The Bear
Page 1
The Bear
A Reed & Billie Novel, Book 7
Dustin Stevens
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Sneak Peek #1
Sneak Peek #2
Thank You For Reading!
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Dustin’s Books
About the Author
The Bear
A Reed & Billie Novel
Copyright © 2019, Dustin Stevens
Cover Art and Design: Jun Ares
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without the written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.
We are ruled by the forces of chance
and coincidence.
--Paul Auster
You may not control all the events that
happen to you, but you can decide not to
be reduced by them.
--Maya Angelou
Prologue
Growing up on the plains of Oklahoma, Reed had seen hundreds of storm cellars before. Ranging in size and shape, age and austerity, the sole thing they all shared was their purpose.
To act as a safe house, a shelter from the elements, nestling all that stepped inside from the chaos that ruled above.
More than once, Reed and his family had been forced inside the bunker that butted up to the back of their home outside of Oklahoma City. Responding to the enormous sirens blaring across town, they had dropped whatever they were doing, grabbing up the family pets and anything else within arm’s reach before sprinting for the back door.
From there, it was simply a matter of sitting and waiting in the filmy, yellow glow of the bare bulbs hanging above. Listening to the sounds of the wind howling and random debris thrashing about, they wondered what kind of world they would later emerge to find.
But never before had Reed encountered anything like this.
Not once had he ever even heard of a situation where the danger waited inside the bunker.
Switching the extendable baton to his left hand, Reed glanced to Billie standing beside him. Sweat dripped from the tip of his nose, burned his eyes, as he looked her way, checking her posture, seeing the adrenaline that gripped her body in much the same way it now did his. “You ready?”
With her body coiled, Billie offered only a single sound, a guttural growl that began deep in her diaphragm and rolled out over her exposed teeth.
“Alright,” Reed whispered, extending his right hand and curling his fingers around the silver handle on the cellar door. Jerking it back with one quick pull, he allowed it to fall open to the side and slam against the sunbaked earth with a mighty crack.
With his knees bent and his body poised, Reed switched the baton back to his right hand. Billie crowded in beside him, the ridged cartilage of her ribcage flush against his thigh.
Together, they peered inside, the faint gasps of moonlight barely able to illuminate what lay within.
Nothing more than a narrow column of concrete stairs descending into the darkness.
Chapter One
The coffee resembled battery acid, like it had been sitting for the last several hours in a pot that badly needed cleaning, the staff avoiding making a new one for the final few stragglers of the night. The hamburger patty was premade and fatty, the type that could be bought ten-to-a-bag at the Costco in Muskogee. The squirrel’s nest of fries that accompanied the burger was little more than shoestring potatoes, fried to a color that God never intended and with a consistency that would likely be felt upon exiting in the morning.
The Bear had managed to choke down every last bit of it.
A man of his appearance tended to leave an impression. That, he could do nothing about. In fact, much of what was currently on display was done with that point in mind.
Low-hanging fruit for whoever might glance his way to glom onto.
As for the rest, he would do everything he could to make himself as forgettable as possible. That meant doing things such as finishing his dinner, offering polite conversation, leaving a tip that fell in the dead center of the range deemed acceptable.
Societal norms serving as the perfect cover.
It was the first time The Bear had ever been inside the diner, the place nothing more than space carved out of the ground floor of a sagging building right along Main Street. If the sign on the door was to be believed, it had been open and serving the town of Warner for more than fifty years, most of the furnishings inside bearing out as much.
Along the front was a row of booths, their seats covered in tan and gold vinyl. Frayed and cracked along the edges, stray stripes of grease or dried ketchup could be seen spotting many of them, time and apathy having cemented their place as part of the interior décor.
Running parallel to them was a front counter lined with stools rising straight out of the floor. Most of the chrome had been rubbed away along the support posts and the rungs at the bottom, years of foot traffic having buffed them down to the bare metal.
Not that one would be able to discern as much on this particular evening. When The Bear had arrived, there was a single couple in the first booth sharing a slice of what looked to be strawberry pie. Both well into their sixties and intent on finishing their dessert and
being on their way, neither had so much as glanced at him as he moved past.
Only six minutes after his arrival, they had done just that, leaving The Bear to his business.
Which was the reason for his visit.
Rare was the occasion when The Bear willingly ventured into this or any other town. When he did, it was always with a purpose, to perform only what he must before retreating to the safety of home.
And there existed no greater purpose than the one that had drawn him out on this particular evening.
A thin smile tugged at the corners of The Bear’s mouth as he sat buffeted with the knowledge that there was no way anybody, save the lone waitress nearby, had ever seen him before. Not the couple at the front table, not the pot-bellied man in a dirty T-shirt and apron working the grill behind the bar.
Only the girl, who could not possibly remember him, for a variety of reasons.
Even if she had served as the focal point of The Bear’s thinking for what now seemed an eternity.
His hands gripped around the nearly empty coffee cup, he sat with his elbows on the table, his shoulders bunched just beneath his ears. With his gaze aimed toward the windows lining the front of the diner, he looked out at the gas station sitting across the street, a menagerie of neon signage already burning bright, beckoning to any potential customers.
For all its effort, though, the attempt seemed to be just as futile as anything the diner was trying, as only a single car sat outside. A condition that wasn’t too surprising, the entire town serving as home to less than two thousand people.
Another point in The Bear’s favor.
“Everything alright here?” the waitress asked with a tired smile on her face as she arrived at the head of the table.
Looking up from his spot along the far side of the booth, his back to the wall affording him a full view of the room, The Bear forced a smile as well, ignoring the faint clench that had settled into his chest.
“Oh, yes ma’am. Thank you.”
“Will there be anything else?” she asked.
At ten minutes before closing, the timing of her arrival wasn’t by mistake. Nor was the look on her face, bordering on hopeful.
The Bear had been welcome for the first fifty minutes of his stay, a decent enough distraction offering a nice break in the dull monotony of a Tuesday evening.
But now he was starting to tread dangerously close to forcing her to stay a minute longer than necessary.
The girl had spunk, or – as his mother used to say – gumption. That was good. It would serve them both well.
Taking a moment before responding, The Bear looked up at her. He studied the contours of her face, seeing the way her wide cheekbones sloped toward her chin. He took in her dark hair pulled into a messy bun behind her head, the tangle held in place by the chewed nub of a pencil jammed down into it at an angle.
And he stared at the chestnut eyes looking back his way, dark enough they almost matched the black of her pupils.
It wasn’t a perfect match, but there was no denying that the semblance was striking.
“No, ma’am,” The Bear replied, his voice soft, a complete contrast to the various emotions roiling within him. “Just the check, please.”
“Sure thing, Hon,” the waitress replied. Reaching into the front of her apron, she pulled out a single sheet of paper, already detached from the pad she’d used to take his order. “I can take that whenever you’re ready.”
Allowing his gaze to linger another moment, to make one last pass through his mental checklist, The Bear nodded. “Thank you.”
As fast as the girl had arrived, she was gone again. Twirling on the ball of her foot, she headed toward the swinging doors separating the front from the kitchen, already untying the apron from her waist as she went.
Watching until she disappeared, The Bear extended a hand. He flipped over the check, ignoring the spots of grease along the top and even the total circled in red ink halfway down.
Instead, his focus landed on the note at the bottom, scrawled out in the waitress’s own hand, telling him to come back anytime.
An invitation he had a feeling she would come to regret in the very near future.
Chapter Two
“Welcome to the Will Rogers World Airport,” the automated voice said over the loudspeaker. Ignored by the vast majority of people moving through the place, the words settled into Reed Mattox’s ears, drawing a smile to his face.
Just as they did every time he heard them.
Why the Oklahoma City airport insisted on referring to itself as a world airport instead of an international airport was something he had discussed at length with his parents. And his friends. And occasionally even the poor soul sitting next to him on an outbound flight.
Sometimes they responded in kind. Others, they looked at him as if he was crazy.
But never did it fail to elicit a response of some sort, which, he supposed, was the point.
Allowing the smile to linger, Reed hitched the bag on his shoulder up a bit higher. With his gaze aimed toward the ground, he rounded the last turn out of the gate area of the terminal, two things hitting him in unison, making it very clear that he had reached his destination.
The first was the smell of barbecue. A heavenly combination of charred animal flesh and wood smoke, it seemed to waft down from the food court nearby, a Siren calling out to weary travelers as they stumbled past.
On cue, Reed felt his stomach constrict, the fact not lost on him that it had been ages since he’d had proper brisket.
Even if it would have to wait, the second thing arriving a moment later, an assault on a different sense altogether.
The sound was nothing short of earsplitting, threatening to shatter any pane of glass within hearing distance. Held at an octave that would make Mariah Carey in her prime envious, it extended for several moments, ebbing and flowing in time with the steps of Reed’s mother bounding forward, arms extended before her.
Creeping up just short of the thick, red line painted on the floor demarcating the secured area from the outside terminal, she paused, her weight bobbing from side to side, the squeal continuing to well from deep within.
Trying to stop her would be of no use. Nor would attempting to placate the security guards standing on either side of the walkway, both glancing nervously between the woman and the line on the floor, hoping they wouldn’t be forced to act.
“Hey, Mama,” Reed said. Keeping his bag hoisted up onto a shoulder, he turned his body slightly to the side, clearing a path for the pair of hands that slid around his waist.
As his mother clamped him tight in both arms, he could feel her squeeze tight against his ribcage, the smell of Prell shampoo rising to his nostrils.
Inching toward her sixtieth year, one would not be remiss in thinking Cheryl Mattox was a full decade younger. Any signs of stray grays had been beaten back by regular trips to the salon for highlights, and her vision remained as sharp as it had been when she was in her twenties, obviating the need for glasses.
If not for the faint lines etched around her mouth and eyes, forty-five might not be out of the question.
A graceful aging process Reed had accepted years ago would probably be skipping him in the generational cycle.
“Hey, buddy,” she replied, her voice muffled slightly by her cheek pressed tight against his chest. “Didn’t think you were ever going to get here.”
Releasing his grip on her, Reed stepped back. Glancing to the bank of monitors affixed to the wall above them, he checked the digital clock in the corner, his brow coming together slightly.
“Really? I didn’t even tell you to be here for another fifteen minutes.”
“I know,” she replied, “but you know how your father is.”
In response, Reed felt his smile return, this time growing a bit larger.
He did know how his father was. Just as he knew that his old man’s insistence on arriving painfully early for most everything would be the death of his mother yet.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Reed said, the two of them falling in beside one another. To either side, passengers in a much bigger hurry sped past, making it only a few feet further before being forced out wide again.
A fact Reed also knew his father took great pride in.
Feet planted firmly in the center of the hall, Rhett Mattox stood with his arms folded across his chest. Dressed in his omnipresent Sooners T-shirt and running shoes, the only concession made for summer fast approaching were the cargo shorts that now covered his lower half.
Still in possession of the majority of his hair, it had trended from dark brown to steel gray, the length buzzed down into something between a flattop and a crewcut.
A healthy splash of prairie sunshine was already on his skin.