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knew that s what we d find. Didn t you?
No. Not really.
You want to know how they died?
No. Not really.
He shrugged, Then I worked all night. It was one of those
nothing-happened nights that seem to drag on forever.
It s going to be a long forever for those two girls, too.
He poured them some more coffee and went on, Then I get
back to the station and find a note in my box that says you want
me to bring you breakfast.
She cop to it?
And so I drive all the way out to Safeway -- which is like two
miles -- cause they are open twenty-four and have a deli. I pick
out all the good things and drive all the way back, which is like
almost two miles. And when I come in you think that maybe I
don t look so good.
If I do some dastardly deed, like maybe rip a cup of coffee off
of Coffee Bob over at Hank s, could I get incarcerated in the same
cage with her?
So now I m going to go home to bed. Unless you want me to
stay here?
Sam?
No. You can t. She s in isolation under a suicide watch.
Damn! Oh and thanks for the breakfast.
Sam held the door open for Janice as he left. Stix heard her
tell him that he didn t look so good. The she listened to Janice s
heels click across the floor, pause at her desk, and then come
toward her office.
STIX 387
Boss! Did you hear about the girls we ve been looking for?
Yes, Janice, I heard.
God! To think she shot them just for coming home late, then
beat herself up like that. What was she thinking?
I . . .
Do you want all three of those bagels?
Epilogue
Twenty-three days after the media reported that the small
private jet leased to the FBI, carrying Jane Miller, new Bureau
Chief of the Houston FBI headquarters and her two handpicked
agents, was missing and presumed down, Stix had a visitor.
Stix watched him, noticing his uneasiness as he came in and
walked over to Janice who had her coat on and was preparing to
leave. She nodded to his question and, leaving him standing in
front of her desk, came back to Stix s office and handed her his
card. She waited until Stix read the card, then asked, You want
me to stay?
No. Beat it. I ll see what he wants and throw him out.
Janice walked back to her desk and as she picked up her purse
she said something to him and pointed at Stix s office.
He came, hat in hand, to her office door.
Come in and have a seat, she said.
Thank you. I m Richard Givens, an attorney in Portland, he
said, reaching across her desk and shaking hands, and I ve heard
a lot about you. He sat down and took a quick look around her
office seeking something to prompt small talk and take the edge
off coming to her office so unexpectedly.
It s mostly propaganda.
The office was virtually devoid of anything other than what it
took to do her job. The only decorative touch was an Ansel
Adams print that Jim had found somewhere. He seized on that
and said, So you re a Ansel Adams fan?
390 DAVE MEAD
No. Not really. I just use it to cover a bullet hole. Of all the
things she d learned from Jim, the most important one, in her
mind, was to keep your opponent off balance, or at least uneasy.
How may I help you?
He wondered if she was serious about the bullet hole. He
couldn t recall if any of her exploits had taken place in her office.
So rather than continue to try to make small talk, he decided to
get to the point of his visit. Besides, he wasn t on the clock; this
was a paid-in-advance delivery.
About a month ago a woman by the name of Jane Miller left a
package with me. My instructions were to deliver it to you, if she
died of anything other than natural causes.
Why are you just now getting around to delivering it?
That was part of her instructions. Twenty-three days after
she died, to the day, and in person. And I was to come at four-
thirty in the afternoon. She said that you would be expecting it.
That s called insurance, Stix thought. If he thought that she
knew of it and was expecting it, he would be less likely to forget
to deliver it, or possibly open it.
He smiled at her, opened his briefcase, and took out a package
wrapped in the kind of paper you can buy at mailing centers. Stix
noticed that it was tied with twine and as she took it from him she
saw a single word, STIX, hand lettered in the lower right-hand
corner, probably with a permanent marker.
Thanks, she said. I ve been waiting for this. But I thought
it was to be delivered a few days ago? She didn t consider what
she said lying, it was more like charades, to see how much she
could get out of him.
No. My instructions were quite clear.
She nodded.
May I ask? Was she a friend?
More like a relative. She was my mother.
Oh, I m sorry. I didn t know. He took a handkerchief out of
his suit jacket pocket and dabbed at his forehead. He wasn t
accustomed to such a cavalier attitude, Would you...
No. Just leave.
STIX 391
He nodded and found his way out. Which wasn t too tough, it
was a straight shot to the door from her office.
She could lock or unlock the front door with a hand-held
remote, but usually she preferred to do it herself. She left the
package on her desk and crutched over to the front door and
double locked it. Then she made herself a pot of coffee and took
it into her office with her. She straightened her desk and drank a
cup of coffee then, unable to put it off any longer, sat down in her
chair and cut the twine.
Inside was a mailing box that smelled of cigarette smoke and
Wild Rose perfume. It said medium duty on the top of the box
and a series of black arrows showed the user how to fold what
had once been a perforated sheet into a box. The box was folded
wrong. That was like Jane, always into making her own way.
Inside was a matte black .357 Ruger revolver, a box of
ammunition, several sheets of typing paper, and a cassette tape
from a miniature recorder with READ THE LETTER FIRST printed
on its top.
Stix played with the gun a while, until she was familiar with it,
then loaded it and laid it on the side of her desk. The top sheet
of paper was blank, and stained with gun oil. Under that one was
one with the date Jane had written the letter, the time and that it
was to Stix only.
The cryptic handwritten text began on the next page.
Honey,
If you get this, then what I fear will have already happened.
I don t know how far back to go in the sordid details of my life,
so I guess I ll begin from when I started with the Bureau. Anyway,
from the start, as a FBI agent I never quite fit in. I know you ll find
that hard to believe, but believe it.
For instance, on my first case, after spending nearly a year
sorting dead files, I was allowed to go out in the field. I intended to
make a name for myself. And by golly I did. I accidentally shot a
horse. It doesn t matter how, or why. But I certainly made a name
for myself. They called me `Calamity Jane. Trouble is, I liked it. I
guess that s why they quit calling me that.
392 DAVE MEAD
For a long time I bought the company line. And maybe then
things weren t quite so corrupt. Probably they were, I just couldn t
see it. But as time went along, I began to see things that didn t add
up. Nothing I could point to as being a specific, standout item, but
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