by Jeff Carson
Wolf made no show of taking any of it in, which seemed to disappoint Gary a little.
Wolf had seen the room before. He hadn’t, however, seen the man behind the bar before.
“David Wolf, this is Henry Young. My head of security operations for Connell-Brack Mining Corp.”
“Hi.” Wolf nodded and extended a shake.
Wolf’s hand swam in the massive grip of the much taller man, who looked to be almost seven feet tall, and though he wore a long sleeved sweater, Wolf could tell from the clear lines of the muscles in his neck and slim face that the man was in top physical shape. Wolf fought the part of his brain that wanted to openly gawk at the man’s massive physical form, and kept his gaze neutral.
Young stared with calm bark-colored eyes, one of which had a two-inch vertical scar underneath it. It looked like it had been a particularly bad knife wound that didn’t get much medical attention. Or none at all. His closely cropped brown hair and overall physical presence gave off the air of Special Forces, rather than circus freak.
“Young here was a SEAL.” Gary looked at Young, then Wolf.
Young blinked once.
Wolf nodded at the news.
Gary paused and looked between them, waiting for something that wasn’t coming. Maybe he thought they would launch into a debate over which was better, a Ranger or SEAL. He cleared his throat and held up a finger to Young. “Can you pour us three glasses from that Macallan 1939?” Gary pointed to a bottle in the front row.
Young turned to fetch the bottle and dug out three glasses from behind the bar.
“Come here.” Gary walked to a frosted glass door that was illuminated softly within and pressed a button.
Wolf followed.
The glass opened like a Star Trek bay door, they walked through, and it closed soundlessly behind them a few seconds later. Inside, the music played at the same ambient volume as out in the massive room.
“Take your pick.” He waved his hand at rows of neatly stacked cigars, some in their own state-of-the-art humidor cases.
Wolf shrugged. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
Gary picked two, clipped them with expert speed and handed one to Wolf. “Davidoff. This one will go great with the Macallan.”
“Thanks.”
They left the room, walked back to the waiting scotches, and sat down on the hand-carved barstools.
Young stood behind the bar, eyeing Wolf without expression.
Gary picked up his scotch. “Cheers.”
Wolf chimed his glass against the other two and set it back down without taking a sip.
Gary looked at Wolf while he sipped, then exhaled and set down his glass.
“What, you’re not going to drink that? It’s an eleven thousand dollar bottle of scotch.” Gary laughed. “Do you want something else?”
“I want to know what you want.”
Gary stood and walked to the other side of the bar. He pulled out a box of wooden matches and lit his cigar, twirling and licking and pulling, until he was satisfied with the look of the ember, then set the box down in front of Wolf.
Wolf ignored it, leaned his elbows on the bar top, and stared at him.
Gary glared. “I want you to come work for me.”
Wolf shook his head. “What?”
“The reason I asked the rest of the council to appoint my son Sheriff is because I want you to come work for me.”
“No.” Wolf said.
“Listen. Hear me out. Like I said, have I ever let you down before? When your father died, who stepped in and bought your ranch and let you and your family stay on it?” He pointed the smoldering cigar at him. “Payment free for years, and then interest free when you insisted on paying me?”
Wolf sat back against the stool, took a deep breath, and looked at two polar bear heads on the wall. “All right,” he said. “What do you have?”
“You would be working closely here with Henry. Now that we’ve opened our sixth mine, we need more security. But I need competent guys to head it up. You’d be surprised at the kind of shit that goes on our world. We don’t just need uniformed guards at every entrance. I’m talking about clandestine stuff. Real spy versus spy shit, and I need people with brains leading the effort to keep CBM safe against the competition.”
Wolf leaned forward again, and thumbed the ring on his pinky finger. The red coral inlay was luminescent in a tight beam of light that shined down from the ceiling high above.
“I know exactly what you are making right now at the department. Forty-one thousand dollars. Before taxes. With a twelve year old child. Living on a piece of land you don’t own.” Gary sipped his scotch and set down the glass. “How much is the assisted living your mother is staying at in Denver? Jesus. How are you living? How are you eating?” He took a big puff of the cigar and looked at him with squinted eyes. Gary put on an embarrassed face. Embarrassed for prying so rudely into Wolf’s intimate, personal life. Gary held up a hand in a defenseless gesture and then continued in a quiet voice. “And now you have that Godforsaken incident with your brother in Italy. How much is that funeral going to set you back?”
Wolf sat still and looked at Young. The large man was having trouble concealing a smile.
“Come work for me,” Gary said. “You want the Sheriff job? Why? So what? So you can start at sixty-one-K and then finally have enough to live hand to mouth? I’ll start you at two hundred fifty thousand dollars. Within two years you’ll be making more.
“You’ll work from just outside town at our headquarters, and travel a few times a month, just to our other mines, which are in Colorado and California. And when you do travel, you’ll be in the lap of luxury.” He took a loud sip of the scotch and kept his ice blue eyes locked on Wolf’s. “You’ll be able to buy that damn ranch back from me. You think I like owning that thing? You’ll be able to pay for whatever college your son wants to go to.”
Wolf stared at the glass in front of him, lifted it, and took a sip. The peaty liquid slid down his throat with a gentle burn. It was the smoothest scotch he’d ever tasted in his life.
Gary laughed and stood tall with his arms out. “David. This is a big deal. A big opportunity, and I would be honored if you would come work for our company. Give that piece of shit job to Derek, and come work for me.”
Wolf picked up and twisted the glass, looking at the distorted magnification of his father’s silver ring through the scotch, and set it down with an exhale.
“There are a few problems, Gary.”
The silence of the room was deafening. There was no music. It was in between overtures, or movements, or songs.
“Firstly, I really wanted that Sheriff job. And I still do.” He glanced at Young, who still stared at Wolf with thinly veiled amusement. “I don’t know why this guy got out, but I left the Army because I wanted to come here to follow in my father’s footsteps. It’s not about the money, Gary. It’s about what I’ve always wanted, ever since my dad was killed in the line of duty. To be a lawman. To be like him.”
“David. This is a lawman position. You’ll be doing something—“
“There’s also one more thing. Something more important than anything else. I don’t know what your son told you about what I did to his face. But he got what he deserved that day. If I had let him have his way, I’d be getting buried right next to my brother this week.”
Gary stood straight and inhaled sharply through his nose.
“Your son can’t be Sheriff of Sluice County, Gary.”
The soft music started up again.
Gary’s eyes were glazed, thinking hard about something. Then they focused on Wolf and went mean. “So let me get this straight. Your story is my son tried to kill you?”
Wolf side-stepped off the barstool and rested his eyes on a snarling boar’s head hanging above Young’s now smiling face.
Gary’s voice was menacing. “What my son told me about what happened between you two was obviously a little one sided. I understand that, David. I knew yo
u didn’t jump him on the mountain that day. Probably didn’t club him with a stick while his back was turned, like he said you did. That’s why we never considered raising charges against you, and I told my son to drop it. But what you are accusing my son of goes well beyond what exaggerations he may,” he raised his eyebrows, “or may not have come up with.”
Wolf slapped the bar top and turned away. “Sorry, Gary. I appreciate the offer, but I can’t take it.”
Gary chuffed from behind him. “So that’s it?”
Wolf waved a hand and walked out of the room.
Gary’s soft footsteps followed Wolf as he marched down the hall, through rising and falling classical music seeping out of log support pillars, through mouth- watering aromas of seasoned and seared prime rib and potatoes, and out the front door.
“Wolf!” Gary yelled from the front doorway. “We’re going to have to talk about that ranch of mine you’re staying on. I think it’s high time I start charging market value for rent, or I’m going to have to sell it. If you can’t afford it, maybe you can find somewhere else to live. Good luck.”
And with that, he slammed the door shut.
Wolf turned back to his truck and got in. As he turned the ignition, the headlights illuminated a man smoking a cigarette on the edge of the circled drive. It was Buck, one of the loyal ranch hands, with his ever-present expressionless gaze Wolf had always seen on him. Or was it Earl?
Wolf spit gravel from his rear tires on the way out.
Chapter 6
Gary Connell chomped through the tip of his cigar, then mashed it into the ashtray, sending a shower of smoldering sparks on the bar counter.
His father had been right again, and he’d be hearing about it in a few seconds. Or minutes. Or whenever he finished shuffling his ass down the hall. The rattling cough Gary heard two minutes ago told him he was on his way.
On cue, the old man scraped his walker around the corner and into the trophy room.
A wide, condescending smile lit up his face. “That went well.” He laughed, instantly breaking into a coughing fit. “Put that thing out.”
Gary held up his hands, looked to the smoldering ashtray, and walked to his father. “Why don’t you stay in bed, old man?”
Wallace Connell’s eyes were pure fury. “Why don’t you pull your head out of your ass?”
“Right.” Gary walked back to the bar. “You can walk yourself.”
Gary sat down and pointed at his glass.
Young stared at it, unmoving.
Gary raised his eyebrows. “Please.”
After a few seconds of motionless contemplation, Young picked up the bottle and poured a few inches of scotch, all the while gazing into Gary’s eyes.
An involuntary shiver ran up Gary’s spine as the huge man flawlessly grabbed the bottle, took off the lid, and poured without even looking at what he was doing.
He was surrounded by assholes.
Gary sat motionless, watching out of the corner of his eye as his father arrived and steadied himself on a barstool, twisting and tipping it, sending his cane skidding across the wood floor. With a grunt and what Gary hoped was a fart, and nothing else, his father got control and perched himself on the stool next to him.
Young sprung into action, pulling out a fresh glass, setting it in front of his father and pouring him two fingers of Macallan.
“Thanks, Henry.”
Young leaned back and stared at Gary.
Assholes.
Gary exhaled, wiped his head and cleared his throat. “All right. I’m on board. Let’s do it.”
His father blew scotch out his mouth and all over the bar. “You think? Jesus Christ, boy. You don’t have to tell us. He was wearing the damn thing on his hand!” He stared, shaking slightly, like he always did now. “We are runnin’ on borrowed time boys. Make no mistake about it. We’ve got to act.” He shook his head. “Tonight. They’re getting close down there.” He pointed a shaking hand to the dark window.
Gary took a sip. The five hundred dollar pool of liquid in his glass suddenly tasted bitter. “I know. I just wanted to keep him —“
“I know what you were trying to do. You’ve been dickin’ around with that boy for sixteen years now. Ever since you made this goddam mess. You’re well beyond being able to do the right thing here.” He paused and turned to Gary. “It’s decision time.”
Decision time.
Gary had heard that phrase countless times from his father’s mouth during his lifelong tenure with the family business. Decision time was code. Code for time to stop being a pussy and man up. Man up and step over that line you think you’ve established as a boundary you won’t cross – that moral high ground you think you stand on.
Decision time. Them or us.
His father slapped a hand on the bar. “If he’s around when they hit that cave, we are done. This?” He waved his jittery hands to the four corners of the room. “This is all gone, son.” His voice lowered. “Decision time.”
Gary eyed Young, who was concentrating on the glass that looked like a thimble in his mammoth hand.
His father sucked down the scotch in one gulp. “All right. Are we all on the same page now?” He stared at Gary.
Gary’s gaze dropped a few inches and he nodded.
“Call Stephanie. I’m going back to bed.”
Stephanie appeared instantly, pushing his plush top seated wheel chair around the corner. She had clearly been listening from the hallway just outside the vast room, but Gary didn’t care. Her bionic ears had heard worse things over the years, and she was paid handsomely enough to hear everything she was supposed to, and to forget everything she was supposed to.
Stephanie moved in quick, picked up the frail eighty-eight year old man from the barstool and set him down gently, gathered the cane, and then wheeled him away in brisk silence.
Gary watched them leave the room, longing for the day he’d see his father’s body sunk in the ground, and then turned back to Young.
“Buck, Earl, and I will take care of the construction site.” He pointed a finger at the huge man. “You be careful. More careful than you think you need to be with him. He’s competent, and he knows these woods, this land.” Gary took a sip and narrowed his eyes. “Almost as well as I do. So be careful.”
Young blew a puff of air through his lips.
Gary stared at him for a beat, and then continued. “When you’re done, bring that damn ring to me, and nothing else. No suspicion. No traces back to us.”
Young nodded once, put his glass down, and left the room.
Gary twisted to watch the behemoth of a man leave, wondering just what the hell he would do to take care of the job. He didn’t want to know. Regret slammed like a lead weight in his stomach. He closed his eyes and took a deep, transforming breath, instantly eradicating the weak emotion.
When he opened his eyes, he was Gary Connell once again, a man with more power in his little finger than any God these backwoods Rocky Points hicks prayed to.
Chapter 7
Wolf pulled into the gravel driveway and parked behind a giant new model diesel Ford truck. Wilson Construction Corp was scrawled alongside the door. It was Mark’s truck, the ex-addict construction firm owner who had latched onto his wife in rehab over the last six weeks. Or had she latched onto him?
Wolf took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
Sarah’s mother, Angela, answered the door. “Oh my! David! Come in, come in.” She waved her hand ferociously.
Wolf scrunched his face. “Hi, Angela. I really can’t. Is Jack around? I just wanted to—“
“What? Nonsense. Come in here and say hi to us.” Her voice was gentle. She closed the front door and held both his arms. “David, how are you doing?” She looked up at him with the same sky blue eyes as her daughter’s. Tears filled her lower eyelids. “I’m so sorry about your brother.”
Wolf nodded. “Thank you, Angela.”
Jack thumped down the hall and launched into Wolf’s side.
“Hey, buddy. How’s it going?”
“Good to see you dad.”
“Good to see you.” He hugged tighter, almost breaking into tears as an unexpected wave of gratitude hit him. Just a couple days ago he was halfway around the world, unsure he’d ever see his son again, and the promise of this moment, Wolf knew, was one of the reasons he was still alive.
“Hi, David.” Sarah padded down the hall in her socks, wearing faded jeans and a white tee shirt that showed off her perfect figure. She leaned against the hall and brushed her blond hair behind her ear.
“Hi, Sarah. I’m just here to see Jack real quick. How are you doing?”
She nodded and smiled warmly. “I’m doing well, thanks. You?”
Wolf nodded noncommittally as he studied Sarah’s face. Her skin was tanned and smooth looking, and her eyes were the blue of a mid-day sky, and perfectly lucid looking. The whites of her eyes were like cream. She looked full of life. She looked good.
Loud conversation between men bellowed from the kitchen, and Sarah glanced over her shoulder, smiling sheepishly at what sounded like a good-natured argument between her father and Mark.
Her mother ignored Wolf’s protests and grabbed his arm, pulling him past Sarah, down the hall, and into the large kitchen.
Wolf’s mouth gushed with saliva at the site and smell of open pizza boxes on the counter.
“Hi, David. Good to see you.” Dennis stood from the kitchen table and shook his hand warmly. “How you holding up?”
Wolf smiled. “I’m doing all right, thanks.”
Dennis kept his grip with a sincere look. “I’m sorry about your brother.”
Wolf nodded and looked to Mark, who was sitting in awkward silence.
He stood and shook Wolf’s hand. “Hi, David. Good to see you again.”
“Hi, Mark.” Wolf returned the hearty handshake.