Sometimes the Wolf: A Novel

by Urban Waite

  “There have been things said about you that I can’t ignore,” Drake responded, keeping his eyes focused on the door frame near his father’s head. Looking but not looking.

  “By who?”

  Drake took the box off the bed and set it on the floor again. “The DEA has been following you around.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  He met Patrick’s eyes. “They say you had something to do with two men getting killed outside Bellingham before you went away.”

  “And you want to know if I did it?”

  “I want to know if it’s true in any way. If you knew these men, or had anything to do with their deaths.”

  “I told you a long time ago when you visited me that I wasn’t going back in.”

  “I know what you told me,” Drake said. “What I want to know is if you killed those men.”

  Patrick looked at the open drawers again and then looked back at Drake. “I didn’t do anything to those men.”

  “But you know of them?”

  “I know of them.”

  “Then you know about the money, too.”

  “Yes,” Patrick said. “There’s a lot of people who’ve heard about the money.”

  “That’s how you got into all this, isn’t it? For the money. So that you could pay off Mom’s medical bills.”

  “That’s what I’ve always said. I took on that second mortgage and never was able to pay it.”

  “You did it for the money then?” Drake didn’t know why he was repeating himself. The emphasis he put on the end of the sentence more of a command than any kind of question and he realized he really didn’t want to know.

  “There was no other reason. That was it, that was all there was,” Patrick said. “I never did intend to do that type of work for long, and I don’t intend to do it now that I’m out.”

  Drake moved his hand over the articles. Gathering them up and putting them back into the folder. He knew he should let it go. His father had said he didn’t kill those men. Drake knew that should have been enough. But a lot of time had passed since Drake had gone away to college and his father had made the decision that would ultimately change both their lives.

  “I’m a deputy now,” Drake said. “I know it’s been twelve years, but there are still plenty of people who probably question what I knew about you, and what I know now. I don’t want you to put me in that position again. If the DEA is still looking into this then there’s a chance Sheri and I could lose the house.”

  “The only way that would happen is if I was stashing money or drugs on the property.”

  “Are you?”

  “Who do you think I am?”

  “A convicted drug smuggler,” Drake said.

  Patrick laughed. “You really don’t trust me.”

  Drake stuffed the folder back down into the box and turned away from the bed. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to.”

  “You’re supposed to because you’re my son.”

  “That’s a lot to ask,” Drake said.

  “You’ll see,” Patrick said. “I’m not going to be a bother to you. I’m going to be out of your hair just as soon as I can. Living my own life.” He walked over and took a set of clothes from beneath the changing table, taking his time.

  “I don’t think the DEA is going to give up just because you say you didn’t do it.”

  “I’d be disappointed if they did,” Patrick said.

  DRAKE TOOK a long shower. Letting it run cold before he allowed himself to shut off the water and pull the curtain back. Standing in front of the mirror he listened to the house beyond the door. Outside the sun was setting and the light came through the bathroom window with a low pink hue. The slight movement of air felt on his bare feet where the cool air from the hallway slipped in beneath the door. He half expected his father to be gone when he came out of the bathroom, never to be seen again. Simply to have walked off into the woods, where the darkness might eat him.

  Drake ran a hand up his forearm, pressing his thumb to the purple scar tissue. One hole all the way through. Clean and simple. It felt like nothing now, just a raised circle of skin. Only really identifiable to those who knew the story that went with it. He rubbed his thumb up his forearm several more times, watching the pink flesh go white, then fade away again as his thumb moved on. Nothing he could do about it now.

  When he came out of the bathroom Patrick was sitting in the living room drinking one of the beers Sheri had bought a few nights before. Patrick’s attention turned to one of the catalogs that came every month in the mail. One of the home magazines Sheri liked to dog-ear and leave around the house even though they barely had enough money to buy groceries some months.

  “You want to go by the Buck Blind?” Drake asked. He was standing at the entrance to the hallway in a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, his towel over his shoulders and his hair mussed. “Sheri can get us a good price on a pitcher.”

  “Yeah,” Patrick said, “we can do that.”

  WHEN THEY GOT to the Buck Blind Sheri was just finishing up her last couple tables. She gave Drake a kiss and sent him and his father ahead to the bar. “I’ll be just another forty-five minutes,” she said. “Gary and Luke are in there if you want to say hello.”

  Drake led his father through the doorway into the bar. Dim compared to the restaurant, the bar had been built when the grocer next door went out of business and the restaurant decided to expand. The walls all brick and mortar, and a doorway from restaurant to bar opened up halfway down the wall. Tables ran one side, while opposite, a wooden bar took up almost the full length of the place. Only open for five years, the bar already had the smell of spilled liquor, sweet and dusty in the air, while in the summers the air felt thick and closed up by the brick walls. Everything, even the random kitsch along the walls, gave the feel of a bar in someone’s home basement.

  “I heard you guys caught your wolf,” Gary said. He was sitting midway down the bar with his face turned toward them as they came in. Luke sat on the stool beside him, still in his uniform.

  “My dad actually got her,” Drake said, motioning back over his shoulder toward Patrick.

  “You let the ex-con shoot the wolf?” Gary asked. “With a gun?”

  “Come on, Gary,” Drake said. “You know it was a tranq gun. There’s nothing to that.”

  “Just warning you. Because that’s not how the court will see it.”

  “I know the rules,” Patrick said.

  They sat in a line down the bar next to Gary. Luke raised his head to look at Patrick and then eased off the stool for a moment to shake the old sheriff’s hand. “Good to have you back,” Luke said.

  Drake watched and after Luke sat back down he asked about Cheryl.

  “False alarm,” Gary said. “One of her friends thought she remembered Cheryl saying she planned to go down to see a boy in Seattle.”

  “And the parents?”

  “She’s done this a few times now. Andy is still out looking for her but we’re thinking she’ll show up tomorrow or the next day.”

  The bartender came by and they ordered a round, and then Drake ordered two more for Gary and Luke. Gary kept smiling, running his fingers over the edge of the pint glass and looking at Patrick. Finally saying, “You don’t recognize the bartender?”

  “No,” Patrick said, turning to follow the man as he tended to a customer at the other end of the bar.

  “It’s Jack.”

  Patrick leaned farther into the bar, trying to get a good look. “Bill’s son?”

  “Yeah, same kid. Only a dozen years older now.”

  When Jack came over their way again Patrick caught the kid’s eye. “You’re the bartender here?”

  “He owns the place,” Gary said.

  “No shit.”

  “I’m a partner,” Jack said. “I don’t own it.” He was leaning against the back bar now, his arms crossed. Skinny with acne scarring along the line of his jaw. Drake had known him his whole life. He was a little older than Drake.
They’d been in high school together.

  “Jack is one of my hunting buddies. Aren’t you, Jack?” Gary said, looking to Jack where he stood on the other side of the bar.

  “If you call going up into the woods to drink a fifth of bourbon and stare at some trees hunting,” Jack said.

  “Sounds about right,” Patrick said. “How’s your father doing? How’s Bill?”

  “Passed away five years ago. The money he left me went into this bar, though, so it seems fitting. He was always putting his money into booze as it was.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, well it happened. That’s how it goes,” Jack said. A man at the other end of the bar signaled for service. Jack was off the back bar and beginning to walk away when he turned to Patrick and Gary. “Look, next round is on me, okay? It’s good to see you, Pat.” He was already halfway down the bar before any of them could say anything.

  They moved over to a table after they finished the round Jack bought them, sitting for a long time bullshitting about the weather and giving Patrick a hard time about being back in the world. Luke making several prison-shower jokes that never got any of the other men to laugh, but Patrick nice enough to smile and let the comments roll past him. One of the old loggers down at the other end of the bar was playing Lynyrd Skynyrd on the jukebox and they listened to “Free Bird” for what seemed like twenty minutes.

  “So you’re the sheriff?” Patrick said. He whistled a bit as he said it, letting the air escape from his lungs for a long time. “How’s that working out for you?”

  Gary looked up from the beer in his hands. He’d been listening to the song playing on the jukebox. “To be honest: it’s tiring,” he said. “I chase down every little thing people have any concern over.”

  “A cat goes missing I bet you’re on it,” Patrick said. He was smiling now and Drake could see he didn’t envy the man.

  “Something like that. Luke and I spent half the day looking for that girl from town. She never was much for staying around here as it was.”

  “She’ll turn up,” Luke said, his voice a little loose with alcohol. “She always does.”

  When Sheri came in they’d finished off two pitchers and were ordering a third. Whatever tension Drake had felt between Gary and Patrick at the trailhead was now gone. The two of them telling stories that Drake barely recalled from when he was a child. Gary doing most of the talking as Patrick nodded his head and filled in all the little details Gary had skipped over.

  Sheri pulled a chair to the end of the table and sat with her purse in her lap, the strap still on her shoulder, ready to go.

  “You want a glass?” Drake asked, raising his hand to signal Jack.

  When the next pitcher came Sheri said she’d just share with Drake. The guys crowded up around the table as the logger at the end of the bar started in on some Zeppelin. Nobody left in the place and Jack—with his arms crossed over his chest and a distant look in his eye—kept watch over the logger at the opposite end of the bar.

  “You want to get out of here soon?” Sheri asked quietly.

  Drake turned and looked at the three other men and nodded. Luke halfway through the story about a young bear that had gotten itself stuck in an outhouse the summer before last.

  “If I leave,” Drake said to his father, “you think you’ll be fine to get home on your own?”

  “You’re going to trust me?” his father said, a smile half cocked on his lips.

  “It’s fine,” Drake said, feeling a little loose with the alcohol. “You know the way home. We’ll leave the door open for you.”

  Drake was tired, too, and they left the three men talking over their beers, saying good-bye to Jack and giving the logger a wide berth as they went by. The man singing along to the music now and Drake wondering how much more Jack was willing to take.

  A LITTLE PAST one A.M. Drake got up to answer the door. It was about the time he estimated that his father would have been kicked out of the bar, give or take fifteen minutes for the walk home. The door had been left unlocked so that Patrick might let himself in. But Drake got up anyway, figuring maybe his father was drunk and hadn’t even tried the doorknob yet.

  Drake came into the living room a little fuzzy from the pitchers they’d drunk, leaning his weight on the handle and pulling back on the door. He was dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of his old basketball warm-ups, planning to go right back to bed as soon as he let his father in.

  Agent Driscoll stood on the porch when Drake opened the door. He pushed through and came into the living room, giving the room a quick once-over and then coming back to Drake. “Is he here?” Driscoll asked.

  Drake studied the Impala parked in their drive for a quick second, looking to see if anyone else was inside before he closed the door. Driscoll was standing in the middle of the living room, the hallway light on behind him. His suit jacket crumpled at the armpits and along the sleeves.

  “Your father?” Driscoll said.

  “No,” Drake said. “Not that I know of.” Drake walked by Driscoll and went down the hallway to his father’s room. He opened the door and flipped on the lights. No one there and the sheets looking just as they had earlier in the day when Drake and Patrick had sat talking.

  Drake came out of the room and went into the bathroom, throwing on the lights. He even went as far as to pull the curtains back on the shower and look in on the tub.

  Driscoll was there in the bathroom doorway when Drake turned around. “I lost him about thirty minutes ago,” Driscoll said.

  “You’ve been following him?” Drake came out of the bathroom and looked down the hallway toward his own bedroom. There was a light on under the doorway.

  “You thought because I told you to keep an eye on him, I’d just hand it off?”

  Drake led Driscoll back into the living room. He spread his fingers up into his hair and brought them down across his eyes. “He didn’t do it, Driscoll. He’s not the guy you’re looking for.”

  “You told him?”

  Drake turned and looked at Driscoll, the man waiting on a response. “What did you think I was going to do?”

  “I thought you’d remember your duty as a law officer.”

  “He’s my father, Driscoll.”

  “Christ.”

  “He didn’t do it.”

  “Two years ago, when we first met, you were ready to throw away the key. Now you’re acting like he never put you in this position.”

  At the far end of the hallway Drake saw the bedroom door open and Sheri come out wearing her robe. She was looking at Drake, but her eyes darted toward Driscoll for a moment and Drake saw the surprise in them, followed quickly by disgust. The last time they’d had a full conversation together Driscoll had said something about not wasting taxpayer money on repeat offenders, preferring instead if they just got offed beforehand. Drake liked to think that Driscoll had been joking. Sheri had never seen the comedy in it.

  “Long time no see,” Driscoll said to Sheri as she took a seat on the sofa and kept a steady watch on Drake.

  “What’s this about?” she asked Drake.

  Drake shrugged, wishing his father would walk in and they could all just go back to bed.

  “Your father-in-law has disappeared,” Driscoll said.

  “What do you mean disappeared?” Sheri asked.

  “He’s missing. Gone. Vanished off the face of this earth,” Driscoll said. “Though I think the better definition of what happened is he’s on the run.” Driscoll had his arms crossed and each of his hands buried in his armpits. He was bouncing slightly on the heels of his feet.

  “What is this man doing here?” Sheri asked Drake.

  Drake didn’t have an answer for her that would make the situation any better and he asked Sheri if she would stay up and wait to see if Patrick came home, and if he did to call Drake straightaway. Drake led Driscoll out onto the porch and closed the door.

  “She still doesn’t like me very much,” Driscoll said.

  �
�It’s late,” Drake said. “She’s tired.”

  “I don’t know about all that,” Driscoll said, “but thanks for trying.”

  “So what happened, Driscoll?”

  “I was waiting on your father when he came out of the bar and halfway home he goes running into the woods.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “Then why did he run?”

  “I was walking behind him, two or three hundred feet back. I don’t know how he would have noticed me.”

  “You didn’t try to go after him?”

  “Of course I chased after him. I was shining my light around. It’s a fucking funhouse in there, everything looks exactly the same: tree trunk, fern, tree trunk, fern . . . you want me to go on?”

  “I get it,” Drake said. “He really took off running?”

  “I’ve called in a favor with some of my guys from Seattle, but they won’t be here for a couple more hours.”

  “You don’t need to do that,” Drake said. “I’m here. I can help you find him.”

  Driscoll looked to be thinking that over. “Fine,” he said. “It would take them too much time to get here as it is.”

  “What channel are you using on your radio?”

  Driscoll told him the channel and where Patrick had gone off the road.

  “I’m going to take my cruiser out,” Drake said. “I want to shine the spot around a bit and see what I can see,” Drake said.

  “I know he’s your father but I want you to be careful, Drake. Don’t do anything stupid and get yourself hurt. I want you to call me on the radio if you see anything. Even if it’s just a flicker of something, you’ll let me know first.”

  “I know,” Drake said. He was watching the forest beyond the fall of the house lights. The gravel shining white under the reach of the exterior lights, and the dark forest all around, circling them in. “Maybe he saw you, Driscoll. Maybe he just spooked? He’d been drinking a lot at the bar. This could all be one big mistake.”

  “If he’s not guilty, what does he have to hide?” Driscoll said. He was down at the Impala now with the door open. “No heroics, Drake.” Driscoll closed the door and pulled away. His red taillights still visible up the drive when Drake got in his own vehicle and brought it around toward the lake road.