St. Nacho's 4: The Book of Daniel

by Z. A. Maxfield

  Whoever had covered our sidewalk with seals and signs apparently had an ax to grind, but I wasn’t worried. Whatever they wanted, I wasn’t about to let it get to me.

  Nothing could feel quite so benign as a warm spring day in St. Nacho’s.

  So… For some unknown—and probably unknowable—reason, the Witches of Westwick were trying to freak me out. I blew out a long, thin stream of smoke and grinned.

  Cool.

  Chapter Seven

  In mockery of everyone’s sadness, the day of the funeral turned out to be brilliant. Perfectly beautiful. The sky was a vast and clear cerulean blue, and the sun radiated down to bake the pale golden brown adobe facade of Iglesia Santo Ignacio. Not only did the crowds fill the church itself, the attendees overflowed into the social hall next door to watch on video monitors. Some folks milled around outside, having found no seat in either place but unwilling to go home without a chance to show their support to the families.

  I watched the funeral from the banquet hall, but when the video panned the crowd, I saw Cam and JT in their dress uniforms. They sat with several members of the SIFD, somber and serious.

  At the center of everyone’s attention, four closed caskets sat covered with sprays of beautiful white lilies and gladioli.

  After mass, Cam and JT were among the many men who bore the caskets from the church to the cars waiting to take them to their final resting places. The receiving line was endless. After spending some time with their neighbors and friends, each family left to bury its dead.

  The death of kids that young was unbearable. Unthinkable. Their deaths left behind too many broken hearts, and eventually people would start asking hard questions about blame and restitution. The families, united now in grief, would splinter under guilt and the exhausting process of starting over.

  Everyone was already asking themselves what they might have done differently, and whether they could have averted the tragedy in the first place if only they had been a little more careful.

  I cornered Cam after he talked with the families and told him to come with me. The look on his face was priceless—like I’d grown another head—but I’d done odder things since coming to St. Nacho’s. He blinked at me but didn’t argue. I imagined he was so surprised he followed me because he couldn’t think of a reason not to.

  “Where are we going?” he asked when we got to my car.

  “My place.” I caught him giving me a nervous sideways glance, and I laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not coming on to you or anything.”

  He was wary, and I didn’t blame him. I’d given him enough shit—stupid teasing like calling him the abominable fireman—that it made sense to look twice at an overture of friendship from me.

  I wanted to tell him to relax—to prove that I could be a good friend. I wanted to tell him he’d given me a lot of food for thought with that crack about leading with my wallet. There weren’t a lot of people in my life who’d have the nerve to say such a thing to me. Then again, there weren’t a lot of people in my life, period.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” I told him. “About money.”

  Cam shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe that wasn’t the most—”

  “You were right. It probably does seem like I use that to keep from connecting. I admit I was blindsided by Jake and JT. It seemed sudden to me, and I handled their announcement badly. But regarding the boys who died… What was I supposed to do? Offer to resurrect them? I don’t know them. I don’t know their parents. But I wanted to help. So the first thing I thought of was funeral expenses. I’m not proud that I didn’t think of establishing an educational trust or a burn foundation in their name, I just… I didn’t think of those things, and I did think of funeral costs.”

  “That was a practical suggestion. I felt bad about saying that, after. I didn’t have the right to tell you how to respond.”

  “You had a point though. With Jake anyway. I used to lead with my heart. I can’t always remember how anymore.”

  Cam shrugged. “He really looks up to you.”

  “I know he does.” I recalled Jake’s face, hopeful, then crumbling to hurt when I admitted my inability to be optimistic for him. “I want him to be happy.”

  “It’s what you do from now on that counts, Daniel.”

  “I guess.” I pulled into my driveway and used my remote to open the garage door. “I’ll let you be my conscience from now on.”

  “Don’t do that.” Cam looked down. “I’m the last person who should be telling anyone what to do about family.”

  I wanted to pursue that, wanted to know more about where Cam came from and what kind of family he’d left behind to come to St. Nacho’s, but we’d arrived at my place, and I had some other things on my mind.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you the last few days.”

  “Yeah?” Cam still wasn’t looking me directly in the eye. He rarely looked right at me, but that was the first time I considered how odd that was, since he was direct with everyone else.

  “I discovered…” I swallowed. “I realized I wanted to do something for you. Maybe prove I don’t always think with my checkbook.”

  “Jeez.” Cam shoved both hands through his short hair. “I regret ever saying that.”

  “You were being honest. I appreciate that more than you know. You’ve always been really good to me. I haven’t made it easy.”

  He chuckled. “No. You most certainly have not.”

  “Come with me.” I got out of the car and came around to his side. “I have something, I thought…” Suddenly I was afraid to show him.

  “What?” He got out of the car and stood there, waiting.

  “I wanted to show you something. To share it with you if you’d like it. But it seems really dumb now.”

  Cam gazed at me thoughtfully. He was still in his uniform, and I couldn’t help but notice how good he looked. At the same time he was distant. Maybe it was that—the air of command his uniform gave him that made me doubtful. Maybe I was afraid he’d see this as just another time when I threw money around to make a problem go away. But maybe he’d realize I’d been thinking about him, and I wanted to see him happy.

  Cam grew impatient. “How will I know if you don’t just spit it out?”

  I took him into the garage and pulled the tarp of my motorcycle with a sigh I couldn’t keep from escaping.

  I fucking loved that bike.

  I’d had it brought to St. Nacho’s and paid a mechanic to come down and maintain it regularly, knowing I couldn’t ride it. Knowing I might never ride again. Part of me wanted to sell it and part of me couldn’t let go, so there it sat in my garage under a sheet like a piece of furniture.

  Cam’s eyes grew round. “Ducati?”

  “It’s…yeah.” A Multistrada. I’d heard some of the firefighters rode when they were off duty, and I couldn’t think of a better way to blow off steam than to take out a bike or a better bike to take out. I sure the hell would have if I could. “Do you ride?”

  “Yes… But…” He ran the flat of his hand over the seat as if he were afraid to touch it. “Nothing like this.”

  “I used to ride all the time. I got this bike because it’s comfortable for touring. I thought maybe if we got away once in a while, Bree and I could bridge the gap growing between us. It wasn’t like we even talked anymore, and I had some crazy notion that we could get some matching leathers and ride up and down the coast or head out into the wine country on weekends. That it might help. I admit it was a pretty stupid idea.”

  “It’s not that stupid.”

  “You’d think it was ridiculous if you’d ever met Bree. Taking Bree for a ride on a motorcycle would be like putting a leash on a tropical fish and dragging it for a walk through town. There’s never been anything more incompatible than the people Bree and I turned out to be.”

  “Maybe that’s what brought you together.”

  “Like opposites attract?” I shook my head. “When we met, we weren’t that different.”


  Cam’s eyes narrowed. “Actually, I meant that you knew you’d never have to love her, or even like her. You probably thought if you didn’t care about her, it wouldn’t bother your conscience to use her like you did.”

  Where the hell had that come from? “You need to choose between the muscle-bound party slut or the marriage counselor, because it’s really fucked-up when you try to do both.”

  Cam turned a dull shade of red. “I should probably just go.” Despite his words he didn’t remove his hand from the Ducati’s saddle. Ah, hell. Cam couldn’t help himself; he had to tell the truth even if it was going to cost him something he wanted badly.

  “Take the bike, Cam.” He lifted his gaze to mine even as his brows drew together. I pulled the keys out of my pocket and handed them over. “Let the wind blow some of the pain of this god-awful week from your soul. Get out of here.”

  He took my keys and looked at them for a while before saying anything. “You could come with me.”

  I shook my head and turned. If he looked too closely, he’d see I was paralyzed by fear. With only one arm, I doubted I could hold on properly, and the idea of more pain—more trauma to an arm that already hurt almost all day, every day was unbearable.

  “I’ve only got the one helmet.” I called over my shoulder before I opened the door into the house.

  “I have a helmet.”

  That made me smile. “Good thing, since you have a head like a buffalo. You probably couldn’t fit mine over your left nut. Take the bike for as long as you like. As long as you need it. Do something for yourself for a change, Cam. I really want to see your smile again.”

  “I… Thank you.”

  “Take it and go.” My voice grew hoarse. “Ride it for both of us.”

  I didn’t watch to see if Cam used my helmet or whether he knew what he was doing. The Multistrada was entirely electronically controlled. It had four different riding modes with endless permutations on those—all available to him at the touch of a button. Whatever he chose, I heard the bike start up and idle on the drive for a bit. I’d had a Harley once, and the Ducati purred like a sewing machine next to that bike. I imagined he was going through all the screens to see what she had on offer until he got the hang of things enough to take her out. He was a grown man. He didn’t need me peering out the window and worrying about whether he was doing it right.

  I listened for a minute, waiting, and when I heard Cam ride away, I breathed a sigh of relief. After that I pulled a bottle of Zyr from the freezer and prepared to do vodka shots and watch Headline News until I escaped the tight bands of self-pity compressing my chest or I was no longer conscious, whichever came first.

  * * *

  I slouched into Bêtise that Sunday morning, praying for a quick and painless death. Muse was probably delighted to see me so miserable.

  “Love the shades. Did we do a little drinking last night, Dan?”

  “That.” I pointed to the huge copper cappuccino machine behind the counter. “Triple shots. Extra large. Whatever. Just lots.”

  “Sit down before you fall. I’ll bring it out to you.”

  I didn’t even question her kindness. I just flopped into a chair at a table as far away from the windows as possible. A few minutes later Jake sat down across from me.

  “You look like hell. What happened?”

  “Vodka,” I growled. “Vodka happened. And no matter how many times I go through this, I never fucking learn.”

  Jake laughed. “I see. Well how about a nice baveuse omelet? Or maybe some greasy chicken sausages.”

  My stomach roiled.

  “I know. I could fix you up some lightly fried eel?”

  I ran to the bathroom with Jake’s laughter ringing in my ears. By the time I returned to the table from getting sick, then cleaning up and splashing cold water on my face, Muse had delivered my coffee. I put my shades back on.

  “You’ll never guess what I saw last night,” said Jake. “I saw a crotch rocket just like yours on the on-ramp to the 101 South with a man that looked like Cameron Rooney riding it.”

  “In no way can that bike be described as a crotch rocket.”

  “You loaned your bike to Cam?”

  This was a tricky subject since I’d never allowed Jake to ride it. I could already tell he was building up a good head of righteous indignation. “Yeah.”

  His tone turned frosty. “Yet you never let me ride it.”

  “I’m sorry.” I came clean. “I’ve been having a hard time letting it go.”

  “Just because you can’t ride it now doesn’t mean you never will ag—”

  “I can’t think that far ahead anymore. I really can’t.” I swallowed hard.

  “So, what? Cam happened to admire it and you thought, what the hell? Even though I’ve never let anyone touch my bike, ever, I’ll give him the keys?”

  “Yeah.” I took a sip of coffee even though it was hotter than molten rock. “That’s about it.”

  To my very great surprise, Jake flashed me a huge grin. “Yeah right.”

  “What?”

  “He came in here this morning, and for the first time in days, he didn’t look like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. You did good, brother mine. Good call.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I waved his compliment off, but it secretly delighted me to hear that Cam might be feeling better. “Like I care what the abominable fireman is feeling.”

  Jake got up and flipped me off. “Kippered herring.” He headed back toward the kitchen, turning every so often to call out some repulsive breakfast food. “Cheese grits…biscuits and gravy…black pudding…” He went through the kitchen door. All eyes seemed to be on me. Had no one ever seen a hungover man before?

  Chapter Eight

  The cryptic note I’d gotten from Muse that morning bore the same mark she put on my coffee sleeve. She asked me to meet her outside Nacho’s Bar at nine p.m. I have to admit, I worried I was being set up, in Stephen King’s Carrie fashion, to expiate the sins of all the voracious capitalists of the world. It turned out being the person who put a smile on Cam Rooney’s face—I guess my brother told her I loaned him the Ducati—went a long way toward elevating my status in her eyes.

  “You wanted to see me?” I waved the little note.

  “Yeah. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that I’ve been giving you such a hard time. Yasha told me what you did for Cam. I guess I just wanted to say how nice I thought that was.”

  I tried to think of something to say to that. You’re welcome didn’t seem appropriate, and I wasn’t exactly bursting with small talk. “All right. You couldn’t say that this morning?”

  Muse’s small face always bore a hint of something slightly impish, and it positively glowed with mischief now. In the light of the mercury vapor streetlamps, her hair had a blue cast and her heavily lined eyes looked like bruises. “I want to show you something.”

  “Okay.” I went along.

  “It’s a tree.”

  I nodded. “Ah…Okay. Cool.”

  She indicated I should follow her, and so I did, even as I prepared myself for an elaborate practical joke. She walked about fifty yards and stopped at the base of a really big, really healthy-looking tree whose branches were so thick and low that even though Muse wore a short dress and a pair of lug-soled boots with towering heels, she easily climbed to my eye level in no time.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Climb up here,” she urged, and I froze where I stood.

  “I can’t climb up there, are you kidding? With only one arm?”

  “You can. I tried it out this afternoon. You can mostly do it with your feet. This is the best climbing tree in all of St. Nacho’s.”

  I took my first step up onto a low branch. “Did my brother put you up to this?”

  “Nobody put me up to this. I just want you to see something.”

  “Can’t I see it from down here?”

  “You have to come up. It’s the best way.”

>   Maybe because she was a mere slip of a girl in a dress and high heels, and maybe because I was a man and I didn’t want her to think I was a fucking coward, even though I was, I took one step up, then another, and it turned out she was right. It was easy. I held my injured hand close to my chest, protecting it against possible bumps and scrapes but getting up into that tree was really a nearly effortless combination of gripping with my good hand and stepping from branch to branch. By the time I got to where Muse sat up in the loftier branches, her eyes sparkling with happiness, I was probably doing a little sparkling myself. I’d always loved climbing trees.

  “This is actually fun,” I said breathlessly. “What am I supposed to see from here?”

  “Well. For one thing, the clouds are moving fast, and you can see the moon,” she pointed out.

  “Nice. Too bad you can’t see many stars.”

  “Some nights you can.”

  “I’ll bet. I’m going to keep this in mind for when I can’t sleep.”

  “Do that.” Her nose wrinkled when she laughed. She started to swing down.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  “Home. It’s getting late.”

  “All right.” I started to move too, but she put her hand up to stop me.

  “Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean you should. Being in a tree is spiritual. It helps you get in touch with nature. Izzie may not be able to see your aura, and Minerva might think you pose a threat to St. Nacho’s, but I’ve been wondering if maybe you just need a little nudge in a more organic direction.”

  “Don’t nudge me. I’m in a tree,” I teased. “I’ll fall.”

  She grinned at me. “I know, but don’t worry. It’s perfectly safe up here.”

  She scampered down and took off, and once again I was left wondering if everyone in town was batshit crazy.

  The problem was I liked it there up that tree. The branches were thick, and the bark soft. Nothing dug into my back or my ass. The leaves were green and moist, and they felt cool and soft when the wind blew them against my skin.