Divided Sky

by Jeff Carson

Burton looked up from under drooping eyelids. “Jesse.”

  “Jesse can wait. We’ll send the Ouray SD to come get him.”

  “No.”

  Wolf turned and looked up the canyon. He put his hands to his mouth and sucked in a deep breath. “Jesse!”

  The sound of his yell was smothered by a passing gust of wind. The sun was covered by the clouds now, and the temperature had dropped.

  “Jesse!” Wolf tried again, and then a few more times. “It’s not gonna happen, and you’re getting worse.”

  “I have medicine in the car.”

  “What kind of medicine? For what?”

  “Heart. Blood pressure.”

  “Are you feeling faint?”

  Burton’s non-reaction said yes.

  “Let’s go.” Wolf bent and put a shoulder into his chest. “Raise your arms.”

  Burton pushed him away. “No. You go back. Go get the medication. You can bring it back to me.”

  The wind freshened again, and the scent of rain came on hard.

  Wolf bent low and heaved Burton forward over his shoulder. Wolf had spent a lifetime watching the other man’s weight grow unchecked. Now he was startlingly light.

  Wolf reluctantly recalled looking at the man’s bare ass earlier and remembered more bones than fat beneath that skin. The oversized clothing he still wore had acted like an optical illusion.

  “You son of a bitch. Put me down!”

  Wolf marched back the way they’d came, one hand wrapped around Burton, a half-empty two-liter bottle in the other.

  Burton clawed at his holster. “I’ll shoot you.”

  Wolf winged his elbow, easily blocking the half-hearted grabs.

  He stepped straight through a puddle and the water burrowed into his shoes.

  “I can’t leave him. I can’t.”

  Wolf felt the man’s chest heaving against his shoulder. More coughing. “Just relax.”

  Burton squirmed once, giving real effort to his escape, but it was dismally weak under Wolf’s arm.

  “Relax.”

  The totality in which Burton followed his order made Wolf’s heart jump. “You still with me?”

  No answer.

  He reached back and grabbed Burton’s wrist. Underneath the clammy skin a pulse bumped strong. Concentrating on keeping his footing and ignoring the pain now shooting through his shoulder, Wolf moved quickly and steadily down the smooth packed-dirt path.

  He rounded a bluff and saw the winding canyon yawning ahead of him. There were still two or three hillsides they needed to pass, and then they would reach the mouth that led to the wide-open space that signified the trailhead and the parking lot.

  He ignored the breeze, the rain drops, and upped his pace some more.

  The next bluff leaned into the canyon from the right, the west, providing some shelter as the brunt of the storm hit with sideways driving rain.

  Wolf stopped and slapped Burton’s behind. “You with me?”

  Still no answer.

  The rain soaked his right side like a shotgun blast as he continued onward.

  His feet moved faster now, almost too fast, he thought. The last thing he needed was to trip and fall forward, dropping Burton and injuring both of them in the process. A bolt of lightning zapped straight in front of him. Thunder followed almost instantly, a hard pop like a gunshot.

  Then he slowed to a stop, because as if delivered by the thunderbolt, a man now stood directly in his path.

  Chapter 6

  “What’s going on?” the man asked. He was young, early twenties. He had the same pudge nose as Hal, the same facial structure. “Who are you?”

  Wolf lowered Burton to the ground, keeping his eyes locked on Jesse Burton’s hands. “Your uncle’s in trouble!”

  Jesse Burton wore desert camo pants, which were pasted to his legs by the rain, and a black sweatshirt with the hood drawn up and tied tight around his face. He had one black eye and a split lip, suggesting he’d recently seen a few punches.

  “Your uncle’s having a heart attack or something! Help me!”

  Jesse moved closer.

  Wolf pulled his gun and aimed at his center mass. “Put your hands up and get on the ground.”

  Jesse raised his hands, but hesitated, as if thinking about not complying.

  “I said get on the ground. On your stomach. Now.”

  Wolf shot a round into the side of the dirt hill next to him.

  Jesse flinched as the pop exploded from Wolf’s Glock and he laid on his stomach.

  Wolf searched Jesse’s waist and immediately found a Kimber 1911 nine-millimeter tucked into a paddle holster under his jacket. He took it off and threw it behind him for the moment.

  Jesse put a cheek on the ground, exposing half of his face. His blue eye, surrounded by bruised flesh, was relaxed, resigned to the moment. Long strands of electric-orange hair wormed out of his hood. A dye job. Nobody on earth had hair that color naturally.

  Wolf remained tense, ready to spring back if Jesse twisted after him. The kid, the man, was big, the soaked fabric of his hoodie revealing the back muscles of somebody who spent a lot of time and effort in the gym.

  Wolf had gone much of his career without carrying a backup piece, but now it was hard rule that he and his team carry a small pistol strapped to an ankle holster underneath their pant leg. Jesse had only the one gun on his hip.

  “Stand up. Turn out your pockets.” Wolf backed away and aimed.

  Jesse did as he was told, producing a pair of keys, a wallet, a couple of pieces of gum wrapped in foil, a flip phone, and the battery that had been removed from it.

  “Okay, hand them over.”

  Jesse complied, and Wolf shoved the paraphernalia into the zippered pocket of his jacket.

  “Where’d you get those marks on your face?” Wolf went to the Kimber and tucked the holster into the waist of his pants on the free side. With his own holster on the right, along with the Smith and Wesson M and P 380 on his ankle, he felt like somewhat of a walking arsenal.

  “Got in a fight the other night.”

  The ice-cold rain fell more heavily. Jesse seemed weighed down by the water streaming off of him, but unfazed. His eyes stared ahead without blinking.

  “All right, you walk in front of me.”

  Jesse walked down the trail as instructed.

  “Wait. Grab that water bottle. We’ll need it.”

  Jesse came back and picked up the bottle, eyeing Hal.

  “Now let’s move! Your uncle’s in trouble.”

  Jesse flicked his eyes back to Burton’s inert body still lying on the ground, put his hands up and walked. “I can help!”

  “Just keep walking.”

  Another bolt of lightning lit the sky and thunder followed.

  Wolf had to holster his gun and pick Burton up from an awkward position and get him back over his shoulder, but with a long grunt and by flexing every muscle in his body, he managed.

  “Jesse!” Burton shifted on Wolf’s shoulder. “Jesse!”

  Jesse stopped and turned around, that same unblinking gaze.

  Wolf pulled and pointed the Glock again. “Move.”

  Soon they reached the left turn in the canyon, marked by the brow of rock jutting in from the east side. A sandstone overhang dug into the rock beckoned as perfectly good shelter, but Wolf pressed on. Tall oaks lining the middle of the canyon whooshed sideways.

  Wolf’s right ear caught the rain like a thimble. Repeatedly he shook his head to dump it out, and now a cramp in his neck was tightening like a vise.

  Hal went quiet, but Wolf could feel he was moving his limbs periodically, lifting his head, flexing his torso.

  Whatever was wrong with the old man, Wolf got the sense the rain was slapping him out of his funk. Perhaps the medication in the car would finish the job.

  When had the cell phone reception gone out? On the hike? Or on the drive before they had arrived?

  Wolf’s phone was in his left pocket, sheltered by his own body
and the one draped over his shoulder, but he could still feel his jeans stuck to his bare leg underneath. He could only hope the phone was undamaged.

  “There’s the parking lot,” Wolf said. “We’re almost there, Hal.”

  The canyon opened up, revealing the two vehicles parked just over a football field away. Beyond it was a sight worthy of a professional photographer. The terrain beyond the vehicles rolled out and down for hundreds of miles. Red hewn mesas crusted with green shone in the fading sunlight. The rain still fell, but the clouds to the west had run out and the sun poked through for one last blast of light, illuminating a rainbow framing it all.

  Wolf felt like someone had a taser to his lower back, and his shoulder screamed in pain with each movement, as if sand had been sprinkled into the ball and socket. Burton was milliseconds from sliding off when Jesse came up and took the weight, handling his uncle like a sack of flour.

  Wolf reached for his gun, but Jesse seemed preoccupied with his uncle.

  Catching his breath, Wolf rolled his neck and shoulder, stretched his back, and watched as Jesse maneuvered his uncle to the ground and up against the wheel of the car.

  Burton reclined against the tire and put his arms on his bent knees. He reached up a hand to his nephew. Jesse looked at it for a moment and clasped it. The two of them stared at one another without saying a word.

  Wolf dug the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the doors. “Let’s get him up and into the passenger seat.”

  Burton shook his head and waved them away. “I’m okay now. Just get me my duffle. And that water.”

  “I’ll get it.” Jesse uncinched his hood and unveiled his shock of hair, the color of orange Play-doh fresh out of the can. He ducked into the back seat with athletic grace.

  Wolf holstered his gun and let the action play out.

  “This it?” Jesse asked, producing the duffle bag Burton had packed before they left.

  “Yeah.”

  “You have any weapons in that bag?” Wolf asked.

  Burton frowned at him. “No.”

  Jesse set the antique Sluice County SD bag on Burton’s lap. “You need help?”

  “No. I got it. I got it. There. There they are.”

  “Jesse,” Wolf said. “I need you to back away from him.”

  Jesse ignored him for a beat, but then followed orders.

  “Let’s go.”

  “You’re not armed, are you, Jesse?” Burton asked. “You’re not gonna hurt us, right?”

  “He was.” Wolf pulled out the holster with the Kimber still inside. “And no offense, son, but I don’t know you from a rock.”

  “Jesse,” Burton said, more than a little disappointment in his voice.

  Jesse stood with his arms folded, watching Burton take a handful of pills big enough to choke a rhino.

  “That’s a lot of pills,” Wolf said.

  “No shit.”

  “How long’s it been since the last time?”

  “Couple days.”

  “And how often are you supposed to be taking them?”

  “You sound like Cheryl.” Burton put another handful in his mouth and sipped the water.

  “Hands behind your back, please,” Wolf said.

  Jesse unfolded his arms and did as he was told.

  “He’s not gonna do anything.” Burton tried to push himself up.

  “Just stay there.” He cinched the cuffs tight.

  “You can turn around now.”

  Jesse turned. His head was tilted back, defiant.

  Wolf pulled out his cell phone and eyed the screen. Still no reception. He pulled out Jesse’s flip phone, and the removed battery.

  “Battery’s dead,” Jesse said.

  “And that’s why you took it out? Looks to me like you’re trying to stay off the radar. You have reception?” Wolf asked Burton.

  Burton patted his pockets and shrugged. “I think it’s in the car.”

  “Where’s the nearest hospital?” Wolf asked. “Dolores?”

  Jesse stared with a lazy expression.

  “Hospital?” Burton scoffed. “I’m not going to a freakin’ hospital.”

  “Like hell you’re not.”

  Color had returned to the old man’s face, but he was still pasted to the ground like a thousand-pound boulder.

  “You’ll go in the back.” Wolf zipped Jesse’s phone back in his jacket and led Jesse around the car to the rear passenger seat. He put the kid in, and when he returned, he found Burton still sitting on the ground. “Ready?”

  “For what?”

  “For some medical attention, that’s what.”

  “Dammit.”

  Wolf pulled him to his feet. Burton teetered for a second, then shook his head and sucked in a breath. “No problem. Feeling better.”

  Wolf darted behind him and caught him before he fell over sideways, then gripped him around the waist and dragged him backwards as Burton’s heels gouged into the wet earth of the parking lot.

  “Shit, man. Listen, you know what I really need. I got it in the back seat. In the gas station bag.”

  “What are you talking about?” Wolf popped open the front passenger door and helped Burton climb in. “Seatbelt. On.”

  He pushed the door closed but Burton stiff-armed it back open.

  “What are you—”

  “It’s in the back seat. In the grocery bag. Come on.”

  Wolf opened the back door and saw the grocery bag between Jesse’s feet. He opened up the wadded top of the bag and saw another paper bag inside, this one holding a bottle. “Excuse me.”

  He reached down and gripped the neck of a fifth of Jack Daniels, pulled it from the bag and shut the door.

  The last thing he saw before the door shut was a confused look on Jesse’s face.

  Wolf set the bottle on Burton’s lap. To his credit, the old man gripped it slowly, almost reluctantly.

  He shut the door and took his time rounding the rear of the vehicle, taking in the blood red sky and silhouetted sculptures of the landscape to the south, knowing there was a good chance this was the last bit of peace he would feel for a while.

  Chapter 7

  Heather Patterson stared at the sunset through the squad room windows, thinking of her two little boys and Scott, and her aunt not returning her calls.

  “You’ve reached David Wolf. Leave a message.”

  She hung up. She’d already harassed him enough with a previous voicemail and text message.

  MacLean’s office was closed up, the lights off. The sheriff had left a few hours ago, looking angry and asking about Wolf, which had driven the spike of concern deeper into her thoughts.

  Shutting her laptop, she shoved it in her work pack.

  “You outta here?” Deputy Nelson looked up from his keyboard.

  “Yep.”

  “You’ve been in here all day?”

  “Yep.”

  “Had a lot of activity. You think they’ll kill each other tonight?” Nelson smiled and shook his head, referring to the earlier Carl and Minnie Yorberg incident.

  “I hope not.” And she meant it. She’d once seen Minnie Yorberg honest to God kick a pigeon into Main Street traffic. The bird had gotten up and flown away, but the memory of that angry woman’s face had not. “See you later. Have a good night.”

  “Just getting started.”

  “Yay.”

  She walked out of the squad room, calculating how much time it would take her to drive up the other side of the valley to visit Margaret. It would tack on another thirty minutes, but at least she could try to wring a few answers out of her aunt.

  With that settled, she thought again about the Yorbergs. Rachette and Yates had been handling the ordeal all day, and she hadn’t had a chance to talk to them about it yet.

  She dialed Rachette’s number as she walked down the hallway to the elevators.

  “Yeah,” Rachette answered after a single ring. A kid screamed in the background, and it sounded like somebody was banging pots.


  “I never got to ask, did you get Carl and Minnie figured out?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, we’ll see if he wakes up tomorrow with a gaping baseball bat wound to the head.”

  She ignored the arrival of the elevator, knowing if she got in, she would lose the call. “So what was the problem?”

  “I don’t know, just a second.” Rachette put a hand over his phone, and in a moment the background noise disappeared. “There. Good lord. One of these days I’m gonna have to buy TJ a drum set, along with a rope to hang myself.”

  Patterson smiled, thinking of Thomas Rachette Junior smacking pots and pans as hard as he could, Charlotte and Rachette taking every second of it without batting an eye. Their parenting style was the opposite of hers. She wasn’t afraid to use the phrase “shut up” when it came to her kids.

  “So, we brought them both in, and Minnie was talking about how Carl was getting scammed online, and she was smashing the computers so he wouldn’t spend their life savings. Apparently, he was getting ready to do just that. Carl was spouting off that he knew exactly what he was doing, and that the woman should shut up.”

  “What was he going to do?” she asked. “You get the specifics?”

  “He kind of blew us off. ‘Too complicated for non-financial-types like you two,’ he said. Anyway, he backed out of pressing charges.”

  “I wonder what he’s up to.”

  “Like I said, I don’t know, and now that he’s not pressing charges I don’t care.”

  “But they might be right back at it in the morning. Hell, one of them’s probably laying in a pool of blood right now.”

  “I hope.” Rachette spat, which told her he’d gone outside and put in some Copenhagen.

  “That’s not nice.”

  “Neither is Carl Yorberg. I’d rather spend the day at the dentist than with that guy again.”

  She stared out a sliver third-floor window. The resort mountain stood tall in front of an orange sky. “Okay. I’m headed home.”

  “Geez, you still at work?”

  “Not anymore.”

  Only a faint blue glow remained behind the western peaks of the Chautauqua Valley when Patterson rang her aunt’s doorbell.