The Rational Faculty (Hazard and Somerset: A Union of Swords Book 1)

by Gregory Ashe

“I’ll get the leashes,” Hazard muttered.

  Somers elbowed him, but he was grinning.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DECEMBER 16

  SUNDAY

  7:01 PM

  SOMERS SHIVERED AS THEY STEPPED out into the night, grateful when Hazard slung a big arm over his shoulders. In his other arm, Hazard carried Evie, who was red cheeked and already snot nosed in spite of her coat and scarf and hat.

  Winter had come hard to Wahredua, and the first two weeks of December had brought record lows and mountains of snow. Some of that had melted off, but enough remained to turn the little Arts and Crafts neighborhood where Hazard and Somers lived, with Noah and Rebeca in the house next door, into streets of frosted gingerbread houses. Lights hung from rooflines, some monochromatic blues and whites that turned the snow even colder, and others with traditional multicolored bulbs that made Somers think of Christmases when he’d been a kid. Somewhere nearby, “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” played loud enough that Somers could hear Gene Autry enjoying the hell out of himself.

  For half a block, they managed to walk as a group, with Noah and Rebeca’s kids hollering until one of the boys ended up spread-eagle in a bank of snow. Then Noah and Rebeca sent the kids ahead, and Raquel, with a shy smile, asked if she could take Evie, and then it was just the four adults watching their children race away.

  “Hear that?” Noah said, cocking his head as the sounds of arguing faded. “Heaven.”

  Nobody seemed to feel the need to talk after that; it was enough to enjoy the crisp air, the crunch of snow underfoot, the pleasures of walking a short, comfortable distance in winter.

  Somers wrapped an arm around Hazard’s waist, which was harder than it would have been two or three months ago. Hazard had been hitting the gym again. Hard. And he’d been hitting meals again. Hard. He was packing on the dense layers of muscle that he had carried when he had first come to Wahredua, and Somers didn’t have any complaints. Just last night, for example, Hazard had picked up Somers like it was no sweat and held him against the wall while they—

  “Your cheeks are red,” Hazard said.

  “It’s cold,” Somers said, but he couldn’t help a glance at Noah and Rebeca, as though they might have somehow overheard his thoughts.

  “Yes, but usually it takes somewhere around seven and a half minutes for your cheeks to get red.”

  Somers blinked. “Wait. You know how long it takes? Seven and a half minutes?”

  “At this temperature. And it’s a rough estimate.”

  “Oh my God,” Somers said, shaking his head.

  “What?”

  Rebeca made a cooing noise. “You’re so cute. It’s kind of unbearable, you know.”

  “Don’t start,” Somers said, jabbing a finger at Noah.

  “She’s right,” Noah said with a smirk. “It’s definitely unbearable.”

  “I said don’t start, Noah.”

  Noah just laughed.

  Hazard had watched the exchange without commentary, and his hold on Somers hadn’t altered. Somers thought there were lots of reasons to like Noah and Rebeca—they were both smart, accomplished, progressive, friendly, and funny—but maybe the best reason was that, around Noah and Rebeca, Somers and Hazard could just be themselves. They didn’t have to carry around the past, all the tortured shit that had happened between them in high school. They could just be who they were, today, together, in love. And Noah and Rebeca didn’t even bat an eye because they hadn’t grown up in Wahredua, hadn’t seen how bad it had been between Somers and Hazard in high school. It was hard to find a married couple, the right age, with kids, who hadn’t grown up in Wahredua; thank God Rebeca had come for a professorship at the college, and thank God Noah could follow because he wrote freelance. Some days, Somers thought he’d be friends with Noah and Rebeca just for that fact alone, even if they’d been raging assholes.

  From their neighborhood, a residential pocket in the older part of town, it took less than ten minutes to walk to City Hall and the spread of government buildings at the heart of Wahredua. As they walked closer, more people appeared, moving along the sidewalks in small groups, all heading to the same location.

  “It seems pretty late for a tree lighting,” Noah said. “Is it always this late?”

  “No,” Somers said. “Normally they do it on December 1, and the tree comes down on New Year’s. I guess they had to wait because of the bad weather.”

  “Or other reasons,” Hazard said.

  “Like what?” Rebeca asked.

  Hazard caught Somers’s look and shook his head.

  On the snowy lawn outside City Hall, it looked like most of Wahredua had turned out. Somers saw kids he had gone to school with, grown men and women with kids of their own now. Some of them, like Amanda McNealey, with whom Somers had gotten to second base during the summer of sophomore year, stared at Hazard and Somers like the carnival had come to town. Others, like Sandy Burnett, who had played football with Somers since they’d been in grade school, just waved and smiled. Somers saw the old guard, men and women his parents’ age who still ruled the social circles of the small town, and he saw college kids who were new to Wahredua and had been drawn to the community by generous scholarships from Wroxall. It was good to come to something like this, good to be reminded that some things actually did change, even if most of the time it felt like Wahredua was stuck in the past.

  For the first time that Somers could recall, though, an undercurrent of tension ran through the crowd. Men watched each other warily; women drew together, backs to the world. A guy in denim and a Carhartt coat pushed through the crowd, and a group of college boys railed at him as he passed. It didn’t go any farther than that, but Somers’s pulse beat a little faster.

  Then the tree caught Somers’s attention. It had to be fifty feet tall, and although the lights were still dark, Somers was already impressed. Easily, it was the tallest Christmas tree Wahredua had ever put on display. And it was a beautiful tree: an eastern white pine, native to Missouri, with closely clustered branches and full needles. Like something you’d see in Rockefeller Center. Or in a movie.

  Caught up in admiring the tree, it took Somers a moment to notice that Hazard had gone still beside him. He glanced over; Hazard’s face was rigid, and his attention was fixed on something ahead of them.

  When Somers saw, he squeezed Hazard’s arm. “Don’t.”

  Hazard was staring at the Right Honorable Mayor of Wahredua, Naomi Malsho, Somers’s ex-sister-in-law, formerly a strategic adviser to the Ozark Volunteers—a group of right-wing extremists. Judging by Hazard’s face, though, Somers guessed that Hazard was thinking about one of Naomi’s more recent crimes: she had sold Somers out, betraying him to a man who wanted to kill him.

  Hazard wasn’t making any noise, but Somers could feel the sub-audible growl vibrating in the big man’s chest.

  “Stop,” Somers said. “Not tonight.”

  “What’s wrong?” Rebeca said.

  “Nothing. Right, Ree?”

  Hazard tore his gaze away, but he didn’t say anything.

  “You know,” Rebeca said, staring at the stage where Hazard had been staring, “a lot of people at the university were talking about the possibility of no Christmas tree this year. I’m kind of surprised they went through with it.”

  “Really?” Somers said. “I thought everybody loved this. It’s a tradition.”

  “Too Christian,” Noah said. Something must have crossed Somers’s face because Noah laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “Hey, man. We’re Christian. But, you know what I mean?”

  “What he means,” Rebeca said with a roll of her eyes, “is that a lot of the more progressive types think it’s too close to a church-state thing. You know, like an unofficial endorsement of Christianity. I guess there have been petitions, complaints, that kind of thing.”

  Hazard’s eyes, the color of amber, narrowed. “That makes sense.”

  “Ree,” Somer
s said, turning on him.

  “It does. We don’t do anything for Hanukkah. Or for Diwali. Or Kwanzaa.”

  “But it’s a tradition. And I wouldn’t mind if we did something for those holidays too. Doing one doesn’t have to be exclusive of the others.”

  “Well, you can imagine how well even the possibility of canceling it went down,” Rebeca said. “Someone at work told me those Bright Lights people were scurrying all over City Hall when they caught wind of it. The news picked it up in Columbia, if you can believe that.”

  “Why didn’t we hear anything about this?” Hazard said.

  “If you two could drag each other out of bed for five minutes—hey, sweetie. Didn’t see you there.”

  Raquel had reappeared, holding out Evie. “She said she wanted you.”

  With a smile he couldn’t quite hide, Hazard accepted Evie and tucked her into his shoulder. She settled in, obviously familiar with the spot, her nose running freely onto Hazard’s coat.

  “For the record,” Somers said as soon as Raquel had vanished back into the crowd, “we don’t spend all our time in bed.”

  “No,” Noah said, “sometimes you order pizza.”

  “And sometimes you come to our place,” Rebeca said. “When we beg you. When we make an appointment two years in advance.”

  “You two are just jealous,” Somers said, flushing but grinning. “You wish you still had chemistry.”

  “Six kids, bitches,” Noah said, holding up a hand.

  Rebeca slapped him five.

  “And we manage to take showers before we go outside,” Rebeca said.

  “That was one time,” Somers said, his face burning.

  “Move back, folks, move back. Right now, please. Move back. Miss, you’re way too far forward. Move back so everybody can see. We want everybody to get a good view.”

  The man coming along the edge of the crowd wore a Wahredua PD uniform, waving a nightstick to demarcate an invisible line, forcing everyone in his path behind it. He had thick curls of auburn hair visible under his cap, and although he was smiling and his tone was polite, something about him made Somers think he would have preferred cracking a few heads to shuffling a crowd.

  “Who’s that?” Hazard asked, adjusting Evie’s weight against his chest.

  Noah looked at Rebeca. Rebeca shrugged.

  “That’s Conor,” Somers said. Then, with a grin: “Patrick’s cousin. See? Proof that I leave the house sometimes.”

  “Conor?” Hazard frowned. “I know all the Foley boys; there’s no Conor.”

  “He’s a Kelly. I guess he moved here from Kansas City. Cravens has been hiring more uniformed officers, and he was KC police for ten years.”

  “That’s strange,” Hazard said. “Why would he come to Wahredua?”

  Rebeca laughed. “That’s how you always sound. Believe it or not, Emery, it’s actually very charming. Lots of people come here and don’t want to leave.”

  “He was ten years towards a pension. Why give that up and start over here?”

  “You did,” Noah said.

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  Noah blushed and shoved his hands in his pockets.

  Raised voices came from the edge of the crowd, filling the silence that had fallen over their small group. Street lights provided a weak, ambient light, enough for Somers to see signs waving, although he couldn’t read their messages. He listened to the chanting.

  “Prince of Peace? Is that what they’re saying?”

  “Yeah,” Rebeca said, glancing at Noah. “That’s what they’re saying.”

  “Who is it?” Hazard stretched up on tiptoes, one big hand securing Evie to him. “Peace now,” he said with the sound of someone reading. “Peace at home and abroad. True Christians embrace peace. Jesus, at least it’s not those Bright Lights ass—uh, jerks.”

  “You know them?” Somers asked Noah and Rebeca.

  The pause was just long enough.

  “Yeah,” Noah said. “People from our church.”

  “Kind of the more, um, dedicated ones,” Rebeca said.

  Imitating his boyfriend, Somers stretched up, trying to see over the crowd. The demonstration was disrupting the festive atmosphere, and the crowd had fractured as people tried to get away from the chanting and the signs. For a moment, Somers had a relatively clear view of the men and women.

  “That’s the pastor, right?” Somers pointed to a small figure with a quiff of ginger hair. The body type, with narrow shoulders and wide hips, was visible in spite of the man’s winter gear, and Somers remembered some of the things he’d heard about the pastor—and some of the insults he’d heard the Ozark Volunteers shouting. “What’s their name?”

  “His name,” Rebeca said, emphasizing the pronoun slightly, “is Wesley. And he’s really great. In fact, Emery, I think you’d really like him.”

  “No,” Hazard said, like someone checking two plus two. “I wouldn’t.”

  “He probably wouldn’t,” Somers said. “He doesn’t like most people.”

  “I like people,” Hazard said. “I like you. Sometimes. Most of the time.”

  “It’s like every day is Valentine’s.”

  “Ass—” Hazard began again, then glanced at Evie. To Noah and Rebeca, he asked, “Why aren’t you guys over there?”

  “It’s not really our flavor of church,” Noah said. “The Sunday services are great, you know? But then Wesley has all this other stuff during the week.”

  “Too extreme,” Rebeca said. “Definitely not what we’re looking for.”

  The chanting had gotten louder, and although the crowd was shifting and moving away from the noise, nobody really seemed too upset. It was hard, Somers thought, to be angry with people who wanted peace.

  On the stage, however, Naomi’s face was an expressionless mask as she whispered something to Martha Cravens, Chief of Police. Cravens shook her head. She shook her head again. Naomi made a stabbing gesture, pointing out at the demonstrators, and then jabbed her finger toward Cravens. After a moment, Cravens nodded, her shoulders slumping, and trudged the length of the stage. The chief beckoned to Conor Kelly, who was practically bouncing with excitement, and to Janie Carlson, pregnant enough to pop, and Walt Hoffmeister, in uniform even though he was technically on administrative leave. Cravens was launching into some kind of explanation when the microphone squealed and Naomi’s voice came over the speakers.

  “Merry Christmas, everyone!”

  An answering cheer went up through the crowd.

  “I am so excited to be here with you tonight.”

  Naomi looked like perfection: flawless skin, flawless dark hair, winter pale. She was so much like Cora, Somers’s ex-wife, that for a moment, Somers remembered what it had been like to be young and in love with his high school sweetheart. Even bundled in a coat and hat and scarf, Naomi somehow gave the impression that she’d just hopped off a runway, like whatever she wore underneath was the latest thing out of Milan or Paris. And for all Somers knew, it might be; Naomi always had one more surprise waiting.

  “I grew up in Wahredua, as many of you know.”

  From the edge of the crowd came a surprised shout. And then, an angry one. “Get your hands off me.”

  Naomi’s face didn’t change. “For me, the Christmas tree lighting was the most beautiful night of the year. It represented hope—”

  “No, you back off. Back the fuck off right now.” That sounded like Kelly, getting hot under the collar and liking it.

  “—and it represented,” Naomi continued, “a belief that traditional family values, the values that made Wahredua such a great place to grow up, could continue to shape our future—”

  “That’s assaulting an officer, you tranny cunt.” That voice was Hoffmeister’s, and Somers shrank at the words, feeling a physical discomfort like a flash of fever. The words were followed by the sound of a blow, and gasps worked their way through the crowd.

  “—tradit
ional family values—” Naomi was saying again, trying to get everything back on track.

  A few more heavy blows broke the winter air, and the crowd felt electric. Somers felt it: a wild, panicked energy that came from part of being a group of terrified people. Even though he was police. Even though he was smart and independent. That kind of energy was contagious, and it was running wild. Hazard’s scarecrow eyes were wide, his pupils dilated, his breathing controlled as he pressed Evie to him. Noah looked like he might be sick; Rebeca had her hand in her purse, probably grabbing pepper spray or, for all Somers knew, brass knuckles.

  At the stairs to the stage, a struggle broke out. Someone bundled in a camouflage jacket and a canvas cadet cap was pushing up the steps, past two men who were trying to catch her arms and turn her away: a heavy guy, sweating in spite of the cold, and a man named Bob Sackeman, whom Somers and Hazard had run into on their last case. The woman spun, slipping free of the heavy man’s grip, dropping her shoulder as she crashed into Sackeman. Sackeman, a glorified pencil pusher, dropped with an explosion of breath that interrupted Naomi’s speech. The mayor stopped and turned, her face blank with what Somers imagined must have required a great deal of effort.

  Then the woman in the camouflage jacket and the cadet cap crashed into Naomi, driving her away from the podium. Grabbing the mic, the woman shouted into it, causing a feedback screech that obliterated her first words.

  “—death, death, death, death, death, Officer Hoffmeister must die, kill every last one of those fucking pigs—”

  Then the heavy guy, sweating worse than ever, flattened her to the stage.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DECEMBER 16

  SUNDAY

  9:17 PM

  SOMERS HAD TO GET INVOLVED at that point; it seemed like every peace officer in the county was involved at that point. While Hazard took Evie home, with Noah and Rebeca accompanying him, Somers switched into cop mode, shooing curious onlookers away from the stage and doing his best to disperse his crowd. As the people broke off for their cars or the cold walk home, the tree flickered sullenly to life.