by Scott Blade
However, I was wrong about the hearse being parked in the back, out of sight. I knew that because after passing the church, I saw an enormous line of cars, all solid colors. They snailed along at a slow pace. At the front of the long line of cars was a local police escort—one police car at the front and one way in the back. There were several police motorcycles along the sides and following the leading car. All the cars had their headlights turned on. The police escorts had their blue light bars flashing, no sirens.
There was a black motorcade near the front, which was where the bulk of the police escorts were concentrated. Little American flags, attached to the front corners of the main vehicle, waved in the wind. They were designed to fly at half-mast, which was neat. I’d never seen that before.
This was a funeral procession. I saw the hearse near the middle of the procession. It was a plain, old black thing with dark curtains hanging in the windows along the sides and the back. The driver was visible.
I stepped on the side of the road and put my hand over my heart, as I had done many, many times in the past.
One of the police motorcyclists pulled over to the side. He slowed his approach and stopped twenty feet from me. He waved me over. I lowered my hand and walked closer.
He said, “You local?”
“No, sir,” I said.
He looked me up and down. He had a visor on his helmet, but it was retracted up. He wore aviator shades, like I’d seen a thousand bike cops wear in the past.
“You got relatives here?”
“I’m just passing through.”
He nodded and again looked me from top to bottom, bottom to top, with a natural suspicion that I’d also seen a thousand times before. He asked, “When are you leaving?”
I waited before answering. I looked past him and watched more cars from the funeral procession crawl by.
I said, “I don’t know.”
He was silent a long, long beat, then he looked at the line of cars and back at me. He said, “You make sure to keep on going wherever it is that you’re going. This isn’t the time to be sightseeing.”
I could’ve talked back, but what would that have accomplished? I nodded and then I asked, “Who died?”
“Why?”
“Looks important. You got a government car and about the longest funeral procession that I’ve ever seen.”
He nodded and said, “It’s Mike Danner.”
He paused at the end of the name and then added, “Senior. Mike Danner, senior.”
“Was he like the mayor or something?”
“Nah. Just an important man to this community. The motorcade is the governor’s car. Mr. Danner was a big campaign contributor.”
As he spoke, I looked at the end of the funeral procession and saw several vehicles: pickups, sedans, and a couple of panel vans. They were company cars. On the side of each of them was a logo and a name. They read Lexigun, the local small arms manufacturer.
I asked, “Is Danner the CEO of Lexigun?”
“No he’s the founder. The CEO is technically his son.”
“I see.”
The cop looked back at the procession one more time and then at me. He said, “You have a good day, sir.”
I nodded and he rode off, rejoining his fellow cops.
Every car that I had seen was packed with people. Danner must’ve been a well-liked man.
I waited until the last car passed and I continued.
I passed a small public building with the fire and police departments. It was the only two-story building in sight. The parking lots were nearly empty. I suspected that every available cop was at the funeral as it seemed most of the town was. The downtown was basically a ghost town.
I walked on and passed another restaurant, a long stretch of outlet stores and strip malls. I passed several office buildings, cluttered with various local companies and brands that I’d never heard of.
I turned onto the main street and I walked, looking for the motel.
Even though it was the early morning hours and the sun should’ve been beating down on the streets by now, it wasn’t. There was enough cloud cover, with high trees to block out what little sunlight there was.
I passed a post office, a bank, and a farmers’ market, where skeleton crews were setting up shop. One of the banks was closed. The digital sign out front, the kind that displayed the temperature and time, was set to read: “Today we’re sad to be closed. In memory of Michael Danner, Sr.”
Which told me two things. This Danner guy was prominent in this small town. It also told me that his son must’ve been equally respected for the businesses to list the father as senior, instead of just by his name.
A car passed me on the road. The driver stopped for a moment and stared at me like he noticed that I wasn’t from there, but then he kept on going.
Finally, I found the motel on a corner. I rented a room without any fuss, and found it far down by the end. Which was good because it was away from the street. I couldn’t wait to lay my head down and sleep.
The room was tight, over-packed with furniture. Blue high-backed chairs were situated against the far wall, matching the comforter on the bed. A stack of pillows topped the head of the bed. The carpet was an off-white, corresponding to the color of the walls. The baseboards were clean, which was generally a sign of a well-kept room.
A flat-screen TV hung off a steel arm on the wall. The remote was Velcroed to the corner of a nightstand on one side of the bed.
I walked in and stepped into the bathroom. A light flickered on automatically, a motion sensor setup. It flickered and brightened and then dimmed. I saw the dark shadow of my reflection in a large mirror above the sink that went up to the ceiling. No trim or border around it. The mirror was all glass with the edges smoothed out into a safe dullness. Neatly laid out on the sink was a small toothbrush, about the size of a lighter. It was wrapped in plastic. Next to it was a travel-size tube of toothpaste. And two bars of thin soap, also wrapped up, but in paper. The shower didn’t have a door on it, but a cheap-looking, clear plastic curtain on cheap plastic shower rings that weren’t all the way snapped into place.
I looked at my face in the mirror, compared it to the digital image of myself in my brain. I’d looked better. I had bags under my eyes; early signs of crow’s-feet had started setting in. Not sure if that was permanent or not. My vision wasn’t spot-on, either. Not because I was losing my sight, just because I was so tired. Light was slower to take in. The neural patterns were a bit harder to focus on. My reaction time was slowed because signals from my body, down my nervous system and to my brain, would be a little slower than optimal. Either that, or I was so tired that I was simply overthinking.
I needed sleep.
I went back to the bedroom, closed the curtains, not that there was much light to begin with. Hamber was shrouded in shadows from the constant overcast, the tall thick redwoods, or the mountains surrounding the town, or all three. It was strange that such beautiful wilderness was so gray and gloomy.
I turned down the bed and kicked my shoes off, removed my coat and shirt, and tossed them onto one of the chairs near the window. I dumped myself down into the bed, not like a high cliff diver, but more like a man freefalling off the Golden Gate Bridge, ending it all.
My eyes slammed shut like vault doors and my consciousness fell into darkness.
CHAPTER 5
POWER NAPS are a valuable thing to a SEAL. Out in the field, on long operations, we hardly ever slept. In longer than usual ops, sleep became a necessity. Short power naps could mean the difference in being at full operating capacity or not.
Unfortunately, the few minutes of sleep that I got weren’t equal to the kind of power nap that I needed.
A loud banging echoed through my room and my eyes shot open. I stared up at the ceiling. At first, I wasn’t sure what was making that noise. Then someone banged again. It was a loud pounding on my door.
I sat up and pinched my forehead and stared at the door.
The person on the other side pounded on it again and a loud voice said something that wasn’t audible. Probably because I was still half in my dream. All I heard was a muffled voice. Sounded male.
I got up out of bed and moved slowly. I walked barefoot to the door, skimmed my hand along the wall. I leaned into the door and looked through the peephole. I saw, with fishbowl eyes, two people. A man and a woman. They stood close together, center of the hallway. They were dressed in full camo uniforms. They were Marines.
I backed away from the door and said, “Yeah?”
The man said, “Open the door, sir!”
“What’s this about?”
“Sir, we are military police. Open up!”
I frowned. What the hell did they want?
I unlocked the deadbolt and cracked the door open enough for them to see my face and for me to see them.
My eyes were still a little unfocused and the light from the hallway beamed into my room and right in my face. I squinted. I said, “What’s this about?”
The man said, “Sir, are you alone?”
I tried to focus, looked at his insignia and name. The guy wore his woodland pattern BDUs, armored vest. No headgear. His nametape read Kelly.
Kelly was about four inches shorter than me, not a small guy, just shorter than me. He had a slender frame with plenty of muscle definition. He wore thin, black-framed eyeglasses. He was graying around the temples and thinning in the part in his hair, but only slightly—a battle that was at a standstill at the moment, but in future years things might be different.
He pushed against the door with his hand like he was going to push his way in, but I didn’t budge. He stopped, said, “Sir, stand back from the door, please.”
I focused as best I could. It’s always sobering to have someone cross that invisible line where politeness and civility meet intrusiveness—a line in the sand. Kelly had crossed it when he pushed against the door, as far as I was concerned. It didn’t matter if he was a military cop or not. I wasn’t under his jurisdiction.
I said, “What’s this about?”
Kelly stared at me, a cold, hard cop stare. No doubt one that he had used a thousand times and no doubt it had been effective a thousand times. Batting a thousand didn’t mean that he’d make it to one thousand and one. And he didn’t. I wasn’t intimidated.
He started to speak, probably to repeat himself, but the woman put her hand on his shoulder and he stopped.
She stepped forward, to his right side and said, “Sir, please let us in.”
I tried to focus on her, but the light was still too bright on my retinas. I asked, “What’s going on?”
“Sir, this isn’t for the hallway.”
I shrugged, stepped back, and let go of the door. I turned my back on them, which was out of character for me, but I didn’t realize it until I had already done it.
I walked back into the room, to the center. I spun and plopped down on the bed.
The woman said, “Sir, I’m going to flip on the light.”
“Go ahead.”
The light flipped on and I squinted for a couple seconds. Not too long, since my eyes had already started to adjust to the light in the hall.
The man said, “What’s your name?”
I stayed quiet.
The woman said, “Sir, we are military police. We’d like to ask you some questions.”
I said, “Shoot. But I’m not in the military.”
The man said, “Sir, that’s irrelevant.”
I stared at him and said, “It’s completely relevant. This conversation is irrelevant. Since I’m out of your jurisdiction. So, get on with it and be on your way, Lieutenant.”
Not sure if my knowing his rank had impressed him or not. He had a black insignia pinned into his collar, signaling an officer’s rank. The Lieutenant part was a guess.
He said, “You are in our jurisdiction.”
I repeated, “What’s this about?”
The woman stood at the center of the room, ahead of Kelly. She was short, a whole foot shorter than me, and eight inches shorter than Kelly. She had solid blonde hair tied back in a bun. The color looked like the cover of a hair dye box, only unrealistic to get, which told me it was probably completely natural. Her skin was sun-beaten like she was no stranger to the desert. She wasn’t all that tall, but built like a rock. She didn’t have many curves, but was rock-solid like Kelly would even have a hard time knocking her down. Her face wasn’t soft, but wasn’t uninviting either. She had flawless eyes, a blue-green mix, blended together in whirls. She was stunning and fierce looking all at the same time.
Her nametape read Romey, like the empire, but with a Y on the end.
She said, “Sir, what’s your name?”
“Widow.”
Kelly asked, “Widow what?”
“Jack Widow.”
Kelly circled in a slow arc around to my right. He wore a standard-issued M9 Beretta in a holster on his right side. He made sure that I saw it by resting his hand on the butt. The safety snap was still closed.
Romey said, “Mr. Widow, what’s your business in Hamber?”
I looked at her. She looked straight at my face in a way that seemed deliberate, like she was avoiding looking at my chest. I had my shirt off, which wasn’t what she was trying to avoid. I figured she was trying not to stare at my tattoos, which took up a lot of the canvas of my body.
“What’s this about?”
I noticed that Romey looked to be about my age, but she outranked Kelly. She held the rank of major. What the hell were two officer Marine cops doing in my motel room?
“Answer the question, Mr. Widow,” Kelly said.
I didn’t look at him. I shrugged and said, “I’m here on vacation.”
Kelly asked, “Vacation? Vacation from what?”
“I’m passing through.”
“Which is it, sir? Holiday or passing through?” Romey asked.
“Both.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Exactly?”
“It means that I’m a tourist. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything else.”
“You’re a tourist? Here? What kind of tourist comes through here?” Kelly asked.
“You disrespect your town, Lieutenant. Hamber is quant. You got mountains. You got gold mines. Why wouldn’t I tourist here?”
They said nothing to that.
Romey asked, “What do you do?”
“Do?”
“For work? What do you do for work?”
“I don’t do anything.”
Romey asked, “Nothing?”
“I worked for sixteen years. It didn’t agree with me. Now I just go.”
“Go?”
“I just go. You know? I go here. I go there. I do whatever pleases me.”
Romey asked, “Whatever pleases you?”
“Whatever pleases me that’s legal.”
Kelly said, “You’re a drifter.”
“Some people might say that. I go from place to place. But I prefer to think of it as just a traveler.”
Kelly looked at Romey. She said, “Sir, we need to ask you some questions.”
I said “Shoot. Go ahead.”
“Sir, we need to ask you questions somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Would you come with us please?”
Romey was calm, calmer than her counterpart, but she was also straight to the point, not in a by-the-book sort of way, but like she was trying to be all official, like this whole thing was going to be under heavy scrutiny later, in some military conference room with superior officers and witnesses. I had a bad feeling.
“Where do you want me to go?”
She said, “We need you to come back to base with us.”
Kelly said, “Just put your clothes on and come along, please.”
“Sorry, but like I said. I’m not under your jurisdiction. I’m not going to a base until I know what this is about.”
“Sir, you are under our jurisdiction.”
/> “How’s that?”
Kelly said, “Widow, you can come quietly. Or in cuffs.” Just then he unsnapped the leather safety button on his weapon. Romey unfolded her arms and lowered her hand near her weapon.
This was serious. I said, “Look. I’m not military. I haven’t committed a crime.”
“Sir, were you meeting with a Marine officer this morning?” Romey asked.
“What?”
“You were seen, Widow. We got more than one witness,” Kelly said. He drew his weapon, which was a violation against SOP, that I knew. But it was a gray area at this point. Plus, my word against theirs and they already surmised that I was a drifter, a nobody. And they were two decorated Military officers in the Military Police. So, I doubted that anyone would take my word over theirs.
I stayed quiet and where I was. Didn’t want to agitate Kelly any more than I already had.
Kelly said, “Just come with us. No reason to make this into a scene.”
“I don’t know what the hell you are talking about,” I said. Then I remembered Turik, the officer from the diner. I asked, “Is this about Turik?”
Kelly stepped back, pointed his gun in my direction, but not straight at me. Still the muzzle was a flick of the wrist away from aiming at my center mass. Romey followed suit and pulled her weapon out.
“Okay. At ease, guys. I’m not a threat. I’m just asking what the hell is going on.”
Romey said, “Jack Widow. By military code we have the right to arrest you for suspicion. Please stand up. Keep your hands clearly visible. Turn around and face away.”
“At ease,” I repeated. “Tell me what the hell this is about.”
“Jack Widow. By military code we have the right to arrest you for suspicion. Please stand up. Keep your hands clearly visible. Turn around and face away,” Romey repeated.
The two of them stared and waited. I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on or how I’d managed to escalate this situation into one of national security, but that’s what it felt like.
I said, “Okay. Okay. Can I put my clothes on?”
