Shallow Creek

by Alistair McIntyre

  “It’s not too late to back out of this,” Marcus said, his eyes still scanning the area ahead. He’d tried a number of times to dissuade Brendan from doing what he had to do, but it wasn’t working.

  “It’ll be fine.”

  That familiar pre-mission antsy feeling grew in his chest. The parking lot around the dark warehouse was empty, at least within the limited confines of the weak floodlights mounted haphazardly across the side of the building. Brendan gave it one more minute. The anticipation brewing internally flared, and Brendan knew he had to move.

  “It’s time,” he said. Marcus nodded reluctantly. “I’ll squawk twice on the walkie-talkie if I need help.”

  After installing the earbud from his radio into his ear, Brendan slipped quietly from their observation post. With a glance over his shoulder to confirm the road behind was clear, he slinked from shadow to shadow, only breaking cover when absolutely necessary. The pattern of illumination on the ground close to the large warehouse contained many holes, and Brendan exploited each of them to reach a small side door.

  Now that he was closer, Brendan could see the dilapidation and obvious signs of neglect of the place. No signage anywhere hinted at a possible usage for the warehouse, so Brendan assumed it was as abandoned as the gas station next door. After confirming that his pocket still held his trusty knife, Brendan tried the door handle.

  It turned easily in his hand and he found himself staring into a brightly lit, and mostly empty, warehouse. A desk stood in the middle of the open area, and a man stood behind it, smirking towards Brendan.

  “It’s about time, man,” Scott Fisher said amicably enough. “I’ve been waiting.”

  Brendan paused long enough to sweep the open area, but couldn’t see anyone else around. Part of him nagged at him to leave, telling him that he didn’t really know what he was doing, but backing down wasn’t his style.

  “Come on in.” Fisher waved towards the desk. “The water’s fine.”

  Brendan let the door close behind him, and then walked up to the desk. Fisher motioned for Brendan to take a seat across the desk from him, but that didn’t seem like a good idea. When Brendan stayed standing, Fisher shrugged and sat down himself.

  A loud click echoed throughout the building as all the lights except the powerful floodlight directly overhead switched off. From within the intense cone of light, everything beyond disappeared entirely. Adrenaline started to build in Brendan’s veins as his senses kicked into overdrive. Bolting for the door seemed like a choice plan, but Brendan knew his eyesight would be reduced to nothing after he transitioned from the brightness to the darkness.

  “Alright, man,” Fisher said as he placed his elbows onto the desk and let his fingers form a bridge. “I got a little problem with your story from earlier.”

  Brendan tensed up.

  “Oh yeah?” he asked, trying to hold back his growing concern.

  “Yeah,” Fisher replied gruffly. “You’re either dumb, or really fucking dumb.”

  That was Brendan’s signal. The game was over. Survival instincts kicked in.

  But he only took one step in Fisher’s direction before strong hands locked onto his arms. He turned his head as a solid kick to the back of his leg dropped him to his knees. The coordination and suddenness of the attack surprised him, but he instantly shot back to his feet and lashed out in all directions. His right arm came free from its restraint, and his fist whipped across his body to score a direct hit against the jaw of the man on his left. The guy’s face disappeared from the cone of light, only to rebound back into it with a hellish fury etched into its brow. Unfortunately, the man’s hands held firm. Before Brendan could land another punch, something heavy and blunt struck the back of his skull, knocking him back to his knees, where his captors forced his arms up behind his back. The old shrapnel injury in his shoulder protested profusely, but not a sound escaped his mouth.

  “You’re pretty quick, but not quick enough.” Fisher casually came around the desk. He parked his rear end on the table, and then bent down to lift Brendan’s face to his own. “You’re probably thinking about how bad an idea this was, am I right?”

  When Brendan said nothing, Fisher eased away, and then struck like a coiled cobra, smacking the teeth loose on the left side of Brendan’s mouth and knocking the small bud from his ear. The taste of blood hit him almost as hard as the seething rage begging for a chance to crush Fisher’s face. No matter how much he thrashed, Fisher’s goons held him in check, now obviously far more respectful of Brendan’s abilities. For the first time, Brendan thought hailing Marcus might’ve been a good idea about two minutes ago. On cue, someone pulled the radio off his belt and tossed it to Fisher.

  “You didn’t come alone?” Fisher asked, feigning shock. He placed the walkie-talkie on the desk and nodded to some unseen goons, presumably commanding them to go find Marcus.

  “So you want to distribute crystal meth, Brendan?” Fisher asked, stroking his bloodied knuckles. Brendan didn’t acknowledge the question, so Fisher continued. “There’s two options here. Either you’re not really a dealer, in which case, I want to know why the fuck you’re here, or you’re really a dealer, in which case I want to know why the fuck you’re here.”

  Brendan just glared back at the man he thought he’d known. Anger started to fade as embarrassment rose to take its place. Fisher hit him again, this time a little higher, closer to the eye. The swelling sensations started almost immediately.

  “Marines are tough, but this ain’t worth it, man,” Fisher told him, once again sitting back onto the edge of the desk. “If you just explain yourself, we won’t fucking kill you. How’s that sound?”

  The fury was back, that primal anger that knew no bounds, the rage that knew no control once the leash came off. And now his collar felt slack. The previous thump to the back of his head indicated he’d get one shot at this before they were on him. His anger assured him that’s all he’d need.

  Fisher was talking again, but Brendan wasn’t listening. The thugs pinned him down as he struggled to push back. He upped the intensity until he felt the right amount of resistance.

  Faster than his captors could anticipate, Brendan ducked forward and wrenched both hands free. Fisher flipped backwards over the desk in retreat. Brendan swiveled and saw the man to his right caught off balance. A quick kick to the side of the bastard’s knee evoked an unhealthy pop that left the man shrieking and falling.

  Lying on his back now, Brendan’s hand went to his pocket as three shadowy figures entered the lighted circle. The first came at him with all the brazen confidence of a man who wasn’t used to his prey fighting back. Brendan waited for the guy to grab his shirt with both hands. The folding knife flipped open in Brendan’s right hand as his arm shot straight towards the man’s groin. As the knife penetrated up to the handle, the goon’s grip slackened enough to drop Brendan back to the floor. The guy’s face twisted in pain as he jerked away suddenly, wrenching the knife from Brendan’s grasp.

  Sensing his advantage dwindling, Brendan kicked the ailing man over and regained his own feet. The desk stood to his back, and two men with billy clubs slowly approached from the front. The one on the right sported a ridiculous bleached mohawk and some trashy facial hair. He spoke with all the elegance of a Cockney wanker.

  “You fancy a go then, mate?” Mohawk asked, slapping the club into the palm of his hand. His shirt had no sleeves, revealing fully tattooed arms that hinted this Englishman thought he was a badass.

  “How about I knock a few of those crooked-ass teeth out for you?”

  To Brendan’s left, moans from his first victims echoed in the darkness beyond the reach of the overhead spotlight. A rustle came from behind him.

  Fisher.

  Brendan turned too late. Something punched him in the back of his legs with the force of a pissed off mule. He fell forward as the desk stopped sliding across the concrete floor. Fisher must’ve kicked it.

  The other two men came at him with billy club
s swinging. Brendan fended the first few blows on his forearms as he fell back onto the floor. Each impact rocked his entire body. After four or five, his brain’s emergency systems kicked in. He tried to roll and weather the attacks long enough to get up, but a strike to the back of his head smashed his face into the concrete.

  His arms splayed wide of their own accord and left him lying spread-eagle and helpless. The onslaught continued while he struggled to assume some semblance of the fetal position. His brain wandered off to a better place as he kicked futilely in the general directions of the attackers. After an absurd length of time, Fisher’s voice muttered something and the blows ceased.

  Brendan propped himself up slowly onto his hands and knees. His left eye had swollen shut mostly, but out of his right he could see Fisher’s feet next to him, close to where Brendan’s blood was pooling after dripping off his face.

  “I don’t give a shit what you think you’re doing here,” Fisher said.

  The arrogance of the tone drove Brendan nuts, but he was in no position to do anything about it. This asshole had needed four other thugs to break Brendan down, and now he had the balls to talk down to him? Brendan vowed to kill this fuck if it was the last thing he did.

  “Still don’t want to talk? Fine. If you’re a dealer or not, you should know that this is my fucking town, and you need to get the fuck out of it.”

  Brendan reached a hand up to the desk and weakly tried to pull himself up. Fisher, or one of his goons, swiped at Brendan’s arm, leaving him back on all fours.

  “Out of respect for your brother, I’m not going to kill you,” Fisher explained. “But you better fucking get the message.”

  Brendan’s face twitched away as Fisher’s boot shot into view, but it was too late. The message was received.

  Chapter 14

  Everything was dark. A steady beep emanated nearby. Brendan initially felt no desire to investigate. All he wanted to do was relax, and the warm sensation flowing from the base of his spine up to the top of his skull encouraged him to do just that.

  His eyelids fluttered slightly, revealing that they’d been closed this whole time. Was there a reason to open them? The sergeant wouldn’t let him sleep if he wasn’t supposed to. He’d just wait for one of his barracks mates to wake him.

  Something touched his hand.

  Someone said his name.

  He jerked his head towards the sound and immediately regretted it. Pain lanced up his back and through his neck, forcing him to cry out. He grit his teeth and opened his eyes to find his mother sitting at his bedside, drawing her hand back tentatively from his own.

  “Where am I?” he asked. “What happened?”

  He tried to sit up, but agony grappled his core in spasmodic waves. Michelle appeared to his left, gently ushering him back down onto the bed.

  “Easy, Tenny,” she whispered soothingly. “Easy there.”

  Her voice provided the required calming effect. Brendan stopped resisting and just lay back as she stroked his arm gently.

  “You’re in the hospital, hun.”

  That was from his mom.

  “Yeah, I can see that now,” he murmured, feeling the sleepy pull of the painkillers.

  When he opened his eyes again, tears streamed down his mother’s face. He tried to smile for her, but the left side of his face hurt too much, so he just winced instead.

  “It’s so good to see you awake, honey.” She gripped his hand in hers. “I was so worried.”

  She released him and stood up, excusing herself to use the restroom.

  “You two been waiting long?” Brendan asked Michelle as his mom left.

  “Yeah, and she hasn’t left your side for a minute,” Michelle said with a smile. “That lady’s got the bladder of a camel.”

  Brendan laughed slightly, but tried to stop when a spear of pain pierced his back.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Michelle said, still smiling. “I shouldn’t make you laugh.”

  “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

  “You’re anything but fine. You’re a real mess.”

  “I’ve got your cousin to thank for that.”

  Michelle’s face darkened. “My cousin?” she snapped. “Scott did this to you?”

  “Not just him. I could take him easy. It was the other four guys who worked me over.”

  “So wait, how did this happen? Where was this?” She rested her hand on his bare arm.

  Brendan was a bit confused.

  “Uh, it was at a warehouse on the edge of town,” he said. “Isn’t that where you guys found me?”

  “Why would we look for you out there?” she asked, puzzled. “No, Marcus dropped you off at the emergency room and then took off to go to work when I got here. He’s the one who called me to come stay with you, so I called your mom, too.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Who, Marcus? He’s fine, except he has a nasty welt on his head. Wouldn’t talk about it, though,” Michelle said. “Wouldn’t look so bad if he didn’t shave his hair down to nothing.”

  Brendan took a moment to run through what he remembered from the night before. At least, he thought it was from the night before. He could’ve been out for days, and yet he still felt exhausted.

  “So what were you doing at that warehouse?” She looked over her shoulder towards the door for a moment before turning back to him.

  Brendan laughed pitifully before a painful coughing fit took hold. Once his body released him from that torment, he recounted his story, starting with the break-in at his parents’ house, seeing his sister, all the way through to his meeting with Fisher.

  “I’d hit you if you weren’t already beat up, Tenny,” Michelle said when he finished. “What are you trying to do? Get yourself killed?”

  That wasn’t exactly the reaction Brendan had been looking for when he’d set out to purge the drug problem from his hometown.

  “I want to fix this place,” he said quietly. “If the police won’t do it, I will.”

  Now Michelle scowled.

  “You’re just going to get yourself killed,” she stated.

  “Maybe, but I can’t sit still and let Taryn live like this,” he retorted. “I can’t live with that.”

  “I’m not sure that’s how addiction works,” she said. “Just taking away some drugs isn’t going to solve anything.”

  “It’s a start.”

  Michelle sighed deeply. “You’ve always been stubborn.” She stroked the side of his head. “I don’t think I can talk you out of this right now, but when the doctor releases you tomorrow, how about I take you out for a five-star meal at Schmidt’s?” Schmidt’s was a local diner, and a far cry from any kind of stars, but Brendan and Michelle had frequented the joint together all throughout high school.

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “Come on, it’s the least I can do to make up for my asshole cousin,” she said, screwing up her face at the mention of Fisher.

  “Sure, sounds good,” he said, feeling the inexorable urge to pass out again.

  He vaguely caught sight of his mom reentering the room. The two women embraced, and then Michelle left with a wave. Brendan closed his eyes and just let them be.

  Chapter 15

  “Did the police come to talk to you before you were released?”

  Brendan nodded to Michelle absently as he scanned the familiar menu. Schmidt’s hadn’t changed a bit in his absence. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing. His memory was a bit fuzzy on the quality of the food in the old diner. He wasn’t sure if that was from his hiatus, or just from getting his skull pummeled two nights ago. At the thought of his run-in with Fisher’s goons, his hand moved to his head and probed around the various bumps and bruises.

  “Are you going to press charges?” she asked, ignoring her own menu. She probably had the thing memorized by now.

  “I gave them my statement,” he responded, looking into her blue eyes for a moment. “We’ll see what happens next.” Hopefully what happened next would be B
rendan’s fist cracking Fisher’s skull open.

  “You talk to Marcus yet?”

  “I called him to say thanks for the free ride to the hospital, but he’s too pissed to talk to me.”

  “He tell you to stop snooping around?”

  Brendan sighed. “Yeah, said he wouldn’t help me anymore, and that I should quit while I’m ahead.”

  “In fairness, he did take a shot for you.”

  “Ha. He said they shot him in the back with a beanbag gun,” Brendan said with a rueful smile. “A cop getting taken out by a police weapon. Sucks for him. He says his head hurts pretty bad from smacking it on the ground.”

  Conversation continued in that vein. Michelle would ask questions Brendan didn’t care to answer, and Brendan would provide unsatisfactory answers. Brendan’s burger and Michelle’s salad appeared, and the two ate mostly in silence. They gave each other the awkward smiles that friends often give one another when they realize they don’t know a damn thing about each other anymore.

  Despite Brendan’s protests, Michelle settled the bill. He walked her to the door, where they stepped out into the cool night. Cool was a relative concept at this time of year. Cool just meant bacon wouldn’t cook on the hood of a truck left in the sun. When Brendan moved towards Michelle’s truck, she put a hand on his arm.

  “Why don’t we get a drink at Trish’s?” she asked. “You can make up for letting a girl buy you dinner.”

  Brendan started to protest, but Michelle slapped his arm and burst out laughing.

  “I’m just kidding, Tenny. You don’t owe me anything, but you should still buy me a drink.”

  “What about the kids?” he asked, wondering about Michelle’s children, who he guessed were actually his niece and nephew. It was funny that he’d never thought of that until now.

  “I got a sitter, and she’ll stay up all night texting her boyfriend, if she hasn’t already invited him over for a romp on my couch,” Michelle replied. “Ugh, teenagers are gross,” she added with a wink.