The Straw Men 3-Book Thriller Collection: The Straw Men, The Lonely Dead, Blood of Angels

‘I heard,’ I said. ‘So I’m to understand, Ms …?’ I left a gap, but she didn’t fill in her name. This woman was in no hurry to be my friend. ‘I’m to understand that I can’t get further than this room until I’ve jumped through some hoops you’ve set up to determine whether I’m suitable.’

‘Correct.’ She smiled brightly at me, as if at a child who had finally understood, after long and painful effort, how the relative positions of the big and little hands could be used to divine how long it was until bedtime. ‘As Mr Farling should have made clear.’

‘And what form would these demonstrations take?’

The woman reached into a folder and drew out a piece of paper. Placing it in front of me, she said:

‘The placing of the cost in full of your proposed purchase, along with sufficient funds to cover club memberships for five years, in an escrow account. No mortgage or other part-payment options are entertained. The granting of access to your accountant or other agreed-upon representative for the purpose of establishing a general financial impression. A meeting by yourself with the full board of the community, which consists of the managing agents and a representative from each of the occupied properties, with a subsequent follow-up in subcommittee should this be required. Your nomination of two significant individuals – and by “significant” we mean that they should be so within our society at large – to whom the board may make reference with regard to your past and present situation. Assuming that all of the above proceeds smoothly, then you will be welcomed onto the property to be introduced to the finer points of the development, and to make your selection.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

‘I assure you that I am not.’

I tried for bluster. ‘Do you have any idea who I am?’

‘No.’ She smiled, turning her lips into a thin line resembling a recently healed scar. ‘Which is precisely the point.’

I was dimly aware that the receptionist, a young man who had spent a great deal of time in the gym, was watching us. I held the woman’s gaze for a moment, and then smiled back.

‘Excellent,’ I said.

After a moment’s hesitation, she frowned. ‘Excuse me?’

‘This is exactly what I hoped for. Mr Farling has evidently divined my needs accurately.’ My voice was now a little clipped, presumably to be in keeping with my shifted persona. ‘Someone in my position requires certain assurances, and I’m pleased to say that you have afforded them.’

Ms No-Name began to look friendly again. ‘We are in understanding?’

‘Perfectly so. Might I be permitted to see plans of the available properties?’

‘Of course.’ She went back to her folder and pulled out two bundles. She unfolded these across the table and I scanned them quickly. They were detailed and well-annotated. What I saw interested me more than I’d expected.

‘Intriguing,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry not to be able to examine them in the flesh on this occasion, but this is certainly enough to maintain my interest.’ I started to refold the plans, then realized that a man as rich as I was supposed to be would let someone else handle such a menial task. Instead I stood up. The abruptness of this caught both of them unawares, and they hurried to follow. I thrust my hand out to the woman, and shook hers firmly.

‘Thank you for your time,’ I said, as if I was already thinking of other matters. ‘I assume that any further questions I might have should be directed through Mr Farling?’

‘That is the usual way. Might I ask how you heard of The Halls?’

I hesitated for a moment, as it occurred to me that admitting I’d just seen a piece of paper might sound weak.

‘Friends,’ I said. She nodded, almost imperceptibly. Good answer.

I bowed my head and walked out across the lobby, not waiting for Chip. Outside I stood under the awning for a moment, watching the rain come down. Even if I’d felt like braving it, I could now see that the buildings had been arranged in such a way that no glimpse of the community was possible from the outside. Chip hadn’t been kidding about the privacy.

He emerged soon afterward and walked me across to the car. As I climbed in I noticed that another vehicle had just come in the gate and was heading quickly down the drive. It was large and black, some kind of all-terrain monster. It sloshed in an arc around the small lot and pulled up twenty feet away.

I took as long as I could to open the door, climb in, and get into my seat, even leaving one of my feet outside to prolong the operation. As I strapped myself in a man emerged from the building we had just left. He was about my height, with blond hair, and walked purposefully, head down. He didn’t look at us at any point, and I got an impression of strong features but no more. As he walked toward the car, a man hopped out of the driver’s seat and went round to open the back of the vehicle. With his back to us, the other man hefted a bag into it. The bag was large, and a kind of petrol blue colour. It had a paper customs strap around the handle, but I couldn’t see the letters. Both men climbed into the car.

By then Chip had our own vehicle started. He reversed carefully out, headed up the drive, and we left The Halls behind.

Chip was quiet for most of the journey back into town. I got the feeling that he might have been grilled by No-Name after I’d left, and was berating himself for not being able to adequately answer her questions. Like who I was, and where I was from. Even I knew that these were the first things a realtor should find out from a potential customer, the amino acids of the transaction genome. My father used to say, in his rare expansive moments, that the way into a man’s pocket is with his own hand: by which he meant ensuring that you know enough about him to approach him in the way to which he’s most accustomed.

Chip did ask me what I thought of what I’d seen. I told him the Big Sky property was of no interest, especially after seeing what The Halls had to offer. He didn’t seem surprised. I asked how many other people he’d shown up there. The answer was eight, in the past three years. All had gone through the procedures required by the management. None had been offered the opportunity to buy.

I stared at him. ‘These people put fifteen, twenty million in an account, opened up their affairs, and still they didn’t get in? They actually want to sell these houses, or what?’

‘Exclusivity, Mr Lautner. That’s the name of the game.’ He glanced at me, to check he had my full attention. ‘We’re living in a strange world, and that’s a fact. We’ve got the most beautiful country on the planet, the most hard-working folks, and yet we live cheek by jowl with people you wouldn’t want in the same hemisphere. There’s a historical dimension. We opened the doors too wide, and we shut them too late. We said “Come on, everybody, join us – we need warm bodies. Got us plenty of land to fill” – but we didn’t spend enough time making sure we got the right kind of bodies. Didn’t think clearly enough about the future. That’s the reason why people like yourself come out West. To get away from the cities, from the hordes, to get in amongst their own folk. To get back to real ways of living. I’m not talking about race, though that does play a part. I’m talking about attitude. About quality. About people who are meant to be with each other, and people who aren’t. That’s why folks come to a place like Dyersburg. It’s a kind of filter, and most of the time it works pretty good – but still you wind up with some people who just don’t meet the grade. Students. Ski bums. White trash out by the freeway. People who don’t understand. What are you going to do? Can’t stop folks moving out here – it’s a free country. Nothing you can do but look after your own.’

‘And how do you do that?’

‘You make the mesh of your filter a whole lot finer. You find some like-minded people, and you build yourself a king-sized wall.’

‘That’s what The Halls is?’

‘One way of looking at it. But mainly, of course, a unique home-making opportunity.’

‘You had the money, would you move in up there?’

He laughed, a short bitter sound. ‘Yes, sir, I surely would. Meantime, I’ll just work for my commission.’

We drove down out of the hills and onto the small high plain. By the time we got back to Dyersburg it was full dark, and the rain had begun to slacken a little. Chip parked up outside his office, and turned to me.

‘So.’ He grinned. ‘What’s your next move? Want to think about what you’ve seen, or can I bring you in to the office, maybe show you a few more options for tomorrow?’

‘Wanted to ask you a question,’ I said, looking through the windshield. The pavement was deserted.

‘Shoot.’ He looked tired but game. My mother always used to say that real estate wasn’t a business for people who wanted to keep predictable hours.

‘You said you just got the exclusive on The Halls. So there used to be another firm looking after it?’

‘That’s right.’ He looked confused. ‘What of it?’

‘They ever get any sales that you know of?’

‘No, sir. They didn’t even have the account very long.’

‘So how come they’re not still representing it?’

‘Guy died, business got wound up. Can’t sell homes if you’re dead.’

I nodded, feeling very quiet inside. ‘How much would your commission be on one of those places? A fair sum, I’d imagine?’

‘Quite a piece,’ he allowed, carefully.

I let a pause settle. ‘Enough to kill someone for?’

‘What? ’

‘You heard me.’ I wasn’t smiling any more.