by J. T. Baier
Grace’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t realize that was tonight.” She handed the dress slacks to Riker. Then she took a pink and purple shirt out of the stack of clothes. “I think darker colors will be best.”
“I agree. Besides, pinks aren’t really my style on any occasion.”
Riker put on an outfit and came out of the dressing room. Megan looked him over.
“Much better than jeans and a T-shirt.”
“I’m glad you approve. Do you think they will let me wear this out of the store?”
“Of course. I already told Grace we are heading straight to the wake.” Megan walked over to Riker and straightened his tie.
“I’m glad you came back to town. It’s just a shame it took Coach Kane’s death to get you here.”
“Sorry. I did have some very valid reasons for not coming back.”
“I get it. After the way your dad died, it would have been tough for anyone to come back.”
“It wasn’t just that. My career demanded a lot of me. In fact it demanded everything. Coming home wasn’t an option.”
“Well, that sounds like a dumb career.”
Riker smiled at her. “I suppose it was sometimes, but it had its moments.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Some of the guys that I worked with were like brothers to me. We shared a bond that most people will never know. I also served under some exceptional men.”
“That’s good. I think that if you spend a little time with people in the real world you might like some of them too.”
“Maybe, but I think there are some people I will not like.” Riker remembered the man who had almost hit him with the truck earlier in the day.
“You need to learn to focus on the good people.”
“That may take a little effort. I spent my entire adult life focusing on the bad ones. All the skills that I have are designed to deal with them.”
Megan stepped back. “You really think you can clean up the town, don’t you?”
“I think that I have the ability to finish what Coach started. I may not succeed, but I definitely have the required skills.”
“Have you ever considered that you might want to work on a new set of skills? I mean, it sounds like your new life as a beekeeper will leave you more time for social events. Practice finding good people. You might even enjoy their company.”
“How about I try a little of both. I can tell that you aren’t going to let me be a grumpy loner while I’m here, but I would like to finish this mission.”
“I’ll accept that as a first step.”
Riker smiled. “I’m glad that I have your approval. I’m also glad that I’m getting to know my cousin. You certainly have the Riker family spirit.”
Riker paid for the clothes and put his old outfit in the bag.
Grace put her card in the bag with the other clothes. “If you need help with anything else my number is on the card.”
“Thanks, Grace.”
Megan grabbed Riker’s arm and pulled him towards the exit. “Come on lover boy, we’ve got to get to the wake.”
As he got into the passenger seat of Megan’s car, Riker noticed two men sitting in a truck one block down. As they drove away, the truck started its engine and followed them down the street.
10
St. Mary’s Catholic Church was located on the east side of Kingsport, with a nice residential neighborhood on one side and a cemetery on the other. As Megan pulled her car into the crowded parking lot, Riker mused that at least the processional to the burial wouldn’t take long. But that was for tomorrow. Tonight was the wake, the time for friends and family to gather and remember the departed.
And based on the number of cars in the parking lot and along the street, there were plenty looking to pay their respects.
Megan shifted the car into park and turned to him. “You ready to do this?”
“I am. Are you?”
Megan bit her bottom lip and thought a moment before answering. “You know, when I started working at the high school, Oscar Kane just seemed like this muscle-bound meathead. I knew what he meant to you and all of his wrestlers, but I didn’t think I’d connect with him. What could I have in common with a guy like that? He quickly proved me wrong, of course. At first I thought maybe it was just because I’m related to you, but then I realized he was like that with everyone.”
Riker put a hand on Megan’s arm. He’d been so concerned with diving into his self-assigned mission of cleaning up Kingsport that he’d almost forgotten that Megan had lost a colleague. She was dealing with her own grief.
“He had a way about him,” she continued. “He connected with people. When he talked, you felt like you were the most important person to him. He gave you his full attention in every conversation, you know?”
“Yeah, I do. I’m sorry you lost your friend, Megan.”
“Me too.” She looked down at the steering wheel. “I believe in what you’re trying to do, Matt. Coach would have been proud.”
“Thanks.”
She drew a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
As they trudged through the parking lot toward the church, Riker tried to remember the last time he’d been to a wake. There hadn’t been any sort of ceremony for his fellow operatives who died in QS-4. He’d been to his share of military funerals in his Navy SEALs days. But an actual wake in a church? It had been a long time.
When they reached the door to the church, Riker pulled it open and let Megan enter first. He followed her inside through the entryway and into the back of the church where people were huddled in small groups, talking in hushed tones. A table near the entrance to the sanctuary held a stack of folded paper. The cover showed a picture of Coach Kane with the words “At rest in our Lord” at the bottom.
Riker stifled a chuckle. Whatever it was Coach was doing in the afterlife, he doubted he was resting. He wasn’t one for sitting around.
Through the open door to the sanctuary, Riker saw a line of people queued center aisle. And at the front of the church stood Patricia Kane, Coach’s wife. A closed coffin was next to her.
Riker watched for a moment while the man at the head of the line walked to the coffin, paused a moment to pay his respects, then shook Patricia’s hand and spoke to her.
Riker’s eyes went back to the coffin. Perhaps the fact that it was closed was for the best. He didn’t want the image in his mind of the strong, lively Coach Kane to be replaced by that of a corpse. Though the shut lid also spoke to the violence of the man’s death.
He felt Megan’s hand on his arm.
“Should we go up and pay our respects?”
“In a minute,” he answered.
A group of men and women was gathered on the left side of the church. Riker recognized a few of them, and realized it was all the high school teachers. One of them spotted Megan and waved her over.
“Go ahead,” Riker said. “Be with your friends.”
“Thanks.” She squeezed his arm again. “I’ll be right over there if you need me.”
As Megan joined her co-workers, Riker’s eyes wandered to those seated in the pews. Most were in small groups, but he noticed one young man sitting alone. It took Riker a moment to recognize the boy—it was one of the wrestlers he’d met at the high school that morning. The kid’s face was drawn and pale.
Riker strolled over and took a seat next to the young man. “Hey. Mind if I sit here?”
The young man just shook his head.
Riker held out his hand. “I’m Matt.”
“I remember. I’m David.”
The two of them shook hands.
“These things can be rough. You holding up okay?”
David shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t think coming here would be a big deal. I already knew he was dead. But being here…knowing he’s in that box up there…”
“Yeah, I got it. This makes it all real.”
“It’s not just that. Coach Kane was so intense, you know? It al
most seems like he was more alive than other people. To think of him having to lie still for all eternity, I guess it’s messing me up a little.”
“You’re not alone, man. I feel the same way.”
David looked at Riker hard, as if maybe he couldn’t believe that a Navy SEAL was experiencing the same deep emotions that he was. “Did you know he coached at Kingsport High for twenty-four years?”
“I did,” Riker admitted.
“Can you imagine all the kids whose lives he changed?” David shook his head in amazement. “He used to tell this story about one guy who kept getting in fights his freshman year. Coach recruited him for the wrestling team, and he ended up going to the state championship and even getting a scholarship to the University of Iowa. Coach said he’d never been so proud as when he got the call telling him about the scholarship.”
Riker swallowed hard. He knew all too well who that young man had been. It touched him to know that Coach was still talking about him so many years later. “Thanks, David. It was nice talking to you. I’m going to see if I can find the bathroom.”
Riker stood up from the pew and headed toward the back of the church, blinking back the tears in his eyes. He was surprised at how hard the kid’s story had hit him. He’d always felt a special connection to Coach Kane, but part of him had assumed that to Coach he was just another kid on the wrestling team. To know that he’d had an impact on Coach meant a lot to him.
He left the sanctuary and instead of heading toward the restrooms off to the right, he headed straight for the doors. He still needed to stand in that awful line, see Coach’s coffin up close and pay his respects to Patricia, but he needed some fresh air first. He needed to get his head right.
He left the church and headed out into the Iowa dusk.
11
The crisp evening air chilled Riker’s skin, and the gentle breeze dried the streak of salt water on his cheek. He stood on the steps of the church and looked at the red clouds over the horizon.
The world felt very strange to Riker. He was used to constantly being in control of his mind and his body. At times he felt rage or anger, but he used them to his advantage. Now, standing on the steps of an old church, he felt anything but control. It felt as though he was in a boat at sea, tossed in a storm. The waves of his past crashed against him. He questioned the path that he had taken while his compass spun wildly and he no longer knew what direction to go.
In that moment of anger, panic and uncertainty Matthew Riker saw two men standing across the street. He recognized one of them. He was the man who had been driving the truck that tried to hit him.
The man from the truck was of medium build, and he had a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Next to him stood a behemoth of a man. He had no definition, but Riker guessed he stood six foot five and crested three hundred pounds. Both wore jeans, T-shirts, and heavy work boots.
They stared at Riker from across the street without any effort to conceal their reconnaissance. The tip of the cigarette glowed for a moment and smoke drifted up from the smaller man’s lips. He tipped his hat at Riker.
Riker didn’t weigh his options or consider his surroundings. The storm of emotions blowing through his head pushed him forward. He moved one foot in front of the other without any thought or rationality. He didn’t look for traffic as he crossed the street, but no one was present except for the two men on the other side. If someone had been there, they would likely have noticed that Riker moved like a force of nature. Something beyond the control of mankind.
As he drew closer, the smaller man spoke. “You’re the legendary Matthew Riker? You just look like a dick wearing cheap clothes to me.”
Riker continued moving towards him. He didn’t say a word or respond to the insult. He just put one foot in front of the other and closed the gap at an even pace.
The man continued talking. “Here’s what’s going to happen. We are going to have a conversation with my boss. You are going to do whatever he tells you to do. If you give him any shit at all, you will regret it in ways that you can’t understand.”
Riker stayed silent. He was now only ten feet away from the two men.
“I need to hear that you understand me, boy.”
Riker continued to approach in silence.
The smaller man saw the blank depth of Riker’s eyes. He seemed to shrink two inches and he took a step back, turning to the big man next to him. “Floyd, this guy doesn’t seem to get it. I think you may need to help him understand.”
The big guy, Floyd, stood straight up and uncrossed his arms. He started to move towards Riker. Riker didn’t seem to notice him. He kept his gaze locked on the smaller man. He continued his silent march. He was only five feet away.
Floyd spoke in a deep voice that matched the size of his body. “Okay tough guy. You asked for it.” He drew back a bulbous fist and stepped towards Riker.
Without breaking his stride, Riker shot out a right jab. The punch seemed to explode out of thin air. Floyd didn't even have time to flinch let alone block the punch. The shot landed in the center of Floyd’s throat. The big man staggered for a moment and grabbed his throat with both hands. A wheezing sound squeaked out of his mouth, and he dropped to both knees, still holding his throat.
Riker paused for one brief moment. He turned to Floyd and twisted his body, firing off a left uppercut. A crack echoed through the empty street when the fist connected with Floyd’s jaw. The big man's eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp. Riker stepped to the side, and the big man fell like a tree onto the sidewalk. Another crack rang out as his head bounced off the ground.
Riker shifted his focus to the other man. The man had dropped the cigarette from his mouth. His hands fumbled at the back of his waistband, his eyes wide and scared.
The man pulled a pistol from the back of his waistband and swung it in Riker’s direction. Riker was already in arm’s reach. He grabbed the man's wrist and pulled it down and to the side while he brought his right knee upwards. The knee hit the wrist with enough force to add a new bend to the arm. The man dropped the gun and it clattered on the sidewalk.
The man’s scream echoed down the street, and Riker released the wrist. The man held his broken arm close to his chest, tears streaming down the sides of his face. He looked up at Riker and saw that his eyes still held the same blank expression. The injured man was out of tough things to say. He turned and ran up the street.
Riker glanced back at the large man on the ground. A small pool of blood was forming around his head, and his unconscious face was slack. Then Riker turned his gaze at the man running down the street. He took one breath and then gave chase.
Riker’s arms pumped and he lengthened his strides. The movement was familiar; he had lost track of the number of men he had chased down on foot. Yet everything about this chase felt different. It felt wrong. Riker’s eyes focused on the man fleeing towards the north end of town, but his mind was distant. Memories fogged his thoughts and the image of Patricia Kane’s sad, bloodshot eyes as she stood next to her husband’s coffin filled his mind. Fear and sadness clawed at him, so he ran harder. He tried to push everything but the task at hand to the bottom of his mind, but those memories refused to go away. Riker cursed aloud and moved his legs faster. He felt his heart pound in his chest.
Up ahead, the man turned a corner, and Riker reminded himself that he needed this man alive. He needed to keep some level of control. As he turned the corner himself, he saw the man cut in between two buildings. Riker pushed on, closing the gap. He cut in between the two buildings and shoved the fleeing man from behind. The man tumbled to the ground, skidding to a stop on the concrete. Then the man looked back toward Riker and smiled.
Pain exploded in Riker’s brain and his vision tunneled. He fell forward, landing on one knee. He focused on staying conscious, ignoring the feeling of blood flowing down the back of his neck.
He forced himself to turn, and he saw three men with baseball bats coming at him. He tried to stand but stag
gered and fell to both knees. One of the men swung a bat hard at his face. Riker got his hands up just in time to deflect the blow. He moved away from his attackers and staggered to his feet. The man on the ground was laughing now, and the sound seemed to be coming from miles away.
“Break his fucking wrist, Harry!” the man on the ground said as he got to his feet. “He owes me that much.”
Riker’s vision was still blurry, making it difficult to track the man who was coming at him. Harry swung the bat at Riker’s wrist, but Riker anticipated the move. He stepped toward the attacker. Closing the distance took the force out of the blow. The handle of the bat smashed painfully into his ribs, but nothing broke. Riker lunged forward, grabbing the man's legs and tackling him to the ground.
Another man brought his bat down hard on Riker’s back. A fresh wave of pain shot through Riker’s system, but it brought keen awareness back to Riker’s cloudy mind. As the man raised the bat like a tomahawk, preparing it to strike again, Riker rolled off the man he had tackled. The bat was already in motion by the time the attacker noticed, and his bat crashed in Harry’s chest. Something inside of Harry cracked and he gasped out for air.
Riker tried to get to his feet once again, but as he stood the last man slammed his bat into Riker’s shin. The force swept Riker’s foot back and searing pain exploded in his leg. He dropped to the ground and immediately felt more blows raining down on his back and sides. The world was growing black.
He silently cursed his own stupidity. He had forgotten his training and run blindly into a trap. Morrison would rip him a new one for not checking his blind spots, for not being aware of his surroundings. He realized that Morrison would not get that chance since he was about to die here in this dim nameless alley in a town he’d thought he’d left behind forever.
Riker tried to protect his head as the blows continued, but his body moved sluggishly, barely responding to his commands. After everything that he had been through he would meet his end here.
