by B. B. Hamel
“Gotta say, I’m surprised you’re back.”
I thank the bartender as she hands me the beer. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Can’t say Mason River’s got much on the big city.”
“No, it doesn’t.” I grin at him. “But home’s still home, right?”
“Right,” he agrees.
“How have you been?”
“Good,” he says. “Got married a couple months ago.”
My eyebrows go up. I didn’t know that. “To who?”
“Marcie Lane.”
My eyes practically bug out of my skull. “Marcie Lane? You shitting me?”
“Not at all.” He grins proudly.
Marcie Lane was fucking hot back in high school, the kind of girl that every guy wanted. I don’t know how she ended up with Mitch, considering he was the kind of guy everyone ignored.
He pulls out his phone and shows me a picture. Sure enough, that’s him and Marcie Lane in wedding photos. Marcie’s still pretty, though she’s gained a lot of weight since high school ended. She still holds it well.
“Good for you, man,” I say, shaking my head. “Marcie Lane. Good for you.”
He laughs and puts his phone away. “Thanks, man. We’re working on the first kid now.”
“Good luck with that.” I hold up my drink. “To your long life and big family.”
“Cheers.”
I sip my drink and glance around the room. I spot a few other guys I vaguely recognized, though mostly everyone’s a stranger to me these days. I’ve been away so long that I don’t fit in anymore, at least it feels that way. Part of me itches to get back home again, but that memory of Atticus scaring off those bullies, and the image of Cora’s pretty face looking so determined, keep making me want to stay.
We fall into small talk. Mostly Mitch catches me up on years of local drama and gossip, which is good, since I don’t have much to say. I don’t want to tell him about living in Chicago, about how much happier I am being away from this small town and its bullshit. But something he says after his third beer is finished really catches my attention.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I ask him, coming back into the moment.
“The Niners,” he says. “That’s when things really got bad.”
I raise an eyebrow. “They’re the local gang?”
He nods. “Took over the drug trade, practically. I think they’re named after the Tech Nine pistol, but I haven’t bothered asking any of them.”
“Huh,” I say. “I didn’t know there were gangs in Mason.”
“Didn’t used to be,” he admits. “But these last few years, things have been changing. Selling opioids is a big business these days, and selling heroin to the people that can’t afford the pills anymore is an even bigger one.”
I nod, not surprised. That’s a common story these days. So many people get addicted to opioid pills, but the pills are expensive as hell. Eventually, just to keep getting that high, they have to turn to heroin. That’s when the trouble starts.
“Your boy was involved with them,” Mitch goes on. “He was running drugs for them sometimes. A real nobody, as far as they were concerned, but you know Atticus. He always found trouble, even when he wasn’t looking for it.”
That surprises me. I didn’t know Atticus had gang ties. I never pictures him as getting involved with a gang, junkie or not. He just wasn’t ever the type.
But that’s the thing about addiction. It changes you in ways you never thought it possibly could. You’re still you, deep down under the layers of all the bad filthy shit that’s happened to you, but you’re buried so far under your chemical need for drugs that there’s really nothing else left of you. People will do things they never thought they would, just to keep their fix coming in regular.
Seems like Atticus did what any other junkie would do.
“How involved?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Hard to say. They don’t exactly keep membership rolls and don’t like to talk to cops.”
“But involved enough that you’re aware of it?”
He nods. “That we’re sure of. He’s been busted a few times on minor drug charges.”
I nod thoughtfully. “Could be the reason he got killed.”
“Sure, we’re looking into that,” Mitch says. “I mean, the Niners haven’t been going around killing, yet at least. They’re threatening a whole lot, and beating the shit out of folks that cross them, but no killings.”
“Could be the first one.” I sip my drink, mind whirling.
And then I catch myself.
This is what I do. I can’t help it apparently. I told Cora I wasn’t going to get involved, but here I am, getting involved. Just asking questions and thinking this thing through is getting involved. I know myself, and if I let my brain get a hold of this problem, I’ll never let it go.
I glance toward the front of the building. The memory of Atticus, smiling at me that first time we met, comes back again. That’s the kind of guy Atticus used to be. I doubt anyone here even remembers that boy, the one brave enough to stand up to three older kids just to help another kid he didn’t even know. He was smart, and brave, and loyal. He was a good person, before the drugs, before the gang.
“You know any associates?” I ask Mitch, inwardly cursing myself.
“Sure,” he says, looking wary. “I shouldn’t talk about it, though.”
“Look, man. I’m just asking as a friend. I won’t step on anyone’s toes.”
He hesitates. “Had a girlfriend named Kristi, she was involved with the Niners somehow. And there’s also Jaxson Moyer.”
I perk up that that second name. “Jaxson? Really?”
He grins. “Sure. You surprised?”
“Guess not.”
Jaxson was another guy from our grade back in the day. In fact, he’s the guy that Atticus slowly drifted toward, back when he started getting into drugs and our friendship was slowly dying out. Jaxson was the guy that started pulling us apart.
I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s involved with the local gang. That kid was trouble, even back then.
As Mitch starts talking about some other local drama involving Jaxson’s mom and the local Baptist pastor, my mind starts running through scenarios, trying to figure out how Atticus ended up dead. I don’t even have any details or facts, but I can’t help myself. I know these people personally, at least from back in the day. It’s been a long time since high school, and yet being back in Mason makes me feel like that same kid.
Eventually I make up some excuse, and I pay for our drinks. Mitch and I walk out together, and he shakes my hand in the parking lot.
“Listen, if I don’t hear from you again, good luck out there in the big city, okay?”
“Thanks, man,” I say. “And good luck with your family.” I grin at him, shaking my head. “Marcie Lane.”
He grins back. “I know, right?” He waves as he gets into his truck. “See you later, Wyatt.”
I wave and watch him pull out before getting into my rental.
I sit there, staring at the Great American. The memory comes to me again, and again I remember what it was like to have Atticus save me, the relief I felt. We hung out all that afternoon, and I got in trouble for being late, but I didn’t care.
I had a new friend. And soon, he’d become my best friend. We did a lot of things together, were as close as I’ve ever been with a friend.
And then there’s his sister, Cora. I remember what she was like back then. Shy, but smart, and just starting to get pretty. She’s gorgeous now, absolutely stunning. I want her, fucking badly in fact, but something’s holding me back.
I should go home. Go back to my life. Forget about Cora, forget about those lips, those breasts, that perfect perky ass. I shouldn’t imagine what it would be like to lick her pussy until her toes curl and sweat drips off her perfect skin. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it for the right reason.
And that’s to find my old friend’s killer. I start up the en
gine of my car, banishing the thought of Cora in my bed. If I’m going to do something stupid, I’m doing it the right way.
But as soon as I start driving again, I start thinking about Cora, and I know everything’s already too mixed up to be clean.
5
Cora
I drop the folder down in front of Wyatt and he raises an eyebrow.
“You came prepared.”
I slide into the booth across from him. “I’m not messing around,” I say.
He sighs. “Can we at least order something to eat before we dive in?”
“Sure,” I say. “I’m not unreasonable.”
He laughs softly. “I doubt that’s true.”
I grin at him as he flags the waitress. He orders a Denver omelet and a coffee, and I just ask for toast with jam and a coffee. I’m not much of a breakfast person, and besides, I’m nervous.
I haven’t felt this nervous in a long time. Sitting across from Wyatt in the Great American shouldn’t be so nerve-wracking, but it really is. I’ve been meticulously taking notes over the last month, ever since Atticus turned up dead, trying to investigate absolutely anything I could find.
Problem is, I don’t know what’s relevant. I’m not trained in any of this. And whenever I find something I think is important, I call the local PD, and they just brush me off.
I nudge the folder toward him. “Take a look,” I say.
He laughs again, shaking his head. “You’re not messing around.”
“No. I’m really not.” I hesitate a second. “Someone killed my brother.”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.” He opens up the folder and starts to leaf through it.
The waitress comes back with coffee. He barely acknowledges her, which I actually like. She’s young and pretty, younger than I am, and she keeps giving him that look. I know what that look means, and while I have no right to feel jealous, I still like that he seems totally oblivious to it.
He’s totally lost in the papers I gave him. There are some interesting things in there, notes about Atticus’s relationships, clippings from local newspapers, everything I could dredge up from online.
Wyatt holds up a paper. “Why’s this here?”
I lean forward. It’s a tweet Atticus sent out two weeks before his death. “Seemed important,” I say.
“It’s a 2Pac quote,” Wyatt says, slipping it back into the stack, shaking his head. “Look, Cora, there’s a lot of stuff here. Some of it might be important, but most of it…”
I bite my lip. “I know,” I say.
“I understand,” he says quickly. “You’re stressed, angry, rightfully so. It’s just, I’m only getting back into this. You need to hold my hand.”
I take a deep breath. I think about holding his hand, touching his skin, running my hands down the stubble on his cheeks…
“Okay,” I say. “Where should I start?”
“Give me a rundown of what happened. At least, whatever you know about.”
“Right.” I take a sip of coffee. He watches me while I talk, his eyes never wavering from my face.
“Atticus’s body was found in an alleyway behind an old gas station a few blocks from here. Nobody knows how long he was there, but I don’t think it was too long. I was the one that identified his body, and he didn’t seem too…” I trail off, not able to say it.
“Decomposed,” Wyatt says for me. “Got it.”
“He was shot,” I say quickly hurrying on. “Shot and stabbed a bunch of times, I’m not sure how many. He still had his wallet and all the money in it tucked into his jeans. They also found drugs on him, a small amount of heroin.” I finish speaking and look at him.
“Okay,” he says. “That’s good.”
“That’s good? That’s nothing. I mean, I know basically nothing.”
“There’s actually a lot in there.” Before he can explain, our food comes out. He picks at his eggs and I nibble at my toast.
We eat in silence for a few minutes, and I keep glancing up at him. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I can tell he’s concentrating on something. He’s sipping his coffee, eating his eggs, almost with purpose. I suddenly realize that I barely know this man anymore, that the kid he used to be is totally gone now.
And the girl he used to know is totally gone, too. I’m a new person as well. I can’t really deny it. Sometimes I wish I were still the same naïve girl I was when I was younger, but having a brother like Atticus forces you to grow up quickly.
Although of course it wasn’t always like that. Atticus protected me when I was young, took care of me when he could. I tried to do the same for him, but I couldn’t, not really at least. I gave him money sometimes, which was probably a mistake, and I even checked him into one of his many stints in rehab. I posted bail once, checked him out of the hospital once, and even cleaned up the puke from a night of bad detox.
But he never learned, and so I grew hard, harder than I wanted. Now here we are, my brother dead, and his old friend sitting across from me.
“We need to find some people,” Wyatt says finally. “Do you know his ex-girlfriend?”
I nod. “Of course. Kristi.”
“Right. We should find her first.”
“I’ve been trying,” I admit. “I think I know where she might be, but I’m not sure. She skipped town right after Atticus was found.”
He nods. “That could be good. Might indicate guilt.” He hesitates for a second. “And then there’s the issue of the gang.”
I bite my cheek. “The Niners.”
He sighs. “You didn’t tell me about them.”
“No,” I admit. “I didn’t know it was relevant.”
“It’s very, very relevant. Was Kristi involved with them?”
“I think so,” I say. “But I’m not really sure.”
“Okay, we can find that out.”
I stare at him for a little bit while he eats, not touching my food anymore. “So does this mean…”
He shakes his head and meets my gaze. “No, it doesn’t,” he says.
“Do you need…” I hesitate a second. “Do you need money?”
His eyes narrow like I just insulted him. “No,” he says curtly.
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “I understand.”
He sighs, softening a little bit. “No, you don’t. Listen, I’m not supposed to get involved here, okay? I’m supposed to get back to work on Monday back in Chicago. It’s Friday morning now, which means we have just a few days before I have to head back, okay?”
“Okay,” I say. “I guess that’s better than nothing.”
He winces. “Don’t make me feel bad, Cora. I have a life.”
“I know you do.”
I watch him for a second. I don’t want to say anything and risk this delicate moment. Truth is, I need his help, but we both know just a few days isn’t going to cut it. We need weeks, but I don’t know how that’s possible.
I don’t think I can really ask him to put his life on hold for me. I’ve been toying with that idea. Part of me has been justifying it by telling myself that he was Atticus’s friend, so he somehow owes Atticus, but that’s absurd. They haven’t been close in years, not since high school. Wyatt doesn’t even know the guy Atticus turned into after they graduated.
Wyatt ran off to the big city and his fancy college, leaving us all behind here. Things changed, he definitely changed. I know I did.
“You know how I met your brother?” he asks me suddenly. “It was right out there. He chased off some older kids that were picking on me.”
That makes me smile. “Sounds like Atticus. He was always picking up strays.”
He gives me a look. “I wasn’t a stray.”
“Sure, you weren’t. Honestly, I can’t imagine anyone picking on you.” I look down at his chest, his muscular arms, his broad shoulders.
He grins at me. “I wasn’t always so big, you know. I was actually pretty scrawny back then.”
“Good thing Atticus was there to save
you.”
“Good thing,” he agrees, and sighs again. He leans back, drinking his coffee. “I’ll help you, okay? But you have to promise me something.”
“What?” I cock my head, staring into his handsome eyes.
“You have to let me do my thing. If I do start investigating, you can’t tag along.”
“Absolutely not,” I say, leaning back myself, mirroring his posture. “I’m coming with you.”
He shakes his head. “Too dangerous.”
“Wyatt. This is my investigation. You try and do it without me and I’ll just go behind your back.”
He sets his jaw, watching me carefully. “I had a feeling you’d say that,” he says finally. “You know how much of a pain in the ass you are?”
“You don’t know the start of it,” I say, cracking out into a grin.
Wyatt sighs, gets out his wallet, and tosses some cash down on the table. He knocks back his coffee and stands up.
“Where are you going?” I ask him, eyes wide, suddenly afraid that he’s walking out on me.
He motions for me to get up. “We only have a few days, right?”
I quickly finish my coffee and stand. “We’re starting now?”
“Might as well. You know where that ex-girlfriend might be?”
“I have a guess,” I say.
“Okay.” He gives me a look and suddenly breaks out into a grin. “You’re trouble, Cora Lewis.”
I can’t help but grin back. “I hope so.”
I follow him out to his car and together, we drive off toward the next town over.
6
Wyatt
Mason River butts up against another hick town called Hold Spring. I don’t know who names these places, since there’s no Mason River in Mason River, and I don’t think there’s a spring anywhere in Hold Spring, but it doesn’t matter.
I glance over at Cora as I head down an empty back road. I have the sudden urge to reach out and touch her thigh, put my hand on her knee, pull her closer across the console. I know that’s just stupid as hell, but I can’t help myself.
I should be trying to stay neutral. That’s what a good investigator does. I need to watch for clues, follow the leads until the end, not get all wrapped up with the sister of the dead guy. That’s the biggest mistake I could possibly make.