by J. T. Baier
She didn’t answer for a long moment. “That’s what they’re saying.”
Riker raised an eyebrow. “You have a reason to question that explanation?”
“Aside from the fact that this is the first carjacking I’ve ever heard of in this little town? Yeah, I guess I do.”
Riker leaned forward, his sadness suddenly giving way to curiosity.
She took another sip of tea, considering where to begin. “The first time I saw Coach Kane, he was jogging. Remember how he used to do that?”
Riker nodded. Long before Kane had been his wrestling coach, Riker had simply known him as the strange middle-aged guy who ran around town in a gray sweat suit, regardless of the season. But the strangest part was the way he’d held a stone clutched in each hand as he ran. Local legend had it that a kid who’d been cut from the wrestling team had once tried to run Kane off the road with his car. Ever since then, Kane had taken to the streets prepared to smash the windshield of the next person who tried something similar.
Riker had never asked Kane if the story was true. None of them had. Sometimes, it’s better just to believe the legend.
“I remember. What’s that have to do with the way he died?”
“Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.” She shifted in her seat. “Things in Kingsport… I guess you could say they’ve changed recently. The town’s gotten rougher. Crime’s up. Income’s down. The opioid epidemic has hit us especially hard.”
Riker’s mind flashed back to what he’d seen in the corner of the bar that evening. The drug deal he’d tried to ignore.
“Oscar Kane was a private person. I saw him around school, and we were friendly, but it’s not like we were inviting each other over for dinner parties. Even still, I knew he was trying to do something about the drug problem. Going to city council meetings. Demanding the police do more. Stuff like that. He was trying to clean up the town, and I don’t believe he would have given up, just like he wouldn’t give up running after that kid tried to run him off the road. Then Gabe Sullivan died.”
“Who’s Gabe Sullivan?”
“Quiet kid. Polite. A pretty good wrestler, from what I’m told. Then he got into the drug scene. OD’d a week before his seventeenth birthday.”
“Jesus,” Riker muttered.
“The parents freaked out of course. Went to the police begging for help making sure it didn’t happen to any other kids. Who knows how much effort they really put into it. But one person didn’t give up on making sure something good came out of Gabe’s death.”
“Coach Kane.” Riker knew how his old coach felt about his wrestlers. If something had happened to one of them, he’d move heaven and earth to make things right.
Megan nodded. “He got pretty obsessed with it. Stopped going to city council meetings and started spending his nights out on the streets, trying to talk to dealers, asking where they got their product. The last time I saw him was in the teacher’s lounge. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. I asked how he was doing and he started talking about how it wasn’t an accident that the drugs had suddenly moved into Kingsport. It was deliberately planned.”
“What did he mean by that?”
Now Megan’s gaze fell to the floor. “I don’t know. I was running late and, honestly, the intensity in his eyes made me a little uncomfortable. I thought maybe he was losing it, so I got out of the conversation as quickly as I could.” She paused, swallowing hard. “Three days later, he was dead.”
“The supposed carjacking.”
“It happened on the corner of Jackson and Randolph. You know the spot?”
“Yeah, over by Grant Park.”
“Maybe I’m overthinking all of this. All I know is that Oscar never got to finish what he started, and that’s a damn shame.”
Once again, Riker’s mind flashed back to the drug deal he’d witnessed earlier. Though he didn’t want to consider the thought, he had no choice. If Coach Kane’s death was related to the drug situation in Kingsport, Luke might know something.
“I’m glad you’re back, Matt. Sorry the circumstances aren’t better.”
He reached out and touched Megan’s hand. “I’m glad I’m back too. I came to pay my respect to Coach Kane, and now I think I know what that means.”
Megan tilted her head in surprise. “How so?”
“The wake is tomorrow night, right? Maybe I’ll spend a little time asking around about this Sullivan kid. Maybe I can dig something up, pick up the trail where Coach left off.”
“I think you should probably pay your respects by going to the funeral. What happened to Coach proves we shouldn’t be messing with this type of thing. Leave the dangerous work to the police.”
For a moment, Riker considered telling Megan more about his past, about how the last eighteen years had prepared him for exactly this type of thing. Instead, he smiled at her. “You’re probably right. That would be the smarter route.”
Megan finished her tea. “I’ve got a bed made up in the guest room. You can crash there. I’ve got to get to sleep. I have to teach in the morning.”
“I appreciate it. Do you mind if I go for a walk? My mind is racing and it will help me calm it down.”
“Suit yourself. The key is hanging next to the front door. Just lock up when you leave.”
Riker said good night and stepped out into the cool night air. Megan’s home was on the outskirts of town and he easily found his way around. The streets led him back towards the main street and old memories crept into his mind. The past he’d left behind still lived in this town.
All at once, Riker suddenly realized where he was standing. The corner of Jackson and Randolph. The very spot where Coach Kane had died. It was as if his feet had taken him there of their own accord. There was nothing special about the corner. Nothing to mark it as the spot where one of the greatest men Riker had ever known had been murdered. It was as if the world was already forgetting Coach Kane.
Riker silently swore that he wouldn’t let that happen.
He glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost one in the morning. He turned to head back to Megan’s, but froze as a scream echoed in the night.
3
Riker moved quickly but carefully toward the source of the scream, resisting the urge to run. Chances were strong that it was just some kids goofing around or possibly even an animal his beer-addled brain had mistaken for a human voice. But if it wasn’t either of those things, he needed to approach with caution.
Megan’s words from earlier that evening rang in his ears. Coach was trying to clean up the town.
If Coach had been here, he certainly would have gone to investigate that scream, and he would have helped whoever had made the noise. Coach was gone now, but Riker was still here. That meant he didn’t have much of a choice but to do what he could to help.
As he crossed through a yard and into a small neighborhood park, he heard another yell, this one more muffled. Then a voice. “Yeah, you’d better stay down, you little bitch.”
Riker moved around a stand of trees and caught his first look at the speaker in the glow of the moonlight. Two young men—probably in their late teens—stood over a third young man who looked to be a few years younger. From the way the kid on the ground was huddled up in the fetal position and the way he was covering his head, Riker knew that he was catching a beating, and probably not his first.
“You gonna keep your mouth shut now, or do we have to break your jaw?” the man on the left asked the teenager. Before the kid could respond, the man drew back his foot and kicked him in the ribs, causing another scream.
Anger flared up in Riker at the sight. He’d seen a lot of death in his time with the SEALs and QS-4, but even after all that nothing made him lose his temper more than seeing someone strong attacking someone weak. For as long as he could remember, such things had filled him with rage, and he doubted that would ever go away.
Still, he forced himself to take a deep breath as he approached. It was difficult to tell their exact age
s in the moonlight, and he wasn’t about to go beating on teenagers. He also wasn’t going to allow this to continue.
“Evening, gentlemen,” he said. “Kinda late to be out on a school night, isn’t it?”
The two young men turned, startled to see the large man approaching them. Then they exchanged a glance.
Riker nodded toward the kid on the ground. “Did your buddy slip? That can happen at night. Lots of roots and rocks out here. Easy to trip.”
The two young men exchanged another glance, then the taller one took a step forward, puffing out his chest. “This is none of your business, man. You better keep moving.”
“I will,” Riker said. “I just want to make sure your friend’s all right.”
“He’s not our friend,” the tall young man said.
Riker took a step forward. “Maybe he’s my friend.”
The kid’s hand went into the pocket of his sweatshirt. “Look man, I’m not going to ask again. Get moving.”
“Not without my buddy.” Riker took a step to the left, subtly shifting his position so the two young men wouldn’t be able to flank him. “How about he and I go, and we forget this whole thing?”
“He’s not going anywhere. Everyone in Kingsport knows to steer clear of this park after sundown unless you’re looking for trouble. So either you're new around here or you’re an idiot.”
“Maybe I’m the first thing you said.”
“What’s that?”
“Looking for trouble.” Riker turned to the kid on the ground who had rolled onto his back now. “You okay, son?”
The kid hesitated, then nodded weakly.
“Okay, I’ve had it with this shit.” The tall kid pulled his hand out of his pocket and revealed a pistol clutched in it. “Last chance, man. Get to stepping.”
Riker tilted his head at the gun, staring at it. “Glock 19. Nice weapon. Reliable. Good capacity. Easy to conceal. I do have one suggestion though, if you’re open to constructive criticism.”
The tall kid’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at Riker as if he were an idiot. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yeah, I heard. Thing is, you’re holding your pistol incorrectly.” In a flash, Riker surged forward, grabbing the kid’s elbow with his left hand and his wrist with the right, so that he had total control over the arm. Then he squeezed and twisted with his right hand.
The kid let out a yelp of pain as his hand went limp, releasing the pistol.
Riker let go of the kid’s arm and snatched the falling pistol out of the air. He ejected the magazine, letting it fall to the ground. He checked that there wasn’t a round in the chamber and stuck the weapon in the back of his waistband. “See what I mean? Your grip is a very important aspect of gun safety.”
“What the hell, man?” the kid yelled, still clutching his injured hand.
Riker had only applied enough pressure to get him to drop the weapon, though he could have broken the wrist with that move if he’d needed to. There was no need here. Not only were these young men, likely under eighteen, but they were untrained. He was in no real danger.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shorter young man stepping forward and reaching into the pocket of his sweatshirt. Riker didn’t let this one get his hand out of the pocket. He slid forward and in one smooth motion, hooked his foot behind the kid’s ankle and pushed with an open hand against his chest.
The shorter kid hit the ground with a thud. Riker was on him in an instant, quickly relieving him of the weapon in his pocket. He ejected the magazine from that one too.
“See what I mean?” Riker said. “Easy to slip out here.”
He quickly frisked the young man and while he didn’t find another weapon, he did find something else of interest—a number of small baggies filled a brown substance. Heroin.
Riker grimaced, thinking of the growing criminal element Megan had mentioned. And also of Luke.
“Well, I guess we’ve solved the mystery of why you are hanging out in the park at one in the morning. What do you say we place a call to the police? The four of us can wait here for Kingsport’s Finest.”
By the time he finished his sentence, the taller kid was already in motion, running toward the edge of the park.
Riker didn’t even pause to think. Not only had the kid been beating on someone weaker than himself, but he’d also pulled a gun on Riker. While it hadn’t exactly gone the way the kid had been hoping, it had succeeded in pissing Riker off. There was no way he was letting the kid get away.
Riker sprang to his feet and ran after the kid.
The young man was fast. He had the speed of youth and the long, lanky build of a runner. He also probably knew the area far better than Riker did. Much of this area had been cornfields back in Riker’s day. The town had expanded, and the place he’d once known like the back of his hand was now unfamiliar territory.
Riker sprinted through the park, quickly shifting his gaze between the ground in front of him and the young man he was pursuing. Riker had been right—there were plenty of roots and rocks to trip over, and running full speed through the park at night probably wasn’t the wisest idea, but the heroin dealer hadn’t asked for his input before taking off.
Up ahead, the young man reached the edge of the park and the neighborhood on its border. Instead of heading for the front yard of the first house, the kid angled toward the back. He slammed into the six-foot-tall chain-link fence and quickly climbed it.
Riker couldn’t help but smile. The hubris of youth, assuming no one over twenty-five could climb a fence. But the kid had made a tactical error. Climbing the fence had caused him to slow down, costing him crucial seconds and allowing Riker to close the gap. And Riker had no intention of slowing to climb the fence.
As Riker reached the house, he leaped into the air and grabbed the top of the fence, vaulting over. The kid was already at the fence on the far side of the yard, once again climbing. He risked a glance back and his eyes widened as he saw that Riker was already running through the yard. Then he disappeared over the fence and into the next yard.
This time, Riker changed his angle slightly as he reached the fence. He jumped and kicked off the brick wall, sending him even higher. He cleared the fence even more quickly than he had the first time, using only one hand to guide him as he soared over the chain links. His legs were already in motion as he landed, and he raced forward.
Three steps later, he was within arm’s reach of the kid. He put out a hand and shoved the young man on the back. The kid tumbled face-first into the grass. Riker was on him in an instant, pinning him with one arm while he retrieved the cellphone from his pocket with the other. He dialed the police while the young man futilely squirmed to free himself. But Coach Kane had taught Riker well. The kid didn’t stand a chance of breaking free.
By the time he dragged the young man back to the park, both his drug-dealing buddy and the kid they’d been wailing on were gone. Riker sighed. At least he’d got one of them, and this kid had even more heroin than his buddy. Still, he didn’t know how much progress he’d made toward Coach’s goal of cleaning up the city.
He kept the young man restrained until a cop car pulled up five minutes later. A male officer in his forties stepped out of the driver’s side, and a female officer in her late twenties got out of the passenger side.
Riker quickly explained the situation and handed over the drugs and the weapons he’d confiscated. As the male officer escorted the young man to the car, the female asked Riker more questions.
“You want to explain what you were doing at the park at one in the morning?”
He glanced down at her badge, which he could just make out in the glow of the flashing police car lights. “Just out for a walk, Officer Alvarez.”
“You live in town?”
“No. I grew up here, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been back.”
She gave him a long look. “In that case, a word of advice. The only people who come down to Grant Park this time of night
are people who are selling and people who are looking to score. I suggest you steer clear of it.”
Riker frowned. The young man had said something similar. “Let me ask you something, Officer. If you know there are drug deals going down in the park, shouldn’t you be here putting a stop to it?”
She looked away, but only for a moment. Then her face hardened. “We’re a small department. We’re doing the best we can, but having an officer in the park full time to stop drug deals isn’t in the budget. Is that all right with you, or do you want to tell me how to do my job some more?”
“Apologies. I’m not trying to criticize. Just getting the lay of the land.”
Her expression softened. “And I’m not trying to be harsh. Do me a favor and be careful. While I appreciate what you did tonight, vigilante justice isn’t welcome around here. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Riker watched as the officers got back in the squad car and drove off. He waited until the lights faded into the distance, and he walked back to Megan’s. The long day of driving, the alcohol, and the excitement all seemed to catch up with him at once, and he slipped into bed, bone-tired.
4
Riker pulled on the door handle to the high school entrance, but it didn’t budge. He tried the other door with the same result. Confused, he took a step back to make sure that they didn’t push open.
A voice came through a speaker next to the door.
“Can I help you?”
Riker looked around and saw a camera mounted in the corner above the doors. He smiled up at it. “Yes, I’m trying to get inside. I’m meeting one of the teachers for lunch.”
“Which teacher are you here to see?” the voice inquired.
“Megan Carter.”
After a short pause there was a buzzing sound followed by a click. This time the door pulled open easily. Riker stepped inside and approached a woman sitting at a desk behind a glass shield. She pushed a clipboard toward him.
“Sign in and I’ll get you a visitor's pass.”