by L. T. Ryan
"I'm gonna ask you again," he said. "What the hell are you doing in my town?"
"I'm gonna tell you again," I said. "I'm just passing through. My Jeep broke down. Some old guy offered to help, put me up while his cousin's shop fixes it."
The two officers shared a glance, nodded. Maybe they check out the garage from time to time. Saw my Jeep. Asked Herbie's cousin a couple questions. The older guy handed back my ID.
"Keep to yourself, Mr. Smith, and you'll do all right here." He started back to the cruiser, stopped, turned toward me. "Believe me, you don't want to go mixing with the locals around here. They see a city boy like you, and start thinking they can take advantage, if you know what I mean."
"I believe I do. And I don't want any trouble while I'm here. Gonna do my couple days, then be on my way out."
I'd made it half a block before the car doors finally closed. The engine revved. Headlights swept past me, steady at first, then cutting to the left and disappearing. The rumble of the V-8 faded as they drove in the opposite direction.
I continued on, heading into the wind. I passed two dozen or so shops and nondescript buildings before reaching my destination.
The bar's faded neon sign buzzed like a drunken house fly, flickering off every few seconds. Through the window I saw that a couple tables were occupied. An empty bar top stretched the length of the establishment. A wave of hot air saturated with beers and burgers washed over me as I pulled the heavy door open. The patrons at both tables repositioned to see who'd entered. The middle-aged couple at the nearest table glossed over me with little interest and went back to their conversation. Two large biker-looking guys didn't. Their gazes followed me as I crossed the room. The one with his back to me turned to his friend, who nodded.
I anticipated a confrontation, but instead the two focused their attention on their burgers.
I took a seat at the end of the bar where there was nothing to block me from an escape. The mirror along the wall left me with a view of the bar. Beer taps partially shielded me from that same view.
The swinging door at the other end of the bar burst open. An older guy with a bald head and a thick salt and pepper beard came out from the kitchen and made his way toward me. Through narrowed eyes, he sized me up. Perhaps he determined I was a threat, because he stopped six feet away and asked me what I wanted. I ordered a pint of Revolver stout, and a ribeye cooked rare. He nodded, poured my beer, and then disappeared into the kitchen again.
The room felt still. No chatter. No clanking of silverware against a plate, or the soft thud of a mug hitting a table. Just the light whirr of the ceiling fans.
I kept the reflection of the biker guys in my peripheral, anticipating that one or both would come over at some point. The guy facing my direction glanced over a couple times, his hand covering his mouth in a veiled attempt to hide the fact he was talking about me. They remained seated, though, and I considered them a limited threat.
For now.
The kitchen door swung open. The big guy emerged with my steak. He slowed halfway, inhaled the scent of seared meat, then set the plate in front of me. It was a healthy cut, heavily marbled, sitting in a pool of juices.
"Need some A1?" he said.
"You seasoned it, right?"
"Come on, you gonna insult me like that? This ain't Oklahoma, man. 'Course I seasoned it. My own rub. Best damn recipe in Texas."
I cut into the steak and sliced off a piece of half-meat, half-fat. Held it in front of my mouth. "Then why'd you ask if I wanted sauce?"
He chuckled, said, "'Cause you look like a city boy." He turned toward to the kitchen. "Just shout if you need anything."
I didn't think I would. I had a beer, a steak, and a quiet place to eat.
The only problem was the other patrons had plans to disrupt the serenity.
Chapter 4
Crystal River, Florida, 1988
Jack Noble stood on the front porch watching the sun descend into the trees. The air was thick with humidity. A sheen of sweat coated his brow. Behind him, his brother Sean and sister Molly laughed at a joke made at his expense. They had been born two years apart. Molly in '72, Sean in '74, and Jack in '76. Because of this, all jokes were made at his expense, and there was little he could do about it.
"Just 'cause mom and dad ain't around don't mean you two can pick on me," Jack said.
"Like hell it doesn't." Sean got up and threw a jab in Jack's direction. Jack feigned left and countered with a right uppercut that caught Sean in the gut. The older Noble boy didn't care for that and three seconds later had Jack pinned against the railing.
"All right, you two," Molly said. "I will send you to your rooms."
"Then what?" Sean said. "Gonna call Mike and have him come over?"
The boys followed the comment with kissing sounds. At twelve years old, Jack had only had a girlfriend in the most basic sense of the word, and a real kiss was something he hadn't experienced yet. Nor did he care to. According to Sean, that would change soon.
Molly disappeared for a few moments. The boys fell silent, both focused on the setting sun and the kaleidoscope of rays that filtered through the branches and leaves. It was a scene they'd watched hundreds, if not thousands of times. The home had been the only one they'd ever known. It was their sanctuary, a place where no harm had ever befallen the family. Not that they were free from grief and the negativity of the world. Those things occurred outside the walls and beyond the property lines. And pretty much away from Crystal River, Florida. Their father dealt with the world so they didn't have to.
"Life, Monopoly, or Clue?" Molly said. "Jack, you pick."
"Monopoly," Jack said.
"You're not gonna cry again when I bankrupt you, are you?" Sean said.
"Bite me," Jack said.
The older siblings laughed as Molly set up the game board and distributed the cash.
"What're we doing tomorrow?" Jack asked.
"Fishing," Sean said. "Should be a good day. Dad said we can take the boat out as long as we stick to the canals."
"I'll go," Molly said.
"For real?" Jack said. It had been a couple years since their sister had joined for a day of angling. Pretty much since she started dating Mike her freshman year of high school.
"Yeah, why not? Gotta find out what my little bros are really up to, and I know your inner most secrets come out while fishing."
"Whatever," Sean said. "Not gonna find out anything about me."
"I already know, Seanny-boy," she said with a wink. "I already know."
"You don't know shit," he said.
Jack and Molly shared a smile.
"You little asshole," Sean said. "What did you tell her?"
Jack shrugged, passed GO on the board and said, "Pay me my two hundred dollars."
A banging echoed through the house and out to the back porch. The three stopped, looked around, waited.
BANG-BANG-BANG.
"Who do you suppose that is?" Jack asked.
"Probably Aunt Jackie coming to check on us," Molly said.
"Would she knock?" Sean said.
Molly shrugged. "I'll go check."
Chapter 5
The two biker-looking guys rose and crossed the room. The shorter of the two was about my height, but had at least fifty pounds on me. Fat, mostly. The other guy was three or four inches taller, lean like a flag pole, with long, rangy arms. From the front, neither appeared to be armed. But the mirror only told half the story.
I cut into the steak and shoved another bite into my mouth, washing it down with a gulp of the stout. The head foamed up when I set the glass down on the bar.
One of the guys cleared his throat.
I swiveled the barstool a hundred and eighty degrees.
The pair stood about four feet away, tattooed arms crossed over their chests, heads cocked, hardened looks on their faces, like a couple of wrestlers doing a promo shoot before a cage match. If that was the best they could do to intimidate me, it would be an easy night
for me.
"Help you?" I said.
"We were wondering the same thing," the flagpole-looking guy said.
"I'm doing all right on my own." I kicked the floor and spun back toward the bar. Flagpole reached out, grabbed my shoulder with his bony fingers. My momentum stopped. I swung back toward them.
They stood in the same positions, the skinny one a little closer than before. Neither spoke.
"I'm just passing through," I said. "Don't want any trouble. Don't need it, frankly. But if trouble comes looking for me, I'm ready."
My words must've delivered a shot of adrenaline to the heavy guy because his breath quickened and his face darkened. He prepared to attack. But it wasn't him that did.
The skinny guy darted forward, moving faster than I figured he could. He grabbed my collar with one hand as he cocked the other back. He held his fist there. Big mistake. He should've struck when he had the chance. Now all I needed was for him to swing and throw himself off balance.
The kitchen door banged and swung open again. Both men diverted their gazes down the bar to the other end of the room.
"Linus," a woman said. "Get your damn hand off him. Now, I mean it. Both of you, get back to your table."
The skinny guy, Linus, let go, brushing my shoulder off before retreating back a few steps and ultimately returning to his seat. His heavy partner had already found his way to their table. My gaze bounced between the pair, waiting to see if either decided to defy the woman.
And who was this woman? She commanded the two men, who easily combined for five hundred pounds, like they were her children. They cowered off to their corner without a word in return.
I turned to face her, expecting to see someone who matched my old partner Bear in stature, and possibly looks.
But she didn't.
She looked like someone I'd known years before. A woman who'd been in my life for a brief period of time, but left one hell of an impact. A crater I hadn't managed to crawl all the way out of.
She wasn't an exact replica, though. The face, eyes, shape and size of her body, they were as I remembered. But the hair was wrong. Too short. Too trendy. Too blonde.
The woman stood with the edge of the door pressed into her back. Smoke from the grill wafted through. Her stare was fixed on me. Her lips remained parted, like she'd become stuck mid-breath. Had she stopped breathing?
She made her way down the bar, eyes narrowed, head angled. A dozen memories flooded my mind as I recalled the intricate web of secrets that drew us together the first time.
She stopped in front of me. Brushed her short hair back.
There was no doubt of her identity as I stared into her eyes.
"Reese," I said under my breath.
I'd met Reese McSweeny several years ago when a job Frank Skinner had brought to me turned upside-down in every way imaginable. Reese was an NYPD homicide detective, but her story ran far deeper than that of a cop. A foster brother turned SOG operative. A husband turned terrorist supporter. In the end, all forces merged into one final showdown, and she was forced into witness protection. I'd often wondered what had become of her. Never imagined she'd end up working in a dive bar in the middle of nowhere.
She leaned in close to me. Her mouth was inches away. The mixture of grill smoke and her body lotion made my mouth water and my face burn with desire.
"Jack," she whispered. "Don't call me that. Everyone here knows me as Billie."
"Billie, huh? They give you a last name?"
She started to answer, but her eyes shifted to her right, toward Linus and his partner. "We can't talk like this right now. They'll get suspicious. Can you stay for a while?"
"I got all night."
And maybe tomorrow, too. It was a good thing I had a place to stay and no car to get me out of town.
Her hand brushed against mine. "We'll talk when this place empties out."
As she walked away, Linus called out, "The hell, Billie? You know this guy?"
"Shut the hell up, Linus."
The kitchen door swung shut behind her. The bar fell silent. I didn't have to check the mirror to know that Linus and his buddy were staring me down. Perhaps knowing something was close to going down, the bald guy emerged from the kitchen and, with a slight nod at me, took a seat at the other end of the bar. He made no move to conceal his holstered pistol.
I watched the two men in the mirror. The heavy guy leaned across and said something to Linus. All I could see was the back of his head. The skinny man nodded at his partner. Linus dropped a wad of crumpled cash on the table, then both men rose and headed toward the door. They stopped behind me, a few feet further back than before. One of them was pretty ripe, their body odor overwhelming any other smell in the place.
How had I missed that before?
Must've been the steak. Now that my cut had chilled, it wasn't giving off the same aroma.
These weren't ordinary guys. They perceived me as a threat, and felt they had to take a stand before I made a move. That told me they were involved in something, and that they wanted no part of me getting involved.
Drugs? A theft ring? Herding people across the border?
Could be anything, although the choice of location for their operations left a lot to be desired. One thing it did offer was a sense of anonymity. Not in the town, of course. Hell, this was the kind of place where everybody knew everybody. I'm sure, in a way, they felt safer because of that. They were the town badasses. No one would mess with them. More importantly, no one would talk. And so in the grander picture, no one outside the small town would know who they were.
"That'll be all," the bald guy called out. He'd shifted on the stool, letting his right hand hang loosely over the butt of his pistol. The other arm had disappeared behind his large body. I figured he had a sap or crowbar or a pipe dangling from that hand. Just give him a reason, assholes.
Linus threw up his hands mockingly and stormed out of the bar with his partner right behind him. I knew that wouldn't be the last time I encountered them.
Chapter 6
It took two hours for the bar to clear out. A few more locals came in, either solo or in pairs. Didn't matter. They all knew each other. They had a couple beers, a burger, and then went on their way. Nobody paid much attention to the stranger at the bar. These weren't the kind of folks who would care. I threatened neither them nor their operations in town.
Reese bounced between the kitchen, bar, and the floor. She did her best to ignore me. I did the same. No point drawing any more attention to ourselves. Still, there were several moments where our eyes met and lingered a couple seconds too long.
After the last guest had left, the bald guy walked over to me. "I'm heading out. You gonna be OK if those guys show up?"
I nodded. "They won't be a problem."
"They might not be, but you don't want to move up the chain past them. Things get messy at that level." He stared out the window for a few seconds, scratched his beard. "You can ask Billie to fill in the details if you want to know more. I need to keep my damn mouth shut."
I tried not to dwell too much on what he said. The two guys weren't a problem. But whoever they worked for might be. My best course of action was avoiding all of them. Talk to Reese to get a feel for what the threat level was in town. Hang around with her a couple days. Move on.
Perfect plan. Or at least I could convince myself it was.
The bald guy cut the barroom lights on his way out, immersing the area into one large shadow. It made it easier to see what was happening on the street outside. Which wasn't much. The area appeared deserted. A blinking light cast a yellow wash over the street and sidewalk every five seconds.
"People are going to ask how you know me."
I hadn't heard Reese exit the kitchen. She fumbled underneath the bar and retrieved two bottles. Handed one to me.
"The big guy ask?" I said.
"He knows I have a past." She took a long pull from the bottle, swallowed hard, exhaled against the carbonation burn. "And
that I don't like to talk about it. He probably assumed you're someone I knew before I came here. None of his business. He's the kind that figures the less he knows, the better."
"He got a background?"
She nodded, said nothing. Didn't have to. I could tell by his demeanor he'd traveled on the outskirts of the paths I lived on.
"I've thought about you over the years," I said. "I don't normally do that. Once someone exits my life, they're gone."
She focused on the bottle cap she flipped between her fingers. "I didn't exit, Jack. I was forced out."
"I always wondered, you know, where we stood. We never got to talk about this. How much of it was an act?"
She lined our bottles up between us. A smile lingered on her lips as she contemplated the question.
"You don't have to answer that," I said.
"I can't answer that," she said. "I'm no longer that woman. This...experience...has changed me. I don't know if it's for the better, either."
"You'll always be that woman." I reached out. Her hand felt cold beneath mine. "No place or job or forced life can change who you are."
"You think that, but reality paints quite a different picture." She pulled her hand to her chest, covered it with the other. "You don't know me anymore, Jack. And Detective Reese McSweeney might as well be dead. I mean, that's how I think of her. I'm Billie Weddle now. Got it?"
I said nothing. So many years had passed; we were both different people. Christ, I'd been set up by just about everyone I had faith and trust in, on some level. Everything in my world had been yanked out from under my feet. Why else was I traveling alone across the country?
My time with Reese had been brief, but intense. In many ways. Perhaps that's why the feeling lingered, and now rose so close to the surface.
"So, what are you doing here?" she asked after a few silent minutes.
"Passing through."
"Really?" Her gaze shifted to the door for a second. "You weren't sent here for some reason?"