"John, glad you could make it so soon..."

"What was so important that it couldn't wait until the morning, Larry?" asked an altogether unimpressed John Taylor of his lawyer.  The two men stood just outside the back door of the office of Collins & Newton, the law firm in which Collins (obviously) held a 50% stake.  Taylor couldn't recall ever meeting this 'Newton', but he had heard stories.

"It's about all this business up in Canada - Beaverdam, Alberta to be precise" Larry replied in something only slightly greater than a whisper as he exhaled a cloud of smoke from his smouldering Cuban cigar.  It was after hours, but for some reason Larry could never bring himself to smoke inside the premises.  "I had my people look into your friend Chester Browne..."

"And?"

"Zip."

"An alias, you think?" Taylor asked sceptically.

"Hmmm...  Possibly" Larry answered, clearly not buying into it.  "It just doesn't piece together for me.  That area...  There're no buildings in a five mile radius.  No recorded inhabitants at all in the last fifty years.  For all intents and purposes, it's a forgotten tourist attraction."

"I can imagine.  That place was near impossible to get out to.  So you're saying he doesn't live there, then?"

"Definitely not.  We had a team go out there this morning, the place was an absolute maze.  How anybody could navigate their way through, let alone live, there is beyond me.  This Chester...  You said he was old.  How old?"

Racking his brains, Taylor tried to remember the exact age Chester had told him some days ago.  Coming up with nothing, he generalised, "sixty?"

"You askin' or tellin'?" Asked the lawyer, a little more playfully than John would've liked, especially considering the 'low-key' nature of this particular meeting.

"He was about sixty, Larry."

"Then tell me this - How the hell can a sixty-year-old man survive up there?"

Taylor shrugged, "How should I know?  He wasn't your average old man, that's for sure.  He was pretty light on his feet when he wanted to be."

"Oh?"

"Yeah..." Taylor recalled, "followed me right through those woods for maybe an hour before he showed himself.  And I move fast, Larry.  Even if he knew where he was going, it's not possible that he could've kept up with me all that time."

"...And you know for sure he was following you the whole time?" Larry asked, trying to picture the scenario in his mind.

"Not exactly..."

Larry sighed a little as he took a quick pull on his cigar, "Let's not get hung up on that, then.  What we do know for sure is that he wasn't working alone.  He's an old man, in his sixties.  Good knowledge of the area and good survival skills.  Good health-"

"No" Taylor was quick to but in.

"No?  Enlighten me..."

"When we first met, he told me he had a weak heart."

"I'll broaden the search to hospital records, then.  John, has it crossed your mind that Beaverdam might've just been a meeting point for the sake of throwing us off as to his true identity?"

"Sure it did..."

"What I'm thinkin', considering what you say he said, is that he's some disgruntled ex-GZW, GZE or CCW grunt trying to-"

"I don't believe that, Lar'.  He didn't come across as disgruntled or desperate or any of that.  He was trying to help me, Larry.  Whether he was doing it of his own accord or on behalf of someone else, his intentions were - ultimately - good."

"You call getting attacked with a shovel good, John?  I've had the GZW medical staff up my ass all week about that.  They're worried that it'll jeopardize the Fatal Fourway at Crimson..."

"It won't.  My systematic dismantling of my three opponents will speak for itself.  Back to Chester..."

"Right..." Larry conceded through barely-gritted teeth.  He wasn't pissed off, he just didn't like being outspoken.

"Say Chester Browne is an alias...  You looked into any locals of the area, ran any background checks on them or anything?"

"I didn't have to.  Nobody lives there, John.  It's deserted.  Either he's some below-the-radar hermit-"

"No chance.  He knew too much about me and about GZW."

"I see.  What about these guys he was working with?"

"I don't remember much, but I did overhear a conversation between Chester and at least two men.  And it was quite clear that they worked for him.  They called him 'sir'..."

"You see these guys at all?"

"No, I must've been in the trunk."

"They have accents?  Use any particular slang?  Anything?"

"Nothing that I heard, anyway" Taylor said with a sigh.  "They were younger than him, though.  A lot younger."

"Somehow I don't think a search for 'young males' that drive cars in Canada and the U.S. is going to yield any major findings, John.  Actually...  They dropped you off at the Emergency Room in St. Joseph's, right?"

"So the doctors tell me" replied the Lone Gunman dryly.

"I'll get surveillance tapes ASAP."

"If you think it'll help...  Any word on my rental car?"

"It's long gone, John.  Long gone.  The whole thing was planned with such fine precision, these guys covered every single track in record time...  We've had guys sweep the area, but it's all been swept up so well there's nothing but your word to suggest you were ever in Beaverdam."

"I was there, Larry."

"I never said you weren't, John.  I'm just telling you that this was some major stuff.  No tire marks, footprints or anything.  It's like they swept the entire area before we even knew about it.  I've never come across anything like this before."

Taylor hadn't, either.  Chester had told Taylor stories of cover-ups, but this was a new height entirely.  Covering up internal politics of a company was one thing, but to cleanse several acres of forest completely, and in a span of less than twenty-four hours?  Downright unfathomable. 

Taylor had been there.  He'd happily swear to it on his own grave.  But could he prove it?

"I'm sure we could pull up some tapes-"

"Wait!" Taylor demanded.  He had it.  "I remember something..."

"What is it?" Larry asked, his face lighting up.

"I upturned a hefty chunk of grass with my shoe - in the garden, by the chess board...  No way they could've covered-"

"What garden, John?"

"What do you mean 'what garden'?  Chester's garden.  The endless one with the immaculate grass and wildlife and...  Don't look at me like that, Lar'."

One eye raised in serious doubt, Larry told John that "There is no garden.  No chess board, nothing.  You're describin' the Garden of Eden to me, John, and I'm afraid we're just talking about the middle of nowhere."

"Impossible."

"John, I don't know what to tell you.  I had guys go through every square inch of that place with a fine tooth comb, there's just no way this 'garden' would've just slipped through."  Larry's words - based (as always) in cold, hard, factual evidence - stung Taylor like a thousand hornets.  His gut wrenched itself as he tried to come up with some explanation for it.  "You're not looking the best, my man.  It's late, too.  Why don't you go home?  I'll call up St. Joseph's and get a head-start on those surveillance videos.  You got hit hard in the head, I'm sure it'll all come back to you soon enough.  Just leave it with me for tonight, huh?"

"..."

"C'mon, things'll be clearer in the morning."

"Maybe you're right..." Taylor lied to himself.  No way was it that simple.

"You drive safe, John.  I'll give you a call if I get anything.  We'll crack this one, don't you worry."

"Yeah" grunted the Lone Gunman, not convinced in the slightest.  "Goodnight."