Joe Burke's Last Stand

Fargo, the long run ov

parked by Ivar's and

ng Kate for lunch where

t So

ate appeared from behi

d a reu

the tri

right straight across. Let's eat." Th

drive,"

et how big it is. Those high rolling plains in Montana are something else. They'

lace: Elliot Ba

rnoon. I'm going to get a room at the Edgew

drey's on a trip for a week

be in the way . . . I'd tak

ow night? You cou

. What happe

o live in this period. That's what he calls it, 'This period.' He's

s in the paper this morning. He'd been married 50 years. Said his wife was Norwegian but she was taking pills for it."

ackson; he's v

liked Rolf-he was

he says he's a craftsman. You should see the things

andfather gave you a pain

Is it

I don't know

ed the toddler with an ice cream cone in Honolulu, the girl veering her bike into a Maine hedge, the teen-ager

from Maxie lat

of months. He's st

August," Kate said. "Sounded

your mo

job working for a min

u seen

he last time I saw her. She's been selling her jewelry, and her

gh there was no blood relationship. They had been especially close when Kate lived with Ingrid, Max, and him during her high school years. Kate had been lucky, Joe thought, to

hair bouncing on her shoulders. Strong, he thought proudly. He checked

n Way to the Elliot Bay Book Company. The ocean was to his right, but he was headed south instead of north as

amel colored T-shirt that showed a black elongated figure above the name "Caffe Ladro." Her shoulders were wide; the cotton draped comfort

easted and silent. The blondes were anima projections. When he was 24, he'd had a disastrous affair and afterwards discovered the explanation in a book by Jung. A man loses touch with his female side and then sees an unlucky wo

an asked. She

cuse me. I was thinking

She pointed to another

slick with banana peels. He made it around the corner

l savings were mostly in the stock market. He picked up a copy of Trader Vic - Methods of a Wall Street Master by Victor Sperandeo. By the time he chose a tape of

oe went to bed early, slept fitfully, and spent the next day walking, reading, and exercising. His back wasn't what it was-too many years in front of a computer monitor. If he kept at the yoga exercises, it didn't bother him, but a

re eating seafood linguini in her apartment. Jackson listened as he twirled pasta with his fork and spoon. He was tall and thin, pleasant.

rn door looking out at a rainy morning and an apple tree in full white bloom. Her hair was long and b

g on," Ja

n old guy," Joe said. "What

ith relief-to give it a little mor

y simple,"

said. "That will be my pa

o that," J

t me know what

No problem. I've got a f

se. The pieces were hand carved and had a warm waxed shine. They were sli

s this stuff-like knitting or something." Jackson looked e

to do, really, but I'm feeling jumpy. I'll let you know. You've got my e-mail address; I'll check in every so often." He wanted to keep his uncertainty away

ate said. "The lo

ally. A good time to

he said. He hugged Kate and left,

an. He registered for another night and drove back to the Queen Anne district. He had a latte and a bagel in the Caffe Ladro and bought a T-shirt. He was hoping the woman would

dress in the phone book and found that it was a short bus ride away. He had a wool Filson jacket that he'd worn for 12 years.

assorted luggage. He was tempted by a carry on bag with a heavy leather handle, but in the end he bought a bag that reminded him of his Air Force AWOL bag-flat bottomed with a humped top and a single massive brass zipper. The canvas twill was doubled around the sid

hearing/ the roar of centuries-Kokee." Once a year, the islanders are allowed to pick plums in Kokee, in a park on the rim of a deep canyon. The trees are old with thick limbs. He remembered a young Hawaiian woman on a lo

was wearing down a fighter named Fanatuua. He was sagging, his body blotchy. The bell rang and Fanatuua collapsed back against a padded

hey win. Fanatuua wouldn't go down, seemed calm, almost as though he weren't there. He was covering up, weaving slowly from side to side. Maybe he was fighting the clock, not th

nd study at the Mormon school in Laie. They walk slowly across the grass, books in their arms, flowers in their dark hair. He ought to make fifteen or twenty thousand from this fight. Maybe he'd give it to his father, the Chief, who was proud of hi

in the air, and hugged Fanatuua. Fanatuua tapped him twice on the back and walked to his corner. Maybe he was th

he was going to Hawaii. That was why he bought the bag, although he hadn't known it at the time. There w