Shallow Creek

by Alistair McIntyre

  “I was just—”

  “Yeah, I get it,” Taylor spat suddenly. “After all that happened, now you’re a junkie and you need a fix, so you figured you’d head back to Shallow Creek, where the meth flows like a freaking river. Is that it?”

  Before Brendan could argue, Taylor shot up and leaned over towards him. “This town has enough problems without the likes of you.”

  And he was off. Taylor threw the door open and hurtled towards his car. Brendan waited for him to clear the parking lot before exiting himself, kneading his throbbing head all the way to the door. In the reflection in the glass, he caught more than one pair of eyes watching him closely as he left. Apparently his undercover skills could use some work. His subtle snooping had failed miserably, and with the way people gossiped in Shallow Creek, half the town would know he’s a hardcore drug user by dinner time.

  If a damaged reputation was the only injury he picked up on this mission, he’d be lucky. The image of his sister’s spaced-out face filled his head. It would all be worth it if he could do anything to help her out. No way could he walk away after what he went through in her trailer.

  He walked across the parking lot and got into his truck, feeling a little stupid for running off his only lead so quickly. In fairness, this wasn’t exactly his strength. The Marines had taught him how to execute a more upfront style of investigation. Maybe he needed to stick to his guns, instead of politely asking ex-druggies lame questions.

  First, though, he needed a damn bag of ice.

  Chapter 10

  The glass pulsed against Brendan’s hand as his dad gently tapped the framing nails back into the window trim. Not the kind of man who calls in a professional, Darryl Rhodes had decided that he and his son could easily fix all the damage done by the thugs, and mom’s shotgun, the previous night. Like most household D.I.Y. jobs, this one wasn’t difficult; it just took time. And time was something Brendan felt slipping away.

  His investigation had stalled, and despite having no real deadline at all, his lack of progress irked him to no end. How difficult could it be to find a drug lord in a small town like Shallow Creek?

  With one last thump, his dad inspected their handiwork intently, and then departed from the front door without so much as a nod. Brendan hadn’t expected a fanfare or anything for his assistance, but a simple gesture of appreciation would’ve been nice. Darryl Rhodes had never possessed a warm personality, but his frigid behavior towards Brendan left the young man at a loss.

  He wandered into the kitchen and washed his hands in the sink. His mother rolled past behind him in a flurry of culinary prowess as she gracefully slid an unbaked pie into the open oven. Over his shoulder he saw her effortlessly flip the door shut and then she was off to her next domestic conquest. A smile creased his lips as he grabbed a glass of water and sat down at the kitchen table.

  “You’ve had a rough day, son.” His dad appeared from the other end of the kitchen. “Why don’t you take a load off?”

  The man paid no heed to Brendan’s glare as he reached into the fridge to grab a beer. Without another word, his father walked by and planted his ass back in the recliner facing the TV. Brendan had put up with some shit from his dad before, but never had the old man got his blood up like this. His fingers ached, and a quick glance showed white knuckles choking the life out of the thick glass in his hand. Delving down somewhere deep, Brendan sought out some calm place where his jackass of a father couldn’t reach him.

  “Hun, can you help me sweep the kitchen?”

  His mother was holding a broom towards him when he opened his eyes. Sweeping didn’t sound like a bad idea. Menial labor always had a calming effect.

  “Sure, Mom.”

  The kitchen didn’t take long, so Brendan passed through the front and back entrances to the house, picking up all the crud from the window repairs. Finished with that task, he took up a position at the kitchen sink to help his mom out with the dishes.

  “Oh, you don’t have to do those, honey,” his mom said, directing him out of the kitchen.

  “Yeah, honey, get your hands out of the damn sink and get a job,” his father said as he materialized, reaching into the fridge for another beer.

  “I don’t need one.”

  “Oh really?” His dad set the beer on the counter just a bit too hard. “So you’re just going to bum off your parents, after ignoring them for years?”

  Brendan met his dad’s icy stare. “I sent you letters—”

  “Were the damn phones broken on base, wherever the hell that was?”

  His father stepped around the counter and took a couple of steps toward Brendan. His mother stepped between them as that all too familiar tension built in the muscles across Brendan’s shoulders.

  “Darryl—”

  “Can you believe the nerve of our son, just showing up out of the blue expecting handouts?” his dad bellowed at her. “That’s not how I raised him.”

  “I’m right here.” Brendan’s teeth clenched involuntarily. “How about you say what you need to say. To my face.”

  His dad gave him one icy look before walking away.

  “Yeah, walk away and ignore the problem,” Brendan called out, knowing it was a bad idea. “Is that the same way you treated Taryn when she became a junkie?”

  Darryl Rhodes was in Brendan’s face in a heartbeat. Fists raised just a touch and chest puffed out, his father leaned forward. Rage started to take control in Brendan.

  Go on, hit me. Give me an excuse.

  Instead, his father spun and stormed to the bedroom, slamming the door as Brendan shook his head. A hand on his shoulder jolted him. His mother backed up a step, startled at Brendan’s reaction probably.

  Holy crap, I was ready to punch out my own dad.

  It was a sobering thought. The unbridled anger melted away slowly. He sat down at the kitchen table and squeezed his skull between his hands. His mother sat across from him and pulled his hands down. She had tears in her eyes when he looked up.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have said all that.”

  “No, no. It’s nothing we don’t already know,” she said. “It’s just… it’s just hard to deal with.”

  They both stared at the table for a full minute before Brendan changed the subject.

  “Mom, if it’s just money he wants, I’ve got plenty to pay for rent, or food, or—”

  “No, no,” she interrupted. “We don’t want your money, honey. Your dad just needs some time to get used to you being around again.”

  That was an unexpected blow.

  “What’s his problem?”

  Her mind wandered for a moment before she said, “Why don’t you look up some of your old friends? Reconnect with some old memories.”

  “You trying to get me out of the house?”

  “Just trying to help.”

  Brendan leaned back in the chair. “I don’t know anyone anymore.”

  “What about Michelle? Or her cousin? You always liked Scott.”

  This got a laugh out of Brendan.

  “Are you kidding, Mom? You hated Scott. Said he was a bad influence.”

  She smiled.

  “Hun, I think you’re old enough now not to fall in with the wrong crowd,” she said. “Just look him up. It’ll give you something to do.”

  At that, she got up and walked towards the bedroom. Brendan stood and went to his brother’s room. No matter what, that bedroom would never be his.

  Moments later, he sat on the bed, staring at Michelle’s number in his phone. She’d probably have Scott Fisher’s number. Scott was her cousin after all. In high school, the guy had smoked weed with guys like Taylor Hunziker, so maybe Brendan’s mom had inadvertently given him a lead.

  The nine digits glowed ominously, which was surprising since Scott had probably cleaned up like the rest of the high school screw-ups. No big deal, although, Scott was a couple of years older than Michelle and Brendan. That would make him the same age as Grant, which could
make things uncomfortable, like everything else in the damn town.

  Screw it. He had nothing better to do.

  Chapter 11

  Brendan liked to think of himself as a quick learner. Adaptable. That’s the word he’d use. He’d definitely need mental quickness if this upcoming encounter went as poorly as his first shot at being a detective. He’d shown up thirty minutes early to his meeting with Scott at Trish’s Place, one of the less seedy bars in Shallow Creek.

  He was still nursing his first beer when Scott opened the door, pausing in the doorway to let his eyes adjust to the sudden lack of light. Brendan waved subtly, not wanting to look too ambitious. Scott nodded and sauntered towards the bar. Only then did Brendan notice the second figure in the equation.

  She followed close behind Scott, a sly grin on her face as she took in the scenery. Brendan waited patiently for Casey’s eyes to meet his. Before they did, Scott directed her to the back of the bar, where a few guys did their best to suck at pool. Casey kissed Scott on the cheek and then breezed on by without so much as a glance in Brendan’s direction.

  “Good thing I’m not the jealous type, am I right?” Scott asked, checking over his shoulder as he sat down on the stool next to Brendan’s.

  “I guess so,” Brendan replied, watching the guys eye Casey as she bent over the table to line up a shot in the game she’d casually inserted herself into. The black leather pants certainly enhanced the view from Brendan’s vantage point.

  “So how’s it going, man?” Scott asked with an easy smile.

  “Not bad, Scott. Yourself?”

  Scott stared at the bartender until she glanced in his direction. “Yeah, not too bad.”

  When the chick in the tight t-shirt got close enough, Scott ordered a beer, and then picked up Brendan’s before adding another one onto the order.

  “Looks like you’re about ready for another,” he said.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  The two sat in silence for a few long moments. Scott was fidgety, unable to keep still. One of the many lessons the Marines had imparted to Brendan was about remaining still, yet vigilant. Out of the corner of one eye, he could still see Casey entertaining her new friends. It hadn’t taken her long in Shallow Creek to fall in with the wrong crowd, that was for damn sure.

  The beers appeared and Scott flashed a ten-dollar bill to the bartender, adding a crooked grin when he told her to keep the change. He turned to Brendan and tipped his bottle towards him.

  “Cheers to the old days, am I right?” he asked, his face way more serious than the simple question should imply.

  Brendan nodded.

  After a couple of beats, Scott finally asked, “Why did you call me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  The expression on Scott’s face suggested Brendan had just stepped in dog shit. “I was on Grant’s football team,” he sneered. “I’d figure you remember that.”

  Brendan stared at his beer, not sure how to proceed. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn for the worse. He looked around the bar and saw no one in earshot, so he figured he might as well go for broke, or at least burn another bridge.

  “I’m looking to score some… stuff.”

  Scott took in the whole bar in one sweeping movement. “You a cop?”

  “No,” Brendan replied with a smile. “Just a Marine.”

  Michelle’s cousin stared him down for an excessive amount of time before relaxing a touch.

  “Stuff, huh? What kind of stuff? Pot?”

  “Heavy stuff.”

  Scott stroked the stubble on his face, the gears churning away behind keen eyes. He leaned forward far enough that Brendan caught a whiff of some rancid breath.

  “You don’t look like a user, man.”

  “I distribute.”

  Scott eased back thoughtfully, his face betraying nothing. Brendan felt a cool sweat forming on his torso as he waited for a sign that he’d either scored or seriously miscalculated. If word of this conversation got back to his parents, he’d be up the damn creek. And his dad was already pissed off enough—

  “How heavy?” Scott asked.

  Brendan waited for the bartender to stroll by. Once she was down at the other end shooting the shit with some fat biker, he said, “Glass.”

  Scott sat stoically. Brendan prayed that Wikipedia hadn’t lied about glass being a street name for methamphetamine.

  “That’s pretty heavy, man.”

  Now sweat was beading on Brendan’s neck. This conversation needed to end before his forehead got shiny.

  “I don’t mess around,” Brendan said gravely.

  Scott laughed, catching him off guard.

  “I bet, man. I bet.” He slapped Brendan on the shoulder. “I’m going to give you a number to call in a few hours. We’ll meet. Sound good?”

  Brendan nodded and took the last swig from his beer. After passing him a bar napkin with a phone number on it, Scott excused himself. The guy whistled playfully at Casey, as if he hadn’t just organized a drug deal with his cousin’s old friend. She made some joke with the pool players that left them laughing while they watched her caboose sidle up next to Scott. He put an arm around her waist and directed her to the exit.

  As soon as the bar door swung shut, Brendan grabbed a stack of napkins off the counter and mopped up the sweat beading all over his head. The sopping wet ball of paper sat in his hand, staring back at him, representing everything that could go wrong with his stupid plan.

  He’d only just begun, but he was already in too deep.

  Chapter 12

  Brendan pulled into his parents’ driveway and turned off his truck. Without any hesitation he had his phone out, found the name he wanted, and hit the call button. It was do or die time, and he didn’t have any other options.

  “This is Deputy Armstead.”

  “Marcus, it’s me, Brendan.”

  The serious voice elevated a few levels of cheerfulness. “Hey, bro. I can’t really talk long; I’m at work right now.”

  “Right, right,” Brendan said. “I got a favor to ask.”

  Marcus laughed. “Yeah, already? That didn’t take long.”

  “This is actually kind of serious, Marcus. Did you know my sister is hooked on something?”

  “Taryn? Honestly, man, I’ve hardly seen her these last few years,” Marcus said. “We get calls out to her park for domestic disturbances pretty frequently, but never for her place.”

  “Never, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Marcus continued. “That big ol’ white boy she lives with looks mean as hell, but he seems to treat her right, as far as we can tell.”

  “Except for the drugs.”

  “Don’t know nothing about that, man, but I believe you,” Marcus said. “Lots of that crap gets around in those parks.”

  When Brendan didn’t say anything immediately, Marcus insinuated that he sort of needed to jet.

  “Wait a second,” Brendan urged. “I got a meeting with a big distributor tonight. I told him I’m a dealer—”

  “Hold up. You did what now?”

  “I told Scott Fisher—”

  “You need to stay away from that cat, Brendan. I’m not dicking around here. Let the DEA sort this out.”

  “They would’ve sorted it out already if they could, so screw that.”

  “So what’s your play here, man? You going to walk in there and kill them all? I can tell you right now that won’t get you what you want. These sickos are a dime a dozen; you kill one and five more take his place by tomorrow.”

  “I’m not going to kill anyone tonight.” At least, not if he didn’t have to. “I’m just going to get some info out of them. You know, prove they’re the ones running the meth in town.”

  “Sounds just great, bro, but I can’t get involved in that. I’m a cop.”

  “That’s exactly why you should help.”

  “No, that’s why I shouldn’t,” Marcus said, now in hushed tones. “I already told you, the DEA’s got this one. Let
them handle it. A civilian shouldn’t be running around going Rambo in Shallow Creek. It doesn’t look like it, but this can be a dangerous place.”

  Brendan stared out his truck windshield at the back of his dad’s truck, parked in front of him. He hadn’t really thought that Marcus would hang him out to dry on this one. It had seemed like a slam dunk to him.

  “So you’re not going to help me?” he asked.

  Marcus stayed quiet for a solid minute. Brendan could hear papers rustling through the phone line.

  “You going to do this anyway? Even if I don’t come?”

  “God Himself couldn’t stop me today.”

  “Shit.”

  After another long pause, Brendan knew he had an ally.

  “Marcus, all I need is overwatch. I’m going to call them to get a time and location. They’ll probably want to meet me in a shitty part of town, and I need someone watching my back out there.” When his friend didn’t immediately respond, he added, “You wouldn’t be in harm’s way. I just need you to stand guard and make sure no one’s sneaking up on me. Okay?”

  His friend sighed heavily into the phone.

  “Sure, man,” Marcus conceded finally. “Sure. You know I’ll always have your back, but you owe me more than just a beer for this.”

  Brendan smiled. “If we sort this mess out, you can name your price, bud.”

  Sullen, Marcus said, “Yeah, but I’m more worried about the price they’re going to put on your head if this thing goes south.”

  Chapter 13

  The warehouse loomed over an abandoned gas station at the edge of town. Here in the industrial district, nothing stirred. Brendan and Marcus had patrolled the streets on either side of the warehouse, seeing absolutely squat. No one had entered or left the area.

  Almost an hour ago, he’d called the number Fisher had passed to him. After four increasingly anxious rings, Michelle’s cousin had answered, giving Brendan instructions for the meet. Knowing that he shouldn’t enter a situation like this without some reconnaissance, Brendan had picked up Marcus before racing over, his truck’s roaring exhaust note providing the soundtrack to his night. They’d ditched the truck up the road and hoofed it the rest of the way in.