by J. T. Baier
“Officially? He works for Dewitt Construction. Unofficially…” He trailed off, then his face reddened as if he couldn't believe what had just come out of his mouth. “Look, I’m not saying he’s a criminal or something.”
“Okay,” she said evenly, though she knew that was exactly what he was saying.
He let out a weary sigh. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“No. Not unless you want me to.”
“Well, I don’t.” He drew a deep breath, and his voice was much calmer when he spoke again. “I’m sorry. It’s just, this is my dad, you know?”
Megan hopped up and sat in the truck bed, her legs dangling off the edge. “Have you talked to him about how you feel?”
“Yeah. We’ve got into some pretty heated arguments about it since Coach died. He says he didn’t have anything to do with that and doesn’t know who did. I believe him or I’d be going to the police, family or not. Still, I can’t understand how he works with the people who might have done it.”
“What’s he say when you ask him?”
“He won’t get specific. I get it, he’s trying to protect me. But still. All he ever says is that it’s not that easy to leave.”
Megan sat quietly, letting the last couple days play in her mind before she spoke again. “You know, I might have someone who can help. He’s pretty good at dealing with sticky situations.”
“You mean your cousin.”
A surprised smile blossomed on her face. “Am I that easy to read?”
“Come on,” David said, cracking a smile of his own. “A former Navy SEAL comes to town, starts asking questions about the drug ring, and you might know someone who can help me? Who else would it be?”
“Fair enough.” She gave the young man a long look, her expression more serious now. “Do I have your permission to talk to him about this?”
David considered that, the indecision clear on his face. For a moment, it seemed that he was going to agree. Then he looked away and she knew he was going to decline. “No, please don’t. At least not for now. I’m going to talk to my dad again before the funeral. Maybe I can talk some sense into him.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“Then we’ll see.”
“Fair enough.” Megan started to get up, but she stopped when David spoke again.
“I told you what I’m doing here, but you never told me why you’re in this parking lot on a Saturday morning, Ms. Carter.”
“Same as you, I guess,” she said with a smile. “My cousin needed a ride somewhere, and I’m killing time before I have to pick him up. He’s going to text me.”
“Ah, I see. Official Navy SEAL business? Or was it a beekeeping emergency?”
“It was both, actually. An invasion of terrorist honey bees.” She hopped down, and her feet hit the pavement with a thud. “Remember what I said, David. If you need my help, or my cousin’s, just say the word.”
“Thanks, Ms. Carter.”
Megan went back to her car and drove off, hoping she was doing the right thing for her student.
18
With his only dress clothes in ruins after the previous night’s beating, Riker was forced to brave the clothing store once again. He kept the visit brief this time, carefully ignoring Grace’s advances as he picked out an outfit very similar to the one he’d worn the previous evening. After that, he asked Megan if they could visit the hardware store. She questioned the stop, but Riker simply told her that he needed a few supplies. He bought a timer switch, a fan, some duct tape, a two-foot section of rebar, and a few other small items.
The two arrived at the church an hour before the funeral started. Riker used the time to bring his supplies inside and set them up as he needed. It didn’t take long. Shortly after, people started to arrive for the service.
Patricia Kane came in just before the funeral was supposed to start. Riker got up to go speak with her, but he saw that she was already surrounded by friends and family. He decided to wait for a better time.
After a brief prayer led by the priest, the procession started. Several pallbearers carried the casket from the church to the cemetery a few hundred yards away. The large crowd followed them to what would be Oscar Kane’s final resting place. Riker used two crutches and seemed to struggle to keep pace with the slow-moving crowd.
The immediate family sat next to the open grave while the priest spoke. Riker told Megan he would be more comfortable standing and urged her to join her fellow teachers. She reluctantly agreed, leaving Riker alone behind the last row of chairs. He stood looking over the sea of people dressed in black. He guessed that there were more than three hundred in attendance. He listened as the priest spoke of eternal happiness and a time of celebration. He knew that the words were meant to comfort the living, but he didn’t see any reason to celebrate in the wake of a murder.
While the priest gave his sermon, Riker scanned the crowd. He was here to pay respect to Oscar Kane and he intended to do so in the best way that he could. He found his targets in the back of the crowd. Luke stood with five other men close to him. They all wore black, but their suit coats didn’t do a good job of hiding the bulges from the weapons tucked into their waistbands.
Luke’s eyes met Riker’s. Riker simply shook his head. Luke looked down at his feet. Riker assumed that they would come for him shortly after the burial. Anytime you knew the time and place that a target would be it made sense to take advantage. Still, he had hoped that he was wrong and their respect for the deceased would prevent them from attacking today. That hope disappeared with the sight of the armed men.
The priest finished up and the principal of the school stepped in front of the gathered crowd. He was the first to eulogize Coach. He spoke with the authority of a man accustomed to addressing large auditoriums of people.
“I’ve known Oscar Kane for ten years. I met him the day I became principal. I’ve always known him the same way most of you have, as Coach Kane. The title of Coach has never been so fitting. He saw that I was nervous about my new position in a new town and he took me under his wing. He helped me learn the layout of the community. He gave me advice about the school and the parents. He and Patricia invited me into their home multiple times.” He turned to Patricia as he spoke. “His nature was to help people become better in every way. He was a true coach to me and to the people of this town.
“Over the years I have seen him transform young boys with bad attitudes into respectable young men. There were no lost causes for him, just people who needed a little extra help. He never gave up on anyone or anything.”
Those words stood out to Riker. He knew that they were true. He looked over at Luke, the words still ringing in his ears, and wondered if there was anything good left in his old friend. He doubted it, but Coach Kane would have tried to get him to change his ways.
The principal continued. “Coach was the heart of this town. He didn’t just lead our school to victory on the wrestling mats; he started the food bank and looked after kids who needed it. I worry about where this town will be without him.”
Riker checked his watch. Then he hobbled back towards the church using his crutches. He held up his injured leg preventing it from touching the ground. It pained him to leave before the end of the service, but he needed some alone time with Luke and his friends.
When Riker was halfway back to the church, he looked over his shoulder and saw Luke and five other men walking towards him. Riker needed to reach the church with enough time to put his plan into action, but he resisted the urge to move too fast. He wanted to make sure that his injuries seemed so serious that they thought him no threat at all.
Riker entered the doors of the church. The foyer was long and narrow. The restrooms were to his left, and a loud noise emanated from the men’s room. The loud clicking sound made Riker smile—the fan he’d set up on the timer had started running, and the cards he’d secured to the blades were making even more of a racket than he’d anticipated.
Now that he was
out of sight from Luke, he moved more quickly, hurrying toward the bathroom. The splint on his leg did its job, and he didn’t need the help of the crutches. Each step on the injured leg shot a wave of pain through Riker, but the limb functioned properly. He ducked into the women’s bathroom which was a few feet away from the men’s room.
He retrieved the two-foot piece of rebar he’d left behind the trash can. He hefted it, feeling its weight, glad to have a weapon that could quickly disable an opponent and help him keep his balance if needed.
Now the hard part. He drew a deep breath, focusing his mind, taking it to that place that had earned him the codename of Scarecrow. He was injured, but he was still a predator who had laid a pretty trap for his prey, one that they wouldn’t be able to resist.
He pressed his ear to the restroom door, listening. It wasn’t long before he heard footsteps in the hall. He heard Luke tell one of the men to lock the doors, and then he heard the slide of a bolt.
“What the hell is that noise?” one of the men asked.
“It’s coming from the bathroom.”
“He’s trying to get out through the window.” This last voice was Luke’s.
Riker heard the steps of the men running towards the bathroom. He waited, listening to them rush through the door next to the one he hid behind. His pulse quickened as adrenaline surged through his body. The familiar feeling told his body that it was time for battle. He held his position, gripping the doorknob in one hand and the solid piece of metal in the other.
A muffled voice came from the room next to Riker. “What the hell is that?”
Riker turned the knob and slowly emerged from his hidden position. One man stood in the doorway of the men’s room, looking in at his friends. Riker swung the rebar down, slamming it onto the man’s right shoulder. A crisp crack came from inside of the man’s body as his collar bone split in two. Riker surged forward and dropped a shoulder into the middle of his back. The hit lifted him off his feet and knocked him into the middle of the other men.
Three of them stumbled forward, crashing into each other like dominos. Luke was the only man unaffected. He was standing a foot to their right, inspecting the fan. He turned to see the other men stumbling to the ground as Riker rushed into the room. The injured man whimpered, his hand on his shoulder. His shirt bulged from the shard of bone trying to push its way through the skin.
Luke stood frozen in shock for a moment. That moment was more time than Matthew Riker needed.
Riker swung the bar again. This time he hit Luke in the midsection, just below his ribs. The force of the blow made Luke double over as the air rushed out of his lungs and diaphragm. He tried to yell orders to the other men, but he had no breath left inside to generate the sound, and he dropped to his knees, struggling to draw in air.
One of the men on the ground reached for the pistol in his waistband. Riker turned towards him, spinning his body and using the motion to generate momentum with the bar. He brought it down on the man's forearm. The steel bar held its shape, but the man’s arm gained a forty-five-degree bend.
The remaining two men attempted to get to their feet. One was halfway up when Riker gave him a swift kick with his good leg, swinging hard as if Riker were trying to make a long-range field goal. The tip of his shoe caught the man under his chin, and his teeth snapped from the force. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the ground.
The last man made it to his feet, wavering as he took in the carnage around him. He tried to grab his gun, but his eyes were on the mangled bones of his friends, and his ears were filled with their cries of pain.
Riker brought the bar around again and connected with the man's knee before he could free his weapon. Bone crunched and the man fell to the ground, grabbing the injured leg. Riker kicked again, slamming a foot into the side of the man’s jaw, and the man went limp.
Riker heard a sucking gasp and turned to see Luke finally get air back into his lungs. He was on his knees, doubled over, holding himself up with one hand and the other hand holding his stomach.
Riker grabbed the pistol from the back of Luke’s belt and turned it towards the other men on the ground. Two were unconscious. The other two were holding their broken bones and each was close to ghost white.
“I’m going to take your weapons,” Riker said. “If any of you try to put up a fight, I will make sure to break both arms and both legs. Do you understand?”
The men grunted their agreement, and Riker grabbed all of the weapons without any resistance.
Riker turned back to Luke, leveling one of the confiscated 9mms at his old friend. “Luke, I need to know. Did you kill Coach Kane?”
Luke looked up past the gun and directly into Riker’s eyes. “Fuck you. I told you I didn’t have anything to do with his death.” The words came out just above a whisper.
“Considering that you just tried to kill me at his funeral, your words aren’t worth all that much.”
“I gave you a fair warning. I told you to leave. I’m trying to protect you.”
“Did you protect Coach in the same way? Did you try hard not to shoot him?”
Luke didn’t break eye contact. “If it will help you feel better, go ahead and pull that trigger, but I didn’t have anything to do with his death. I may be a piece of shit, but I would rather die than hurt Coach.”
Riker looked into his former teammate’s eyes. He saw only truth there. Luke was ready to die on the floor of this bathroom and he felt no guilt about the death of Coach Kane. He lowered the weapon. “Get your men out of here. I don’t want to cause any more of a scene than we already have. I’m letting all of you live. You can consider us even now. If we have to do this again, I promise that it will end in death.”
Riker stepped around the injured men and left the church. Then he limped his way back to the grave site to pay his respects.
19
Riker found Megan standing near the graveside and slid in next to her. She gave him a quick look up and down, taking in the state of his clothing, and shook her head. “Really? At the funeral?”
He shrugged and gave her a half smile. “I didn’t start it, if that helps.”
“Well let’s hope you finished it. I have a feeling Oscar would have appreciated that.”
Riker said nothing, but he couldn’t help but silently agree. He shifted his attention to the grave, where the closed casket sat. Though it was draped in tasteful cloth, Riker knew what hid beneath--a metal rigging that would lower the casket into its dark, eternal home.
The priest took a step forward, placed a hand on the casket, and spoke in a loud voice. “Oh God, all that you have given us is yours. As first you gave Oscar to us, now we give Oscar back to you. Receive Oscar into the arms of your mercy. Raise Oscar up with all your people.”
Perhaps in some other time or place, these words would have been comforting, but they felt rote and distant to Riker. The priest delivered them without any of the fire that had been so critical to Coach Kane’s life. Riker’s eyes drifted from the coffin and the priest, back to the crowd. Something about it seemed off to him, and it took him a few moments to realize what it was, but when he did, it hit him hard.
The ratio of males to females was off. The majority of the crowd was men. Some in their teens. Some in their twenties. A few even in their thirties. As Riker observed the men, he realized that most of them must have been like him. Wrestlers. People who’d been shaped at an early and crucial stage by the guidance, discipline, and philosophy of the man who now lay dead in that casket, waiting to be lowered into the dirt.
Coach Kane had touched so many people. To see them all gathered here, the sorrow clear on their faces, hit Riker hard. If it had been him lying in that coffin instead of Coach Kane, how many people would gather to send him to his eternal rest? The people he knew from his time at QS-4 wouldn’t be able to attend. Jessica? Perhaps Simon? A few acquaintances from back in North Carolina? Megan, if someone thought to pass her the news that he was dead. But certainly not a crowd like thi
s.
Riker had saved lives. He’d toppled dictators and taken down terrorists. But he hadn’t touched as many people as Coach Kane had, at least not directly. If that was the sign of a life well-lived, then Coach Kane had lived very well indeed.
The priest finished speaking, gave the benediction, and invited the attendees to pay their final respects. The mourners began to file past the casket, some touching it, some just staring at it for a moment before moving on. When it was their row’s turn, Megan touched Riker’s arm.
“You ready?”
He hesitated, not yet ready to say goodbye. “You go ahead. I’m going to hang back here for a minute.”
Megan nodded, then headed up to join the queue.
Riker waited as the mourners filed past him. His thoughts turned once again to his high school days and the time spent on the mats. A realization struck him. He’d never really seen Coach Kane wrestle. Sure, the coach had demoed plenty of moves, showing glimpses of his speed and strength, but Riker had never really seen him cut loose. He’d only known a thin sliver of the full man that had been Coach Kane. The thought made him sad.
When there were only a few mourners left, Riker forced himself to get moving. He limped up to the casket, rested his hand on it for a moment, then walked away. He made a silent vow to Coach Kane. I’ll finish what you started, Coach. I promise.
As Riker turned to go, he saw a thin figure huddled near a tree, one hand rested on the trunk. Even from this distance, Riker could see the tears streaking the man’s face. It took Riker a moment to recognize him, but when he did, he limped his way over to him and put a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“You okay, Donnie?”
The thin man wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. “I don’t know, Matt. I’m going to miss him.” Donnie’s whiskey-scented breath wafted into Riker’s face as he spoke.
“We all are,” Riker said. He gave Donnie a long look. Back in the day, Donnie and his brother had been the toughest guys around. It hurt to see him so broken.
