The Wolf

by Alex Grecian

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Done my homework.”

  “May I ask what this is about?”

  “You can turn around now,” the sheriff said. “Where’s your pistola?”

  “In the glove box.”

  “Good. Christian, you run and turn off the arrays. And check in with Ed up there. Make sure them cones got moved.”

  “But what if he—” The sheriff interrupted his deputy with a wave of his hand and Christian obeyed.

  “Let’s you and me talk, Dr. Roan,” the sheriff said.

  “Why did you send your deputy away?”

  “He’s a good kid, Christian is, but he flaps his gums too damn much. Figured we might want some privacy here.”

  “Your name is Goodman, am I right?”

  “You been doing your homework, too.”

  “Someone mentioned you in passing yesterday. This is your county?”

  “Next one up’s mine. You keep going along that road there, headed north, you’ll end up in my county about an hour from now, depending you stop and walk your bitch or not.”

  “The dog is male,” Travis said. “You saved me having to find you.”

  “You lookin’ for me, then?”

  “I had planned to stop in to see you, probably later today or tomorrow. I will want to talk to the local police in Paradise Flats, too. And maybe in Phillipsburg.”

  “What kinda accent is that? Where you from?”

  “All over. I suppose I must have picked up bits and pieces of a half dozen dialects.”

  “Well, I guess where you’re from don’t matter so much as where you are now.”

  “I have always thought so. Sheriff, I did not come here to make trouble for you.”

  “That so?”

  “I am pursuing a fugitive who may be hiding in your jurisdiction,” Travis said. “I intend to cooperate fully with law enforcement officers while I am here in Kansas. Surely you do not want a criminal in your county any more than I do. I promise I am no threat to you.”

  Sheriff Goodman scratched his chin and spat another mouthful of brown juice into the gravel beside the road. “I never said you was a threat to me. And I don’t think you are. But I want you gone from here anyway, Dr. Roan.”

  “Are you going to arrest me?”

  “I could. But if I do that, I imagine a lawyer’ll pop up and raise a fuss. He’ll probably have a real nice suit like yours and maybe some black-rimmed glasses, too, just to show how smart he is. Carry a briefcase fulla writs and habeas whatnots. And then I’ll get more fancy dudes like you showin’ up here. So no, I don’t think I’m gonna arrest you just now. But I do hold out the possibility for the future, y’know, should things between us turn out not so friendly.”

  “Then we are at an impasse.”

  “Maybe. I see three possibilities here. Just three, so think careful on your choices.” Goodman held up one finger. “I could arrest you, but I already said I ain’t gonna do that right now. Which leaves us with the other two possibilities.” He put the first finger down and held up a second finger, making an obscene gesture. “I ask nice and you disappear. Maybe I don’t ask so nice. That part’s up to you, but you go away from here either way. And later, if any more like you show up, I deal with them the same.” He held up his pinkie and ring fingers now, his index finger still held down, so that he had three fingers extended. “Last option, as I see it, you musta come out here, but nobody seen you around.” He grinned and put his hands out in a questioning pose, looking back and forth as if searching for something. “Maybe you went back home? I don’t know. But when your people call me up, I tell ’em I’ll have my people look for you. Can’t make no promises, though. People do disappear from time to time. It’s possible you got accidentally hit by a stray bullet somewheres. Maybe a deer hunter up in them woods didn’t see you. There’s a whole lotta woods around here, and I don’t got that many deputies. Your own mama would understand if I can’t find you.”

  “I see,” Travis said. He pushed himself away from the Jeep. “But I do not think I like any of those options, Mr. Goodman.”

  Goodman leaned forward and cocked his head to the side. His smile revealed only the teeth in the left side of his mouth. “Didn’t really think you would. But maybe I oughta sweeten the pot for you. What if I kill your dog?”

  “You could try, but I do not think he will let you.”

  Goodman pulled on the driver’s-side door handle, already reaching for his gun with the other hand. Bear immediately pressed up against the other side of the window, and Travis was pleased to see the sheriff take an involuntary step back from the Jeep.

  “He moves quick, don’t he? Where’d you put the key, I wonder?”

  “Oh no, have I locked myself out of my car?”

  Goodman shrugged. “Well, I guess that leaves us with option three.”

  Travis braced himself and was ready when Goodman pivoted and aimed a fist at his stomach. Goodman was big, but he was used to fighting drunks and weekend warriors. Travis deflected the punch, letting Goodman’s momentum turn him around. He hit Goodman in the temple with the heel of his hand, but not too hard; he didn’t want to kill him. The sheriff staggered sideways, and Travis grabbed Goodman’s head in both hands and rammed his knee into the sheriff’s solar plexus. Goodman hit the asphalt. Travis watched until he was sure the sheriff was breathing regularly.

  “Hey!”

  Travis turned to see the deputy charging at him. Goodman had called the boy Christian, and Travis could see that he was barely old enough to order a drink in a bar. Christian had his shotgun up, so Travis jumped forward, fell into a breakfall, and came up under the deputy’s chin with all his weight, smacking the shotgun out of his hands and knocking Christian on his ass. The boy stayed down.

  Travis brushed off his clothing, distressed to see that he had a long smudge of dirt down his right trouser leg. The palm of his hand ached a little where it had met with the sheriff’s skull, but otherwise Travis was unharmed. He bent and fished the car keys out of Christian’s pocket and threw them far into the November grass at the side of the road. Then he went to the two police cruisers and locked them. It occurred to him that it might have been wise to turn off the arrays before locking the doors, but he assumed their batteries would eventually run out of juice and shut down.

  He went back to the Jeep and got down on his hands and knees and retrieved the key. Bear was on him as soon as he opened the door, licking his face. Travis chuckled and scratched the dog’s ears through his thick mane. Bear jumped out and circled the intersection, checking each of the unconscious men, then returned to Travis.

  “Nothing to worry about from these two,” Travis said. “Shall we go?”

  Bear bounded back up into the Jeep and settled down. Travis got in after him, but before he closed the door he leaned out and clucked his tongue at Goodman’s limp body.

  “There is always an option you have not considered, Sheriff. Watch out for that.”

  He closed the door and turned the Jeep around, drove back up the road, and peeled out onto the highway, racking the steering wheel to make the sharp turn. As he passed the second deputy, who was still holding an orange cone, he honked the horn and waved.

  3

  Skottie’s day off started with an argument. Maddy couldn’t find her shoes, and when Skottie gave her a short lecture on responsibility—the same lecture she had given almost daily since they had arrived in Kansas—Maddy barricaded herself in her bedroom. By the time Skottie talked her out, fed her breakfast, and found her shoes, Maddy had missed the bus and Skottie had to drive her to school. She was late and had to get a tardy slip from the office.

  Skottie watched her daughter walk away down the empty hall, the other students and teachers already in class, her heavy book bag dangling from one shoulder, the tardy slip held loose in her hand. She was a good kid, Skottie told herself. This was just a phase. Once Maddy finally adjusted to the move and the new school, once she stopped hating her parent
s for the divorce, things would return to normal.

  When Maddy had passed out of sight, Skottie smiled at the school secretary and went out to her car. She sat there for a long moment, summoning the energy to start the car and begin her day. It was a relief when her phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Skottie? This is Sarah.” The dispatcher. “Sorry to bother you on your day off, but we got a call from someone who’s insisting we put him in touch with you. Name’s Travis Roan. You know him?”

  “Roan? Yeah, I gave him a warning yesterday.”

  “Oh, crap. He said he was a friend of yours. I shoulda known better.”

  “No, it’s okay. Um, yeah, go ahead and put him through, I guess.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’ll talk to him. Thanks, Sarah.”

  “Sorry if I ruined your day,” Sarah said.

  There was a click and Sarah was gone. A second later, a raspy male voice came on the line. “Hello?” He sounded younger than he had in real life, his voice pitched slightly higher by electronics.

  “This is Officer Foster. Can I help you, Doctor?”

  “I cannot be sure yet, Officer. But I do hope so.”

  “Listen, I’m not on duty today.”

  “Sarah told me. She sounds lovely, by the way.”

  “Um, yeah, she’s nice.” She made a face. She didn’t like the way he seemed to take over every conversation. Roan was strange, and although he was charming, she had no reason to trust him.

  “I do hope you are not upset that I reached out to you this way,” he said. As if he were reading her mind. “But I have not made a lot of friends here yet and I thought perhaps you would allow me to impose upon you.”

  “What do you need?”

  “How far north of Hays did you say your zone extends?” The previous day he had referred to her “jurisdiction” and she had corrected him. Now he mentioned her “zone” without hesitation. He listened when people talked and he remembered things. She would have to be careful what she said to him.

  “All the way to the border,” she said. “I’ve got all these counties going north and west.”

  “That sounds like a lot of territory. Is there anyone else up here?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Approaching Phillipsburg. Actually entering Phillipsburg right now.”

  “Yeah. Ryan Kufahl’s on duty.”

  “Am I likely to run into him? I mean, how would I find him if I wished to?”

  “Tough to say. I can ask my dispatcher to have him call in his location, but the area up there is huge, lots of empty space and smaller roads to patrol. He could be pretty far away from Phillipsburg right now.”

  “Would it be possible for you to find out for me? As I say, I hate to impose.”

  “Something going on?”

  “I would say there is. But I would rather not go into detail yet. You might not approve.”

  “Wait, what happened?”

  “I will tell you when you call me back with Officer Kufahl’s whereabouts. Are you able to get my number from Sarah?”

  “Yeah. I’ll get right back to you. But you’d better give me an explanation.”

  “I will.”

  And he was gone.

  Skottie stared out the windshield and then frowned down at her phone. She put her car in reverse and backed out of the parking space, while at the same time hitting the dispatch number stored in the “favorites” list of her phone. By the time Sarah picked up, Skottie was turning out of the lot, her car pointed in the opposite direction from her home.

  “Skottie?”

  “Hi, Sarah. Hey, would you do me a quick favor?”

  4

  Travis slowed down as he entered Phillipsburg and coasted past a cemetery, which was followed by several blocks of squat homes and small businesses. A billboard at the edge of town advertised a local church with the slogan CREATED EQUAL = A LIE. Travis pulled in at the first gas station he saw.

  It was time for him to make a call to the Roan Foundation, but he didn’t want to. Something strange was happening in Kansas, but Travis didn’t feel like anything had spun out of his control yet. Whatever was going on, Travis wanted more information before making a report. Sheriff Goodman might be acting on his own, not representing any sort of consensus of the area’s law enforcement. Goodman would be angry now, and dangerous, but Travis didn’t think the sheriff would call in reinforcements. At least nothing official.

  There was a two-story motel next to the station, and Travis walked over with Bear. He put him on his leash for show. To his surprise, the Cottonwood Inn allowed pets. The woman at the front desk smiled at Bear as she explained that they preferred not to have cats in the rooms, but dogs were fine.

  They walked back to the gas station and Travis took Bear off the leash. Clouds were rolling in, but the day was still bright and crisp, warm enough that Travis couldn’t see his breath. When the Jeep’s tank was full, he pulled out onto US-36, which turned into State Street through Phillipsburg, and headed west, consulting his phone for directions. Ruth Elder lived north of the highway on a charming redbrick road, lined with mailboxes at the curb. Tidy postwar houses stood in a queue behind brown front lawns that had been mowed within an inch of their lives, then put out of mind for the winter.

  He had just pulled up in front of the house when his phone rang.

  “Yes?”

  “Is this Dr. Roan?”

  “Yes, Officer Foster, it is me.”

  “Where are you now?”

  Travis gave her the address. “I am about to talk to my witness, if she is at home. I suppose I should have called ahead, but in my experience, these people sometimes change their minds if they are given too much warning. They become afraid, or decide they cannot stand to dredge up the old memories. Better to drop by unannounced.”

  “Will you still be there in forty-five minutes?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Good. I’m on my way there.”

  “You are? Why?”

  There was a silence before Skottie replied. “It might be a good idea for me to check out your situation up there. Let me know if you move on. I’m headed that way now.”

  “If she is not at home, I will stay where I am until you arrive.” He hung up without saying good-bye.

  When he opened his car door, Bear squeezed past him and bounded out onto the street. Travis looked away while the dog relieved himself against Ruth Elder’s mailbox, then he clicked his tongue and Bear took his place at Travis’s side, trotted beside him up the narrow path to the front door.

  A moment after he knocked, Travis heard noises from the other side of the door. He took a step back and composed his face so that he would look solemn but unthreatening, his hands folded in front of him, his gray suit freshly steamed, his close-cropped hair carefully mussed. A delegate, not a salesman. Beside him, Bear sat silently panting, unable to appear benign, but doing his best. The inner door swung open and a woman squinted out at Travis before her gaze settled on Bear. She didn’t reach to unlock the screen door.

  She looked back up at Travis when he cleared his throat. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said. “I apologize for arriving unannounced, but I believe you might have been expecting me at some point. This”—he waved his hand extravagantly over his companion’s head—“is my friend and partner. He is very obedient and will not harm you, but I will put him on a leash if that would make you more comfortable.”

  “Who are you?” She was in her late forties, dressed casually in a dark red drop-neck sweater and a khaki skirt. She wasn’t wearing shoes. Her long hair was pulled up on her head, and the skin around her eyes was puffy, as if she hadn’t slept well or had been recently crying. She was holding a cut-crystal bowl in her hand, and diffuse sunlight through the screen door was projected upon her through a thousand prisms, making her look blotchy or blurred, only partially there.

  “My name is Dr. Travis Roan, of the Noah Roan Foundation in San Diego. I have my credentials with me
if you would like to review them. And of course you may wish to call the Foundation to verify that they did indeed send me. Ruth Elder requested my presence.”

  The woman shook her head, but reached out and unlocked the screen door. She swung it open toward Travis, and when he reached for the handle she took a step back, allowing them to walk past her into a tiny vestibule that contained a bench and a row of hooks. A staircase along the left wall led to a second floor.

  Travis remained quiet while the woman wandered away into the living room, holding the bowl out in front of her. At last she set it down on an end table and turned around.

  She attempted a smile. “I’m sorry. What did you say your name was?”

  “Roan.”

  “Rhone, like the river?”

  “More like a horse, I suppose.”

  “Oh, of course. I wasn’t thinking. I forgot. I saw your name on the website, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, I am sure you did. Please call me Travis. And this is Bear.” Bear ducked his head at her and raised one paw.

  “He’s beautiful. Is he dangerous?”

  “You have nothing to fear from Bear. He is exceedingly well-mannered.”

  “We expected you a long time ago. That man … I can’t say whether he’s still there anymore.”

  “Yes,” Travis said. “I apologize for my tardiness. Was it your mother who called the Foundation?”

  “No. It was me. She asked me to call. She was afraid she would lose her nerve.”

  “Yes, that sometimes happens.”

  “I’m sorry. My name is Rachel Bloom. Bloom’s my married name. I’m her daughter.” She laughed, a short, soft sound that failed to convey amusement. “I suppose you already know that.”

  “A lucky guess.”

  She smiled. “Can I offer you something? I have a half pot of coffee left. I can heat it up. Or I think there’s tea, if you prefer.”

  “What sort of tea?”

  “Let me look.” Having a task to perform seemed to energize her. She hurried out of the room, her bare feet making no sound on the heavy carpeting. Travis looked around at the wallpaper and furnishings. They were as outdated as the carpet, left over from the late seventies. He followed Rachel to the kitchen and watched as she opened the cabinets above the counter, searching for the promised tea.