by Wes Markin
The clatter of a pickup hitting a pothole made him flinch. The driver weaved from one side of the road to another. Getting hit by a drunk driver was more plausible than getting mugged around here.
Jake strolled into the creatively titled Blue Falls Motel, and its abundance of blue neon lights momentarily blinded him. If the rooms didn’t come with blackout curtains, Jake doubted they would get any customers. It was two months until the tourist season began, so it was very quiet. He had room fifteen on the first floor, but he doubted anyone occupied many, if any, of the other fourteen rooms. The parking lot only contained two cars, including his own.
He approached the door to his room, key in hand.
“Hey, Tallboy.”
Jake sighed. He was too tired for this. He turned and saw Justin and his two friends standing in the empty car parking space reserved for number fourteen.
Justin rubbed the back of his hand. A knuckle duster glowed blue under the neon shower. “You hurt my finger.”
“Sorry to piss on your bonfire.” Jake pointed at a camera protruding from the second-floor roof. “We’re on camera.”
Justin smiled. “Did you not listen to anything I said back in the Taps? Rules don’t apply to me.”
“So, Daddy will approve of you mugging a tourist then?”
“Unless you’re a tourist here to spend money, which we know you’re not, then he really wouldn’t give a shit.”
“Okay. How do we do this then? Three of you and a knuckle duster against me. Doesn’t sound like the fairest fight.”
“You’re a big guy. I’m sure you’ve had this kind of attention before.”
Jake shrugged. He was fond of his Barbour jacket, so he peeled it off, turned and hung it on his door handle. When he turned back, he saw Justin working his knuckleduster down the side of his rental car. The grating sound made him wince. “You’re going to pay for that.”
Justin ignored him and continued.
Justin’s small friends hovered several feet behind him, and Jake figured he could take a pop at the lead dickhead before they got too close. If he floored Justin, he fancied his chances against them. He went in fast, but before he reached the bastard, he felt a blow to the side of the head. Everything flashed, but he managed to steady himself against the car’s trunk and reply with a swift elbow. There was a satisfying crunch, and when he turned, he saw his ambusher staggering backward, clutching his nose.
Jake glared at Justin. “Four against one now, is it?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to take any chances, Tallboy.”
Jake pounced and drove Justin’s head into the side of his car. The damage to the car had already been done; what was one more dent? He released Justin’s head, expecting him to fall. He didn’t. He just stared up at Jake with blood streaming from a gash in his forehead.
Jake felt the victim of his right elbow diving in for another go. The bastard was rather handy and managed to get off two body blows, the second of which sucked the air from him.
Jake folded over, winded. He recovered just in time to see Justin delivering a blow with his knuckleduster. He lost a couple seconds before realizing he’d gone down and landed awkwardly on his left arm.
Their boots pummelled him.
Justin’s other two lackies, who had spent most of the confrontation hanging back, were clearly now in on the act.
“When you wake up tomorrow and you can barely move, I want to be the first thing you think about, Tallboy,” Justin said.
It was dangerous rolling onto his back, exposing his face, chest, and ribs, but it had been a very long time since Jake had avoided risk, and he wasn’t about to start now. In his new position, he could throw one hand above him to catch the ankle of a falling foot while simultaneously kicking forward at one of the bastard’s knees. He heard a crack, followed by a squeal, and then completed his comeback by yanking on the ankle. The assailant came down on top of him. This had been his intention all along because it prevented the remaining two bruisers from landing more blows. He also could wriggle underneath the fallen man and apply a headlock. “Back off, or I’ll break his neck.”
Jake noticed Justin was one of the two men still standing. Lucky for him. Jake was so furious with the little shit that, if he’d been in this headlock, he probably would have gone and finished him off.
A gunshot sounded.
Justin and his friend backpedaled with their hands raised. The handy fighter who had ambushed him rose to his feet and limped backward.
Another gunshot rang out, followed by a deep male voice. “You too, big boy.”
Jake released Justin’s friend.
He rolled away, clutching his neck and gasping for air.
Jake sat upright and saw a slim, Native American older man wearing a black leather jacket and scruffy jeans.
His damaged assailants had now clustered several feet behind Jake—too far to challenge the man with the rifle but not too far as to get shot.
“Dogman,” Justin said. “All washed up with a gun. A dangerous combination. You’re about the only person in this town who I’d walk away from.”
“It’s past your bedtime,” the man said.
Jake dusted off his jeans and eased himself against the car. He winced but stifled a groan. He didn’t want to give Justin the pleasure of seeing him injured. “You heard him, Justin. Time for you to go home and tuck in your sheep.”
“This isn’t finished, Tallboy,” Justin said.
Jake stretched out but didn’t turn. “Lucky for you, it is.” He passed the man with the rifle toward the door. “And my name isn’t Tallboy. It’s Jake. Or Mr. Pettman to you.”
“Last chance, Justin,” the man said.
“Fuck this. You can wait, Tallboy. You too, Dogman. Come on, let’s leave these lovers to it.”
Jake listened to them leave. He unlocked the door and turned to the man. “You coming in?”
After Peter Sheenan had introduced himself, he offered to clean Jake’s wounds, which he declined.
“Can’t say I blame you,” Peter said with a smile. “Traditionally, the hero gets tended to by the fairer sex.”
“Hero?” Jake sat on the edge of the bed, dabbing his split eyebrow with a towel. “Is that how it looked?”
“You looked like you had it under control.” Peter sat on a rickety chair by an end table.
“I certainly didn’t feel in control!”
“You were.”
“So, why step in then?”
“I couldn’t risk you getting up and killing Justin Stone.”
“Why? Because his daddy is first selectman?”
“Among other things.”
“Is killing him definitely off limits?” Jake stood, stretched his side and winced over the flickers of pain throughout his body.
“If you want to make it to my age, it is.”
“Which is?”
“Seventy-three.”
“Impressive. I had you pegged at sixty-something.”
“The blood of the Abenaki people is strong. I’m grateful for it. You too look like you are of good heritage.”
Jake smiled. “I think I might just be about to disappoint you there, Peter. I’m probably descended from the same group of people as that wanker outside.”
“With that accent?”
“My ancestors were part of establishing this town. Anyway, I’m hoping Justin and his crew are anomalies and the town isn’t stocked full of wankers.”
“I think it might be my turn to disappoint you.”
Jake chortled. “Great.”
“However, it’s also full of good people too. But you’ll hardly come across many of them late on a Friday night in a watering hole.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I did meet someone quite nice in there.”
“Piper Goodwin?”
“You saw that?”
“The whole place saw, Jake. And there’d be nothing wrong with it if Justin Stone wasn’t carrying a flaming torch for her. This whole evening has been predictabl
e.”
“And here’s me just trying to find somewhere to mind my own business.”
“A man like you can never mind his own business.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know what it means, Jake, but it’s not a criticism, so don’t take it that way.”
Jake went to the suitcase in the corner of his room and changed his shirt. He groaned and recalled Justin’s words. “When you wake up tomorrow and you can barely move, I want to be the first thing you think about, Tallboy.”
You won’t be wrong on that one, Jake thought. “This won’t be the last time I hear from Justin then?”
“Unfortunately, not.”
“Won’t he target you too? You did embarrass him out there.”
“No. His father is keen to maintain good relations with our people. Do you think I would have pulled this on him otherwise?” He tapped his rifle leaning against the dresser. “If I was a white man, they’d find me floating face down in the Skweda come first light. No way they’ll risk that with a Native.”
“Why do they call you Dogman?”
“I served with the K9 corps in Vietnam.”
“You took dogs with you? I don’t know a great deal about that, but I don’t know a great deal about the Vietnam War in general.”
“When you arrive in the Vietnamese jungle, the element of surprise is with the indigenous people. Most Americans never even saw their killers. Rockets out of nowhere, snipers concealed at ridiculous distances. But when you had a well-trained dog, you stood a chance. And when you had thousands of them, you could turn that element of surprise all the way around.” Peter paused, looking away from Jake at the far wall. His fingers ran up and down the rifle. “I had a few dogs in my time but none like my lab retriever Prince. Ninety-four pounds. A civilian family donated him. So clever. He knew when he was off service, because he was a big, stubborn bastard, but on duty, he was as efficient and obedient as they come. Two-four-three-three. That was his number. Tattooed in his left ear.”
Jake sat on the edge of the bed. “Sounds like you were close.”
Peter, still staring off into the distance, nodded. “So many lives are owed to those dogs. Over ten thousand to be sure. Our dogs had over two-hundred-and-twenty-five-million scent receptors in their noses. Us mere humans only have around five million! They can hear sounds four times farther away than us. They scouted the jungle for Vietcong ambushes and saved so many men from the traps. One time, me and Prince were on a routine patrol in Tay Ninh to protect an ammunition dump. Enemy fire erupted. I let my boy off his leash. It stunned them, and I managed to take a few of them out, but then I took a bullet.” He pulled down his shirt collar and showed Jake some white scar tissue on his shoulder. “That was me on the floor, ready to be picked off. And I would have been if Prince hadn’t been ripping into them. They even shot him in the head, just underneath the eye, but he was relentless. He kept on going, tearing into them. It gave me time to radio for backup, and then he threw himself on top of me to shield me. No human being, white or Abenaki, has ever shown me such dedication. He saved me, and fortunately, the veterinarian saved him.” He looked back at Jake. “Sorry to give you the long version, but when someone pleads ignorance to dogs in war, something always comes over me.”
“Not surprised with that story.”
“With more Old Crow in me, it’d be a longer one.”
“I’m glad your dog survived. He sounds like a real hero. Not like me floundering under the boots of several drunks outside. What happened to Prince?”
“For that part of the story, I do need the Old Crow.”
“Sorry, but I’ve only just moved in, and these rooms don’t come with a drinks cabinet.”
Peter smiled. “We’ll save that part of the story. It’s nice to end it there tonight.” He stood and stretched. “But now that you’ve told me there’s no drink, I’m heading home for a nightcap.”
Jake saw him to the door and shook his hand. “Thanks for the hand.”
“You’re welcome, Jake. But the problem hasn’t gone away. I like you, so don’t take this wrong, but it may be time for you to move on.”
“Should I expect a brick through the window?”
“I doubt that. The owners here are old friends with Charles Stone. Justin wouldn’t be stupid enough to piss off his father.”
“Good, I shall sleep soundly on your suggestion then.”
“Do that.”
“And, if I’m still here tomorrow night, I’ll see you in the Blue Falls and get you some … what did you call it? Old Crow?”
Peter smiled again. “Goodnight, Jake.”
“Goodnight, Peter.”
3
GABRIEL JEWELL HAD always been houseproud. His father had beat it into him with a slipper from an early age. At the time, he’d resented it. Now, he was grateful for it. Tidying calmed him and took his mind away from the demons.
He checked his watch—almost twelve. As always, he’d spent the entirety of Friday night hoovering, dusting, and cleaning the windows of his old stone-built house. He was exhausted and took a hot bath. He tried reading the news on his cell, but, as was always the case, this time on a Friday, the demons returned.
Gabriel sighed, climbed from the bath, dried himself and inspected himself in the bathroom mirror. He needed a shave. Good. More distraction. After shaving, he rubbed moisturizer into his skin, working it up his face to his crow’s feet by his eyes. Mid-forties. Officially an old man to any adolescent. He sighed.
Wearing a dressing gown, he descended the stairs, wishing he was tired enough to sleep but knowing he wasn’t. He never was—not when the demons came knocking.
He stooped to enter his living room. His house dated back to the first English settlers. Doorframes didn’t cater to the six-foot-five man back then. The room was decorated in a Victorian style. He crossed over a Persian rug and checked his lace curtains were straight and no one could peer in. Not that anyone could. When his demons were nearby, he could never be too careful.
Gabriel approached the mantlepiece over his burning log fire. He ran his fingers down the photograph of Collette in her blue school uniform—her first week at high school, fourteen years old.
How he longed to see what Collette looked like at fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen … Now.
No. Not possible. The day after that photograph was taken, his sister went to Rogers General Store for some groceries and was never seen again.
He watched the burning wood in the fire spit sap. Noticing he was clenching his fists and his teeth, he took a deep breath and threw another log onto the flames. He stared until this new log spit too. It was no good. He too needed release. He dropped his dressing gown, sat on the sofa, opened his laptop on his coffee table and sought out one of his favourite videos.
He watched an older man, about his age, enter a whitewashed room, holding someone by the hand. Gabriel’s teeth remained clenched, not from frustration anymore but from the onslaught of arousal. The older man was discussing sex with a young girl, barely into her teens. Nothing physical had happened yet, but Gabriel was already touching himself and moaning with pleasure―
“Shit!”
He’d forgotten. Collette’s photograph. She was staring right at him.
He ran across the room, desperately trying to cover his erection. He turned her photograph facedown and sighed. He returned to the sofa.
The older man was now undressing the young girl.
Gabriel’s demons had come out to play, and he hated and loved it at the same time.
Jake opened the door to Piper. She was shielding her eyes from the glare of the blue neon.
“How did you know which room I was in?”
“Just three people are staying here, and only one with a rental car outside. That Ford looks like it’s seen better days by the way.”
“It was the cheapest option.”
“Is that your excuse for the dressing gown too?”
“No, fortunately, this belongs to the mo
tel, so it won’t be going with me. Do you think I’d have chosen one that barely covers my thighs?”
“You wouldn’t be the first crazy to wander through the town.”
Jake smiled. “Come in.”
Her eyes widened after she’d stepped inside and turned to face him. Away from the neon glare, she’d obviously noticed the cut above one eye and the swelling around the other. “What happened? Actually, don’t bother. It was Justin, wasn’t it?”
Jake closed the door and gestured toward the chair Peter had sat in earlier. “Yes. Well, him and his small army. He seems hellbent on accelerating the demise of your tourist trade.”
Piper shook her head. “I wish that was his reason. That man is so possessive of me. Even though we’ve never dated and I’ve made it very clear I don’t like him very much, he practically stalks me. If the police department weren’t in Charles Stone’s pocket, as well as being a bunch of misogynistic bastards, I might have made a report. Instead, I’ve opted for the alternative—save enough money to get the hell out of here.”
“And how’s that going?”
“Slowly.”
Jake winced as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“Are you okay?”
“Sore ribs. Nothing broken.”
“You’re a doctor?” She raised an eyebrow.
“No, just very tuned in to my own body. A man named Peter Sheenan helped me out.”
“He’s a nice guy. Although he does carry a lot of baggage.”
“Don’t we all? So, Piper, to what do I owe this pleasure? Being that you warned me off at the bar.”
“Hardly warned off. I just warned you that you wouldn’t be getting laid, and that still stands.”
“I wasn’t asking! But, if you’ve stopped by for a drink, I’ll have to give you the same disappointing news I gave to Peter. I’ve nothing to offer you, I’m afraid.”
Piper sighed. “I wish that’s why I was here.”