“Yeah?” Derek knew what the other man was going to say.
“Put a bullet in my head if it looks like they’re going to take me.” He shook his head. “I mean it. Don’t you hesitate.”
Before Teague could answer, a noise cut him off.
“WHERE ARE MY BOYS, YOU WORTHLESS DICKHEADS?” Buster Krueger bellowed as he tried to crash through the crime scene tape. His face was purple with rage, snot layering his upper lip, and the veins in his neck pounded in time with the flashing police strobes. Teague got in front of the big man before he could stomp through the crime scene.
“Buster, please.” He kept his tone mild, conciliatory, even when Buster tried to shove his way past. It took Faux’s help to finally rein in the big man, getting him back past the tape and away from what was left of his kids. No man should see that, not even somebody as bad as Buster. Teague put his face close to Buster’s, gritting his teeth against the powerful urge to knock the man onto his bulbous ass, and said. “Buster, you have to let my people do their jobs.”
“Fuck you! And fuck your people!” Buster shouted, his spittle peppering Teague’s face. The vein in the man’s temple was ready to pop, swelled almost the size of a man’s finger. He stared hate into the younger man’s eyes and his red face twisted as he said. “If your people had been doing their job in the first place, none of this would’ve fucking happened.”
Faux put himself between the two men, his expression hard as he said. “Your boys are dead because you and your town council decided to play politics instead of doing their fucking jobs, Krueger. Maybe if you’d been more interested in serving the people’s interests, instead of the town’s, your boys would still be alive?” He shoved two fingers hard into the big man’s chest and shook his head in disgust. “That’s on you, Krueger. Maybe you can live with that, maybe not, but I don’t really give a shit about you or your fucked up little town.” He turned and pointed at the bloody smear that was all that remained of the man’s boys and said. “We’re going to stop what’s doing this to your town’s kids, because that’s what matters here. Lives. Not whatever bullshit you and your asshole friends got going on the side. And if you get in our way again, I’ll burn you and your little town council to the ground.”
Krueger’s face went from deep purple to ash gray as his mouth opened and closed, unable to form a response. Something died in his eyes and the fight went out of him. He put his big trembling hands over his face and turned away. Teague stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Go home to your wife, Buster. She doesn’t need to hear about this from the police.”
Buster said nothing. He took a last look at the bits and pieces of his boys, scattered and smeared like so much roadkill, and his face crumbled. Turning, he stumbled away, pushing and shoving his way back to his car.
Teague watched him go with a leaden feeling in his gut. He said. “I almost feel sorry for the sad son of a bitch.”
“Not me.” Faux watched the remaining deputies moving around the street with hard eyes. The two dead officers were covered by white plastic sheeting, waiting to be processed, along with their heads. He looked at Teague and shook his head. “I didn’t know his boys or your men, but I feel a lot more sorry for them. Fat cat bureaucrats play around with law enforcement and there’s always going to be casualties. It’s poetic justice when their meddling gets them punched in the face.”
“This doesn’t feel like justice to me.” Teague thought of his own family, waiting alone at home. Wondering if he was coming home tonight. He thought of the families waiting for the two dead deputies. He said. “Nobody should have to bury their own children.”
“No.” Faux said. “They shouldn’t have to. But this is a long way from being over. You know it and I know it. And it’s going to get bloodier before the end.”
Chapter 27
The next morning, Brandon woke up from dark dreams that faded even as he opened his eyes. He lay in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how he felt or even how he SHOULD feel. He had a little over a month before he faced Sha'ha'Zel again. A little over a month to prepare himself to either live or die, depending on who was stronger. Him or the Curse. He supposed that he should’ve felt fortunate that the Curse had given him a few more days than the month he asked for, but the foremost emotion in his mind was not gratitude. It was paralyzing fear. Not fear for himself or of the pain of dying. Fear for Claire. Of what might happen to her after he was gone. It wasn’t as if the Curse was the only danger she faced.
There was still the grohlm.
Rolling out of bed, Brandon stood in front of his bedroom mirror and checked his wounds from the night before. He was surprised to find that the cuts he took fighting the Curse were only scabbed over and not completely healed. After the shower, he’d assumed they would heal completely while he slept, but that wasn’t the case. Wounds from the Curse’s swords healed slower than normal wounds, but at least they did heal. The scab under his eye made him shiver.
Stepping to the center of the room, he did a quick 100 push-ups, followed by 100 sit-ups, alternating for several sets. He kept at it until he was breathing hard and had broken a sweat, before hopping into the shower. He stood under the spray for a long time, letting the hot water sluice away the sweat and the remaining soreness from the night before. When he got out and checked himself in the mirror, he found that the scabs had vanished. Toweling dry, he said a prayer to Nin'e'veh and Rok, thanking them for their protection, before getting dressed and going downstairs.
He found Gerrick in the sword room. He expected Gerrick to be a mess, but was surprised to find that the older man had cleaned himself up quite well. Other than a scattering of band-aids and two black eyes, he looked as hard as ever. There was some swelling around his cheekbones, but even that didn't look too bad. If he carried himself a little stiffly, that was to be expected.
When Brandon stepped into the room, Gerrick spoke without looking his way. "You want answers and you deserve them, but I can't tell you everything. Not now. Not yet. You're still not ready." His voice was low and rough as freshly crushed gravel. He turned and looked at Brandon, smiling grimly.
Brandon said nothing, just stared at the man until, after a long moment, the older man cleared his throat and looked away. Brandon asked. "When will I be ready?"
Gerrick didn't reply right away. Staring at the Phoenix sitting in its display rack, he seemed to be brooding about something. Brandon turned to leave him there, but Gerrick stopped him, saying. "When you're ready, I'll tell you how your father died. Why he died when he did. But not before."
"You're not my teacher anymore." Brandon said, coldly. "You lost that right when you tried to kill yourself in front of me." He stared past the older man's shoulder, at the Phoenix gleaming on its stand. He took a step into the room, meeting the other man's gaze. Neither man blinked. "What kind of game are you playing at?"
"I may not be your teacher anymore, Brandon. But you still have a lot to learn." Gerrick's voice was dry as desert sand and his eyes were spit colored chips of ice. "No matter your protection, you can still die. Sha'ha'Zel will still bleed you like a pig. Just like he killed your mother and father. When you're ready, we'll talk. Until then, we've got nothing more to say to each other." He turned away, his eyes going to the Phoenix.
Brandon stared at Gerrick’s back for a long time before finally leaving the room. He went outside. The car was still parked around the side of the house. It was a wreck, squatting on its flat tires like a defeated animal. A spider web of cracks covered the windshield and Brandon was amazed that they made it more than one block last night, much less back to Highgarden.
Stepping off the porch, he started running. He set a fast pace, moving along the driveway and onto the road beyond. The morning air was brisk, still cold, but the weather felt normal to him. Whatever that meant. A month didn't seem like time enough to get as hard as he had to, but it was what he had. He would use his time wisely.
Claire came awake stretched across her b
edspread, on top of the covers, and still fully dressed. She sat up slowly, her hair a tangled mess and her breath a combination of interesting smells, and she blinked at the morning light shining through her bedroom window. Her brain was fuzzy and still half asleep, but the tenderness between her legs was the only reminder she needed to send her to her feet and into her bathroom. She stood at the sink and stared hard at herself, studying her face and her eye, looking for any visible sign of what she and Brandon did the day before.
“I look the same.” She said to the disheveled girl staring at her from within the mirror. She smiled a crooked smile back at herself and giggled. She might’ve looked the same, but she definitely didn’t feel the same.
We totally had sex! The thought had a wild silliness to it that belayed how freaked out she actually was. She knew exactly what their actions meant. Not just to herself, but especially Brandon. But, even with the terror at what was coming for them, the thought wasn’t followed with feelings of regret or sadness.
Oh my god, we had sex! She couldn’t help but giggle again. Giving the pretty one eyed girl in the mirror another sideways grin, she hopped in the shower to freshen up before she dared to face her mother in the light of day.
Faux opened his motel room door and stopped in the doorway, staring at the 3 people waiting for him. 2 of them might have been brothers, they looked so similar. Matching suits and matching haircuts went well with matching thick necks and broad shoulders.
Not investigators, those 2. Far too thick of wit and arms for that kind of quick thinking. They were just muscle. Faux’s boss stood between them, arms crossed beneath her breasts as she watched him close the door and step further into the room. Assistant Director Andrea Campbell wasn’t a large woman but she tended to dominate any room she was in simply through force of will. Though she was quite a bit shorter than the muscle, both men seemed nervous about being so close to the woman.
She had a fierce reputation that was more than earned. “Long night?”
Faux didn’t answer right away. He stepped into the room, leaving the door open, just in case he needed to make a fast exit, and gave her his most charming smile. “You know me, ma’am. Never afraid to burn the midnight oil. Is this a personal visit?” Faux said. He tried to keep his tone light and almost succeeded. “You don’t call, you don’t write? I was beginning to think you didn’t like me anymore?”
The muscle at least had the decency to looked embarrassed. Campbell didn’t look embarrassed at all. She looked pissed off. “It’s time to come home, Faux.” Her voice was harder than normal, which was worrisome. If he didn’t know her better, he would’ve said she was scared.
But Campbell didn’t get scared.
“Ma’am, I’m just following orders.” Faux said, his voice neutral.
Campbell said nothing. She gave the other two agents a look. Both men hesitated to leave the room, but not for very long. Her reputation was well earned. She waited for them to go outside and close the door before sitting on the end of the bed and clasping her hands while resting her elbows on her knees. She looked up at him and said. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”
“You tell me, boss?” Walking into the bathroom, he washed his face and hands with cold water, letting his anger wash out of him like the water disappearing down the sink drain, before snagging the thin hand towel off the back of the toilet tank. He was toweling his face, when he stepped back into the room. “I’m impressed though. For a small place like this, they must have some kind of pull to get you out and on a plane? What is that? A hometown boy make senator or something?”
Campbell stood up and paced the room. “I honestly don’t know. Whatever is going on, it stinks.” She looked at him and shook her head. “I thought you were being paranoid before, with your insane theory, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Then let me stay.” Faux said. “Go back and tell them you couldn’t find me. Lie your ass off and I’ll figure out what’s going on here. And, by god, there IS something going on here. The fact that you’re here in person proves that.”
“I’m the soft sell, Faux.” Campbell showed her teeth in a frustrated smile and pointed a perfectly manicured finger at his chest. “If you don’t come back with me, they send somebody else. Somebody who might not have your best interests at heart.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.” Faux gave a sour laugh and shook his head.
“Fuck you.” Campbell jabbed him in the chest hard enough leave a mark and pushed him back a step. She wasn’t quite shouting, but she was close. He was actually a little surprised that the agents hadn’t rushed in to see what was up. She said. “You don’t think I could have had you collected without getting on a plane, myself? I’m here because we’re friends and this is serious. You have to come back. Whatever this thing is in Matheson, your part in it is over.”
Faux didn’t reply. He was staring at the cheap wallpaper and trying hard not to kick a hole right through it into the neighboring room. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he walked over and sat down on the bed before saying. “Where is the pressure coming from? How high up?”
“The call I got came from the State Department.” Campbell sighed and walked over to the small dresser and picked up the travel bag that was on the floor beside it. “I got the impression that it came from even higher. They came on way too strong for it to have been their idea.” She brought the bag over and set it on the bed beside him. Looking around the room, she said. “Is this all you have to pack?”
“There’s a tooth brush in the bathroom.” He grabbed the bag and stood, looking down at Campbell. “I can’t just leave now. What happens to Matheson? The kids? The missing police? Whatever is happening, it’s not over. They need my help.”
“What’s one F.B.I. agent going to be able to do, Faux?” She asked, not unkindly. “You’ll just get yourself killed. Besides, Matheson already has assets in play looking into the situation.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“No idea.” Campbell said, opening the room door and signaling the agents to bring the car around. She looked at him. “I was told to assure you that the town was being looked after. An asset is in place in Matheson and the current situation was in the process of being resolved. No federal assistance required.”
“And you believed that?” Faux shook his head. He pictured those things in the woods, the way they swarmed out of the trees amid the screams and the gunfire. He followed her outside and paused next to the running car. The two agents were in the front, watching their conversation. Faux didn’t really care if they overheard, but their windows were up. “I’ve got a stop to make before I agree to go anywhere.” At the stubborn look that suddenly crossed her face, he said. “Unless you think your two babysitters are good enough to bring me in if I choose not to go?”
Campbell looked at him for a long time before shaking her head and saying. “Let’s get this over with.”
Derek Teague lived in a modest brick home at the end of a long cul de sac on the east side of Matheson. During normal times, it was a picturesque neighborhood with pruned hedges and immaculate lawns. Neighbors visiting at their mailboxes and talking over coffee on their front porches.
It wasn’t normal times, though, and the cul de sac was devoid of people when Faux and company pulled up to the curb in front of Teague’s house. Except for the twitch of the occasional curtain, the neighborhood was deserted. The muscle stayed in the car but Campbell climbed out when Faux did. She looked across the car at him and said. “Make it quick. The plane dusts off in less than an hour.”
Faux said nothing. He studied the other houses as he approached Teague’s place, his guilt at leaving giving him a sour stomach. He knocked on the front door and, after a short wait, it was opened by a pretty brown eyed girl.
“Yes?” She said, smiling uncertainly. She was quite pretty, her chestnut hair tied back in a loose ponytail.
“I’m looking for Chief Teague?”
She smiled, tickl
ed by the title, but, before she could answer, the man himself answered from just behind her. “Acting chief, you mean.” He appeared at her shoulder and said. “Of course, I’m not even acting chief now.” He took a moment to introduce them before saying. “I’ve got this, babe.” He waited for her to leave before stepping out onto the porch and closing the door. He gave the waiting car and the fierce eyed woman standing beside it a long look and said. “Looks like you’re getting out while the getting’s good, my friend.”
Faux grimaced. “Whatever is happening here, it’s bigger than you and me, Derek.” He gave a disgusted shake of his head. “I’ve never seen anything like this. The way the powers that be are acting, it makes me feel like I’m playing for the wrong team.”
“Did they bother giving you a reason for bringing you back?”
“Oh, of course.” Faux smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “They said I wasn’t needed here. Apparently, there’s already an asset in play in Matheson.”
“Asset?” Teague shook his head. He said. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are they claiming they already have people here, besides yourself?”
“I have no idea.” Faux said. The waiting car’s horn gave a short blast and Faux gave it a dirty look before saying, half to himself. “But somebody in Matheson knows what’s going on, that’s for sure. You should talk to Underhill.”
“You still think he’s holding back?”
“You don’t?” Faux put his hand out and said. “Take care of yourself, Chief. Don’t go out into those woods alone, not if you can help it.”
“Take your own advice.” Teague said, taking the proffered hand and giving it a firm shake. He smiled wryly. “I’ve got the feeling you’re leaving one fire for another that’s just as hot. And just as likely to kill you bloody. Watch your back.”
“You many be right.” Faux said, giving one last companionable nod of his head before leaving.
Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) Page 27