Shallow Creek

by Alistair McIntyre

  Outside and heading to his truck, he gave the wide street a glance up and down. With the way these things usually turned out, some nosy asshole was probably watching him leave his brother’s home looking disheveled and guilty as sin.

  He was screwed.

  Chapter 20

  As the squad of hammer-wielding dwarves sought to smash their way out from inside his skull, Brendan wondered if it was the booze or the head injuries that caused the unrelenting pain. Probably a combination of the two. The stress surely didn’t help either.

  From his place on the couch, he reached over and gathered up a few framed photos sitting on a shelf built into the wall. Mostly the images depicted the good times, like family vacations when he was in elementary school. Those days seemed so far away that he could barely believe he’d lived them. Brendan was so engrossed in the nostalgia that he didn’t even notice his dad appear next to him on the sofa.

  “How’s it going, son?”

  His father couldn’t have constructed a less expected sentence if he tried. Since when was the old man one for small talk?

  “Been better,” Brendan replied as he zeroed in one on picture in particular. He showed it to his dad. “You remember this?”

  His dad took it from him and smiled ever so slightly. “The old cabin.”

  The family had owned a cabin out in the woods way south of town. The long journey out there had always infuriated the impatient young Brendan, but now he’d go just about anywhere to find that kind of solitude.

  “You still own it?” Brendan asked.

  “You see that new truck outside?”

  “Yeah, it’s nice.”

  “Well, I had to sell the cabin to get the truck.” His dad passed the picture back. “After you kids were all grown and gone, your mom and I never even talked about going out there. It’s a family place.”

  “Sure.” Brendan would’ve bought the place off his dad, but he kept that to himself.

  “Would’ve sold it to your brother, but he didn’t want it. Said he’s already got a timeshare with some buddies out in the same neck of the woods.”

  “There still good hunting out there?” Brendan asked. That had been one of the best bonding memories he had with his dad, and even with his brother.

  “I reckon.”

  “What happened to all the guns?” Brendan asked. “I saw the old gun safe is gone.”

  “Your brother took all the rifles and just left me my shotgun.” His dad smiled. “Good thing your mom didn’t take your head off with it the other night.”

  The inside of his head felt like he’d been shot. The throbbing was extremely disorienting.

  “I guess Grant took your pistol, too,” his dad said, stroking his chin as he searched deep in the old memory banks.

  “The one with my name on the grip? The one you gave me?”

  “That’s the one. Haven’t seen that thing in years.”

  Brendan made a mental note to get his gun back from his brother while pretending that he hadn’t slept with his wife.

  “Brendan, where’d you say you stayed last night?”

  And here it was: Brendan’s first opportunity to lie. He knew that every second he didn’t answer the simple question incriminated him more and more, but he honestly couldn’t think of anything good to say. Why he hadn’t prepared for this moment was beyond him.

  “You said you were going to check on Michelle when you left,” his dad prompted.

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “So, did you stay there?” His voice was even and neutral, which worried Brendan.

  “I—“

  His dad looked at him expectantly.

  “I’ve got to go do some stuff,” Brendan said as he set all the pictures back on the shelf. As he walked away from his dad, the fog in his mind cleared just enough to kick him in the ass for acting so damn guilty. At the front door, he turned and found his dad had quietly followed him.

  “You gonna do better than that, son?”

  Brendan opened the door and rested his forehead against the edge of it for a second.

  “It’s not what it looks like, Dad.”

  “And what does it look like?”

  Brendan looked his father straight in the eye when he lied to him.

  “Nothing happened.”

  They appraised each other for a few excruciating seconds before his dad nodded.

  “Good,” the old man said.

  Brendan’s dad then walked off without another word, and Brendan closed the door gently behind himself as he left.

  Chapter 21

  Schmidt’s was still where he’d left it. Brendan stepped into the diner and nodded to the lady behind the counter when she told him to pick any table he liked. The lunch crowd hadn’t arrived yet, so he pretty much had his pick of the place. He took a seat against the big windows and glanced over the menu noncommittally. Things more important than a sandwich choice rattled inside his head.

  Brendan absently fidgeted with the salt and pepper shakers as the waitress swung by for his order. Not really caring about the decision, he asked for a chicken sandwich and some dark coffee. The lady, whose nametag read Betty, flashed him a smile and trotted off to make some magic happen in the kitchen. Brendan couldn’t see from his vantage point, but he was sure a guy from south of the border did all the real work back there. That was the way of things these days.

  Such an inane thought didn’t distract him for very long. His pounding headache hadn’t relented and his guilt refused to ebb. How could they keep something like this a secret? And in this town? There was no way. One of them would get drunk and insinuate something to the wrong person, and then all hell would break loose in the Rhodes family again. The laugh of it was that Brendan used to think the wedge driven between he and his brother couldn’t get any bigger.

  Don’t tempt fate. That was the lesson here.

  Betty returned with his coffee and promised she’d have his sandwich out in no time, but while she was here, did he want some fries with that? He acquiesced without a second thought. Sure, fries sounded just great. Not really, but he was past caring about the fuel going into his body. He stared out the window at his truck.

  Would Michelle cave and tell Grant everything? That was a serious possibility. Would he hurt her? If he did, she’d be the last person he ever touched, that was for damn sure. No matter what happened, a man shouldn’t be hitting a woman. Unless she was pointing a gun at him. That was probably acceptable, but this was an affair of the heart, not the gun. If he so much as left a bruise on her, Brendan would bury the son of a bitch.

  He leaned back in the booth and ran a hand slowly across his head. Little bumps and bruises reacted to his touch, especially on the back, near his neck. How those bastards hadn’t done more permanent damage was shocking, but after the brawl behind Trish’s, Brendan was sure those idiots had received the worse end of the bargain. That Mohawk guy was still feeling that run-in with the dumpster, that much was certain.

  True to her word, dear old Betty promptly and gracefully slid a plate in front of him. He thanked her and didn’t even bother examining his food before diving right in.

  “A good eater,” she remarked. “We like that around here. You need anything else, hun?”

  With his mouth full of chicken, Brendan just shook his head.

  “Alright, just bring this check up to the counter when you’re done,” Betty said, laying the bill face-down on the table. She walked off and resumed her position behind the counter, and Brendan continued to devour his food.

  “Hey, you’re Darryl Rhodes’ youngest, right?”

  Brendan looked across a few booths at one of the few patrons in Schmidt’s this Sunday morning. A haggard, weather-beaten face glared back at him. The leathery texture on Foster McLean’s face hadn’t changed at all in the last ten years, and Brendan got that sinking feeling.

  “Yes, sir,” he replied coolly, placing his sandwich down.

  “You got a lot of nerve showing up here.”

&nbs
p; Brendan knew where this train wreck was heading, but also knew he’d have to play it out with more than one disgruntled father before his time in Shallow Creek was done.

  “Clint’s your son, right, Mr. McLean?”

  “Damn right, and you did wrong by him, and by me, with what you did to your brother.”

  “Sounds like you got it all figured out, sir.”

  “Don’t sass me, you little shit.” McLean banged on the table, earning a scowl from Betty. “They were heading for the state championship before you screwed it all up.”

  The slurred words slipped right past Brendan. He’d been through much worse in high school, and he’d been just a boy then. Real life extended well beyond high school football, but some folks in Shallow Creek couldn’t quite grasp that concept, especially drunks like Foster McLean.

  Seeing no point in causing anymore trouble for Betty as her lunchtime regulars started to filter in, Brendan inhaled the rest of his sandwich and moved to the counter. As he closed out his tab with the lady, McLean continued to heckle him, calling on other patrons to join in. Thankfully they all ignored him, except for one man Brendan didn’t recognize, who told the old drunk to take it easy. Part of Brendan wished McLean would disregard that advice and take things a step further, just so Brendan could feel vindicated in kicking his teeth down his throat.

  To make up for McLean, Betty offered Brendan a free dessert in a to-go box, but Brendan politely declined as he headed back out through the door.

  Chapter 22

  Yet another location added to Brendan’s no-go list. His dad would most likely interrogate him again if he went home, Michelle’s place was obviously off-limits, and now even the diner wasn’t an option. Calling Marcus was also out of the question, and not just because his friend was at work. Brendan figured that Marcus just needed some time to recuperate from getting shot in the back.

  Not knowing where else to go, Brendan followed the familiar streets into the neighborhood Michelle lived in during high school. If Mrs. Prost, or whatever her maiden name was, followed the same pattern as the rest of Shallow Creek’s residents, she still lived in the same house she did ten years ago, and that’s where Brendan would find Kim.

  Brendan hadn’t really thought to call ahead, but was relieved to see her battered little coupe parked in the driveway. His truck dwarfed the small car as he pulled in behind it. Walking up to the exterior stairs heading up to the above-garage apartment, Brendan saw no movement behind the closed blinds of either front-facing windows. A knock to his left spun him around to see Kim’s mom waving at him from inside the house, through what he remembered as the kitchen window. He gave a small wave in return and climbed the stairs slowly, wondering what he was really doing here.

  Muffled voices traveled through the door. At his first knock, the conversation ended. He knocked again. This time he could hear someone, or something, rustling around on the other side of the door. Floorboards creaked slightly as the apartment’s occupant approached the door.

  “Who is it?” Kim called. The door had no peephole, which most residents would consider an unnecessary security feature in this small town.

  “It’s Brendan.”

  A pair of locks disengaged and the door cracked open to reveal a very sleepy woman’s face. Her eyes squinted against the midday sunlight. The room beyond her was dark.

  “Sorry to wake you up.”

  “No problem. Someone already beat you to it,” Kim mumbled, drawing the door inwards and shuffling away. “Come on in.”

  Brendan stepped through the door and closed it behind him. Thick curtains kept out most of the light, but enough leaked around the fabric to reveal a third occupant in the modest apartment.

  “Are you following me?” he asked the woman decked out in running gear.

  “I got here first,” Casey pointed out, “so I should be asking you that same question.”

  “Right.”

  Kim, wearing a t-shirt and gym shorts, disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared wearing a long cotton bathrobe. While she fumbled with the coffeemaker, Brendan looked around.

  The small apartment was essentially one big open living area that served as kitchen, living room, and bedroom. The only door led to a small bathroom that featured a shower stall, a sink, and a toilet. Next to the bed, a pair of matching old armoires loomed, probably containing the remainder of Kim’s clothes that weren’t strewn all over the place.

  “Sorry for the mess,” Kim called over her shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Brendan said. “I should’ve called first.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered. I turn my phone off after I work a late shift.”

  Brendan took a seat on the small sofa situated in the middle of the living space. The sofa faced the two big windows, between which stood a small media console and a medium-sized flat screen TV. Brendan couldn’t see a cable box, but a PlayStation 3 sat on a shelf under the TV.

  “Why are you here, anyway?” Casey asked, pulling up a small plastic chair from Kim’s desk. Her skin gleamed with a sheen of fresh sweat.

  Kim wandered over and sat next to Brendan on the sofa, now tightly clutching a mug of coffee.

  “Honestly, I didn’t really have anywhere else to go,” he explained.

  “Glad I’m your last resort,” Kim said as she sipped at the piping hot caffeine fix. When she caught Brendan watching her, she added, “Oh my gosh, how rude. I didn’t offer you any.”

  Kim started to get up, but Brendan put a hand on her shoulder and gently ushered her back down.

  “I’ll grab some if I want some,” he assured her. “No problem.”

  Casey muttered something and went to get a drink from the kitchen.

  Other than the different color of eyes, Kim was a carbon copy of her older sister. The resemblance resurfaced the surprise Brendan had felt waking up next to Michelle’s naked body that morning.

  Damn, had it just been that morning? It was unreal how slowly time moved when things went rough, yet good times shot by in an instant.

  Trying to remain cognizant of appearances, Brendan asked if it would be okay to crack the blinds open. If Kim’s mom showed up and found the three of them sitting around in the dark, with Kim wearing her pajamas, who knew what rumors could result? As if things weren’t interesting enough already, or, maybe it was merely wishful thinking on his part.

  When Kim agreed, Brendan drew back the curtains and fumbled with the rod that twisted to operate the blinds. A gear or something was stripped inside the mechanism, so the rod freely spun in his hand. He looked back to Kim for some helpful hints, but she grinned and gave up nothing. At a loss, Brendan grabbed the drawstring and yanked down on it, pulling the blinds halfway up the window.

  He turned back around and Kim gasped.

  “What is it?” He stepped towards her quickly and sat down next to her.

  She reached out and gingerly touched his face.

  “I forgot you’d been in a fight,” she said absently, preoccupied with examining his healing wounds.

  “You should see the other guys.”

  Kim shot him a skeptical look and leaned back against the arm of the sofa. Now she was facing him with her knees pulled up between them. She sipped at her coffee, watching him. Casey returned from the kitchen and sat in the plastic desk chair.

  “Is something wrong?” Brendan asked when things got weird enough.

  “You asked me at the gas station if Michelle ever did meth, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Why?”

  Brendan glanced Casey’s way. “I’m not sure we should have this conversation in front of her.”

  “Believe it or not, I’m on your side,” Casey said before taking a gulp of water.

  “I’ll vouch for her,” Kim added quickly.

  “I’m confused,” Brendan said.

  “You think you know what’s going on, but you don’t have the whole story,” Casey said. “I was as shocked as you were
in that bar the other day, but I had a part to play. I couldn’t blow it.”

  “Yeah, now I’m more confused. Why were you there with Scott?”

  The two women shared a knowing look.

  “I didn’t just randomly come to Shallow Creek,” Casey explained slowly. Her eyes dragged across the floor while she talked. “My sister was murdered here six months ago, at the Exxon on the edge of town.”

  “Okay, so you’re here for what? Justice? Revenge?”

  Casey sneered when her eyes met his. “Maybe both.”

  Brendan motioned to his bruised face. “Vigilante justice isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and you don’t look like the type, anyway.”

  “Is that what happened to you?” Kim exclaimed.

  “Why do you think Scott had his buddies kick my ass?”

  “Um, I figured you tried to steal drugs from him.”

  “Not quite, but close,” Brendan said. Kim and Casey both sat up a little more. “Marcus told me the town’s had some problems with meth, and then I saw my sister high on something, so now I’m trying to lend my assistance to the law enforcement community.”

  “Did they ask for your help?” Casey asked.

  “Not exactly,” Brendan said. “Did they ask for yours?”

  Casey shifted her attention to the window, glaring at nothing. Kim stayed quiet for a few moments.

  “They hurt you pretty bad,” she said.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  Kim put her mug down on the wooden floor. “They’ll probably do worse if you don’t stop.”