Nomad: A Story from The Reels

by Brian Ewing

  Five minutes of hobbling around led him to Fuller and Kendrell.

  “You really got yourself in some shit, Sisto,” Fuller said.

  “Great to see you too, Fuller.”

  “Norton already fell back to the surveillance truck a mile up the road,” Kendrell explained. “He texted and told us you got Bell to reach out. Good thing you did, because minutes before that, Norton was livid.”

  “Something new,” Sisto uttered.

  Kendrell and Fuller both smiled in unison.

  “Well, we got a lot to go over. Everything has changed.” Sisto said.

  The next morning couldn’t have come fast enough. Sisto had Norton and crew take him back to the bed & breakfast that he and Fitz had checked into yesterday. Along the way, Sisto explained how Púca was now in the know about a killer using his event as a hunting ground. Sisto had to explain why Fitz was being left behind but felt it wasn’t his place to air out his personal life to them. He told them that Fitz ran into old friends and was invited to stay in their campground spot. That part wasn’t a complete lie but Sisto did suggest that Fitz was trying to gather information for the case, as opposed to the truth of trying to regain one last spark of happiness between him and Púca.

  Norton explained how they seized the bed & breakfast shortly after he and Fitz checked in, under the pretense of a police matter. Kendrell and Norton shared a room with a double bed, leaving Fuller to enjoy a room to herself. Powers and Tomb were tasked with going back to SCPD and start getting reports filed, then head back up to Mustain early the next morning so they could drop off the group of imposters by six or six-thirty at the latest. Sisto begged Norton to have the two head up a half-hour earlier so they could go sit down for breakfast, but in true-prick fashion, Norton snorted as he told Sisto no. Norton must have changed his mind slightly when waking up because when Powers and Tomb showed up, they had three bags of McDonald’s.

  Sisto was not opposed to the recipes that have donned the house of Ronald McDonald all these years but were hoping for some fresh pancakes or something. He settled down once an egg sandwich presented itself. Sisto explained that with Púca on board, Norton and the team were strict to fall back unless Sisto texted him otherwise. Norton entered his cell number into the burner phone and handed it back to Sisto.

  “If I don’t get a text from you by 11:15 AM, I am barging in there to get all of you,” Norton said.

  “Norton, just take a pill. We are not on a training op. You don’t have to pretend you’re the boss out here.”

  “Oh, good. I guess I don’t have to hold back my distaste for you then either, you carnival freak.”

  “I have heard worse.”

  “All I know is you better not fuck this up. You have your SWAT test later in the week and I want you out of my hair so bad, I can taste the gunpowder.”

  “The feeling is mutual you fucking prick.”

  Kendrell and Fuller and bit back smiles and at that moment Sisto realized he just lived out a fantasy that both of them have had, probably since the moment they met Luke Norton. Norton on the other hand was not very pleased about being called out. That same vein that presented itself through the greasepaint only two days back was resurging. Norton looked like he was about to speak, then paused a moment, before letting it go as Fuller handed the man something called a McGriddle. They pulled up to the front lot but not inside. Norton swung the sliding door open and told Sisto they would wrap around in a half hour to give him some space.

  Sisto walked up around the trail behind the complex to view a sea of tents posted all over the place. He maneuvered between the tents until he got to the dance floor. Instead of two men guarding the glass doors as there had been last night, there were men coming through the doors with hands full of containers of food, coffee cups, and industrial hotboxes filled with coffee. Sisto could see in the lobby where the men were coming from, a glass window revealing the front of the building. There were multiple white vans backed up to the front with back doors open. About ten men, some probably Púca’s, some just prospects from other groups that were volun-told they would be helping.

  Sisto’s stomach was nowhere close to being satisfied from the half of a McMuffin but being it was incredibly chilly, he was ready for a hot coffee to wrap his hands around. A young man that looked like he was going to be late for high school, had just opened a new sleeve of coffee cups. He caught Sisto in the corner of his eye and handed him one.

  “Good morning, Sir.”

  “Please, no Sir, just Sisto.”

  The young man extended his hand to shake, introducing himself as Chandler Sullivan. Sisto shifted his cup of coffee into the hand that was in the sling, leaving his left hand available for the courtesy to shake the young man’s hand. Chandler was called by a fellow prospect back at the doorway, asking him to expedite his task so he could head back to the truck for more. He waved to Sisto and Sisto rose his coffee to the young man as he walked away. Sisto took a sweetener and looked for creamer. He found some in between two of the catering beverage containers of coffee. It was a liquid to his delight, as opposed to the chalky garbage SCPD used to torture him within the break room.

  He looked around to see if anyone was up yet and it was pretty much a ghost town as he suspected. He took a sip of the coffee, which burned his lips to the touch. He cruised by Garrett Brower’s tent and it seems he and Duke and the Willams brothers must have had a long night. Sisto saw that Duke’s tent wasn’t closed fully and he had two beer bottles next to his head, along with half a sock on. The only sound from the Williams brother’s tent was offset snoring. Sisto chuckled and took another sip of his coffee, simply looking for a quiet place to sit down and wait for the event to liven up for the day.

  In the corner of his eye, he saw a silhouette of a person atop a mound of excavated dirt. Next to the bulldozer, there were two large mountains of loose earth and the person was occupying one of them. The Sun started to rise and hit the East side of the complex. Sisto figured the other heap of dirt was as good a place to perch and wait as any. He made his way up the mountain of sand, which proved more difficult as he had forgotten about his restriction with the knee brace on. Half focused on not spilling his coffee, the other half focused on not breaking his neck, he reached the top and looked to greet the other early riser.

  He was in genuine shock that out of the hundreds of people at the event, the man sitting on the other pile of excess earth had been someone he already met. Sisto didn’t think the man was aware that he was on the opposing pile. He was zoning out, lost in a memory. Sisto knew the feeling and didn’t want to bother him, but then thought it would be weird if he just sat and stared at the man while he was having a private moment. He noticed the man also had grabbed a coffee, probably the first one off the assembly line based on the fact that Sisto hadn’t seen him at the drink station when he was talking to Chandler. Sisto decided to try and sit with his brace and refrain from wearing the scalding coffee on his lap, then he would gently interrupt the inner monologue of his new acquaintance, Andy.

  CHAPTER 28

  The cool bite held by the morning breeze caused Andrick to think about Troy Boatman. He pulled up the memory of the icy water rushing past the boy’s submerged face when he heard someone curse to his right. Breaking out of the moment, he saw the man that had been with Fitz Ackerman, knee brace and sling and all, attempting to juggle a hot coffee while sitting down on the pile next to his pile. The attempt must not have gone well as there was a wet circle around the man’s crotch and the blatant curse that took Andrick out of a trance. The uncoordinated handicapped man looked settled finally and looked up and over to him, rising his coffee to greet him.

  “Good morning!” The man said. “I’m Sisto, we met last night at dinner. You are part of Mason’s group. Andy, right?”

  “Andrick,” he corrected the man, shining his best false bravado possible.

  The man looked at him a moment as if he wanted to ask if Andrick was sure his name had not been Andy. It led to an
uncomfortable moment of silence.

  “And you said your name is Sisto? That’s an interesting name. Where is your family from?” Andrick asked, trying to be polite so the thought of snapping the man’s other arm would subside.

  “Ah, well, my name is Tom. Tom Sisto. Everyone just calls me Sisto though.”

  Andrick nodded.

  “So, you been riding with Mason long?”

  The inquisitive nature of the gimp had thrown Andrick into a cautious assessment of the man. It was visible Andrick let some emotion slip as Mr. Sisto started to babble like an idiot.

  “I mean, it seems like a good group of guys. My friend, Fitz, you met him yesterday. Guy with the long beard, looks like he was born out of the womb of a motorcycle engine?”

  Andrick smiled at the man’s comparison and nodded. It would be nearly impossible to forget Fitz Ackerman, the only worthy advisory he has come across in a long time. Years of scars and tattoos and a lifestyle far outside the normal prey he wrangles showed Andrick the new level to his constantly rising bar.

  “I just wasn’t sure if you all went way back or if Fitz just knew Mason from before, is all.”

  Andrick spoke softly and politely. “I had a few run-ins with Mason over the years on the event trail, but we ran into each other on this year’s trip and really just seemed to hit it off. So, I have been riding with him and Freddy and Rug since Ohio. It sure has been a hoot. Freddy is very competitive among all these tournament games.”

  Something registered in Mr. Sisto’s face, then he snapped his fingers, “That’s right. I saw you two playing in the beer pong tournament yesterday.”

  “Indeed. We made it all the way to the semi-finals, which considering young Fredward is not that good at the game, is quite impressive.”

  Sisto chuckled. He looked like he was fishing to find things to talk to Andrick about. That concerned Andrick, as it had been his life goal to find ways to seem utterly uninteresting. It was time to put the worthless conversation to rest. Now that the man with brace and sling interrupted his meditation of glorious memories, there was no longer a reason to be sitting in the dirt.

  “Mr. Sisto,” Andrick said, rising atop the dirt pile and trying to wipe off the excess that was becoming ingrained in the threads of his denim jeans, “it was a pleasure getting to know you. I have to get back to my group, but I hope you have a wonderful trip with Mr. Ackerman.”

  Sisto politely rose his cup of coffee to Andrick and smiled, as he didn’t move. Andrick turned and carefully made his way down the dirt pile. Once at the bottom, he gave his pants a few good smacks to try and remove any remaining granules of dirt, then headed back to the campground that Mason had ordered Freddy to set up upon first arrival. There was something about the peculiar man on the second dirt pile, causing Andrick to look back.

  Sisto still had not moved. He was staring at the beauty of the rising Sun, engulfed in the majestic view that many people take for granted. Andrick had told himself yesterday that killing the cripple may be a good option for his new routine of two for one special, but Andrick felt something odd about the whole setup. He could have sworn that he recognized the bandaged man from somewhere. Not the same way he associated Fitz Ackerman as one of the rugged stars on the network television series about a motorcycle club. Tom Sisto had a face that Andrick swore he had seen before; he just couldn’t place it.

  By the time he made it to the far Northwest corner behind the complex, he saw that Freddy and Rug’s tents were still securely fastened shut, but Mason was sitting in one of the camping chairs with a newly started fire attempting to curb the bite of the brisk morning air.

  “Good morning, Mason.”

  “Andrick. Sleep good?”

  Would it matter if I had? You are trying to set me up, you sonofabitch.

  Getting killed was a part of the life in Mason and Púca’s world though, so the logic was a bit fuzzy to Andrick. He could not find a solid reason to set up someone to take out Mole. Twenty years back, the whole crew would have gone out to a cliff and thrown the man off. The thought that maybe Mole had something on Mason kept rising in his uncertainty. He could have walked in on a meeting he should not have overheard or could have been related to someone important or had given information to an opposing club. That would have been justified in killing the man and understandable as to why Mason was itching to get rid of the greasy man.

  “We are meeting up with Púca before we head off later this morning. I am really happy to have you with us, Andrick. You have been solid as a rock, during the unfortunate times our chapter is enduring right now. I really appreciate you.”

  The speech sounded sincere, but Andrick would take it with a grain of salt until he learned more about Mole’s past.

  “Mason, you have been so courteous, it is the least I could do. I am happy to have finally found a home within my community.”

  Mason rose his coffee cup and clinked it to Andrick’s then invited him to sit down.

  “So, you heard the gist of what Púca has set up yesterday. I want you with me. I love Rug and Freddy, but I have seen your drive and would love for you to back me up when this shit goes down.”

  “Happy to oblige, Mason.”

  Andrick looked behind Mason, into the opening of the man’s tent. There was a rolled-up sleeping bag and a duffle bag at the edge of the interior.

  “You packed up already?” Andrick asked, nodding to the open view.

  Mason looked back, sighed, then returned to face Andrick before answering. “That was Mole’s stuff. I should have thrown it away but had nowhere to dispose of the things at the national park. Just haven’t gotten to it. Was gonna dump it on our way out of here today.”

  There was a sadness in his tone, which baffled Andrick. But life is not always simple, and he understood that the right thing to do was not always the easy thing. Granted, it was rare for Andrick to feel compelled to do the right thing, but he still recognized the dilemma Mason was fighting internally.

  CHAPTER 29

  Sisto sat on the pile of loose dirt another ten minutes after Andy, or Andrick left. The guy seemed nice but was too far away to touch, hence proved to be a worthless interaction. He would try to find a way to bump into him again later but still wanted to interact with Rug before zeroing in on Mason. As he descended the dirt carefully, he saw Garrett Brower grabbing a coffee and greeted him as he went in for a refill.

  “Morning, Garrett,” Sisto said, as he went in for another cup of hot coffee.

  “Hey, Sisto. You guys sleep good?”

  The question confused Sisto but then realized it must have never come up that he and Fitz were supposed to be staying at Baker’s.

  “I slept fine, thanks.”

  “Where is Fitz?” Garrett asked, analyzing Sisto’s face.

  When he got no response, due to not knowing what to say, Garrett chucked. “Oh, he and Púca made up again, huh?”

  Another baffled face on Sisto’s part led to another chuckle from the man constructed of spheres. “We all know about the two of them. They don’t know that we know but, we know. Listen, it’s the twenty-first century. Love is love, and all that other shit. All I know is Púca puts on a good party and Fitz Ackerman has never done me wrong in all the years I have known him. So, if anyone has a problem with what they do in the shadows, then fuck them.”

  Sisto smirked, realizing he was beginning to like the little man. “When the hell do they start serving breakfast?”

  Garrett looked at his wristwatch, “Should be soon. Most of these human trashcans will probably wake up around lunchtime though. You know what that means?”

  Sisto did not.

  “That means, we get first dibs.”

  The portly man licked his lips and rubbed his rotund, petite body.

  Once the vans full of hotboxes and catering dishes had finished setting up, Sisto and Garrett had been first in line. For being unkempt, drug-running, dope-pushing, prostitute-managing, heathens, they cater a great feast. Sisto was impressed at Pú
ca’s resolve to maintain a level of class to the presentation, during his contribution to the event. There were trays of everything you could want when it came to a hearty breakfast. Sisto wanted to grab two plates but realized his disguise only allowed for one, damning himself for thinking the arm sling would be a good decision.

  Skipping over eggs, he went for a country fried steak with white gravy, added a biscuit, bacon, hash browns, and asked Garrett if he could manage to carry an extra cup so Sisto could try whatever yellow-orange breakfast juice had been presented at the end of the buffet line. The two men sat and very little was said the first few minutes. Sisto almost moaned aloud as he took his first bite of the country fried steak. The crisp batter crackled as he broke through it with his plastic silverware and the meat inside melted in his mouth like butter, all assisted by a rich, smooth cracked peppercorn country gravy.

  “Holy crap, that’s delicious,” Sisto said.

  He started thinking about how impressed Ama would be with him for trying something out of his normal realm of breakfast food items. She had been on his mind a lot in the last few days. He still didn’t want to press or rush but now knowing she was not interested in Fitz Ackerman, gave him a ping of relief. He was not very good at dating. He never had been. Normally, if someone were around him long enough and he didn’t hate their existence, a friendship would bond. Working in bars and restaurants, the industry was notorious for hookups among co-workers.