“Good.” Austin settled back against his seat and stared out the window.
“What’s the problem, Austin?”
The boy sighed. “My mom is sick too much.”
“Still?”
“Yeah.”
Cash had been wondering, ever since Thanksgiving, exactly what the nature of Connie’s illness was. Could she be taking drugs? Where would she get them though? There was no way she could drive out to Sassy’s or the biker farm to buy them.
“Try to convince her to go to a doctor,” he said. “Then you can find out exactly what’s wrong with her.” And we can rule out drugs.
If he found out she was taking drugs, he would have a hell of a time not laying into her with near inhuman rage. There was weakness, and then there was weakness.
So Connie couldn’t take care of her son well enough. That was bad. But if she was abusing drugs, there would be nothing, nothing, of her left to give to her son and a good boy would be lost.
What a fricking example to set for her kid.
* * *
THE DEA MANAGED to learn from Rogers that the gang was expected back on the farm on Sunday.
DEA agents arrived in the afternoon the day after the bikers’ return, entering Cash’s office around two. Both Cash and Shannon waited for them.
One of the men, Sam Morgans, said, “Shannon, you’re back on the clock. Holiday’s over.”
“Sure.” She’d guessed this was coming. It had been fun while it lasted.
That evening, she and Cash, along with other local officers, took part in the raid the DEA orchestrated at the bikers’ farmhouse. Before heading out, they donned protective gear. They handed both Cash and Shannon DEA-issued firearms, CAR-A4 Carbines with holographic sights.
A mile away, they congregated, the shoulder of the road lined with local law enforcement. At the agreed upon time and signal, all of the police drove onto the property—without lights and under the cover of darkness—behind the DEA agents and Cash and Shannon.
Local law enforcement ran around the house silently and stood outside every window. Other cops covered the RVs.
SWAT team members closed in on both doors of the ranch house, big men light-footed and moving like cat burglars.
Shannon stood behind them with Morgans and Parson, both good men, big and physically capable. She’d worked with them before.
SWAT entered first, breaking through the front and back doors, yelling, “Police! Don’t move!”
Like crabs on a hot beach, bikers scrambled out of windows only to be picked up by police officers.
A few bikers who weren’t in the main house for dinner tried to run from their RVs, but cops apprehended them.
For a while, the scene might have looked like bedlam, but they moved together like well-oiled machinery.
Once the bikers were under control and being moved from the farm to jails throughout the county, a mass of men and women in white protective gear took control of the farm. They had the run of the place while breaking down the grow-op and bringing the drugs in.
Along with the plants, they hauled out grow-op lights, water-cooled air conditioners and carbon dioxide generators. They also removed an illegal electrical bypass that could have sparked a fire at any time. No wonder so many of the bikers slept in the RVs scattered around the lot.
“How many plants do you think there are?” Cash asked.
“This was huge. The house ranch style has a large basement.” Shannon guesstimated. “Between fifteen hundred and two thousand.”
Cash whistled.
“The owner of the farm will have to be notified. Any idea who owns this place?”
“Albert Will,” Mike Gage answered. He had just walked up beside them and had heard Shannon’s last question. “He’s in a retirement home somewhere. Bozeman, I think. His son rents the place out long distance.”
“One of the hazards of being an absentee landlord,” Shannon replied. “It’ll cost him a fortune to make this house livable again. He might as well torch it.” With that, Shannon walked away, so damn disgusted with growers and dealers.
Cash followed her. “Hey, why so down? We got a lot of weed off the streets.”
“Sometimes I get so tired of this, so discouraged. There are too many of these places around. And we still don’t have the meth manufacturer.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll get him. Don’t worry about that right now. Celebrate. We just put a huge grow-op permanently out of commission.”
“You’re right.” Shannon smiled. “It is worth celebrating, isn’t it?”
* * *
ON TUESDAY, CASH had just finished a late take-out lunch when the door to his office opened and a young man walked in.
“Jamie?” Cash stared. Jamie was supposed to be in San Francisco. “What are you doing here?”
Cash stared at his brother. Hair fell across his forehead in a rough tumble of straw-streaked blond.
Déjà vu all over again, only this time the surprise visit wasn’t from his father. It was his younger half-brother, with a mutinous expression on his face that didn’t bode well for Cash.
“I ran away from home,” Jamie said, daring Cash to judge him.
Cash did judge—the kid had it easy compared to what he had grown up with—but he recognized the futility in arguing at the moment. All it would get him was a boatload of attitude.
Cash tossed the empty Styrofoam containers into the trash can. “What happened at home?”
“Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me go on this great sailing course I wanted to take.”
“Why not?”
“They said they couldn’t afford it.”
“A sailing course shouldn’t cost too much. Where is it?”
“Somewhere off the coast of Australia.”
Cash whistled. “For how long?”
“From next week until the second week in January.”
“Holy cow, Jamie. No wonder they won’t let you go. It would cost them a fortune.”
“It’s worth it. It’s great exposure to the world.” Jamie’s lower lip jutted forward. “Besides, Alex’s parents are letting him go.”
Ah. His buddy was going so he wanted to.
“What does his dad do for a living?”
“He’s a lawyer.”
“Bingo. They have the money. Your dad’s a longshoreman. He’s not made out of gold.” Mom had been working as a receptionist in a real estate office for ten years. Not a huge moneymaker, either. “Where do you expect them to get that kind of money?”
“Dad can borrow it.”
“In this economy? What if he lost his job? He’d be sunk.”
“He can take out a mortgage on the house.”
“A second mortgage, you mean. I doubt mom and Hugh have finished paying off the first. Do you have any idea how much that house cost them?” Cash was winding into a head of steam. The kid was spoiled. “Do you have any idea why they moved into an area they can afford only by the skin of their teeth?”
Jamie shook his head.
“So they could send you to that school that your well-off friends go to. It had a good reputation and they wanted to give you a solid education.”
Jamie still sulked.
“They’ve kept a roof over your head your entire life. Have you ever gone hungry?”
That jutting lip threatened to drop right off his face. He crossed his arms. “No.”
“They fed you regularly. Did they give you bicycles as you grew up?”
“Yeah, but I always had to wait until Christmas.”
“Skateboards?”
“Same thing.”
“Clothes?”
“Last year, they wouldn’t get me the skateboarding shoes I wanted. They gave me a cheaper pair.”
&
nbsp; “Christ, Jamie, grow up.” So much for trying to hide his judgment of the boy.
“Did your dad spend time with you? Did he teach you how to ride those bikes? Does he still want to spend time with you? I thought Mom said you two went away for a fishing weekend in the summer.”
Jamie scuffed a toe of his shoe, so like a little kid Cash wanted to laugh. Except that he couldn’t. The envy of his younger brother he’d persistently felt reared its ugly head. Jamie had what Cash had always wanted—a father. A real father. One who loved his son.
I know you won’t believe me, Cash, but I love you.
Had he? Had Frank loved his son?
Maybe. Cash didn’t know anymore. Thinking he should give Jamie perspective, though, he checked his watch and made a flash decision.
As soon as school was out, they were going to visit Austin.
“How did you get here?”
“I took a couple of buses.”
“Jesus, Jamie, you’ve been gone for days. Why haven’t I heard from Mom?”
“I left a note telling them I was staying with a friend for a few nights.”
So much for rebellion. He hadn’t even had the nerve to tell his parents he was running away.
“Wait a minute,” Cash said, suspicion blooming. “You didn’t come here because you were running away. You came to see if I would give you the money for the trip.”
Jamie’s face turned the color of ripe beets. Bingo. “You got a good job here. You could lend Mom and Dad the money.”
“No way.”
Just then Jamie’s stomach grumbled.
“When was the last time you ate?”
Jamie shrugged. “A while ago.”
Jamming his cowboy hat onto his head, Cash said, “Come on. I’ll buy you lunch, but I’m not sending you sailing.”
Jamie followed him out of the office, albeit reluctantly.
Cash took Jamie to the diner where the kid ate a huge platter of fries and a club sandwich.
Afterward, rather than drive to Austin’s trailer park, Cash walked, Jamie beside him with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.
“Where are we going?” Jamie asked.
“To see how the not-so-lucky half lives.”
When they arrived at the trailer, Cash wondered what Jamie though of the place.
Cash had always thought of trailers as tin sardine cans, but he knew they could be nice. Connie’s wasn’t. None of the ones here were. They were cheap and tired and run-down, much like Connie herself.
He knocked and she answered. She looked bad.
Her brows shot up. “Cash?”
“Is Austin home?”
“He’s out getting our groceries for the week.”
Cash shot a pointed look at Jamie, but Jamie didn’t get it. He’d probably never run to the store for even a carton of milk, let alone the week’s groceries.
“Do you want to wait inside? He should be here any minute.”
“Thanks, Connie. I appreciate it.”
They stepped into the too-small trailer. Cash had never been inside before and an immediate claustrophobia hit him.
The place was tidy enough and he wondered whether that was due to Austin’s efforts or Connie’s.
He sat on a small worn sofa and Jamie sat beside him, his bunched fists resting on his knees, as though he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
Good. Cash meant to unsettle him, to shake up his world.
Connie filled a couple of plastic tumblers with tap water then put them on the cracked coffee table in front of them. Cash thanked her.
He opened his mouth to ask about her health when a commotion at the door caught his attention—Austin wrestling a full bundle buggy through the narrow doorway.
He stopped when he saw Cash. Then he spotted Jamie and stared, particularly at his running shoes. They might have been the cheaper version of the skateboarding shoes that Jamie had originally wanted, but they were a hell of a lot newer and nicer than anything Austin had ever owned.
Ditto for the name-brand jeans.
Connie stood up from the only other chair in the room, an ancient fake leather Barcalounger. “Sit and visit. Cash wants to talk to you.”
She maneuvered the buggy into the “kitchen” to unpack it. She pulled three loaves of cheap white bread and a huge package of bargain brand toilet paper out of the buggy.
Next came a large jar of generic peanut butter.
All the while, Jamie stared at the tired woman, at the food, at the buggy, at the inside of the trailer.
“Hey, Austin. I just came by so you could meet my brother,” Cash said. “This is Jamie.”
“Hey,” Jamie said, looking anywhere but at Austin, and Cash knew he’d made his point.
“Jamie, I volunteer as Austin’s Big Brother. His dad died a few years ago.”
Cash looked at Austin.
“You still good for a movie on Friday night?”
Austin nodded.
“Great. Can you walk us out?”
They left the trailer and Cash told Jamie to wait for him on the sidewalk. At the door, he turned back to Austin.
“I didn’t bring my brother here to shame you. He’s spoiled and this was the only way I could think of to teach him a lesson. To show him how much more he has than a lot of people.”
Austin’s cheeks must have been hot. They were bright red.
Cash settled his hand on the boy’s shoulder. God, he loved this kid. “You take a hell of a lot better care of your mom than all the teenagers out there. I’m proud of you.”
He squeezed Austin’s shoulder then stepped away. “See you on Friday. Shannon’s coming with us.”
Austin brightened and Cash grinned.
When he reached Jamie, he didn’t say a word, just left him alone with his thoughts on the walk back to Main Street. Jamie was subdued as they climbed into Cash’s truck. Cash drove them home, and the silence lasted until they pulled up at his house.
“You live here?” Jamie asked. “With all these women’s colors?”
“This is the way the house came. Eventually, I’ll add an addition and paint the whole thing a new color.”
The dogs went nuts when they saw Jamie, jumping all over him until Cash pulled them off and put them outside. “Behave yourselves.”
“I didn’t know you had dogs.”
“There are a lot of things we don’t know about each other.” Cash started a fire in the living room fireplace. “We haven’t had a chance to spend time together.”
They ate dinner on the floor, talking quietly, Jamie chastened and more real than Cash had seen since his adolescent hormones kicked in.
Cash learned a lot about him that night. Jamie learned a lot about Cash.
The following morning, Cash drove him to Havre and put him on the first flight bound for home. Just before Jamie stepped toward the small airline terminal, Cash pulled him back for a hug.
“Come visit me again, but next time with your parents’ approval.”
Jamie squeezed him in return and whispered, “Thanks,” before turning away.
After Jamie’s flight left, Cash called his mom to explain where Jamie had been and why, and to tell her he had sent her baby safely home.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“THIS BEATS JUST about anything that’s ever happened to me,” Cash said. He struggled to keep his voice even. His teeth scraped across his lower lip while he sucked in a deep breath. The paper he’d just finished reading trembled in his hand. He set it on the desk so Paul Hunt wouldn’t see the motion.
The Ordinary Junior High principal leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk. Paul had been principal for twenty years. Other than a few crow’s-feet and thinning hair, he looked none the wo
rse for wear. “I thought you’d enjoy reading that,” Paul said. “You had no idea Austin entered this in the Career Days writing competition?”
“None. He never mentioned it.” Cash glanced at the title of the essay. Why I Want to Be a Police Officer, by Austin Trumball. The first couple of sentences floored Cash. Man, they just floored him.
“Cash Kavenagh is the kind of man I want to be when I grow up. He’s a great Big Brother and a really good cop.”
Lately, he’d worried he’d lost his bond with Austin—a year’s worth of friendship down the drain. Not to mention how much he missed the easiness they’d had between them. But this… What Austin was saying here… Did it get any better?
A huge balloon of pride welled in his chest. In spite of the tension between them these days and Austin’s tight-lipped recalcitrance, Cash had done something right with his Little Brother.
He returned his attention to the essay.
“If I could choose, I’d make Cash Kavenagh my father.”
My father. Blinking hard, he leaned back in his chair, away from the essay that was breaking his heart as much as restoring his faith.
“Did you know you’d made such a strong impression on him?” Paul asked.
Cash shook his head. “I had no idea.” He tried to laugh off the intensity of the emotions flooding him. “Who knew a movie every Friday night would inspire this?”
Paul’s expression remained serious. And compassionate. “This is no small accomplishment, Cash. That boy would be lost without your influence.”
“Does he know you’re letting me read this?”
“Oh, yes. I got his permission first.”
Cash couldn’t take it in. Austin had written this great, great thing about him, and the boy wanted to be a cop, just like him.
“He’s one of three finalists.” Paul adjusted his large, spotless blotter, squaring it up with the edge of the desk. Cash didn’t realize people still used those things. “We’re placing first, second and third at the assembly today. I thought you should have a warning before you hear it read in front of the school.”
Someone knocked on the door. When Paul said, “Come in,” Shannon entered the room.
“What are you doing here?” Cash blurted.
“Now that everyone in the area knows I’m DEA, I asked if I could address the kids about drugs.” She wore a conservative black skirt and a white button-down shirt. Must be the official DEA look. “Paul suggested I do it at the assembly today.”
No Ordinary Sheriff Page 19
