by Jeff Carson
“Sit down and eat. I can see you’re hungry.” Angela dug a plate out of the cupboard and gave it to him.
He looked at the thick slices of meat-covered pizza in the box. “Uh. Yeah, okay, thanks.”
Sarah sat down quietly next to Mark, looking only slightly mortified.
“This stuff is probably a lot different than you had in Italy, huh?” Angela said.
“Yeah, it is, but I’m sure glad to be eating it again.”
They ate in good-natured silence for a bit. Then Wolf fielded their questions about Italy, telling vague snippets of the story, keeping Jack’s sensitive ears in mind.
Sensing Wolf’s desire to change the subject, Dennis and Angela took over being the center of attention, recounting their harrowing adventures with luggage in Rome, the best wine they’d ever tasted in their lives in Tuscany, and a few other mild tales of intrigue from their voyage to Italy so many years ago.
Wolf had heard the stories before, but still laughed in all the right places as if it were the first time.
Wolf ate his pizza with his eyes down, remembering how he and Sarah had had this entire house to themselves for those few weeks, making love in every single room. Back when they were young and their love burned white-hot.
He looked up at Sarah, and found she was looking at him, undoubtedly thinking of the same thing.
Wolf swore he saw a hint of a smile, which she quickly smothered against her glass of soda.
She looked good.
Snapping out of it, whatever it was, he turned to Mark. “So, Mark, what are you working on now? Houses?”
Mark flicked a glance at Sarah and cleared his throat. “No. I actually have a highway construction company, and then we also work in commercial construction. I used to do houses,” he waved his hand towards Dennis, “but not anymore.”
Dennis snorted. “Yeah, now he sucks money from the government. Can’t blame him. They pay well.”
Mark shook his head and smiled.
Wolf nodded. “Are you working on the highway expansion in Cave Creek Canyon?”
“Yes, I am actually.”
Wolf was familiar with the project. Everyone was. Cave Creek Canyon was north of town, beginning just past the Connell Compound entrance. The steep walled, winding canyon created a traffic bottleneck for the Denver weekend warriors coming and going during ski season. The project was widening the road to two lanes in both directions, and generally straightening the road, removing the two blind turns where numerous accidents had occurred over the years.
“And how’s it going?”
He shrugged. “It’s going a little slower than anticipated. But we’ll get it done before this upcoming ski season, that’s for sure.”
Wolf nodded. The table went silent for a few moments, so he pressed on. “Why so slow?”
“Well, it’s just tricky country. Tricky ground. It’s called cave creek for a reason. We’ve run into a lot of caves and pockets, bringing the ground above them tumbling down, making even more work for us. Or sometimes we’ll brace what we do find so they won’t collapse, which takes time. Some of the caves are already collapsed, leaving scree piles high up the side of the mountain, which we have to clear, then build walls against the new slide area it creates.” He shrugged and shook his head, then put his elbows on the table. “It’s a lot of work.”
“And I’ll stick with houses, thank you.” Dennis chimed in.
Mark laughed. “Yeah, yeah.” His face turned serious again. “It’s just tough to predict what exactly it’s going to take to finish it until you get digging. But I’m pretty confident we’re close.”
Wolf thought of how he’d explored some of the caves there with Nate over the years. Then he thought about the location of the construction site, just about a quarter mile past the Connell’s 2Shoe Ranch.
Wolf’s thoughts spiraled further inward as he glanced at Dennis and Mark, who were laughing and talking about the intricacies of interest rates on construction loans, appreciation, or something else Wolf had no interest in. He looked to Jack, and thought of the two hundred fifty thousand dollar a year job he’d just turned down. Over twenty thousand dollars a month.
His stomach churned as he wondered yet again if he’d made a mistake. Then he thought about how a thousand tiny hairs were ripped from the top of his scalp as Connell’s hands had bounced off the top of his head. Then he remembered the sight of his hat flying over the edge of the cliff.
“David?”
Wolf’s eyes rose to meet everyone staring at him. “Yes?”
Sarah was staring halfway between him and her plate, and the rest were staring at him with wide expectant glares.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Dennis cleared his throat. “I was just saying I was talking to Margaret Hitchens today, giving her hell for the whole Sheriff appointment thing, and she said that you were taking another job?”
Wolf set the crust of his pizza on his plate. “Uh, no. I didn’t end up taking that job.”
Dennis furrowed his brow. “Oh.” He looked confused.
The table plummeted into a deep silence, and everyone’s eyes studied their plates. Everyone’s but Jack’s, that is, who was staring at Wolf with wide-eyed concern.
Wolf winked and gave a small nod, which instantly relaxed Jack, who smiled and shoved half a piece of pizza into his mouth.
Wolf shook his head with a smirk and then looked to Angela. “Thank you so much for dinner, Angela.” He glanced around the table and stood up. “And Dennis, and Sarah, and Mark, and weirdo.”
Jack laughed through his stuffed mouth and so did the rest of the table, relieved to leave the awkward silence behind.
Dennis and Mark stood up, scooting their chairs back on the wood floor.
“That new Sheriff’s an idiot and an asshole.” Dennis poked the table with his index finger.
“Dennis!” Angela pointed to Jack with a horrified expression. “Where the heck did that come from? And watch your mouth.”
They all laughed again as Dennis gave Angela a defiant sideways glance.
He glared into Wolf’s eyes. “I’m serious.”
Wolf stopped. “Any particular reason you are telling me this, Dennis?”
He squinted his eyes. “Well, no. I just… I can’t believe he’s Sheriff now, and you’re not. God damn, it’s about time we start electing a Sheriff, like the rest of the free world. It’s ludicrous. It’s a God-damn—”
“Dad. Calm down.” Sarah put her hand out towards her father. “I’m sure Dave has a plan to get his job back. Just…please, stop swearing.”
Dennis shook his head and concentrated on his plate.
Wolf smiled and shook his head. “Thanks, guys. I’m glad to have you on my side.”
They all began picking up their plates and glasses.
Wolf stood and touched Sarah lightly on the shoulder. “Sarah, could I talk to you a minute?”
She looked to Mark, who sat looking a little awkward, apparently still reeling from the family-esque moment that had just passed. Then his face broke into a graceful smile as he stood and shook Wolf’s hand. He grabbed some plates and walked to the kitchen.
Wolf gave Jack a hug. “You want to go fishing tomorrow afternoon, buddy? After school?”
“Yeah. Can Brian come?”
“Yep. That’s what I was thinking. His dad’s in Laramie for the week, so I figured he’d want to come. I’ll call you in the afternoon before I pick you up. Probably around three or four.”
“Okay.”
“Later,” Wolf said. “I love you.”
“Bye. Love you too.”
Wolf ruffled his son’s hair and walked with Sarah down the hall to the front door.
She lowered her voice. “What’s up?”
“As I think you know, John’s funeral is on Saturday at ten in the morning. Can you put together a list of friends you may think we need to contact? I’m doing the same, but I just don’t want to forget anyone.”
“Yeah, sure. O
f course.”
He nodded, looking down at her. “Thanks.”
She tilted her head sideways, sending her long blonde bangs in front of her pale glacial blue eyes. She tucked them behind her ear, looked up, crossed her legs and put her hands in the rear pockets of her faded jeans.
Wolf couldn’t help but glance at her perfect chest. The scent of her flowery perfume, that same brand she always wore, sent a rush of hormones through his body. He turned away and looked out into the night through the door window. “You look really good, Sarah. Really healthy. Happy.” He reached for the door.
She stood unmoving; watching him, then lowered her eyes at the approach of footsteps.
Mark walked down the hallway and put an arm around her.
“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” He looked at Sarah. “I’ll be picking up Jack tomorrow afternoon. He can spend the night at the ranch if he wants. I’ll take him to school the next morning.”
She nodded staring at his feet.
Wolf held out his hand. “Good to see you, Mark.”
Mark lifted his arm off Sarah and gave his hand a quick pump, replacing his embrace with a small rub of Sarah’s shoulder for good measure. “Good to see you, David.”
He left, closing the door behind himself.
Chapter 8
Deputy Rachette’s Volkswagen Golf sputtered into the station lot. Whether the engine shut off by him twisting the key, or just stalled out with good timing was up for debate.
He got out, set his bag of lunch trash on the roof, and glared at the back window. He opened the rear door and shimmied it up with both hands, then shut it as he mashed his hand against it. By a rare miracle, the window stayed up. He turned, lifted the front door handle, and closed it gently. The rear window dropped back down an inch.
“Ah!” He shook his fists at the sky, grabbed the trash and walked away, kicking the rear tire with his work boot.
The pessimism was getting too much to handle. Just a week ago he’d looked at that twenty-one year old piece of junk as a rite of passage; a vehicle that he’d surely get rid of when his career moved further along the great path it was on. One day he was going to look back on the memory of the car and laugh a hearty chuckle, telling stories at Thanksgiving dinners back home of the windows falling down, and the fuel line that froze if you chewed a piece of peppermint gum and breathed on it, and the change bin lid that wouldn’t close, and the countless other quirks, as he liked to call them.
Right about now, he seriously wondered if that day would ever come.
He sucked at the iceless Coke until it gurgled empty and then looked at it with a shake of his head. His future was this empty Coke cup, his career prospects the wadded up bag of burger and fries debris in his other hand. And the piece of crap car…well, that was his car.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was Wolf.
“Hey.”
“Hey, what’s going on over there?” The voice sounded distant in the earpiece.
Rachette meandered back to the piece of crap. “Just getting back from PT duty. Day number-two of a full week of PT fun.”
Wolf was silent for a few seconds. “That sucks.”
“Ha. Yeah, you could say that. I can’t handle working for this asshole.” He stopped and looked to the sky, scratching his head, and then shot a look to the garage door of the station, which was thankfully empty. He lowered his voice. “Correction. These assholes, plural. I’m starting to think about going back to Nebraska at this point. I don’t want to go back to that podunk town, but it’s sure as hell better than this.”
Wolf’s breath was a loud crackle, or it was a gust of wind. Rachette couldn’t tell. He set down the trash again and looked towards the pine trees. “What are you up to today? Never did see you this morning.”
“Yeah, I’m keeping away from the station for a while.”
Rachette tucked the phone under his chin and put a chew in his lip. “I don’t know, Wolf. What do you think? I used to feel like part of this team here, you know? And I knew some day I’d be promoted. And I knew some day I would be able to get rid of this piece of shit car.” He kicked his rear tire, which sent the window sliding down another inch. “But now, it’s like there’s no future here, you know? At least not for me, that’s for sure. Connell made that clear this morning when he assigned me to PT all week.”
Wolf said nothing.
“You there?”
“Yeah,” Wolf said. “Look, I’m not sure what to say at this moment. I guess I recommend sucking it up.” Wolf’s voice was loud in the earpiece.
Rachette stood up and felt the blood rush to his face. He waited for something more, which apparently wasn’t coming. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll suck it up. I just…yeah, okay.” He raised his watch and didn’t really look at it. “All right, I’ve gotta get back in the station.”
“Listen. Are you going back out onto PT this afternoon?”
“No. I finished my quota this morning.”
“Just keep me posted if you guys need any help.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll talk later,” Wolf said, and hung up.
Rachette stared at the phone with a shaky hand, and then shoved it in his pocket.
He shuffled across the lot to the open garage, shoved his food bag in the trash, and walked inside. Time to suck it up.
As he turned the corner a hand thumped against his chest, pushing the breath from his lungs. Before he could react, his shirt was wrenched from his waistband and he was launched headfirst into the concrete wall. His head connected with a dull thud and a sharp pain exploded in his tongue as he bit through the tip of it.
Connell’s thick hand lifted him up against the wall and clamped on his throat.
Rachette tried to suck a breath in, but his windpipe was completely shut tight.
Connell’s face bent close. “You talking to your mommy there, Rachette?” He shot a glance to the doorway.
Rachette’s eyes darted around the fleet garage. Only a couple silent SUV’s. They were alone.
“I’m going to tell you this once.” Connell’s breath was hot on Rachette’s nose. “Wolf’s future in this department is non-existent. You either step in line and stop talking to him,” he lifted up on Rachette’s neck harder, “and talking smack about me, and your superiors, or you are going to be out of a job, going back to Shitville, Nebraska, or wherever the hell it is you come from.” Connell’s grip was relentless.
Stars flashed at the edges of Rachette’s vision. He wasn’t sure if he was dying or simply passing out, but in that instant he started to panic. Connell was a good four or five inches taller than he was, and a hell of a lot bigger in every other way, but Rachette knew he could lay a good walloping on him if it came down to it. Rachette had been in his fair share of scuffles growing up, and he rarely came out of them without doing some serious damage to the other guy. Then again, Connell was a whole new level of beast.
Connell narrowed his eyes and let go, then jumped back a few feet, apparently sensing Rachette might attack.
Rachette collapsed to the cool concrete and sucked in a breath with a long whistle. He clawed at his neck, willing his esophagus to open back up.
Connell pulled his pistol and bent down. His voice was hot in Rachette’s ear. “You got that, punk?”
Rachette stared at Connell’s dusty work boots through the swirling stars.
“I said you got that? You’d better start showing me some respect, right now!”
Rachette nodded his head.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes, sir.” He croaked.
Connell turned and walked away. “Good. Don’t you forget who’s in charge here. Don’t you forget it for one second.” He barreled through the door into the station, and the door slammed behind him.
Rachette sat on the floor against the wall, sucking in breaths with greedy desperation, knowing in that instant he would do anything to help Wolf get the Sheriff job back from this asshole. Even if it meant he had to murder the
son of a bitch himself.
Chapter 9
Henry Young’s training in Coronado all those years ago had beaten the weak, tall basketball player-turned-tough-guy he was, into less than nothing. Down into a sniveling pile of too-long bones, with a halfwit brain and no confidence. And then it had built him back up, molecule by molecule, into a clever, resourceful machine.
Becoming a Navy SEAL had instilled him with a sense of pride and purpose, just as he’d expected it would. With his training, he’d become one of the most dangerous, and feared member of an elite force on the planet after all.
But nothing had prepared him for the killing.
Nothing prepared him for the rush of electric life that sang through his body when he watched a man die by his bullet. His blade. By his intention.
No one told him about that. No one could. It wasn’t something you could describe to someone else. Not without really bringing some unwanted attention to yourself.
He still remembered the first – a nameless gook holding a machete at the wrong angle, at the wrong time. It was as if his own existence had expanded, filling him with a rush of excitement no drug or vicious sexual escapade could ever match.
It had been nothing less than life changing.
Mission after mission, he’d hoped for that feeling once again, and when he killed, he’d gotten it. Unlike the junkie reaching for that elusive first-high feeling, never to reach it again, every time Young killed, it felt better. And better.
It didn’t take long to realize that death needed to be a very integral part of his life. Like water, or food, or three-hour daily workouts.
Of course, missions never guaranteed he would get a chance to kill, so he began making chances. Time off, no matter where he was in the world, became time well spent. Spreading horror through all four corners of the world. Spreading blood when he had the chance.
Of course, SEALS were smart. Smart as they come. So when they began suspecting, they had to let him go. It was fine with him. He didn’t fight for his job, or try to explain himself. In the end, he just slipped quietly away with an honorable discharge.