Foreign Deceit dw-1

by Jeff Carson

  “Jesus. I can’t believe you did that to Connell! I wish I would have seen it.” Rachette stared at him with revered awe. “Was that about next week or something?”

  “Can you get me some coffee from that thermos at your feet?” Wolf held out his screw-lid cup.

  Rachette stared at Wolf for a second and shook his head, picking up the thermos. “Dammit.” He patted a dark splotch of coffee on his pants.

  “What the heck’s wrong with you today?”

  “Psssshhh!”

  Wolf chuckled inwardly. He was thirty five, ten years on the force, up for consideration to be appointed to Sheriff of the Rocky Points Police Department, but he’d found the one person on the force he really connected with to be this second-year twenty-three-year-old.

  For too many years he’d come to disturbing realizations of the shortfalls of many of the department officers. Some didn’t step up when the going got tough. Some showed borderline psychotic behavior when given a badge and gun. Most of them were good men, he admitted. But would he entrust his life in their hands? Not with a few of them, and sure as hell not with Derek Connell.

  Rachette was different. In one and a half years on the force, he’d shown Wolf, without a doubt, that he was one to be counted on above anyone else in the RPPF. He had the attitude, strength, coolness under pressure, reliability, confidence, intelligence, and the drive.

  Thinking about all this, watching him wipe coffee off his crotch, he smiled as he turned his attention back to the winding dusty road to town.

  The road turned back to the west and dropped in elevation through the dense forest for a couple miles. Gleaming-copper-trimmed, massive houses poked out of the trees on both sides of the road. They were well spread apart, leaving vast swaths of dense forest in between them. At least Wolf was grateful for that.

  Wolf’s ears popped as he wound down further still, and finally out onto the dirt straightaway that slung out onto the vast valley floor. Barbed wire lined the road on either side, and cattle grazed in the bright green fields smattered with wild flowers. They reached the “T” junction of the main highway that ran north-south. They took a left towards town.

  Rocky Points was a ski resort town first and foremost, but hadn’t always been. In 1883, some hard-nosed easterners came to Denver and kept walking uphill, past Black Hawk miners, past Central City miners, over the Continental Divide, and tried their luck. There they dug, sluiced, panned, found some gold, and set roots. They dubbed their new town Rocky Points. A fitting name referring to the Rocky Pointed 12,000-foot peak to the west of town that would later become the western most peak of the ski resort.

  And it was a rough beginning, according to the history books in town. There was a good amount of gold to be found at the start, but as word got out, and more and more men walked over the divide into town, things got dangerous. Fighting, murder, and lawlessness ruled for a few years. That was, until a band of four men joined forces to bring law and order to the town. One of those men was Wolf’s great-great-great grandfather, or so the story went.

  Wolf pulled into The Mackery gas station on the northern outskirts and got out to fill up. Ruth Beal, the owner, came out yelling at the top of her lungs, “Did you find the bastards?”

  “Hi Ruth. What are you talking about?”

  “The hippies who stole the gas!”

  Wolf looked at her with a blank expression. “Uhhhh, I don’t know what you are talking about. I haven’t gotten a call about it yet.”

  “What? I called it in just now! A couple hippies just drove off without paying for fifty bucks worth of gas! Probably too high to remember to pay. Dang hippies…”

  “Ruth, did you get the license plate number?”

  “No, I just went in back when they pulled up, came back out and they were gone.”

  Rachette opened the door and leaned out with a concerned expression. “What kind of car was it?”

  “A gol-darn hippie-mobile! One of those, gol-darn, mini-vans.”

  “You mean a bus? Like a Volkswagon bus-type-van?” Wolf asked.

  “Yeah, I guess. If that’s what they call em.”

  The gas tank clicked to a stop. Wolf pulled the hose out and double-took a sign hanging from the tank. “Ruth, what’s this sign all about?”

  All three stood frozen. Rachette got back in the car and shut the door.

  “Pre-pay? Isn’t it impossible to fill up unless you turn on the tank after someone gives you money or they put in a credit card?” He pulled out his credit card receipt and waved it before putting it in his pocket.

  Ruth stood with her mouth open, eye brows in a worried crease. “Huh. Oh mercy! What the hell am I thinking? I don’t know what happened then!” She burst into a sparsely toothed cackle ending with a ten second coughing fit.

  “So, there weren’t any hippies who stole your gas?” Wolf opened the driver’s side door.

  “No, I guess not… Sorry, I don’t know what the hell’s goin on…”

  He smiled. “Talk to you later Ruth. Stay out of trouble and try not to harass too many people coming into town for the festival, alright? You are going to make a lot of money. They are going to be good for your business. Okay?” He chided her. She looked slighter than usual, which was less than twig-thin. “Where’s Bill? Is he around?”

  “He’s in Frasier, he’s coming back today,” she said looking at the ground.

  “Okay, well, take care, okay? I’ll come back and check in on you.”

  Rachette looked in the side view mirror as they left. “Jesus. She’s not looking too good.”

  “Yeah, when you get a chance later today figure out what’s going on with Bill.”

  “Will do,” Rachette said. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “I figure let’s stop at the Sunnyside to see if they came in yesterday morning, then off to tell the Wheatmans.”

  “Fun stuff.”

  “Yep. Fun stuff.”

  The next two and a half hours were done with detached, depressing efficiency. The first hour they confirmed the three teens to be at the Sunnyside Cafe together the previous morning and got the expected news about the Wheatman boy from the team on the mountain. DOA.

  The next hour and a half were spent telling and consoling the Wheatmans about their son and rounding up the two other teens. It was the third time in his years on the force that he’d had to break the news to a family about the death of their loved one. He couldn’t think of a more difficult thing to do as a cop. It was a despicable task.

  The two teens were sitting at home like scared rabbits. Crying at the site of Wolf and Rachette, they confessed they were with Jerry Wheatman when he fell. Some moronic idea sprouted in the Mulroy kid’s mind to keep it a secret. It was an accident, and there was no need. But Wolf knew kids will act strange when they’re instilled with life values from alcoholic meth-head parents.

  “Been quite a good day.” Rachette’s voice was thick with sarcasm as he stuffed a pinch of snuff in his lower lip.

  Wolf nodded his head. Rachette threw the can of chew to him. Wolf took a pinch and threw it back. A well rehearsed act.

  Lightning flashed, immediately followed by a smash of thunder. Droves of rain and pea sized hail had been cascading from the sky the last twenty minutes. Wolf and Rachette stood in the doorway of the garage of the Rocky Points Police Station, the wind spraying them with moist droplets.

  Rachette spit out onto the frothing ground, “Are you going to tell me what the hell happened up there or what?”

  “I’m really not sure,” he lied. Wolf was still running through options for how this was going to play out.

  “You are going to get the job next week, right? I mean, that’s pretty much a done deal, right?” Rachette’s look was unmoving. “We cannot have that guy as Sheriff of this department.”

  “It’s not up to me.”

  “Yeah, but…come on. That guy has been pretty much abusing the rest of the force for the last few months. I saw him slap Blaine the other day.”

/>   Wolf looked at him with furrowed brow.

  “I’m serious! That guy is a crazy meat head.”

  “And you didn’t report this to Sheriff Burton?”

  “Pssssshhh. Yeah, right.”

  Of course he didn’t. One didn’t advance very far in the force by tattling their way to the top. No matter how bad it got.

  Wolf rolled his neck with a grimace and yawned. “I’m going to head home. I’ll see you tomorrow. If Burton comes round looking for me, tell him he can call me.”

  “Alright, sounds good.”

  “Later.” Wolf got in the Explorer, fired it up, and drove out into the rain.

  His wipers wrenched back and forth at the top setting, still not affording him much of a view out the dash. Lighting was splicing the sky in all directions, thunder so close it was audible over the radio, the pounding rain on the car, and revving engine.

  There was a good chance he would run into Gary in the next few minutes if he was at the ranch. What would he tell him? On top of his ongoing financial stress, Danny’s mother being back in the picture, and the whole Sheriff appointment thing next week, he didn’t know how things could get more complicated.

  Chapter 4

  As he made his way through the southern end of town and out along the dirt road home, the rain let up. Sun streamed in through the clouds, reflecting brightly off the wet road. Large puddles and new small streams gouged across the only way to the ranch. All in all, the road held up well through the last few weeks, but it would need a new grading before fall.

  Wolf crossed the cattle guard that marked the northern edge of the ranch property and continued up the hill, reaching the top of a low plateau that was set twenty feet above the river meandering to the right. The majestic view that rose into view through the windshield as he reached the flat never ceased to inspire him.

  The three-hundred-acre property was part forest, part grassy meadow, all rugged beauty. There were two separate buildings with three uses — an understated one-story house that had plenty of windows, sprawling in a wide L-shape that faced southwest — one half of the “L” being a workshop and garage, the other twenty-five-hundred square feet living space. Then there was a small red barn thirty yards to the south.

  If he actually got the Sheriff job, something he’d refused to fantasize about too much, he’d be able to begin putting some real money towards the payments again — payments to Gary Connell, the proud owner of this estate ever since Wolf’s father’s death over fifteen years ago. He laughed out loud. The irony of the present situation was thicker than the dark clouds in the rear view mirror. Thanks for helping out the family Gary…and sorry about your son’s face.

  Driving up to the ranch plateau also meant driving back into cell coverage. He picked up his phone and hit the button with anticipation.

  Four missed calls. One voice message. Jesus.

  All from his mother.

  He gave her a quick call without bothering with the voicemail. She answered after a half ring.

  “Where have you been?” she screamed through the phone.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  She began sobbing deeply into the phone. He didn’t like the sound of that sob. It was the kind of sob that was followed by earth shattering news — life altering news he’d heard one too many times before.

  “Your brother’s dead,” she said simply.

  He stopped the truck and got out, suddenly feeling very claustrophobic. “What? What do you mean?”

  “He died this weekend.”

  “What do you mean this weekend, when?”

  Her sob was a loud crackle in the earpiece. “I guess Friday night, they are saying.”

  “Who is saying? What happened? In Italy?”

  She sniffed and then let out another shaky sob.

  “What happened Mom? What happened to John, Mom?” His eyes were swimming as he stood slack jawed looking towards the mountains.

  “He killed himself.”

  Shock and confusion overwhelmed him. He sat down right there on the muddy road.

  Chapter 5 — Tuesday

  Wolf stirred his fourth cup of strong coffee. He glanced at his watch. Almost one in the morning. The computer screen was the only light in the darkened study besides the sliver of moonlight entering the open blinds. An owl hoo’d on the roof as he stared at the email once again.

  On Mon, Sep 10 at 8:20 PM, John S. Wolf wrote:

  Hey Bro, what’s happening? How are you doing man? How’s Points? How’s Jack doing?

  I just wanted to catch up. I know it’s been a long time that we’ve connected, but…eh, you know how it is.

  Lately things have been going well for me (about time!). The blog is doing very well, and I’ve finally got everything squared away with my third book — it was picked up by Nordberg Publishing, and they are going to release it in mid October. In other words, this one will actually be in real book stores. Can you believe that shit?

  I was in New York a month ago meeting with them, and they are projecting some numbers that I don’t even want to talk about…at least until I see it happen. No sense jinxing it. But I’m excited.

  Italy is going very good. I’m finding the life here really pleasant and great for productivity, as I’ve been writing non-stop since I got here. Let’s see, what else? I’ve been hanging out with the girl who lives right above me, and have met a few people around town. It’s fun, but I miss Colorado. I’ll definitely be coming back at the beginning of the year, then who knows.

  So how about you man? I hear from Mom that you are a shoe-in for the Sheriff job. Although I didn’t need to hear that from her to know that. Because you are. I can’t wait to come home and tell everybody my bro is the Sheriff…plus I’ll pretty much be above the law. Maybe I’ll start growing some weed (again).

  We’ll have to have a serious talk about the ranch too. If this book deal goes like they are saying, well, again, I don’t want to jinx it.

  Talk soon brotha.

  — John

  Wolf shook his head and stood up. There’s no way he killed himself.

  Looking at his watch, he was hit by a wave of dizziness. He exhaled and thumbed the phone number he’d received from his mother earlier. Italy was eight hours ahead, and nine am seemed a respectable time to call.

  “Pronto?” The voice sounded distant, like an old vinyl recording.

  “Hello, my name is David Wolf. Do you speak English?”

  “David Wolf?” Dahveed Vowlf. “Un momento…”

  The phone rustled and he waited for five full minutes. He heard bustling activity in the background. After a while, he wondered if he had communicated anything at all to the person who answered the phone.

  “Hello? Mister Wolf?” It was a young male voice with a thick Italian accent.

  “Yes, this is David Wolf. We received a call earlier today, I mean, yesterday, with the news of my brother’s death. His name was John Wolf.”

  “Oh yes. I am a-so sorry for you.”

  “Can you tell me what happened exactly?”

  “I don’t know too much. I was a not-a part of the team who found him. But I know he killed heemself.”

  “Okay.” David squeezed the phone. “Can I speak to someone who found him? Someone who was on the team that found him?”

  “I am-a sorry, everyone is gone.”

  Wolf raised his watch and studied it carefully. “Okay. Is there a specific time I can call back?”

  “Uhh, yes. I would try back tomorrow in the morning.”

  Wolf blinked, looking again at his watch, “In the morning? Tomorrow? Isn’t it the nine in the morning there now? They won’t be back later in the day?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  Wolf inhaled deeply and switched phone hands, “You think they will not be back?”

  “Yes.”

  Wolf’s blood pressure climbed. “Do you have a direct phone number for someone that was on the team?”

  “I don’t think I am allowed to give-a th
ose numbers.”

  David clinched his teeth, holding back a tirade he desperately wanted to unleash. “Okay. What is your name?”

  “My name uh-eez Tito.”

  “Tito, I am in desperate need to talk to someone in the next few minutes. I cannot wait any longer. There is no way I can wait until tomorrow. You guys have told us that my brother has killed himself. He is dead. My mother and I need to get answers as soon as possible, or we are going to go crazy. Do you understand what I am saying, Tito? Can you please, please help me out with a phone number of someone who was on the team that found him? Or is there something else you can do for me?”

  A beat. “Okay, I will give you the cell phone number of detective Rossi.”

  Wolf closed his eyes. “Thank you so much Tito. My mother and I very much appreciate it.”

  Chapter 6

  David got the number and gave it a call, immediately getting a recording of a pleasant sounding Italian female voice, sounding like a long-winded reason why the cell phone company couldn’t put the call through. After thirty minutes and six tries later, he got a ring — a two second high pitch single tone followed by a pause, then another single tone.

  “Rossi,” a husky male voice answered.

  “Detective Rossi?”

  “Yes?”

  “Hello, my name is David Wolf. I received news of my brother’s death today from someone there. His name was John Wolf? Was that you who called us?”

  “Yes. That was me.” He exhaled. “I also found your brother in his apartment.”

  “Okay, as I just got done telling Tito at your station, my mother and I are desperate for some information, and we are going crazy. Can you help me?”