

        "I've got an idea though."

        "You do?"

        "Yep. How about if I take you outside and you apologize to Chet and the rest of the guys. Once that's done I think your mom and dad will calm down. If they're still upset with you after that I'll talk to them."

        "That might work. But I don't really want to go out there. I...I know I shouldn't have done what I did."

        Now that her anger was passing, Johnny knew the girl was embarrassed by her actions.

        "That's the price you pay when you say things you shouldn't, Jenny Bean. But there's only one way to make it right, and that's by apologizing." John picked the girl up off the bed. "Now come on. Let's wash your face, get you a Kleenex, then go outside and get the hard stuff over with. Once all that's done you'll feel better."

        "I'll only feel better if you can promise me Daddy won't spank me."

        Johnny had looked to the open door that day where Roy and Joanne were standing out of Jennifer's line of vision. He raised an inquiring eyebrow at his partner. Roy was still angry with his daughter, but he nodded his head.

        John smiled at the seven year old. "I promise."

        "Wow, Uncle Johnny, are you a wizard or something? Do you really know for certain I won't get a spanking?"

        "Yes, I really know for certain. And yes, it's because I'm a wizard."

        John thought he could hear Joanne stifle her laughter, but he wasn't certain. By the time he stepped into the hallway with Jennifer there was no sign of Roy or his wife.

        Johnny was brought back to the present by Chris nudging his side.

        "Here, Uncle Johnny. Here's the canteen."

        "Oh. Oh, thanks."

        John took a long swallow, then stood. He recapped the canteen and hung it over Cody's saddle horn.

        "Come on, kids, let's go for a short hike to stretch our legs."

        Jennifer walked over to Niabi and took a cloth sack from one of her saddle bags. "Will you help me collect some more leaves and rocks for my science project, Uncle Johnny?"

        "You bet." Johnny held out his hand to the girl while he whistled for Joe. When the dog appeared he said to his charges, "Come on. Let's see what we can find."

_____________________________

        Thirty minutes later the trio were back in their saddles. Jennifer had found some rocks and leaves for her project that were now securely tucked away in her saddlebags. Chris had to complete the same project the year he was in the third grade. Uncle Johnny had helped him, too, and had even come to the school and talked to Chris's class about Native American ways and traditions. Chris's teacher had been so impressed that when she got Jennifer for a student this year one of the first things she asked the little girl was, "Is Mr. Gage still your daddy's partner?"

        When Jennifer said yes Mrs. Byron told her they'd have to be sure to have Mr. Gage come talk to the class like he'd done when Chris was her student.
That event was to take place next Friday, and Jennifer couldn't be more excited.
The boys would be impressed by Uncle Johnny's stories, and the girls would think Uncle Johnny was cute. Jennifer already knew this last part was a given because her father and Uncle Johnny had talked to the class in November about what it was like to be a paramedic.

        Jennifer's hair blew in the gentle breeze as her horse climbed the now steep trail. She knew exactly where they were going. She'd camped here before with her brother, father, and Johnny. There was a flat clearing surrounded by trees on three sides. A fast running wide mountain stream would be to the north of their campsite. They'd put the soda and juice Uncle Johnny had brought along in the stream to keep it cold. Chris and Uncle Johnny would fish there, while Jennifer waded and romped with Joe. The little girl thought of all the fun that was to come as they traveled, and then before she knew it they were making camp.
        While Chris gathered rocks and firewood Johnny and Jennifer unloaded bedrolls and saddlebags. John removed the saddles from the horses next, then led the animals to the stream. He tied them to the same low bushes he always made use of when they camped here. The horses were able to reach the water, while at the same time were afforded shade from the canopy of trees overhead.

        The kids carried juice bottles and six-pack cans of pop to the creek next. They'd camped enough with Uncle Johnny to have the routine memorized. Once their little camp was set up they made quick work of eating some of the sandwiches John had made at six o'clock that morning. After their Oreo cookies were washed down with cans of soda, Johnny and Chris grabbed their fishing poles and the Blue Bonnet container of worms Chris had brought along. Jennifer and Joe trotted along behind the pair. As they settled down to fish Jen sat on a rock and removed her boots and socks. She rolled the legs of her jeans up to her knees, then waded into the cool water. Johnny's dog soon joined her. Jennifer splashed Chief Joseph as he rolled and played. He splashed her back, or so it seemed to the nine year old every time the dog brought his front paws down hard in the water while giving her a joyous bark.

        Johnny kept one eye on Jen and one eye on his bobber. Two hours later Chris and Johnny had a nice collection of fish in Styrofoam bucket filled with water from the stream. John called Jennifer back to dry ground.

        "Look, Jenny Bean. Supper."

        "Mmmm. Fried fish," Jennifer closed her eyes and rubbed her stomach.
"I love it."

        Johnny laughed. "I know you do. And since your brother and I are A-number one fishermen, we won't have to eat peanut butter sandwiches for supper."

        "We'll even have enough fish for breakfast," Chris said. "Did you bring potatoes?"

        "I sure did. We'll bake a few tonight over the fire, and fry a few in the morning. How's that sound, Christopher Roy?"

        "Like my favorite thing to eat in the whole wide world."

        Johnny tousled the boy's hair. "You're nothing but an old mountain man, aren't you."

        "Yep. I'd love to live up here. This is great. It sure beats having neighbors on either side of you. And across the street."

        "You're right. It sure does."

        Chris walked beside Johnny as they headed back to their campsite. Jennifer skipped along a few feet ahead of them, carrying her boots and socks in one hand.

        "Is that why you bought your ranch, Uncle Johnny? So you didn't have to put up with neighbors?"

        "Not really. Or at least I never gave it much thought at the time. I bought the ranch because it reminded me a little bit of the ranch I grew up on in Montana. Only that one is a lot bigger than mine. And besides having horses, my father raises beef cattle, too."

        The kids started asking Johnny questions then about what it was like growing up on a two thousand acre ranch, something they, as children of the Los Angeles suburbs, couldn't begin to imagine. The trio was so engrossed in conversation none of them noticed the man silently watching from the thick cover of the woods. Joe picked up the unfamiliar scent and headed toward the trees, but Johnny called him back. The dog hesitated a brief second, then obeyed when his master called his name a second time.

        The observer's eyes never left the child who was now holding onto John Gage's left hand.

        A blond angel. Oh, Lord, a little blond angel. Maybe Los Angeles really will be my City Of Angels after all.
        

Chapter 7

        About the time John Gage and the Desoto children were making camp was just about when Roy and Joanne were getting out of bed. Joanne didn't know when the last time was she'd slept until noon. She hadn't even done that when she and Roy had gone to Carmel the previous year.

        Joanne kissed her husband's tousled head. He let out a low groan, but didn't move. Not that she could blame him. They'd been quite...active during the night. They'd been married for fourteen years but still acted like honeymooners when given the opportunity. She hoped the passion they felt for each other in every sense that word encompassed never faded with time.

        The petite brunette belted her robe around her naked body, closed the door quietly behind her, and headed down the stairs. Sun streamed in through the windows as Joanne opened the living room draperies, then lifted the shades in the kitchen and breakfast nook. She turned on the thirteen inch television that was tucked beneath a kitchen cabinet. She flipped the channel until she found an old black and white Katharine Hepburn/Spencer Tracy film.

        Ah, perfect for a Saturday afternoon.

        Joanne only half watched the TV as she went about making breakfast. Eggs were scrambled in a bowl, then shredded cheese and diced ham left over from Thursday night's supper were added. By the time Roy appeared in his bathrobe the coffee was finished, the table set, the toast buttered, and the ham and cheese omelet ready to come out of the Teflon frying pan.

        Roy kissed his wife's temple as he reached for the coffee mugs. He filled two with the steaming hot liquid then walked to the table. He helped Joanne finish bringing the food over, then turned the TV around so she could see it as she ate.

        The woman smiled at her husband's consideration. She really didn't care about the movie. She'd seen it a dozen times, if not more. But sometimes having the small things acknowledged by your mate was better than all the diamonds money could buy.

        Like any couple who were a day shy of being married fourteen years and the parents of two children, the conversation soon traveled to Chris and Jennifer.

        "I hope the kids are behaving for Johnny."

        Roy cut into his omelet while taking a sip of coffee. "When have you ever known our kids not to behave for their Uncle Johnny?"

        "Never. But do you think he'd tell us if they didn't?"

        Roy smiled. "Probably not. He'd just handle the problem himself. If there's one thing John Gage hates, it's a tattle tale."

        Joanne thought about her husband's partner for a long minute. As though Roy wasn't fully aware of it, she announced, "Johnny will be thirty-two at the end of August."

        "Yeah. So?"

        "Do you think he'll ever get married?"

        "I don't know. Kinda hard for me to picture, that's for sure. Johnny's not exactly the type to make a long-term commitment."

        "Oh, I think you're wrong about that. Dead wrong."

        Roy raised an eyebrow as he took a bite of toast.

        "John Gage is no stranger to commitment. He might lead you to believe that, he might even want you to believe that, but look at how dedicated he is to his job. And to us. And to our kids. And to any other friend he has. If Johnny says he's going to be somewhere, or do something, then he makes good on those promises. And look how committed he is to his ranch and his animals."

        "Well...yeah, he has matured quite a bit in the last few years. I mean, in some ways he still had a lot of kid in him when I first met him."

        "He still does have a lot of kid in him. And I hope he never loses that quality. That's part of what makes him John Gage. But still...look at how he loves to be with Chris and Jen. He's so good with them. So patient. And he seems to understand what each one of them needs from him as an individual. He doesn't try to lump them together and expect the same reactions from them to any given situation. Usually only a parent attains that kind of skill level with their kids. It makes sense that Johnny and Jennifer get along as well as they do. They're kindred spirits, as my Grandmother Mason would have said. Jen's outgoing and happy-go-lucky just like Johnny."

        "And like my wife," Roy added with a smile.

        "That, too," Joanne acknowledged. "But Chris is far more reserved. Like his father," Joanne gave her husband an affectionate look, "he's a deep thinker who doesn't always reveal how he's feeling. Yet Johnny never pushes him, or expects Chris to be the life of the party like Jen is. Whatever activities he's doing with the kids he makes certain that somehow, they both have their needs met."

        "So where are you going with this conversation?"

        Joanne shrugged as she began to eat her own breakfast. "No where, I guess. Other than to say I think Johnny will make some woman a great husband some day and some little boy or girl a wonderful father. I just hope he doesn't allow that opportunity to pass him by."

        "Jo, whatever Johnny wants out of life Johnny will go after. Believe me, if he wants to get married then someday that will happen. Just don't hold your breath, because I'm not sure John Gage is the marrying kind. The charming, flirtatious bachelor kind, yes. But the marrying kind...well, I have my doubts."

        "Maybe he's afraid."

        "Afraid of what? Women?" Roy laughed. "If there's one thing John Roderick Gage isn't afraid of it's women."

        "No, not women. But...something." Joanne stabbed her fork in the air for emphasis. "I don't know what. I can't put my finger on it. But something. Sometimes...when he looks at us, and sees how happy we are, there's sorrow in his eyes, Roy. A sorrow that says he wants to have what we have, but he's afraid to go out and get it for fear it will be taken away from him."

        "Oh, Joanne, for crying out loud, I think you've been watching too much Donahue. That sounds exactly like the kind of psycho babble Johnny would laugh at."

        "Well, he can laugh all he wants. And so can you. But I think it's true."

        Roy just shook his head at his wife as he finished his breakfast. He started rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher while Joanne ate. Five minutes later Roy cleared his wife's empty plate from the table. While she drank the rest of her coffee he started the dishwasher cycling, then wiped off the countertops, stove, and table. He was hanging the dishrag and dishtowel back on their rack when he felt his wife's arms wrap around his waist. He turned and kissed her.

        "How about a hot shower?" Joanne offered.

        "Together?"

        "Yes," the woman chuckled. "Together. It's not exactly something we can do when the kids are here."

        "No, not exactly." Roy ran his hands through his wife's hair as he nuzzled her neck. "So what gave you this idea? Hepburn and Tracy?"

        "Well, they are a hot couple, you know."

        "Not as hot as us."

        Joanne took her husband by the hand. She shut the TV off without either her or Roy noticing that a news bulletin had just interrupted the Saturday Afternoon Movie Classic. The story featured another Tracy. Tracy Nichols. The reporter told about her near abduction and showed a police artist's sketch of the man who tried to kidnap her from Hollendale Park. Though Roy and Joanne lived seven miles from the park, they would be familiar with the neighborhood because Chris occasionally played Little League games there.

        "Police are cautioning all parents to keep a close eye on their children. The man was last seen driving away from the park in a brown four door Oldsmobile. At this point the suspect is at large and could be anywhere in the Los Angeles area."

         Perhaps if Roy and Joanne had seen the news flash Roy would have headed up to where Johnny and the kids were camping. But then again, perhaps not. It was not; however, a question that could be pondered since Roy DeSoto and his wife were making love in the shower while the Channel 7 newswoman was cautioning parents to know where their children were on this bright, sunny, Saturday afternoon in the City Of Angels.

 

Chapter 8

        The fish were swimming in their bucket of cold water when Chris, Jennifer and Johnny started out on an afternoon hike. Joe bounded ahead of the campers, already knowing where they were headed.

        The moss covered cave was almost impossible to spot unless you had camped up here as much as John Gage had. He'd discovered it the previous summer when Roy and the kids were with him. Though it wasn't more than five feet high, twenty feet wide, and thirty feet long, the kids were enthralled by it.

        Johnny had held a Pow Wow in it the first day they'd found it. Or at least that's what Chris and Jennifer had called the 'meeting' they had with their dad and Uncle Johnny in the cave that day of discovery. Since then they returned to what Chris and Jen had christened, The Pow Wow Cave, each time they came up here camping.

        Jennifer gathered leaves, roots, and berries as they traveled, but not with the intention of using them for her school project. Chris picked up a large, flat rock along the way and a sturdy stick, knowing exactly what his sister had in mind.

        When they reached the cave Johnny pushed the hanging moss aside. He swept the cavern with his flashlight, then walked all the way through while the kids and Joe waited outside. Jennifer and Chris knew their uncle was making certain no animals or reptiles had taken up residence in the cave since the last time they'd visited. When John was satisfied their haven was unoccupied he allowed children and dog to enter.

        Johnny smiled as he watched the kids sit together on the cave's cool floor and make different colors of paint from the items Jennifer had collected. The first time they'd done this the children had referred to it as war paint. Johnny had corrected them with a shake of his head. "No. Not necessarily."

        "Why?" Chris had asked. "I thought all paint Indians used was called war paint."

        "Only if it's red and black, Chris. And then only amongst certain tribes. Kind of like your school colors."

        Chris nodded his understanding.

        "Now, amongst the Waupun green paint signifies earth. Blue the sky and the waters. Orange friendship. Purple means brothers."

        The kids helped Johnny mix the right colors that day. Even Roy had been fascinated by how his partner could get the brilliant colors he described out of nothing more than a few handfuls of berries, leaves, and roots.

        Chris and Jennifer had enjoyed painting their father's and uncle's faces, then their own. As they sat in a circle in the cave Johnny told them more about the Waupun traditions he'd been taught by his paternal grandfather throughout his childhood. Later, after they'd made their way back to camp, John and Roy bent to wash their faces off in the stream while the kids gathered wood for their supper fire.

        As the two men stood John put a hand on Roy's arm in order to stop his progress toward their campsite.


        "If you don't want me to tell the kids about my heritage, about the things my grandfather taught me when I was growing up, I won't."

        Puzzlement had been plain to hear in Roy's tone. "Why would I not want you to tell them?"

        "Well...I know some people think Indians are nothing more than believers in the supernatural and spirit world. I don't want you or Joanne to think I'm trying to influence the kids to go against what they're being taught at home."

        "You mean Christianity?"

        "Yeah. Exactly."

        "Johnny, I believe there's room in this world for many beliefs, cultures, and opinions. I want my kids to grow up believing that, too. I also want them to grow up knowing that white Protestants aren't the only people who exist, or have the right to exist. I know you'd never tell the kids anything Joanne and I would disapprove of. I also know you'd never try to influence their beliefs in a way we wouldn't approve of. You have too much respect for us to do that."

        "You're right," Johnny nodded. "I do. Which is why I asked the question I did."

        "Well, you didn't have to. You teach the kids all you want to about Native Americans. Their lives will only be richer for having this opportunity."

        John smiled, grateful that he could share some of what he'd been taught with two children who were genuinely interested in the life he'd lived growing up on and around an Indian Reservation. "Thanks." As he walked with Roy to their camping area that afternoon he added, "And just so you know, I can sing a pretty mean rendition of Jesus Loves Me and can probably still recite a multitude of Bible verses."


        At Roy's startled look Johnny laughed.

        "Yes, my paternal grandfather was an Indian. But my maternal grandmother was most definitely not. She was Baptist. A very white, very Southern Baptist. I loved her as much as I loved my grandfather, but for different reasons of course. If nothing else they both were a big part of helping me learn to live within two very opposite cultures."

        Even after all their years working twenty-four hour shifts together John Gage never ceased to surprise Roy. John chuckled now as he thought back to that day the previous July. Jennifer stopped the movement of her fingers on his sharp cheekbones.

        "Uncle Johnny, don't laugh. You'll ruin my lines."

        "Sorry, Peanut."

        "It's okay, Walnut, just don't let it happen again."

        Jennifer mumbled to herself as she worked. "Green is for Mother Earth. We thank her for the gifts she gives us. Blue is for Father Sky. We praise him for the sunshine and the rain. Orange is for friendship. Our friends are our family and will always be welcome in our lodge. Purple is for brothers. Brothers have a bond that can't be broken. Purple is for uncles, too."

        "Uncles?" John questioned. He'd never taught her that.

        "Yep," Jen nodded. "Since purple is for brothers, and you and Daddy are like brothers, and me and Chris call you Uncle Johnny, then purple must be for uncles, too."

        John smiled at the child's logic. "I guess you're right. I'll have to tell my grandfather that."

        "Your grandfather's still alive, Uncle Johnny?" Chris asked while his sister painted his face. Jen put on every color but purple. Today purple was only for Uncle Johnny.

        "Yes. Mingon is still alive. He was seventy five years old on his last birthday."

        "Mingon means Gray Wolf, right, Uncle Johnny?" Jennifer inquired as her brother now painted her cheekbones.

        "It does."

        "But he has an English name, too, right?"

        "Yep. Roderick Charles Gage. The government made his parents give him an English name, just like they made my grandfather give my father an English name, and then made my father give me one as well."

        "What's your father's name?" Chris asked as he sat down and crossed his legs.

        "English or Indian?"

        "Both."
        
        "His English name is Charles Phillip Gage. He goes by Chad. His Indian name is Chayton, which in the Waupun language means Falcon."

        "Chayton and Charles," Jennifer pondered. "They sound kind of alike."

        "Yes, they do. Which might be why my grandparents chose them, though I really don't know that for a fact."

        "What about you, Uncle Johnny? I know your English name is John Roderick Gage. Do you have an Indian name, too?"

        At that question Johnny's face turned red beneath his war paint. Chris and Jennifer immediately sensed his embarrassment over Chris's question.

        "Come on, Uncle Johnny, tell us," Chris pleaded.

        "Yeah, Uncle Johnny, tell us."

        Johnny looked from one expectant face to the other. It's not that he was ashamed of his Indian name, or that it sounded particularly odd or peculiar. It's just that as soon as he said it he had no doubt the kids would ask him what it meant.

        "Please, Uncle Johnny," Jennifer begged again. "Please tell us. We won't tell anyone else if you don't want us to. We promise."

        "Yeah, we promise," Chris agreed."

        "All right," John reluctantly conceded. "But that's a promise I'm holding both of you to."

        "So what is it?" Chris asked.

        "It's Katori."

        "Katori," the boy said, liking how the name rolled off his tongue. "Katori. I like that. It sounds cool."

        "Yeah," Jennifer nodded. "Ka...tor...i. Katori. Uncle Katori. That's a good name for you."

        "No, no," Johnny laughed. "Uncle Johnny will do just fine."

        "What's Katori mean?"

        John rolled his eyes. "Somehow, Chris, I knew that was going to be your next question." The paramedic took a deep breath. "It's what is known as a myth name, meaning it was derived from an old legend."

        The kids nodded their understanding of the word legend.
        "So what's it mean?" Chris asked again.

        John felt his cheeks burn scarlet as he mumbled, "He Who Dances With Rattlesnakes."

        Chris and Jennifer looked at one another with shock, then laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks and they toppled over sideways.

        The first thing they heard when their laughter died was their uncle's voice giving them a playful, yet stern warning.

        "If either of you so much as breathes a word of this to Chet Kelly I'll have both your scalps."

        The kids started laughing again at this idle threat, but both managed a firm nod of their heads indicating Johnny's secret was safe with them.

        When the Pow Wow broke up an hour later both Chris and Jen were referring to Johnny as He Who Dances With Rattlesnakes. The paramedic wondered how smart it had been to tell them the meaning behind his Indian name. With a sigh of resignation, he also wondered how long they'd manage to keep it to themselves.
        

        

 

Chapter 9

        
        The Kankakee Killer backed farther into the woods when the campers returned. The sun was beginning to set, and he had a strong suspicion they were getting ready to settle in for the night. It would probably be several hours before they went to sleep, but no matter, he could wait. Once the children's uncle was sleeping it would be easy to grab the little girl from her bedroll and dash off into the night. Even if she managed to get off a few screams he'd be long gone with her before the man was able to give chase. The dog. Now he might be a problem. But there wasn't much Evan could do about him. Hopefully the mutt would be a sound sleeper. He seemed gentle enough. But then one never knew about dogs. If nothing else once Evan made it into the thick woods with the girl the dog would have a hard time tracking him. He'd immediately cross the stream and head for the other side. The going would be rough for a few miles, but then he'd come to the old fire lane where his truck was parked. He'd chloroform the kid and take off. He wouldn't worry about tying her up until he got to the main highway.

        Evan's thoughts turned back to Jennifer as he watched her bounce around the campsite. He knew her name now. He'd heard the man the kids called, Uncle Johnny, refer to her as such. The boy, who was no doubt her brother, was Chris. Or Christopher Roy as his uncle sometimes hailed him. But Evan wasn't interested in the man named Johnny or the boy named Christopher Roy. No, he was only interested in the girl. The delicate little girl.

        Soon you'll be my angel, sweetie. One of Evan's angels. I already love you. I love you so much, Jennifer. You are a doll. Just a living doll.
   

     Evan didn't allow himself to think ahead to later that evening when Jennifer would no longer be living. It would get him too excited, and he couldn't afford to get all hot and bothered with those kinds of thoughts now. He had to keep his head in the game. He had to have that little girl.

_____________________________

        Jen looked the other way as Johnny and Chris chopped the heads of seven fish, then gutted and scaled them. This was the only part about camping she didn't like. She felt sorry for the fish, but they sure did taste good after Uncle Johnny fried them with chopped onions and a little bit of garlic salt. The potatoes were already baking over a low flame atop the grill Uncle Johnny had welded a couple years ago from some scrap iron he'd bought. When she knew supper was almost finished Jennifer ran to the stream and pulled out two cold Cokes, one apiece for her uncle and her brother, and an Orange Crush for herself. She ran back to the campsite, handed the guys their drinks, then wrapped her arms around John's waist.

        The paramedic looked down at the girl and smiled. "What's that for, Jenny Bean?"

        Jennifer held up her soda. "You always remember to bring my favorite even though no one else likes it."

        Johnny gave the nine year old's nose a gentle pinch, then swiped at the face paint Jennifer hadn't bothered to remove. But then he and Chris still wore theirs as well.

        "Nothing's too good for my best girl."

        Ten minutes later the campers sat down to a hearty supper. Jennifer ate one piece of fish and one potato, while Chris and Johnny ate two pieces of fish and two potatoes. Joe was fed the remaining potato and fish. By the time supper was over and the campsite put back in order it was growing dark. Johnny added two more logs to the fire as the kids got their jackets from their saddle bags. Although the daytime temperature had reached eighty-three degrees, it was now down to sixty-five. Jen brought Johnny the long sleeved blue chambray work shirt she knew he liked to wear over his short sleeve shirts in place of a jacket when it wasn't too cold out.

        "Thanks, Peanut."

        "You're welcome, He Who Dances With Rattlesnakes."

        John grabbed the child and flipped her upside down, dangling her by her ankles. "What was that? What did you call me?"

        Jennifer squealed as Johnny ran a hand over her ribs. "Johnny. I called you Uncle Johnny. Uncle John Roderick Gage! That's what I called you."

        "That's what I thought," Johnny said as he gently placed the girl back on her feet.

        John slipped the shirt on but left it unbuttoned while the kids put on the denim jackets Joanne had sent along. The three campers settled themselves around the fire, John in the middle with a child on either side of him. Joe plopped down on his belly next to Chris. Jennifer turned her head and asked Johnny to put her hair in two Indian braids. She fished rubber bands out of her jacket pocket and sat perfectly still while he fumbled at braiding her hair with a lack of skill that said he'd never done such a task before. When he was finished Jennifer's braids were lopsided, and strands of hair hung loose from them, but she didn't seem to mind. She turned toward the fire with a smile on her face.

        No one said anything for a long time, each camper lost in their own thoughts as they stared into the fire. Once the sun had completely set and darkness surrounded them, Chris smiled and rubbed his hands together.

        "Time for ghost stories. I go first."

        Neither Johnny or Jennifer protested that. Chris loved ghost stories. It had grown to be a tradition on their camping trips that he was the one who decided when it was time to start them, and he was the one who got the honor of going first.

        As story tellers went, Chris was good. This had come as a surprise to Johnny considering how quiet Chris could be. But like most people, Chris DeSoto had many facets to his personality. He had the ability to scare the living daylights out of his fellow campers with nothing more than the tone of his voice and the intense facial expressions he created to go along with it.

        By the time the boy was finished Jennifer was snuggled as tightly into Johnny's side as she could get. She had her head buried in his shirt and her eyes squeezed shut. When she realized Chris wasn't going to say anything else her face appeared and she heaved a relieved sigh.

        "That was great. I loved it and I hated it."

        John looked down at the girl. "How could you love it and hate it both?"

        "I loved it 'cause it scared me. And I hated it 'cause it scared me, too."

        Johnny smiled. He couldn't blame Jennifer for being scared. Chris's story had been about a man called The Stone Ridge Killer, who snatched nine year old girls out of their beds in the middle of the night. He'd thought of putting a stop to that plot, but he knew Chris was only having fun at his sister's expense like all brothers do on occasion, so as long as Jennifer didn't protest he allowed the boy to continue.

        "Okay, now it's my turn," Jennifer said.

        The blond girl's story was short, and not all that scary, but Johnny listened politely and didn't allow Chris to voice any complaints even though he made a couple of faces at his sister's attempt.

        When Jen was finished Johnny said, "Good job, Jenny Bean."

        "Were you scared?"

        "You bet. So scared that I'm sorry I left my teddy bear back at the ranch."

        "You have a teddy bear, Uncle Johnny?"

        Chris rolled his eyes. "Of course he doesn't have a teddy bear. He was only kidding you." Chris looked at his father's partner. "Now it's your turn, Uncle Johnny. But don't tell us a scary story. Your scary stories are almost as lame as Jennifer's."

        "Hey!" Johnny protested.

        "Hey!" Jennifer echoed.

        "It's true. Me and Dad both say that. But your legends, they're the coolest. Can you tell us one of those?"

        "Yeah, Uncle Johnny. Tell us the story about He Who Dances With Rattlesnakes."

        "All right," Johnny agreed. "Considering our conversation in the Pow Wow Cave today I guess that's an appropriate one."

        As Johnny began to tell the story he almost seemed to transform into an Indian Warrior right before Jennifer's eyes. He still wore his face paint, as did she and Chris. None of them had remembered to wash it off, but Jennifer didn't mind. She wanted to go to sleep wearing it. She could tell Chris was watching Uncle Johnny, too. She wondered if he noticed how dark Uncle Johnny's eyes got when he was concentrating, and how the flames from the fire cast shadows on the sharp planes of his face. It was almost like he wasn't with them anymore. Almost like his mind was somewhere far back in time with his Indian ancestors.

        "When He Who Dances With Rattlesnakes was a boy he had a different name. The name his parents gave him on his name day which was Awanta, or Turtle, in the White Man's language. Awanta was neither a brave boy, nor a boy who was not brave. He was not tall, he was not short. He was not fat, nor was he skinny. He wasn't the smartest boy, nor the dumbest. He was not handsome, nor was he ugly. Awanta had fourteen brothers and sisters. He was the middle child. Number seven. Like everything else about Awanta, he did not stand out even in his own family. Sometimes he felt very lost and alone, even while living in the crowded lodge of his parents. All Awanta really wanted was for someone to notice him. For the people of his tribe to point at him and say, There goes Awanta, the bravest of the brave. The swiftest of the swift. The strongest of the strong. The warrior all boys want to be when they reach manhood.

        "While he was doing his chores, or learning how to hunt, or track, or catch wild stallions, Awanta would often daydream about the great deeds he would someday do. He would dream about how he would stand out amongst his people. About how his name would be spoken of with nothing less than reverence, and whispered in legends long after he'd gone home to The Great Father.

        "One person who did notice Awanta was his little brother Nascha, or Owl, in the tongue of the White Man. Nascha was five summers younger than Awanta, and like most little brothers knew how to make Awanta's blood boil. Nascha often teased Awanta about all the things Awanta hated. He reminded Awanta that he was the middle child. That he was neither brave, nor unbrave. That he was neither fat nor skinny. That he was not tall or short. That he was neither handsome nor ugly. That he was neither smart nor dumb. He just was. He was Awanta, the Indian boy twelve summers old who was rarely missed when he was absent from the cooking fires.

        "Awanta cursed Nascha then, and wished upon him the most horrible thing he could think of. To die by the bite of a shuman, or rattlesnake as you call it today.

        "Awanta walked away from his brother after placing the curse on him. The boy did not regret his words. After all, Nascha would deserve it if he did die from a rattlesnake bite. He was spoiled and selfish, their father's favorite son for reasons Awanta couldn't figure out. But Awanta wasn't a Spirit Man or the son of one. Only the tribe's Spirit Man could put curses on people. Or at least curses that actually worked. So when Nascha first started screaming "Shuman! Shuman! Help me, Awanta! Shuman!," Awanta paid him no notice. He thought his brother was teasing him again. But the screams continued, and as Awanta listened he could hear the terror behind them. He turned around to see a rattlesnake the size of a small tree wrapped around Nascha's leg.