The Bear

by Dustin Stevens

  “What time you get in last night?” Rhett asked.

  The outside corner of Reed’s mouth rose slightly at the question, both of them already knowing the answer. Just as he had done since Reed first started taking the car out at sixteen years old, his father had pretended to be asleep in his chair in the living room until after he’d made it home.

  Only then had he risen and toddled off to bed, Reed hearing him pass by his door shortly after he laid down himself.

  “Sorry about that,” Reed said.

  After Grimes had called, any hope of going back to sleep was futile. Unable to turn his mind off, to quit wrestling with the unwanted situations that seemed to keep finding him, he had spent a few minutes checking sports scores on his phone before rising and heading to the shower.

  Throughout, he had wondered how much to share with his parents of the night before. While he knew it would probably all come out eventually, he didn’t want to color the bulk of his visit with it, nor did he want to taint what they might think about their new hometown.

  Even less did he want to lie to them, though - by omission or otherwise.

  “We had a situation last night,” Reed opened.

  Shifting a few inches, he could see his father glance over, raising an eyebrow. “We?”

  “Billie and I,” Reed clarified, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to his partner curled up beneath the kitchen table, her head lifted and her gaze aimed their way.

  Again, his father grunted. “Everybody alright?”

  “We are,” Reed replied, “though I don’t think the girl that got kidnapped can say the same thing this morning.”

  This time, there was nothing subtle about the way his father turned to stare at him, or the questioning look on his face. “Come again?”

  Meeting it for only a moment, Reed turned back to the window. Taking down the last of the tea in one long pull, he started at the beginning, running through the entire sequence, just as he had done for Grimes an hour earlier.

  When he was done, he included the call from the captain that morning, telling of the warning that had been passed his way.

  Start-to-finish, the retelling took just over five minutes. Pushed out on what seemed a single breath, Reed felt like he was almost panting by the time he was done, already wishing he had more tea as his father worked through things in silence.

  As he did so, they could hear the shifting movement of Reed’s mother on the second floor, followed by the sound of the shower kicking to life.

  “So, what’s your plan?” Rhett eventually asked.

  “My plan?” Reed replied, feigning ignorance despite knowing exactly what his father meant.

  Some things transcended issues like jurisdiction lines. Just because they were the better part of a thousand miles from their usual beat didn’t mean the event didn’t resonate with him or his partner.

  Unable to turn off the reaction the years had ingrained in him, Reed had started formulating a course of action while standing in the alley the night before. Point by point, he had plotted how he would proceed if this was his case.

  And even if it wasn’t.

  A fact that, based on the call Grimes had received, had best remain that way.

  “Yeah,” his father said, “your plan.”

  Raising a hand, Reed motioned to the world outside, the bottom quarter of the sun just making it up over the horizon before them.

  “Well, I was thinking I would run down to make that statement this morning as requested, and by the time I got back, the sun would have burned off enough dew that we could get started.”

  “Sounds about right,” his father said, nodding once for confirmation as he turned back to stare out the window. “You forgot one thing, though.”

  “What’s that?” Reed asked.

  “The part where you don’t quite mention all this to your mother just yet.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Whereas the 8th Precinct Reed normally worked out of what resembled an old schoolhouse, the Warner Police Department looked closer to what he might have imagined a firehouse from a different era to look like. No wider than twenty yards across, most of the building was built from concrete block that was left bare. Rising ten feet, from there it gave way to a red metal roof, pitched inward from either side and meeting another five feet above that.

  Standing in front of it, the design hinted that the interior space was cleaved evenly in two, a rolltop door on one side for incoming and outgoing cruisers, a single glass entrance opposite it. Stenciled across the glass were the words Warner Police Department, a slogan and office hours scrawled out beneath them.

  Parked in one of a trio of visitor stalls out front, Reed stared up from behind the steering wheel. Letting out a low sigh, he watched the front of the building for a full minute, seeing nobody coming or going, before stepping out of the car. As he did so, he could hear the faint clang of a school bell somewhere in the distance, a pair of dogs immediately yelping in response.

  The very definition of Americana.

  Right up to the part where Reed was about to step inside a potentially hostile building to give a statement about the abduction of a young girl.

  Dressed for the day of yardwork to come, Reed crossed the sidewalk to the front entrance and stepped through. Pausing on the rug just inside the door, he thrust his hands into his pockets and waited, the smell of coffee strong in the air, no more wanted now than it had been in the kitchen moments before.

  The interior of the building was just as the outside had intimated, a wall seeming to run directly back through the middle of it. Before him was an elevated reception platform, the desk currently empty, though the active computer monitor atop it hinted that someone would soon be returning.

  Beyond that sat a pair of desks pressed tight to either side, the expected levels of paperwork and personal knickknacks covering their surfaces.

  Not quite as busy as the bullpen back home in Columbus, though on par with a station no larger than this.

  In the distance was an open door to what Reed imagined to be the kitchen. A table and plastic chairs sat in the foreground, the sound of barely audible voices wafting out the doorway.

  Saying nothing, Reed watched as a man appeared in the doorway a moment later, paper cup in hand. Somewhere in his mid-forties, he looked to be carrying at least thirty extra pounds, most of it concentrated in his core and chin. Thick hair was barely pushed to the side, falling across his forehead, and matching a heavy mustache.

  Staring intently at his beverage in hand, he made it halfway back to the front desk before noticing Reed standing before him and pulling up with a start, his brows rising in surprise. As he did so, brown liquid splashed up over the lip of his cup, pouring over his fingers and falling to the floor.

  “Sonuva...” the man snapped, pulling up just short of the punchline. Dropping the cup onto the closest desk, he raised his hand to his shoulder, swinging it violently to fling away any excess droplets. “Damn, that’s hot.”

  Starting with his index finger, he thrust each of his first three digits into his mouth, sucking loudly, before looking up to Reed. What could be seen of his face was bright red, his hand still held at an angle before him.

  “Help you?” he asked, the delivery and the tone both relaying he would rather do anything else in the world.

  Giving an extra moment to ensure that no further outburst was coming, Reed took a step forward, moving from the rug onto tile. “Looking for Officer Wyatt. I’m supposed to give him a statement.”

  Immediately beginning to respond, the man stopped after uttering just a single sound, not making it even far enough for Reed to decipher what he was about to say. All concern for his hand seemed to bleed away as he tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing.

  “Statement, huh? So you’re-”-

  How the rest of the sentence was meant to go, Reed didn’t hear, as the words got cut off by a second man behind the first. Appearing in the doorway of the kitchen, he took one step out into th
e room, hands on either hip, and barked, “Corey! I’ll take it from here.”

  Taking another step forward, he raised his right hand from his hip, lifting a single finger and motioning for Reed to follow him. “Come on back. We can talk in my office.”

  Flicking his gaze between the two men, Reed felt his core contract slightly. He hadn’t even given his name yet, though it was already apparent the men knew who he was and had been waiting for his arrival.

  Again, he heard the words of Grimes that morning, wanting no part of whatever power dynamic he had just stumbled into.

  The night before he had told Wyatt what little he knew. From there, it was best for him to turn things over to the locals, letting them wrestle in the mud together however they saw fit.

  As hard as it might have been trying to force the incident from his mind and to banish years of training, it was still better than whatever was already at play here.

  Saying nothing, Reed stepped past the reception desk. Drifting a step to the side, he made a wide berth around the man still standing in the center of the office, glancing over just long enough to see the name Ecklund on his chest plate.

  Up close, he was also younger than Reed had previously thought, the extra weight giving him a few extra years, the two pieces of information coming together in Reed’s mind, already beginning to match up with what Grimes had said that morning.

  In the rear of the space, the second man waited until Reed was halfway back before turning to his left and disappearing. Not until Reed was almost to the end of the room did he see where the man had gone, the section carved out for cruisers only making it two-thirds of the way back.

  The remainder of the building was partitioned into a large suite with a glass front, blinds twisted open hanging across two expansive panes on either side of a matching door. Emblazoned on the entryway was the same department name and slogan as out front, this one replacing the office hours with the name ‘Carver Ecklund’ and the title ‘Chief of Police.’

  Why either was necessary given the physical position of the office and the fact that anybody that ever made it close enough likely already knew the man and his post, Reed didn’t pretend to understand.

  Given what little he knew already, the answer likely had nothing to do with practicality, or even serving the post the office was intended for.

  “Come on in,” the man said, stopping just inside the door. Turning back to face Reed, he thrust a hand out. “Carver Ecklund, Warner Chief of Police.”

  “Reed Mattox,” Reed replied, choosing to leave out his title for the time being, just as he’d opted to keep Billie at home with his parents for the morning.

  No point in baiting the man if he could avoid it.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Ecklund said, giving Reed’s hand two quick pumps and a slight squeeze before releasing and reaching for the door. Swinging it shut, he turned on a heel and headed for the far side of his desk.

  Like the younger man outside, Ecklund carried a paper cup in hand. The similarities ending there, the man was shorter by a couple of inches and lighter by at least fifty pounds. Somewhere around sixty, his skin tone seemed unnaturally tan given the time of year, the shade made especially pronounced by his crewcut and goatee both being snow white.

  Given their respective appearances, Reed would peg them as an uncle and nephew, the differences pronounced enough to make a father and son unlikely.

  Walking slowly around to the backside of his desk, Ecklund made a show of pulling out his chair and lowering himself into it. Wearing a captain’s shirt and tie, his uniform jacket and head cover were both hanging on a rack in the corner behind him.

  Also behind him was an expansive shelving unit that had been built into the wall, stretching the breadth of the room. On it was a cornucopia of awards and memorabilia, all ranging from softball tournament trophies to plaques given by various civic organizations.

  A veritable shrine to the man now sitting opposite Reed.

  “Mattox,” Ecklund began, lines forming around his eyes as he acted as if he were pondering the name. “Knew a couple of Mattox’s from Muskogee, but never any down this way. That you?”

  With his hands resting on his thighs, Reed pressed his fingers down into the top of his legs. He pushed until he could see his fingernails flash white, pausing before answering, hoping it would be enough to tamp down the animosity welling within him.

  Not two hours ago, the man had spoken to Reed’s boss. He knew where he was from and what he did, going through the paces as if Reed didn’t have a clue.

  Already he could see why Grimes was flinging profanity around when they spoke.

  “No,” Reed said, his tone and his features neutral. “We’re from around OKC. My folks just moved this way and I flew in from back east to help for a few days.”

  His answer deliberately vague, Reed watched as the realization hit Ecklund. His lips parted just slightly as his head rocked back, considering the response.

  “Back east, huh? Whereabouts?”

  So badly Reed wanted to ask if it mattered, if there was any point to the conversation they were having, though those thoughts he managed to keep down as well.

  “Ohio,” Reed replied.

  “Oh,” Ecklund said, his chin rising just a few inches. “And what do you do back there?”

  Delivered free of inflection, the question was framed to seem innocent enough, though it did nothing to alleviate the growing vitriol Reed already felt.

  “Is Officer Wyatt in today?” Reed replied, refusing to acknowledge the question or to continue feeding answers into the backward interrogation that was playing out. “He asked me to stop by and make a statement, but I can come back if he’s not around until later.”

  On the opposite side of the desk, Ecklund remained silent. He stared across at Reed, his features going rigid save a single tendon flexing along his neck.

  Sitting fixed in that position for several moments, he peered across the desk, one eye narrowed, doing what Reed suspected was his impression of a hardened glare.

  Not that Reed was the slightest bit in the mood for it, the last few weeks reducing any tether he might have had for police administration down to a few micrometers.

  “Did you happen to see the name on the door when you walked in here?” Ecklund asked.

  Reed had seen it. Both the outer door and the one just a few feet behind him both said Warner Police Department, though he didn’t bother saying as much.

  His point had already been made. Adding anything now would push things from veiled hostility into something that made life difficult for both him and his parents.

  And while he was leaving in a week, they still had to make a home in this community.

  “I did,” Reed said, the words tasting like acid on his tongue.

  “So, you know I am the chief of police,” Ecklund continued, rattling it off as if a practiced monologue, “which means I am the law in this town.”

  It took every bit of Reed’s willpower not to say a word, not to smirk, snort, or respond in any way.

  Even if the tips of all fingers threatened to snap at any moment from the pressure he was currently exerting on them.

  “I have been taking care of this place for thirty years now,” Ecklund continued, “and I don’t need some big-city hotshot detective coming in here and stirring things up.”

  For one of the few times in recent memory, Reed was glad that Billie wasn’t by his side. If she was, she would be picking up on the adrenaline and acrimony roiling through him, unable to hide her emotions as she stood at the ready, wanting nothing more than to vault across the desk at the man currently insulting her partner.

  And Reed would be lying if he said he wouldn’t be itching to give her the command to do just that.

  “You got that?” Ecklund asked.

  Reed did have it. He had everything he needed about the man across from him, including the fact that not once had he even asked about the kidnapping.

  “Not stirring up anything,”
Reed replied. “Just here to help my folks get settled in. And right now, that means getting home and getting on the mower.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The lower half of The Bear’s face felt different without the plume of growth that had been growing for almost half a year. Knowing that the end of the last run was nearing, that a change would soon be in the offing, he had ceased all maintenance before the holidays. Letting it go without trimming in the slightest, it had managed to extend a few inches from his cheeks and jaw, obscuring most of his features from view.

  Not to mention serving as a nice barrier from the harsh winter winds on the prairie.

  Rubbing his palms along either cheek, it felt unusual to again be able to feel his jawline. To experience the warmth radiating from his hands, heating his lips and chin.

  After months with the beard, The Bear wasn’t entirely sure he was a fan.

  Not that it mattered, the goal being that the girl would come to like it.

  And more importantly, that she would never think to match him against the man who had been sitting in that booth just a few nights before.

  Perched on the rolling desk chair in the room adjacent to where she now was, The Bear sat in silence. Much like the adjacent space, this room was without windows, bypassing even the pretense of putting up wallpaper or laying hardwood floors.

  Nothing but bare concrete, keeping the temperature cool and the lighting dim.

  Not requiring near the niceties of his guest, very little had been added in the way of personal touches. A space heater in the corner and a mini refrigerator and microwave along the back wall were more than sufficient to meet his needs.

  A bit out of turn, a shelving unit stood in the corner, each level loaded with various toiletries and beddings, all of it intended for the space on the opposite side of the wall.