“You owe me nothing,” Conor said. “We’re friends, and friends do for friends.”
“Then by that same token, ask your favor,” Johnny said. “If it’s within my power, it’s yours.”
“I’d like to get Barb out of the house for a while,” Conor began. “She’s going through a bit of an adjustment and I think she needs...something. Some new faces. Some new responsibilities. Some new adventures.”
“We’d be glad to have her,” Johnny said without hesitation.
“She’ll bring her own food and weapons. She can help out with security in the area and deal with situations like the one I just dealt with.”
Johnny held up a hand, gesturing that no more explanation was necessary. “She’ll be fine. It’ll be nice to have someone with her skills in the neighborhood. We have a spare room upstairs and she’s welcome to it.”
Conor sighed deeply, as if this were a burden lifted from him. “I really appreciate this, Johnny.”
“No thanks required, my friend,” Johnny replied. “We’re pretty gimped up around here, so a spare set of hands is welcome.”
Conor drained his tea and struggled to his feet. “Well, I better be going. If I sit any longer, I’m going to fall over and start snoring. I need to get home.”
“You’re welcome to stay,” Jason said. “Take you a little nap if you want to. It’s safer than travelling in a daze.”
“I think I’ll be fine.”
“You need a boost onto that horse?” Sam teased.
Conor winked at her. “I think I can get on, but I might need you to tie my feet together under his belly so I can stay on.”
20
Conor was beat when he reached his beloved compound at the top of Jewell Ridge. He’d learned a lesson on this trip. He had a stash of Modafinil at his compound, an amphetamine-like drug he could take to function without sleep on long operations. He never carried any with him unless he was certain he was going into a mission where he’d need it. That was going to change. From now on he was going to carry two doses in his regular kit. If he’d had some with him the previous night he’d have taken it. As it was, he was so nauseated from exhaustion that he’d certainly have vomited in the bushes if there was anything in his stomach to heave up.
He got on the radio before he rounded the last bend to let them know he was nearby, not wanting to take a chance that an overenthusiastic family member might open fire. After his transmission was acknowledged, he fished a lanyard of keys from around his neck, slid off his horse, and unfastened the rolling gate. He pushed it out of the way, then tried to get back on his horse but couldn’t generate enough swing. He was done for.
“Fuck it,” he mumbled just as Ragus came running up to help him. Conor walked his horse through the opening while Ragus rolled the gate shut and locked it. "Where is everybody?"
Ragus fell in step beside him. “Outside the gym. They’re doing martial arts training. Well, it’s training for me but just practice for them. They're showing each other different moves. I’m just trying to learn enough to stay alive."
Conor experienced a flash of concern. He hoped exchanging martial arts techniques didn't mean that Barb was creating an opportunity to get physical with Shannon and Doc Marty. It was easy to do in martial arts sparring. Forget to pull a punch or a kick and someone could be seriously injured. It happened all the time when opponents had a grudge or something to prove.
Normally he wouldn’t have to be concerned with such things but, as he’d explained to Wayne, Barb had taken a dark turn lately. She could be dangerous if the mood hit her. He felt like he had a plan for that, but he had to pitch it to her. If she didn’t take it well, he might be the one suffering from her overenthusiastic sparring. He could end up like Pastor White, with his lower jaw spun round to the back of his head.
The gym was located in one of the smaller shop buildings on the property. When he staggered up he was pleased to find everyone enjoying themselves. He saw no bloody faces and no limbs hanging at odd angles. That was a relief. He pulled his gear off his horse and dumped it onto the ground by a wooden bench, sagged onto the bench, and cleared his rifle.
Barb, Shannon, Ragus, and Doc Marty all stopped what they were doing to watch him.
"You look like shit," Barb said in her customary delicate manner. “Like some kind of tactical wino.”
Conor gave her a tired smile. "What happened to ‘Good to see you, dear old Dad’? What happened to giving your weary father a hug?"
Barb rolled her eyes. "Well, if you’re going to get all weird and weepy about it," she said, making a big show of walking over to give him a hug. She threw her arms around him and recoiled almost immediately. “Geez, Dad, you smell like a carcass. What the hell have you been doing?”
“What haven’t I been doing would be easier to answer. I’ve ridden a lot of miles, killed a man, watched another die, saved an old granny woman, and toted a houseful of gear. I’ve sweated through me clothes a half-dozen times and wallowed in the blood of a miscreant that God must have dropped on his head. I watched a smartass kid fall to his death and I heaved a body off a bridge without so much as a word of prayer for his cursed eternal soul. You name it, I’ve probably done it. Except for sleeping. I haven’t done any of that.”
Doc Marty shook his head. "I thought you left to make a social call on Johnny Jacks. Twenty-four hours later you come in rambling out of your head."
Barb frowned at Doc Marty like he was an idiot. “I thought you knew my dad,” she said. “That’s how he rolls. He goes to feed the goats and returns with a necklace of human ears. He goes to the grocery store and a third world nation collapses because their dictator dies under mysterious circumstances.”
Conor ignored them. “Ragus, my boy, would you mind tending to my horse? She’s had a hard day and needs some attention. As a matter of fact, the same might be said for me."
“Then go to bed, old man,” Barb suggested. “Can’t have you falling and breaking a hip.”
Conor yawned and held up a finger, urging her to hold that thought. “That’s on the agenda. Have a few matters to take care of first.”
With their training paused for the moment, Barb slid on a jacket. She’d been in a t-shirt but it was too cool for that if they weren’t working their asses off. “Ragus has your horse. I’ll take care of your gear if you can’t totter back to the house with it. Don’t worry about it.”
“That’s not it,” Conor said. “Bear with me a second.” He launched into a somewhat abbreviated version of what he’d gone through since leaving the house last. Had he not been exhausted, he’d have told the story with his usual flair and they’d have been there for a long time. As it was, he merely hit the highlights. By the time he was done, everyone had taken a seat and was shaking their heads.
“Nice story, Conor,” Doc Marty said, “but it probably could have waited until after you’d gotten some sleep.”
“There’s a point. I need you to go over to Pastor White’s camp and see to Miss Fannie Bell. The evil bastard that was keeping her had a chain around her ankle and it left a nasty wound. She had to walk around that house dragging the damn thing behind her. Her leg was already infected. I’m afraid if it’s not dealt with she’ll develop sepsis.”
Doc Marty nodded. “That’s a strong possibility, especially if she has poor circulation to her legs.”
“Like my father does to his head,” Barb jabbed.
“Exactly,” Doc Marty agreed.
“I told them you’d be over today. Don’t wait until I wake up. As tired as I am, I don’t know when I’ll wake up. Take Ragus and Shannon with you.”
“Not me?” Barb asked.
“No, we need a few minutes. I have something I want to talk to you about.”
Barb groaned.
Conor struggled to his feet. Just as had happened at Johnny’s, those few minutes of sitting made it infinitely harder to start moving again. His body became stiff and it took a lot of effort to break it free of the effects of gravit
y. He could easily have laid over on the bench and passed out there for several hours, but he needed to deal with something. Since proposing the idea to Johnny and his family, the matter had bounced around in his tired mind for his entire ride back to his compound.
"Take a stroll with me, Barb. Let’s walk the perimeter."
“We can do that,” Doc Marty said. “Things are fine here. You just go on to bed.”
Shannon put a hand on her father’s arm. “Dad, he wants to talk to her alone. Get it?”
For a moment Doc Marty didn’t get it, then awareness dawned on him. “Oh, okay. Got it. Shannon and I will go get our medical gear together.” They wandered off toward the quarters they’d been staying in.
When Conor’s gaze returned to his daughter, he found her staring at him with a raised eyebrow. He might have been able to fool some of the people he dealt with in his life, but he’d never been able to fool her. His attempt to maintain a poker face around her was a wasted effort. It was entirely evident that her father had something on his mind and it made her very suspicious.
Despite her reservations, she was aware if she wanted to hear what was on his mind she had to let him tell it in his own way and on his own schedule. If he wanted to take a walk, she’d take a walk. Her gear was propped against the outside wall of the gym building. She slipped on her gun belt, her chest rig, and her pack. She picked up her rifle and faced her dad. “Well?”
Conor was wearing his chest rig but he left his pack sitting on the ground. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and started walking. Barb fell in alongside him. The sun was warm but the air was cool, possibly in the mid-forties. It had frosted overnight but the sun had melted it, leaving small puddles of moisture in the dead leaves that covered the ground.
"You've got something written all over your face,” Barb said. “If that’s the same poker face you used in your professional career, it’s a wonder you weren’t killed years ago. Not sure it would fool anyone.”
Her lack of tact was not something she’d inherited from Conor. He was a master at using his Irish charm to waltz into a conversation from the side. Conor wondered if that bluntness might be tempered over time with maturity and experience, or if it would always be part of her. If that was the case, she would have some bumps along the road of her life. Being buried in his thoughts and not responding to her comments did nothing to dispel Barb's concern.
"You going to come out with it or not? Do I need to throw you to the ground and start pounding on you?"
“Barb, as your father there is something I need to tell you."
"Is this about the birds and the bees?” Barb asked without missing a beat. “Because we never had that talk."
Conor became flustered, which was likely Barb's intention. She was paying him back for being obtuse. "No, it's not about the bleeding birds and bees. It's about you being a right pain in the arse to everyone in this house."
He hadn’t exactly intended for it to come out like that. He had been trying to find a way to sugarcoat it, but Barb didn't understand sugarcoating. She didn't understand his roundabout way of speaking and skirting around the issue. Barb understood direct and plainspoken. Painful as it was, that was what was required.
He waited for Barb to respond, but she said nothing. Conor could tell, could sense, that his comment had both stunned and insulted her. What he couldn't tell was if it had hurt her feelings or not. Barb was difficult to read. Even he had difficulty with it. She was not the sensitive type, but this was new territory for them. More than anything, he worried about doing damage to their relationship that might never be fixed.
"Barb..." he began, unsure of what he was going to say behind it.
"No," she interrupted, holding up a hand. “I get it. I have been on edge lately. I’m not an idiot. I see how people react to me and I know it’s my own doing.”
"Why? What's going on that my cool and collected daughter is suddenly turning on everyone around her?"
Barb shrugged. She kicked an acorn with the toe of her boot. "It's complicated. I’m not sure I understand it entirely myself."
"Is it...a girl thing?" Conor asked hesitantly.
Barb turned on him, appalled. "Fucking hell? A girl thing? What the hell does that even mean?"
Conor backpedaled furiously. "I wasn't trying to offend you, daughter. I just don't know much about this emotional stuff that women go through. Sometimes I wonder if the two of us even have enough normal emotions to fill a beer can."
She smiled at that image. "You might be right there."
For a moment it looked as if she was going to say more but chose not to. Conor saw that the burden of continuance was upon him. He’d started this. He’d opened the gate. He had to push forward. "I've been thinking that it might do you good to get out of the house for a little while. Get out on your own and be around some new folks. Have some new experiences."
She gazed at him with an incredulous expression on her face. "You're throwing me out of the house?"
Conor’s heart sank. Why did she have to rush to the worst possible interpretation of what he’d said? "No, Barb. That’s not what I’m doing. I would never do that. I was just talking to Wayne about my concerns and he said some stuff that really made sense."
“So you were talking to Wayne about me?" Barb asked. Her tone made it obvious she didn’t care to be the subject of discussion between her dad and some man she barely knew.
"The topic came up. We had a lot of time on our hands. We talked."
Barb nodded in acknowledgement but had an expression that was both knowing and accusatory. He could make this sound as innocent as he wanted but she didn’t believe a word of it. "Oh, I get it, alright. A single father singing the woes of raising a daughter. Two men commiserating about the hotheaded nature of women and those damned emotions, those female things they don’t understand."
"It was nothing like that," Conor assured her. "The timeline is a little fuzzy, but I recall we were talking about Pastor White and relations in that part of the community.”
“Ah, there’s another one with a fine understanding of the female sex.”
“We were just talking about your little scuffle."
“T’werent a scuffle. I tried to decrapitate him with my boot.”
“It’s decapitate, Barb. Decapitate, not decrapitate.”
“Not when it’s done to a shithead.”
“We were talking about community relations.”
"Oh, I get it now. So your daughter is bad for your public image? Maybe you need to hire a publicist to correct the damage she's done?"
Conor started to deny it then realized he couldn’t entirely. There was some partial truth there. "Actually, I think only you can repair the damage that's been done there."
"The bastard deserved it. He has no respect for women and that’s why I did it. He needed to have his jaw kicked loose."
"I'm not suggesting otherwise, Barb. I’m just suggesting that there may have been overreaction on both sides. We might have to work with Pastor White and his people in the future. We might need a little trust there – a little good faith. Hearts and minds, darlin', that's how you win the people."
"I thought you won people over by filling their bellies?"
"No, that's your own troops."
They fell into an awkward silence after that. Conor felt like he’d said all he needed to say. If he continued to explain his position, he felt like he might undermine it. Could be it was best to just let it rest for a little while. He was exhausted and probably not in his best debate form.
"So what was the conclusion of your summit with Wayne on your wayward daughter? Was that where you decided that kicking me out was the solution?”
They passed a pile of plastic reels that had once held mining cable. Conor took a seat on one. He gestured at Barb to pull up another. "To be honest, the way you've been acting has not made me question you, it’s made me question some of my parenting decisions. I raised a strong, capable daughter, but sometimes you’re a bull i
n a china shop. I’m not saying this to be critical but to make you aware that you might need more to keep you occupied. You've been raised to be a sheepdog, but if you don't have enough to deal with you’ll start nipping at your own sheep."
“Kind of like I am now.” It was not a question, but a statement. Perhaps even a revelation.
Conor nodded. “Like you are now.”
Barb mulled over her dad's words. She didn't want to issue an immediate blanket denial because she too understood there was something going on inside her. She was too short tempered and frustrated. She became angry over things that weren't worthy of her anger. She lashed out, sometimes violently, at provocations that, in hindsight, were not worthy of reaction. The problem was that she didn't know how to solve this problem on her own. Perhaps if people were offering insight she should listen, even if what they said stung a little bit.
"Seriously, Barb, this is keeping me up at night. Several times I’ve convinced myself that I failed you. That I’ve made you into something that would bring you nothing but frustration and unhappiness. I know that’s not the case, though. I have confidence that I raised this razor-sharp child with the idea that I could throw you out into the world and you would always bob to the surface. You would always land on your feet and be able to set things right no matter the situation. The problem is I never threw you out into the world. I prepared you for launch but never launched you."
The idea that he might be throwing her out was no longer a joke and genuine worry clouded Barb's face. "Seriously, Dad, if you’re throwing me out, where is there for me to go?"
Conor chuckled and patted Barb on the leg. "No way. You always have a home with me. But I do think you do need more responsibility. I talked to Johnny Jacks and his family about you staying with them for a little while.”
“My God, you’ve lent me out as a farmhand?”
Conor laughed. “I know they could use the help around the farm, but the idea was that you could act as kind of a sheriff in that part of the community. You could deal with situations like the one Wayne and I just dealt with. You can keep an eye open for threats. You apply your intelligence, your tactical thinking, to the problems of that community and you help people out. It’s only a short ride down the mountain.”
Brutal Business: Book Three in the Mad Mick Series Page 13
