Big Mountain Daddy

by B. B. Hamel

  Not to mention my dead father, another old-school alcoholic. Cancer got him before we turned three. He’s a legend around town, or at least he was until Atticus slowly overshadowed him.

  I sigh to myself. I should have seen this coming, but I couldn’t do anything for Atticus. I tried so many times and failed so many times. I’m the only one left in my whole family that has her shit together, and I can’t let them drag me down.

  But Atticus is still family, and I love him, despite it all.

  I spot Wyatt walking away toward the cars. I head over toward him, heart beating fast. He looks up, his slight frown turning into a smile suddenly. I can’t help but smile back at him.

  “Cora Lewis,” he says. “All grown up.”

  “You’re grown up yourself,” I say to him. I give him a hug and he kisses me on the cheek. He glances past my shoulder at my mother, whimpering as she gets into her car, and quickly looks back at me.

  I know what that look means. He’s wondering if she should be driving now, and no, she definitely shouldn’t. But I’ve tried to take her keys away before, and I have the scars to prove it.

  “You look great,” he says to me. “Really, and I’m sorry about Atticus. He was too young.”

  “He was,” I say. “But it’s really good of you to show up. When was the last time you talked to him?”

  He shrugs. “He called me once, a couple years back. He was in trouble, wanted to see if I could help.”

  I laugh. “That’s Atticus, all right. But why could you help?”

  “I’m a cop over in Chicago,” he says.

  I raise my eyebrows. “I heard you were doing well out there.”

  “Well, I’m a detective now,” he says, shrugging. “After college I was a little lost, trying to figure out what to do, and I guess I watched a little too much CSI.”

  I grin at him, but inwardly my brain’s moving a million miles an hour. “That’s amazing,” I say. “You’re young for a detective, aren’t you?”

  He shrugs, trying to play it off. “Sure, it’s no big deal.”

  “Listen, want to grab some coffee? I don’t feel like going home yet.”

  “Of course,” he says.

  “Meet at the Great American?”

  “Sure,” he answers, laughing. “I can’t believe that place is still open.”

  “It’s immortal, that’s for sure,” I say. The Great American Pub and Diner is just about the trashiest place in our town, but I love it. “See you there.”

  I head over to my car, trying to avoid any relatives. I have to stop and hug some distant uncle and a cousin, but I pull out a few minutes later without too much hassle. I know how they all feel about Atticus, I’ve heard it enough over the years, and now they’re playing nice because he’s dead.

  Truth is, I’m the only one that ever cared about him, especially toward the end. He’ll always be my older brother, troubled or not.

  I park outside of the diner a few minutes later and find Wyatt already sitting in a booth. I slide in across from him and smile.

  “Coffee?” the waitress asks and I nod.

  “And some fries,” Wyatt says.

  I grin at him. “Best fries in town,” I say as the waitress leaves.

  “No other reason to come here.” He leans back and looks around.

  The Great American is a little rundown, with red faux-leather seats and slightly sticky table tops, but it’s basically unchanged from the way it was originally built. For a crappy diner, it’s surprisingly packed.

  “So what are you up to these days, little Cora?”

  I raise an eyebrow. He called me that back in the day. “I’m a kindergarten teacher over at Jefferson,” I say.

  “Kindergarten?” He laughs, sipping his coffee. “You must have the patience of a saint.”

  “Something like that. I just like kids, I guess.”

  “How long have you been there?”

  This is my first year,” I say. “I subbed for a little bit until I lucked into this.”

  “Good for you. So you’re still living in town?”

  I nod and accept the coffee the waitress puts down in front of me, thanking her quickly before looking back at Wyatt. “Sure am,” I say. “I’ll probably live in Mason River for the rest of my life.”

  He sighs, shaking his head. “You never really get away from Mason, do you?”

  “Probably not.” I sip my coffee and it’s hot on my tongue. I catch him watching me and I blush a little bit. His deep blue eyes are so handsome and piercing, and for a second I forget that we’re grown adults who just came from a funeral. For a second, I’m a kid again.

  I remember him standing next to me near the creek. Atticus was off somewhere digging in the mud for worms. “You ever catch one before?” Wyatt asked me.

  I shook my head. “Never,” I said.

  “Not that hard.” He crouched down next to the bank. “Just gotta be quick.”

  I watched as he lashed out and grabbed a nearby frog. I laughed as he toppled over, splashing into the water, and the frog got away. He stood up, grinning.

  “You think that’s funny?” he asked, still grinning.

  “Yep, sure do.”

  He chased me until I couldn’t breathe from laughing, and I ended up in that creek right along with him, grinning the whole time. I didn’t understand it back then but I felt something, deep down inside of me, the excitement of being touched by someone you like.

  “How’s your mom?” he asks me, back in present day.

  “The same,” I say. “You saw her.” Which is code for: still a drunk.

  He nods, understanding. “Sorry about that.”

  I shrug, no big deal. “How are you parents?”

  “Good,” he says. “They moved out into the city, sold their house last year. I guess since I’m there, and my brother and his kids are there, they figured, why not?”

  I grin at him. “Just your brother’s kids? None of your own?”

  “Nope,” he says. “Proud bachelor.”

  I ask about his brother and as he talks, I watch him closely. I’m not really listening, but I can’t help but inspect him. Wyatt still has those good looks, that easy charm, but he’s grown up. He’s more careful, more reserved. I catch him glancing around the place like he’s marking the exits in his mind.

  He finishes and I nod and smile at something he said. He takes a sip of his coffee and I take a deep breath, readying myself.

  “Listen, Wyatt,” I say. “I wanted to get coffee for a reason.”

  He looks instantly uncomfortable. “Cora—“

  “No, listen. I know you heard about Atticus and what happened to him. The people in this town, they don’t give a shit about him, nobody does. They’re not going to find his killer.”

  Wyatt looks uncomfortable. “I’m sure they’re trying.”

  “Hardly,” I spit, angry. “I need your help. Please, Wyatt, you still have some fond memories of my brother. Help me find out who killed him.”

  He sighs and shakes his head. “Cora, I can’t.”

  “You’re a detective. I know you’re not a detective here, but still. The police will talk to you.”

  He glances away. “Cora,” he says, sounding defeated.

  “Please,” I ask, practically begging him. “Just talk to the cops, see what they know. I’m dying here. It’s been almost a month and they have absolutely nothing, won’t tell me a damn thing. You know how it is here. They wouldn’t even let us have the funeral until now, said something about needing him for the investigation.”

  He nods a little. “I know,” he says finally. “Look, I can ask. I still know some guys, but…”

  “Thank you,” I say, feeling relieved.

  “But don’t get your hopes up,” he says, talking over me. “Seriously, Cora. Your brother’s case is hard, and he wasn’t well-loved, but Mason doesn’t get a lot of murders. They’re taking it seriously.”

  “Thank you so much,” I say to him, elated. “I won’t get my
hopes up.” I take some money out of my purse and toss it onto the table.

  He laughs a little. “That’s it?”

  “I’ve gotta go,” I say. “I’m sorry. This means a lot to me.”

  “Wait, hold on. What’s your number?”

  I raise an eyebrow, suddenly not sure if he’s hitting on me.

  He sighs. “To call about what I hear.”

  “Right.” I tell him my number and he types it into his phone. I get a text from him a second later, and I save him into my contacts. “Thanks again,” I say, and hurry out the diner.

  I didn’t want to stay too long. I could tell he wanted to make an excuse, get out of looking into what happened.

  But I can’t let him do that. I need his help. Because I can’t solve a murder on my own, and I’m going to solve this.

  Someone killed my brother. They found him dead in an alley, shot twice and stabbed four times. They have no explanation, no leads, no nothing. They wouldn’t even release his body until recently.

  But I’m not going to let this town forget about my brother. I’m not going to let him be just another dead body in the streets. Mason may not get a lot of murders, but there’s a lot of darkness in this town. Atticus was wrapped up in a lot of it, although I don’t know how much.

  Wyatt’s going to help me. He has to. I don’t know who else to turn to. But I’m not giving up.

  I’ll take this all the way, one way or another.

  2

  Wyatt

  I don’t think about Mason River all that much anymore, but when I do, I’m always glad I left.

  It wasn’t a hard decision. After getting into college at the University of Chicago and majoring in Criminal Science, I knew that I couldn’t go back to some small Midwestern town. Of course, at the time, I didn’t know that I was going to take my fancy, expensive degree and get a job as a cop, but that’s another story.

  In Chicago, I’m in demand. I’m young, handsome, and doing damn good moving up through the ranks of the Chicago PD. I get pussy when I want it, and I want it more often than not. I’m killing it out in the city, and that’s the kind of guy I’ve become. I left behind all this small-town bullshit, this backwoods bumpkin garbage, and made my life better out in the big city.

  But back in Mason though, things haven’t changed at all. Hell, I even feel more like my old self here, like the guy I was back before I got my nickname. The guys in the force call me the Lovemaker, and that was supposed to be some kind of jab. Like it’s bad that I get more pussy than they can even imagine. Really, I’m the Fuckmaker, but they can’t call me that around the brass. Here in Mason though, I’m just Wyatt Reap again, good old boy, past football player and all-around nice guy. I’m not so nice, not anymore, not since I started to see the world for what it is. Being a cop changed me, for better or for worse.

  Maybe not everything changes, though. The Great American is exactly the same, the people are exactly the same, and the motel I’m staying in clearly is exactly the same as the day they built it in the ‘50s.

  I sigh and lean back in my chair. I glance at the window and back to my phone, wondering if I’m doing the right thing. I keep seeing Cora’s face in my mind, so familiar but so different. I wasn’t kidding when I said she’s all grown up. I remember a spindly young girl, auburn hair, pretty face, but awkward and uncomfortable. Cora isn’t any of those things anymore, well, except for the pretty face. She’s gorgeous, to be fucking frank, the sort of beautiful that always surprises me. Her auburn hair is still long and thick, and she still has that pretty face with those nice green eyes, but her figure’s all filled out. I feel fucking weird, thinking about the sister of my dead friend, especially since I’m picturing her in the black dress she was wearing to his funeral.

  And yet I’m doing it anyway. I always had a weird thing for Cora, even back in the day when we were kids, although I don’t know if I understood those feelings back then. And anyway, Atticus would have killed me if I had admitted anything like having a crush on his kid sister.

  Atticus loved that girl more than anything, although he never said it that way. He always let her tag along, and was always nice to her, but he was still her older brother. He teased her mercilessly, beat her up sometimes, but she always fought back and I always liked her for that. Atticus taught her things, tried to make her less dorky, and looked out for her. At least until he started having issues himself.

  I should have seen it coming back then. I just thought he was a stoner dick, and he was getting boring and hanging around with shitty kids with petty criminal records, just like their petty, shitty parents. I wanted to stay away from all that Mason River bullshit, but not Atticus. He fell right in with the sort of kids you should never fall in with, and he never got out.

  I got out, though. Got the hell out of there. And now my friend’s dead, and I’m home for his funeral.

  Fucking murdered. The Atticus Lewis I remember was kind, loyal, the sort of person that everyone wanted to be around. He was always smiling, laughing, trying to be helpful. He was a good student too, although that quickly went downhill in high school.

  He was still a shadow of that kind, happy person when we parted ways last. I haven’t seen him since high school, but I’ve caught glimpses of the guy he turned into through Facebook and through mutual friends.

  Heroin does a lot of shit to people. Atticus went from the best friend I’ve ever had, the guy that made me a better person, to just another starving junkie willing to do anything for his next fix.

  I’ve known a lot of guys like that. Chicago is full of them. I just never thought Atticus Lewis would go down that path.

  Now he’s dead. As far as I can tell, the locals don’t know why yet, but Cora’s desperate. I could see it in her eyes. She wants me to investigate this, push this, find out what’s happening.

  I don’t want to do it. I want to get back to the city as soon as possible, get away from this piece of shit motel and this piece of shit town. But I told Cora I’d look into it, and I will.

  My phone finally rings. It’s Mitch Range, a friend from school. He’s a local cop these days. I pick it up on the third ring.

  “Hey, Mitch,” I say.

  “Wyatt, how are you?”

  “Fine,” I answer. “I’m in town right now.”

  “Oh yeah? What for?”

  “Atticus Lewis’s funeral.”

  Mitch laughs a little bit. “No shit? I knew you guys were friends back in the day, but I didn’t know you kept in touch.”

  “No, we didn’t,” I say. “I just saw that he died and thought…” I just shake my head, not sure what I thought.

  “Well, yeah, it was good of you to go,” he says, though he doesn’t really sound like he means it. “How was the service?”

  “Like every other funeral,” I say. “Listen, I actually wanted to ask you about Atticus.”

  “All right.” Mitch says, sounding a little wary. His tone switches from the friendly, open voice he was just using with me to his professional cop voice. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m just curious about the case. You guys have any leads?”

  Mitch scoffs. “Plenty of leads,” he says. “But let’s be honest, we’re not actually working them too hard.”

  I frown at that. “Why not?”

  “Come on, Wyatt. From one cop to another, who fucking cares who killed Atticus Lewis?”

  My blood runs ice cold in my veins at that. I have to take a deep breath before I answer him.

  “His sister does,” I say finally.

  “I know,” Mitch answers, sounding a little more sympathetic. “She calls almost every day. I think she’s the only person left that cares about that junkie.”

  I wince at that. “I care too,” I say. “Look, as a professional courtesy. What do you guys have?”

  He gets a little touchy. “Professional? You involved with this case now, detective?”

  “No, you know I’m not,” I say. “Come on, Mitch.”

  H
e sighs again. “Fine. We don’t have much. Just a few leads. We’re looking into a few of his junkie friends, and then there’s his ex-girlfriend. She went missing, and we haven’t really had the time to shake her out just yet.”

  I nod my head, pacing my room. “So pretty standard, early investigation stuff.”

  “Like I said, nobody’s working the case too hard.”

  “Thanks for sharing,” I tell him. “And hey, while I’m in town, let’s grab a drink.”

  “Of course,” he says, relaxing. “It’s good to hear from you, man.”

  “You too.”

  I hang up the phone and toss it onto my bed. I stand there, anger flowing through me.

  Atticus Lewis was a junkie, an asshole, and a thief. He did unforgivable shit, and he died in the gutter, probably because of all that shit.

  And yet he deserves to be put to rest. He deserves justice. Whoever killed Atticus is still out there, and the Mason PD isn’t going to fucking find that killer any time soon.

  No wonder Cora came to me. She can sense the local PD’s reticence here. They really don’t care about a gutter rat like Atticus.

  Well, I fucking care. Or at least I used to. I grab my phone again, making up my mind, and call Cora.

  “Hello?” she answers.

  “It’s me,” I say.

  “Oh, hi, Wyatt.” She doesn’t sound surprised to be hearing from me so soon.

  “Are you busy right now?”

  “No, I’m just at home.”

  “Good. Mind if I swing by?”

  She hesitates. “No, that’d be fine.”

  “Okay. I spoke with a friend at the police department.”

  “Really? What did they say?”

  “I’ll tell you in person. Text me your address.”

  “Yeah, okay.” She sounds eager now.

  I hang up the phone and get her address a minute later. I change out of my suit and put on my civilian clothes. I frown at my bag, and wish I had packed more stuff. I didn’t plan on staying here for very long.

  Hell, I’m not staying. I’ll tell Cora the truth then I’ll get the fuck out of town. I did what I said I’d do, and that’s the end of it. I don’t care if Cora Lewis is all grown up and fucking gorgeous now. Atticus isn’t my problem, not anymore.