To say I had regrets about the death of either Peter Silas or Fritz Washington would be disingenuous, if not an outright lie. Neither man ever haunted my dreams or my waking hours. Which is not to say that I was unmoved by my actions. My struggles revolved around the moral certainty that Ronald and I were more alike than I wanted to admit. However, I’m working on it.
I saw Thomas come through security first and then his sister. Both of them ran to me and all three of us held each other and cried. Jessica, on the other hand, looked like she had been treated with shock therapy. We hugged and smiled at each other, but I could tell I was going to have to be the strong one now.
I was now a cop again courtesy of Paul and as such, I was required to go through the motions of seeing a shrink. I went through the motions, but my heart wasn’t really in it. I knew the badge Paul had given me wasn’t mine. However, for now, it came with a steady paycheck. And who was I to complain about that?
Karen and Bill called to wish me well and to dig out the details. Both of them wanted to know when I was coming back. I promised them I would let them know just as soon as I had time to sort everything out. Then the friends I hadn’t spoken to in years called with their condolences and when that was done, they tried to pry for the details of my ordeal. After the second day, I turned my phone off and put it away. On the third day, Ronald called to let me know he was still alive, but part of the deal he had made to clear both of us required him to work a few projects out of the country first. He also wired some money into an account and gave me the address of one of his safe houses right here in Fruita. It was mine if I wanted it. I told him I’d think about it and would let him know.
Just as we were about to say our goodbyes, he said, “Hey Walt, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for all of this. I never wanted any of this to happen.”
“Well, it happened, Ronald. Nothing we can do about it now. Talk to Jess yet?”
He waited a long time to answer and when he did, his voice was full of regret, “Won’t take my calls. If you get a chance, talk to her, would you?”
I told him I would and then we hung up.
On the fourth day, a story came out in the newspaper about a young doctor who had missed several days of work. When the officers went to check on him, they found him dead. The police said they had no suspects but my new friends in the bureau called to say they that were pretty sure it was the hitman who had tried to kill me. Now I was to be wary of strangers.
Marcie and I spent the week getting to know each other again. This time I gave her all of the sordid details of not only the last couple of weeks but my life in general. When I talked about Lori and her new husband, I finally lost it and cried like a baby.
The funny thing was, after I had gotten drunk, my need for booze went away. We went out almost every night and never once did I feel the need to order a drink. I wasn’t sure how long this would last but I was hopeful that this time my sobriety would stick.
Six months later, after all the fanfare of those two weeks in March had passed, Paul called me into his office. I had been expecting it and was pretty sure my time as a small-town cop was through. This was okay with me, since I had the money Ronald had sent me. When I came into his office, I tossed the replacement badge on the desk.
“Appreciate everything you did, Paul. I won’t forget it.”
Paul rocked back in his chair, steepled his hands in front of him, and furrowed his brow. “So, you know why I called you in here?”
I shrugged, “Enough time has passed, which makes it easy on both of us.”
He nodded and then rocked forward, his arms landing on the desk. He picked up the badge and offered it back to me. “Good, now take this and get to it.”
Confused, I looked back at him. “Come again?”
He smiled and then stood up and walked around me. Then he stuck his head out into the outer office. “Come in here, would you please.”
Paul turned around and walked back to his desk and sat down. I looked at him, but he held up a finger and then pointed it over my shoulder.
Marcie then Jessica, Thomas and Cassandra walked into his office. I stared at all of them and then stood up and hugged them all. I turned back and looked at Paul.
“I spoke to the city council and the mayor. They agreed with me that your continued employment wouldn’t be a bad thing as long as your days of gunslinger are behind you. That and you keep the number of times someone wants to kill you to a minimum. It also wouldn’t hurt if you stopped tossing your badge in corn fields.”
Stunned, I stared at him, then turned to look over at my kids for approval. They both nodded and beamed with pride. I looked at Marcie, she smiled and then kissed me on the cheek. I kissed her back and looked over at Jessica.
“We’ve been through a lot, sis. I don’t have to take this job. Say the word and I’ll never carry a badge or a gun again.”
She wrung her hands together and bit her lip. Then she looked at me and smiled. Her eyes communicating her answer loud and clear.
I turned around and looked at Paul. “I thought all detective badges were supposed to be gold.”
THE END
Authors Note
To Wallace Publishing in general and Leesa Wallace in particular, thank you for taking a chance on me and this book.
This book is a work of fiction brought about by my overactive imagination. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. I couldn’t have written the words without the support of my loving wife, Sonya, who kept me motivated to keep writing, even when it took time away from her and our kids.
Thanks to Scott and his wife Tammy, who allowed me to take literary license with their home and lives.
And to a few shipmates from my days in the Navy Carlos, who provided the background of deep sea oil rigs. Butler and Jordan were also kind enough to lend me their namesakes.
Also, I would like to thank my good friend Barry for lending me his name. Although he has he ever been a hired gun, Barry is a brilliant musician.
To my brother, who reluctantly gave me background on Police tactics and procedures, I know it was the last thing you wanted to talk about, but it helped get me out of the box I had written myself into.
Finally, to my parents, who served as the sounding board for the words on paper. My mother did the unthinkable and slogged through every sentence and added the punctuation and spelling. She also is the creator of the dust cover. Thanks Mom!!
The namesake of Walter came from my grandfather who was a larger than life figure for all that knew him.
The Grand Valley, as it is known to those who live there, is a beautiful place but has suffered real economic turmoil over the years. The part of the story of Exxon pulling out in the dead of night is a true story that left hundreds of people without work and provided a recession that persists for many years. Despite the hardships, the residents who live there continue to forge ahead and with the advent of fracking and the new emphasis on energy independence once again, the big oil has moved back in and is providing jobs and security.
And yes, Pea Green Community Hall is a real place.
For you, the reader, I hope you liked the story and the characters. I am a storyteller. My wish is to tell good stories that entertain and provide respite from the daily grind.
Table of Contents
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
Chapte
r 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
Authors Note
On The Devil's Side of Heaven Page 41
