“That’s not my name,” Tyler said, the tears finally coming, streaming down his face.
Mick raised the gun, pointing at his brother’s face. “I love you, lil’ bro. But you got to do like I say. I’ll look after you. Just like before. But you got,” he bit the words off savagely, “to do. Like I say.”
“Or what?” Tyler said. “You’ll kill me? This is love to you? Mick, you’re pointing a gun at me.”
Mick stared for a moment, then swung the gun around to point it at Micah lying inert on the floor. “When he wakes up, all his shit and all his money’s gonna be gone. He’s gonna be looking for the guys,” he leaned on the plural, “who took it. And if he isn’t, the people behind him will. Unless…” He moved closer, drawing a bead on the unconscious fat man’s bleeding skull.
“No,” Tyler shouted. Mick’s gun never wavered. “That’s your plan, Mick? Get some drug dealers chasing us?”
“Like I said, lil’ bro. Burning the boat.”
“What?”
“Saw it on TV. One of those Spanish dudes who fucked over the Incas or the Mayans or whoever. When he landed, he had his soldiers burn the boats. So they knew they weren’t going back.”
“Cortez,” Tyler said. “And it was the Aztecs. In Mexico.”
Mick grinned. “Now look at you, lil’ bro. You and your education. And it turns out, that’s where we’re headed, once we find Mama.”
“Where?”
“Mexico. Now help me get this shit up. And find the cash. We’re gonna need it.” He stepped over Micah’s prone body and walked down the hallway toward the back bedrooms. Tyler looked at the door. It was the perfect time to run. But he was alone in a strange place, in a situation where bad people might very likely be coming to look for him soon. He followed Mick down the hallway.
WYATT LAY AWAKE, looking at the ceiling. Glenda lay beside him on her back, snoring softly. He reached over and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Without awakening, she rolled to her side and the snoring stopped. Normally, this was where he’d roll over, wrap her in his arms, and drift off to sleep with her. But sleep continued to elude him, and he couldn’t tell which of the many potential reasons was the right one.
For one thing, he was as sober at bedtime as he’d been in a while, which was not to say totally sober. He’d become used to passing out rather than falling asleep, and now he remembered why. Without the beer, he couldn’t stop his mind from going to the places he didn’t want it to go. Savannah Jakes and her sons. Kassidey Emmerich. Morris Tyree.
Today, after Kassidey left, he and Glenda had made love. It was the best it had been in months, the two of them rediscovering the things they’d learned about each other, the things that made them chuckle and gasp and groan with pleasure. It was a reaffirmation of the promise he’d made to her: you’re always my girl.
Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms for a long time before she’d kissed him, sat up, and stretched luxuriously. “I still need to go to the store,” she’d said as she reached for her bra. “You need more beer?” It was a question asked out of habit, and he’d surprised both of them by saying no. But that hadn’t stopped him from going downstairs after she’d left and quickly downing the last two left in the fridge. And none of it had stopped him from thinking about Kassidey.
They’d met the first time when he’d been called out to the scene of a Social Services investigation. Wyatt had showed up at a trailer park outside of town on a freezing evening in January to find a blonde woman in jeans and a sweatshirt seated on the crude wooden steps of a single-wide, writing on a clipboard. He got out of the patrol car, looked around, then strode over to the woman seated on the steps. “I’m Deputy McGee,” he said in his best official voice. “What we got here?”
She looked up at him without speaking before she stood up. She was only a couple of inches shorter than him, and her bright blue eyes didn’t show any sign of being impressed by his crisp uniform or brusque demeanor. “What we ‘got,’ Deputy,” she said, “is two juveniles, ages five and two, abandoned by their mother. Or, more accurately, left with a friend, who herself has gone off to god knows where. Neighbor said the power was cut off a few days ago.”
Wyatt looked at the trailer. “So the juveniles are alone in there?”
The woman nodded. “I checked the place out myself. They’re on their own.”
He scowled at her. “You went in there without any kind of backup? You know that’s not the protocol.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “I was worried by the report. The other on-call worker’s not answering her phone. I took a chance.”
“Well, don’t take that chance any more. A pretty woman, going in a place like that…” He stopped, suddenly realizing what he’d just said. “It’s not protocol,” he finished lamely.
The corner of her mouth twitched slightly and she lowered her eyes in an attempt to mask her barely suppressed amusement. “Noted.” When she raised her eyes again, though, they were serious. “So, when you go in there, there’s what you might call a situation. Can I trust you not to freak out?”
“Maybe you should not talk in riddles and tell me what’s going on in there so I won’t.”
She nodded. “Fair enough. The older kid, the five-year-old…he’s very protective of his little brother. I get the feeling he’s been the one left in charge way too often. And he’s scared to death. When I suggested taking them somewhere else, someplace safer, with food and such, he got upset. He…he has a knife.”
It took a moment to register. “A knife. A five-year-old kid is standing us off with a knife.”
“Like I said, he’s terrified. I want you to promise me you’re not going to do anything…you know, extreme.”
He stared at her, feeling is face heat up with anger. “Let me get this straight, Miss…”
“Emmerich,” she told him. “Kassidey Emmerich.”
“Miss Emmerich. You’re seriously worried that I’m going to go in there and shoot a five-year-old?”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, when you put it like that, it does sound stupid.”
“Yeah,” he said. He mounted the stairs of the trailer and put a hand on the doorknob. He looked back at the social worker. “What are their names?”
“The older one is Mick. He says his brother’s name is Keith.”
“Really.”
That quirk at the corner of her mouth, that sudden cutting away of the eyes again. “Yeah.”
“So. Mama was a Rolling Stone?”
It was the first real laugh he’d heard from her, and he was hooked from the moment he heard it. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess.” She turned serious again. “I’ll be coming in after you.”
He weighed that for a minute. It was a statement of fact, not a proposal or a question. Finally, he nodded. “Way behind me. If the kid tries anything, you pull back.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m going to let you handle the five-year-old with the knife.”
He was chuckling as he turned back to the door. “Mick?” he called out. “Mick, my name’s Wyatt. I’m with Miss Emmerich from Social Services, okay? We’re going to come in, but we just want to talk to you, okay?”
There was no answer.
“Mick? Come on, buddy, let me know you’re okay.”
At that moment, Wyatt became aware of a rapidly approaching squad car, blue and red flashers blazing away in a riot of color. The siren whooped once as the car rounded the corner and slid to a stop in the dirt driveway. The door burst open and a man in a deputy’s uniform got out.
“Henry,” Wyatt muttered. “Goddamn it.”
GLENDA STIRRED AND muttered beside him. Wyatt realized that the vividness of the memory had made him speak out loud, not the exact words, but a grunt of irritation. He realized that, once again, the memories weren’t going to let him sleep. He gave his wife a gentle kiss on the shoulder and slid out of bed as quietly as he could. He made his way down to the kitchen. He realized halfway down the steps that there was no more beer, and the longi
ng he felt at the realization shocked him. Jesus, he thought. I’m really turning into an alcoholic. He popped some ice into a plastic stadium cup, poured himself a drink of water from the sink, and took it out on the back deck, overlooking the woods. He sat down and sipped, remembering that night.
Henry Caldwell had exited the patrol car, sliding his tactical baton into its belt loop. The blue and red flashers were still going. “Hey, Wyatt,” he said. “What’s the situation?”
Caldwell had joined the sheriff’s department the year after Wyatt, and the two had never hit it off. Wyatt thought he was one of those men who’d gone into law enforcement for all the wrong reasons. He liked departmental politics, and he all too clearly liked the power his badge and gun gave him out on the street. He was a short man, already going to fat, with a perennially red face and a mustache that didn’t look quite right on him.
“We got a couple of abandoned kids in the trailer,” Wyatt said. “They’re scared, and…” He trailed off. If he told Henry about the knife, the man was liable to do something stupid. “And those lights are liable to make things worse. Turn them off. Please.”
Henry looked ready to argue, then he opened the door and leaned back in. In a moment, the lights went out.
“Trouble?” Kassidey said softly.
Wyatt wasn’t about to get into discussion of another officer’s shortcomings, however numerous or aggravating, with a civilian. “He’s fine.” He addressed Henry again. “I’m going to go in. Alone. Check for a back door and watch it in case one of them tries to do a runner.” Henry didn’t look happy, but he nodded and started to go around. Shit, Wyatt thought to himself. I have to tell him if he’s going back there alone. “Henry,” he called out softly. When the other officer turned around, Wyatt said, “One of them, the older one, has a knife. But he’s five years old, okay? No need to escalate this.”
Henry scowled. “I ain’t puttin’ myself in danger. And if someone’s got a knife, he’s a danger. Don’t care how old he is.”
“Jesus,” Kassidey breathed behind him. “What an asshole.”
Without looking back, Wyatt waved a hand at her to shush her. “Just don’t shoot a five-year-old, Henry. The department doesn’t need that kind of publicity.”
That at least seemed to get through to him. He nodded, still looking unhappy, and disappeared around the side of the trailer.
Wyatt put his hand back on the door. “Mick?” he called again. “I’m coming in, buddy. Don’t be scared. No one’s going to hurt you or your brother.” He slowly opened the door.
Inside, the layout of the trailer was familiar: entrance into the living room, a small kitchen/dining area to the left, hallways to the left and the right. The interior was dark except for a single candle lit and sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. A boy was seated on the couch, a smaller boy lying beside him. The smaller boy was covered by a blanket. He seemed to be asleep. The boy who was awake had dark hair, and in the flickering light of the candle, Wyatt could see the whites of his eyes, wide and terrified. He was clutching a steak knife in one hand, the metal of the blade glinting in the dimness.
“Hey now,” Wyatt said. “What’s with the knife there, young man? No one here’s come to hurt you.”
The little boy’s voice was thin and shaky. “You ain’t takin’ us. Me or my brother. We din’t do nothin’ wrong.”
“I know you didn’t, Mick. You’re not in trouble. I promise. But you can’t stay here. There’s no food. And no lights. And no heat. Aren’t you cold?” He blew out a long breath that steamed in the chill. “Look. I can see my breath. It’s freezing in here.”
“We’re fine. Mama’s comin’.”
“When? How long has she been gone?”
The boy’s lower lip began to tremble. “I don’t know.”
“Okay. Here’s the deal. Let’s go someplace where you can get warm and get some food in your belly. We’ll try to find your mom, okay? But you need to put that knife down. You’re scaring me.”
The boy blinked in confusion. “I’m…scaring you?”
“People with knives scare me, Mick.”
“But you got a gun.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m still scared. How about you? You scared?”
Mick nodded, his eyes glistening with tears in the candlelight.
“So what say you put that down, we go get a burger…you like BK or Mickey D’s?”
The knife was beginning to droop in the boy’s hand. “McDonald’s.”
“Got it. And I’m in the mood for the large fries. Can I get you one?”
Mick nodded again. “And one for my brother.”
“Of course.” Keith, the younger boy, began to stir, as if he knew he was being discussed.
“So how about you put the knife on the table and let’s go get some grub. I’m hungry just talking about it.”
Mick didn’t answer. He looked down over toward the back door. He was clearly considering making a run for it. If he did, and Henry saw him coming out of the back door with a knife…
Slowly, Mick turned back and put the knife on the table. Wyatt let out the breath he’d been holding. He walked over, picked up the knife, and placed it out of reach on a rusty and corroded TV stand with no TV on it. Kassidey entered as he was putting the knife down. She knelt by Mick and took his hand. “Hey,” she said gently. “I’m Kassidey. I’m with Social Services. Do you guys have any stuff you need to bring with you?”
Mick nodded at a backpack that rested by the couch. Keith was sitting up, looking confused. Mick put a protective arm around him. “It’s okay, lil’ bro. We’re gonna go get some food.”
Keith nodded, never taking his eyes off his brother. “I’m hungry.”
Kassidey picked up the backpack and looked inside. She shook her head and looked at Wyatt. “Not much here.”
Mick pointed at Wyatt. “We’re goin’ with him.”
“Well, no,” Kassidey said, “we’ll go in my car.”
“Him!” Mick said more loudly. He looked as if whatever was holding him together was about to snap.
“It’s okay,” Wyatt said. “I’ll take them. We’ll even hit the drive-through on the way. My treat.”
She considered for a moment, then smiled at him. “It’s not protocol.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
She nodded. “See you there?”
“See you there.”
There was a bit of controversy about who was going to ride up front, resolved when Wyatt proposed Mick take the first leg of the journey, with a switch off after the burgers were obtained. Once the food was in the car, however, the deal was forgotten as both boys tore into the bags like a pair of starving wolves. Even Wyatt’s fries were gone by the time they reached the Social Services building. Kassidey laughed when she met them at the door. “You too look like you’ve been painting one another with ketchup.” She was joined by another worker, a large, middle-aged black woman with thick glasses and her hair drawn back in a bun. “Here, guys, go with Miss Treva here and get cleaned up.” Sated with food and near exhaustion, the boys complied. That left Kassidey and Wyatt outside alone in a suddenly awkward silence. Finally, she spoke. “Thanks. You handled that well.”
“You sound surprised.”
She smiled. “Let’s just say some of your colleagues are better than others when it comes to handling children in crisis.”
He let that go. “What happens now?”
She sighed. “We find them a temporary foster placement while we try to run mom or dad down. I’m going to talk to the county attorney about filing a petition in the morning to take them into our custody.”
“You going to keep them together? That seems pretty important to Mick.”
“I know. But I’ve got to tell you, finding a home with two vacancies, on short notice? It’s a longshot.”
He grimaced. “Shit.”
“That about sums it up, Deputy. So, what about you?”
“I go back, write up a report, talk
to the magistrate, swear out the warrants for child abuse. I’m going to need whatever information you have on this Savannah…”
“Jakes,” she said. “Can I e-mail it to you?”
“Um…” he said.
“You do have e-mail, right?”
“I think I have an account at the department. But I’m not sure.”
She laughed. “Really? You know it’s 2002, right?”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Okay. I’ll call it in. What’s your cell number?”
He had to fish the flip phone out of his pocket to check. She shook her head, barely containing her amusement. “Look,” she said, “just call mine. I’ll put your number in my phone, and you’ll have mine. Okay?” She gave him the number, and he stumbled over it twice before he got it right. “It’ll go to my voice mail. I’ll get back to you with whatever information I can find on Savannah Jakes. And you’re probably going to be a witness at the CPS hearing.”
He nodded. “You’ll probably be called by the DA if there’s a hearing on the criminal charge.”
“Looks like we’re working together, then.” The way she smiled when she said it made his stomach tighten.
“Yeah,” He said. “Looking forward to it.”
“Me too.”
WYATT DRAINED THE last of the water from the cup. This night was stirring up too many ghosts. Now those scared boys were young men, and they were in some kind of trouble. Some fed was sniffing around their past. And Kassidey…was still Kassidey. He needed to stay away from this whole thing. But he knew he wouldn’t. He thought of the old and discredited saying Carl had used. When you save someone’s life, he’d said, you’re responsible for them. He didn’t know if he’d saved either of the boys’ lives, but he felt there was unfinished business there. And with Kass. But he wasn’t going to think about that. He had a home. He had a wife who loved him waiting for him back in that bed. But for the first time in a long time, he had a reason to get out of that bed in the morning. He went back inside, put the cup in the rack to dry, and went to bed.
Fortunate Son Page 6
