by Jeff Carson
He picked the lock in three seconds, and then stepped in. He closed the door, muffling the sounds of the violent wind outside, and stood still. The house creaked and there was the gentle hum of the refrigerator, but was otherwise dead quiet.
The kitchen was neat, cleaned to a perfect shine on all surfaces. It smelled of cleaning agents and spices.
Just then, a gust of wind pushed the door open, hitting him in the elbow and letting in a cool blast of air. He turned and closed it harder until the latch clicked.
He held on to the doorknob and looked around the kitchen again, formulating a plan.
He let go of the knob and looked out the window. Swirls of dust kicked up on the dirt driveway. The cross gate where the driveway disappeared over the edge swayed in the wind. He’d just watched Wolf leave, so odds were he was not going to return anytime soon. If he did, he’d easily slip out the back door.
He set his backpack on the floor and took out the stick-on flash weather stripping. Unsheathing his knife, he cut a precise length and applied it to the bottom of the door, flush with the linoleum floor.
He took out the small rectangular piece of tin foil and curled it into a tiny canoe-shaped vessel. He went to the faucet and filled it with just over an ounce of water, then placed it gingerly against the weather stripping of the exterior door he’d just entered through. His movements were fluid, his hands steady, careful to not spill a single drop.
He bent down and looked toward the light coming in from the window, making triply sure that there were no water droplets on the floor.
He removed the vial of metallic powder and spread a thick line of it four inches from the teetering canoe of water.
The thought of blowing up squirrel corpses with M80s when he was a kid brought a small smile to his lips. He had graduated.
With a spring in his step, he walked to the oven and opened it. A cautious person had extinguished the pilot light already. He cranked the gas and heard the tiny hiss, and then waited for the smell of propane to fill his nostrils. Though he couldn’t see it, he pictured it cascading like a slow waterfall out of the oven, billowing off the floor before spreading into a thin pool that would grow deeper by the minute.
He exited the kitchen and into the living room of the house, then pulled the door to the kitchen shut. Then he filled the cracks of the door perimeter with spray foam, which billowed outward before hardening to an airtight seal.
Boards underneath the carpet creaked as his two-hundred-and-ninety-five-pound frame glided through the living room. He unlocked the front door and stepped out, locked the bottom lock, and closed it behind him.
Passionless.
Chapter 10
The wind whipped across the dirt road, rocking Wolf’s old Toyota Tacoma. A barrage of dust flew into the truck, and he winced as rocks pelted the windshield. A tiny crack now would be four feet of spider webbed glass by winter. At least he’d had the foresight to stop driving his department-issue SUV. With Connell at the helm of things, Wolf would surely have to pay for any damage to the vehicle driven off-duty out of his own pocket. With money he didn’t have.
The wind was usually a daily fact of life at this time of year, and it had been so windy that it made fishing with Jack more of a hassle than fun. They had caught bush branches and tree leaves all afternoon, and just one fish between them.
Wolf was the lucky one. Jack and Brian didn’t seem to mind the conditions much, which turned out to be more suitable for throwing rocks into the river.
“You guys got the gear?” Wolf pulled up to the front of the house, shut off the engine and rubbed his eyes.
He had taken a sick day from work and spent almost the entire day outside on a hike, and then he’d picked up the boys and taken them fishing. He had needed the time alone to think, and now he was in desperate need of a nap.
He got out, stretched, and waddled on tight legs towards the barn. One board of the old building was loose and slapping against the side of it in the wind. He needed to replace some of the wood and add a few nails. And while he was at it, it needed a fresh red paint job.
He knew his father would smack him on the back of the head if he were standing next to him now, looking at the abysmal shape of the structure, but he’d been busy for the past few years.
It sure wasn’t going to get any TLC from Wolf now; Gary could worry about the state of the barn.
Brian and Jack slammed the tailgate and followed Wolf, pushing each other and laughing.
Wolf squinted as the wind swirled and battered his face with stinging sand. He sheltered his face with an arm and jogged the rest of the way to the barn.
He unlocked the door and stepped in. The air inside was stagnant and hot, so Wolf lifted a window, letting in a cool wisp of air and whipping up a cloud of dust from the warped windowsill.
Wolf looked at the vacant spot on the pegboard above the workbench. “Jack, go get the fish knife, will you? I think it’s in the kitchen. Look in the drawer.”
Jack set the fish in the porcelain sink, leaned the rods against the wall, and ran out with Brian close on his heels.
Wolf picked up the clamped fillet board; the fish knife clanked to the floor. He sighed, picked it up, and walked outside.
“Hey!” He held it up in his hand and twisted it.
Jack and Brian were pressed against the kitchen door, wrestling. They looked at Wolf, and Jack took his hand off the kitchen doorknob, and then pushed Brian back towards the barn. Brian sprinted, jumping the corner of the truck, with Jack mimicking close behind. Jack slipped and landed shoulder first in the dirt.
Wolf shook his head. “Hey, the kitchen door isn’t closed. It’s going to blow open. Go—”
Wolf watched as the door swung open on the breeze. Just then he saw a bright flash from inside it, followed instantaneously by a thundering boom as a yellow glow within the kitchen bowed out the walls, shattering the entire end of the house into an exploding sphere of wood and glass.
Wolf lifted his arms in front of his face just as the shockwave hit him, slamming a searing blast of needle-like debris into his shins, forearms and head. Just before he went to the ground, his mind registered the flailing bodies of the two boys.
Wolf came to with his face resting on the dry grass, his ears ringing a single high-pitched tone. Panic hit him like a bucket of ice water, and he jumped up and ran towards the two boys.
“Jack! Brian!”
Jack lay in a huddled ball, covering his head with his arms.
“Jack, you okay?” Wolf knelt down and shook him.
The kitchen, or what was left of it, was roiling in flames and giving off intense heat. He squinted and looked towards the house, hoping the act didn’t melt his eyelids shut.
Jack unfurled from his ball and looked up with bloodshot eyes.
“You all right?”
Jack nodded.
Wolf gave silent thanks and went to Brian. “Brian! You all right?”
Wolf did a double take, seeing the propane tank still intact at the rear of where the kitchen used to be. It was engulfed in flames and the side of it was charred black.
Brian’s eyes were closed and he didn’t move.
Wolf picked him up, slung him over his shoulder and turned to Jack. “Run! Run! Run!”
Jack responded instantly, running at full speed.
Wolf ran as fast as he could, yelling at Jack’s heels the whole time. When he estimated they were at least a hundred yards into the woods, he told Jack to stop.
Wolf set Brian down and checked his breathing and pulse. Both were steady and strong, but a gash had opened up on his head, and he was bleeding. Wolf started when he noticed that it wasn’t only a gash, but a piece of debris lodged in Brian’s skull.
“You all right?” Wolf looked to Jack, who was staring at Brian. “Jack!”
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine.”
A bright flash, almost imperceptible, pulsed against the surrounding trees, followed a split second later by another explosion.
&nb
sp; “What was that?” Jack’s eyes were wide.
“The propane tank.” Wolf called 9-1-1 and shook Brian gently. “Brian.”
Brian stirred, and his eyes fluttered. He brought up his arm and let out a whine, and that was when Wolf noticed that the boy’s arm was bent at an awkward angle at the forearm.
Wolf talked to the dispatcher and hung up, then told Jack to help Brian keep his mind off his broken arm and bleeding head. Satisfied that the boys were doing all right, he stood and turned full circle, squinting into the surrounding trees.
Chapter 11
Half of the house smoldered in a wet pile of black cinders, and the other half stood looking unscathed by the time the RPFD was done dousing it with water. Despite the outer appearance, the interior of the standing half was all but destroyed. The walls were charred black, carpets sopping wet, and the furniture a combination of both.
The land behind the house was also charred black and smoking, because the trees behind had caught fire immediately with the fierce wind, spreading the flames up the hill fast and burning over a hundred acres of pine forest.
Thankfully it had been a late-coming monsoon season in the mountains of Colorado, the moisture-laden wood slowing the fire. And now, at sunset, the air had calmed, and the fire crew just about had the flames under control.
A red-and-white helicopter thumped above the ranch to the top of the hill, where it bombed the smoking forest with water.
Wolf watched Rachette weave his way through the fire trucks and emergency vehicles swarming the property. He caught Wolf’s eye, nodded, and jogged over.
As way of a greeting, Wolf pointed at Rachette’s neck, which was red, almost bruised, like he’d gotten a row of three or four hickies. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Nothing. You all right?” Rachette asked.
Wolf nodded. “Yeah. Brian was with us. He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll be all right.” Wolf couldn’t stop staring at Rachette’s neck. “Seriously. What happened?”
Rachette looked up at the hillside. “Nothing.”
Wolf stared at him for a few seconds, then turned his attention to the damage. “This was Connell. This was the Connells.”
Rachette looked at Wolf with a raised eyebrow. “What?”
They both glanced towards Connell, who was in the process of yelling at a deputy standing by the emergency crew trucks.
Connell had shown up with the first responders and kept his distance, not speaking a word to Wolf as of yet.
A fireman clad in yellow gear walked towards Wolf and Rachette, shaking his head.
“Hey, Dan. What’s it look like?”
“Hey, Dave.” Dan stopped and exhaled. “Preliminary investigation isn’t telling me much. Hell, you know it was the oven leaking the propane, and that’s about the only definitive thing I’ve got so far. I’ll need some more time, and I’ve got another investigator coming in from Frisco tomorrow morning who’s going to help.”
Wolf looked to Connell, now standing with a hodgepodge group of uniformed men. “I think it was arson, Dan. I saw a white flash just inside the door, right when it exploded. I was looking right at it. Flash powder, I think. Did you find anything there?”
He shrugged. “There was a lot of heat released in the two blasts, and the way the wind fed the flames afterward, there’s really not much left that’s recognizable. Like I said, I’ll need a little more time. But we’ll take a look at that.”
“Okay. Thanks. Keep me posted.” Wolf stared at the ground, and then saw the two boys flipping through the air again.
Wolf looked up and scanned for Connell again.
Connell was on his cell phone, and staring right at him. Right at Wolf. It was only for the briefest instant.
Now Connell walked away with the phone against his ear. Then he peered over his shoulder and looked at Wolf again.
“What the fuck,” Wolf breathed. “That son of a bitch knows something.” He marched towards Connell, and then, before he knew it, he was in a full run.
Connell turned with eyes wide at the sound of Wolf’s approach, and then mumbled something into the phone, hung up, and shoved it in his pants pocket.
Wolf skidded to a stop inches from him. “Give me that phone.”
“No.” Connell stood his ground, his hulking chest expanded. “What the hell you doing, Sergeant? Stand down. Now!”
Wolf dug his hand into the front pocket of Connell’s pants.
Connell pushed against Wolf’s neck with his right hand. “What are you doing?”
Wolf brought his left arm up, knocking Connell’s arm away, gripped the back of his head, then dug the fingertips of his right hand into the notch at the base of his throat and pulled down.
With a high squeal, Connell fell straight to the ground, and Wolf landed hard on top of him. Wolf reached into Connell’s pocket again, extracted his phone, and popped up in one fluid movement.
Wolf checked the phone. The last call showed Dad.
“Put that phone down now!” Connell shouted from behind him.
The surrounding men stepped away, raising their arms, and at that point Wolf knew Connell had his gun drawn. Probably pointed straight at his back.
Wolf continued walking away, dialed the number, and put the phone to his ear.
“Yeah,” the voice said.
Wolf watched the frantic eyes of a nearby deputy, and then heard the thump of a foot and rustle of fabric behind him. He ducked just in time.
Connell’s fist grazed his ear with a whoosh.
Wolf dropped the phone and lunged low at Connell’s legs, bringing him hard onto his back with a two-leg takedown.
Connell landed with a grunt and bounced up as if he’d landed on a mattress, then grabbed Wolf’s head in a left-arm vise headlock and wrenched with superhuman strength.
Wolf’s ears folded down and mashed against his head, cutting off all sound.
Then Wolf’s body was airborne as he was pulled up and away by a cluster of men grabbing the lower half of his body. For an agonizing few seconds he felt as if his skull was going to crack like a watermelon, or be clean removed from his shoulders.
Connell’s grip finally let up, and Wolf’s head slipped free, his ears filling with a cacophony of loud yells, grunts, and the scraping of boots.
They both stood up like wild beasts, struggling against the men, who were now running and diving into the mayhem from every direction.
Wolf sucked in deep breaths and fought the web of arms laced around him.
He wanted to kill Connell. There was no other thought in his mind. Connell needed to be put down. He thought of the boys tumbling through the air again, and the memory sent another shot of adrenaline into his blood. He wrenched himself free for a second, gaining a foot of distance before the men pulled him back.
“Whooaaa, whoa!” the collective mass yelled.
Wolf snapped out of it and stopped himself. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then stood still and calm.
Connell pumped his tree-trunk arms against those who gripped him. Among them was the now red-faced Rachette, holding onto the arm that had been death-clamping Wolf’s head a few seconds earlier.
“Get. Off. Me!” Connell bounced everyone off, glared at Rachette and then at Wolf.
No one spoke. The men stood in a loose circle, wheezing and coughing. All were wide-eyed with anticipation.
Vickers stepped in between them, looked to the ground, and held both hands out. “Walk away, gentlemen.”
“You’re fucking …” Connell pointed with a clinched jaw. A line of fresh blood dripped down the side of his face from the stitches above his eye.
“Gentlemen.” Vickers’s voice was calm and assertive. “Walk away. Let it go.”
Wolf stared unblinking until Connell turned and walked away.
“Where’s my phone?” Connell demanded, pushing Deputy Yates aside and looking at the ground.
A firefighter picked up the phone and held it up in the air, seemed to think bette
r of the idea and passed it to Vickers, who walked it to Connell.
Rachette put his hand on Wolf’s shoulder. “You all right?”
Wolf nodded. “Yeah.” He pointed to his own head, then to Connell’s back. “Thanks.”
Rachette nodded.
Connell turned on his heels and walked backwards, this time glaring at Rachette. Connell raised his eyebrows and nodded his head, then he turned back and continued walking.
Wolf noticed Rachette’s hand unconsciously come up to his neck.
They stood quietly for a minute while Wolf steadied his breathing.
Rachette dug in his pocket and held out his can of Copenhagen.
“Quit being such an enabler.” Wolf snatched it from his hand and took a pinch.
Rachette smiled and gave a sideways glance to the men milling about nearby. He kept his voice low. “What the hell was that? What’s going on?”
Wolf nodded to the surrounding men and two women medics who looked just as pumped full of adrenaline as he was. They all paused their conversations, as if waiting for a speech or something.
He knew that the deputies of the SCSD must have been hungry for leadership they were lacking at the moment. The other uniformed men and women gathered in Wolf’s front yard were shaken up. This was not normal operating procedure, not by a long shot.
It had been a foregone conclusion in the minds of ninety percent of the deputies, and all other county employees that Deputy Sergeant Wolf would be the next sheriff of Sluice County. For the past two years, Wolf had been in charge of the SCSD in every sense except his official rank. Burton had checked out years ago, effectively handing the reins to Wolf. But now Connell had snatched them away, and he was already steering the department like an inept child. Things were not just going south; they were already there.
Wolf didn’t know what to say. “All right, guys, let’s just get back to work.”