Blind Hope (The Technicians Book 2)

by Olivia Gaines

  “Can I ask what he took?”

  “Pictures,” Yield said. “Compromising photos of a high-powered political figure.”

  “Not good,” Cotter replied.

  “Nope,” Yield said. “I will report that the man is dead. No evidence with the wife and kid, but if you find them, or if they are in a P.O. Box or anything else, burn them. Please don’t make me have to come back.”

  “If you come back without an invitation to dinner, I’m going to make sure you never leave this property,” Cotter said.

  “Understood,” Yield said, handing him a card. “Call me for that dinner. I ain’t got plans for Christmas. I can take the cot.”

  A wink and a wave were all Yield gave as he disappeared through the trees. The sun was breaking through the tree line, rising over the creek, as Cotter climbed into the driver’s seat and headed towards the house. The 10 point buck’s head dangled off the back of the tailgate. He arrived in the front yard to find the Sheriff’s truck parked there.

  “Just fucking dandy,” Cotter said, putting the truck in park. “And now this ass wipe shows up.”

  Chapter Eight – Figuring it Out

  Cotter stomped the snow off his boots before coming in the front door of the house. The warmth inside the domicile welcomed him home, along with a smiling Johnnie, who ran to greet him with hugs and love, and Judy seated behind the table with squinted eyes. He chunked the bloody knife in his hand on the table on top of the mail. Pleased to see the letter Caleb had sent was no longer in the pile, he offered her a hesitant smile. The Sheriff, watching their interaction for signs of lies, fingered the handle on the coffee mug.

  “I hope you plan to put that bloody knife in the sink,” Judy said to Cotter.

  “Oh yeah, sorry,” Cotter mumbled. “I cut myself trying to break down the deer to get it in back of my truck. Got a 10 pointer.”

  “I sure as hell hope you don’t plan to gut that thing on the back porch! You will use the dressing shed on the side of the house, Cotter Wihlborg,” Judy said defiantly. “I’m guessing you may need to get the fire started in that old stove out there if you plan to make the sausage today while that game is still fresh meat.”

  His eyes were wide as he looked at the Sheriff, his left hand held down low as he mimicking that she was nagging him by running off at the mouth, his fingers opening and closing like he held an invisible puppet. Sheriff Rottingham tried to hide his laughter, but wanted to get to the bottom of why he’d come out. One, he knew they were lying. Two, he just didn’t know about what. Today, he was going to find out.

  Cotter too knew the man had done a background check on him as was prepared for any questions the lawman may have. His cover for the job remained rooted in the truth. He couldn’t get caught in a lie if there wasn’t one to tell. Sitting down at the table, he removed the heavy boots and Johnnie set them by the fire.

  “Thanks sweetheart,” he told Johnnie.

  “You’re welcome, Daddy,” Johnnie replied. The sound of it made him smile. He liked her calling him that name. It felt right.

  “Sheriff, to what do we owe the honor of this visit? I know it’s not for Judy’s coffee,” Cotter said, winking at the woman.

  Leaning back in the chair and taking off his hat to reveal a slightly balding head, the Sheriff ran his weathered hand over the smooth skin. Sighing loudly, then taking another sip of coffee, he set the cup down, then adjusted his belting.

  The Sheriff sighed again, “I did some checking on you two and I have some questions. I hope you can clarify.”

  “Sure,” Cotter said. “We have nothing to hide; however, I do take exception to you running a background check on me and Judy, but I knew you would. Go ahead.”

  “It seems this property, or rather the deed to the property, is registered to a Judith, Johnathan and Johnetta Morgan,” the Sheriff said, looking at Judy.

  “My mother was a jazz singer,” she stated. “She also loved the freeness of an artist named Judy Clay, who sang the first racially integrated song with Billy Vera, called Storybook Children. I was named after the singer. I am Judith Morgan and that is Johnetta.”

  She pointed at the child removing her clothing from the inside clothes drying rack above the fireplace mantle.

  “Holy crap! That’s a girl?” the Sheriff said.

  “Yes, I bought this property before my marriage in my maiden name,” Judy said. “I knew I was either going to name my first child Johnetta or Johnathan after my father. I named both children ahead of time, so when I give Cotter a son, his name will be Johnathan.”

  Cotter’s eyebrows raised as warmth filled his cheeks. She was a sharp one. He had really begun to not only like her, but appreciate her as well. The rifle, which he’d left in the corner of the room with the silencer, was still there, but missing the silencer. Good girl. She’d also folded the sleeping cot and stored it out of sight.

  “And where were you two married?” Sheriff Rottingham asked.

  “In Vegas, seven years ago,” Judith said as Cotter stood, taking the bloody knife to the sink, rinsing it, and then removing his outer jacket and the long-sleeved shirt. The cut on his arm showed from the run-in he had with Yield in the woods. He pulled the shirt over his head, leaving him in just the thick pants and a white tank top undershirt. The scars on his body showed as he poured himself a cup of coffee and rejoined the impromptu inquisition at the table.

  “Good. Good,” the lawman said, turning his attention to Cotter. “I see your state of residence is in Georgia.”

  “Yeah, I have a house in Venture. Bought it after I got out of the Army,” Cotter said. “I rent it to some college kids in grad school down there.”

  “Army, huh?”

  “Yeah, Special Forces, retired after 20,” he said.

  “Retired? You don’t look old enough to have retired from anywhere,” the Sheriff said, leaning forward to take a closer look at the man.

  “You can do that after 20 years. I joined at 18, retired at 38 with my pension, and the injuries got me a nice disability check,” he said truthfully.

  “I guess that’s why there’s no work history on you for the past 10 years,” Rottingham said.

  “A Purple Heart gets you all sorts of bennies,” Cotter said. “Cost of living in Georgia is pretty low down in Venture. I did odd handyman jobs before heading to Vegas and falling hard for this little lady. Stayed out there for a while with her, then she told me she bought this land. We built this house ourselves.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Solar arrays and all,” Cotter said with a smile.

  “You seem to be away a lot.”

  “My folks are still in Minnesota,” Cotter offered. “My Mom took ill a few months back, so I went up there to look after some things. Judy here can barely handle this cold, as you see she’s sick, so weren’t no need to take her and the kid to a frigid place like where I grew up. That kind of cold seeps into your bones and you never feel warm.”

  The Sheriff watched closely as Judy, who had also removed the bullet he’d taken from Yield’s leg and the bloody cloths from the table, move around the kitchen. He could tell she was sick although she tried hard to pretend, she was right as rain. The little woman strolled to the kitchen pantry, which was sadly bare, to collect the first aid kit. Working on his arm in silence, she cleaned the cut and drizzled pure honey into the cut.

  “Honey?” Rottingham asked, surprised.

  “Best thing to use on cuts, has a million uses,” Judy said, wiping away the excess and bandaging the cut.

  “Wow, learn something new every day,” he said, placing his hat back on his head. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Is that why you came out, Sheriff, to ask us all these questions?” Cotter asked.

  “No, my Deputy spotted a strange car coming this way, and I just wanted to check and make sure you folks were all right out here,” he said, getting to his feet.

  “Appreciate it,” Cotter said.

  The Sheriff, moving towards the door, sp
otted the rifle. Lifting it into his hand, he sniffed at the barrel, checking to see if it had been recently fired. Satisfied it had, he nodded, looking again at Johnnie and shaking his head.

  “You all have a great day,” he said, opening the front door.

  Cotter sat, waiting for the sound of the car engine to get started and he grabbed his phone, punching in two digits. He listened quietly, waiting for the person on the other end to answer. Judy, wringing her hands, had a million questions for him, mostly about the Sheriff checking on the status of their marriage. A male voice came through the phone loud and clear.

  “Archangel, this is Stop,” Cotter said. “I need a marriage license altered from Vegas, registered seven years ago from Caleb Morrow and Judith Morgan to my name, Cotter Wihlborg. I spell, Charlie, Oscar, Tango, Tango, Echo, Romeo. Last name, Whiskey, India, Hotel, Lima Bravo, Oscar, Romeo, Golf.”

  “Does this mean you have to kill me now that I know your real name?” The Archangel asked through the phone.

  “No, but it has to happen fast. I have a Smokey on my heels, a lady and kid in trouble,” Cotter said.

  “What about the birth certificate for the kid?”

  Cotter lowered the phone, looking at Judy. “Where is Johnnie’s birth certificate filed? Here in this county?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Caleb signed it as well.”

  Into the phone he said, “Rocheport, Missouri, Boone County.”

  “Got it,” Gabriel replied. “My normal fees apply and congrats on your new family. Anything else you need?”

  “A prayer would be nice,” Cotter said, waiting on Gabriel to pray with, and in this case, for him. The deep voice opened the prayer while Cotter closed his eyes and bowed his head, listening to the strengthening words of the prayer and finally whispering, “Amen.”

  “I’ll get this taken care of now,” Gabriel told him.

  “Thank you,” Cotter said, hanging up the phone.

  Judy was staring at him as well as Johnnie. So much to talk about, so much to say. If the person on the other line could do as Cotter asked in a few minutes, he would be on record as her husband and Johnnie’s father. On his left hand he wore a ring given to him by his father. A simple gold band, which was the only thing the man really gave him other than his name. It had worked well thus far for their cover. After Gabriel Neary was done, it would be a symbol of their union.

  “You do realize what you’ve just done right?” Judy asked.

  “Yep,” he said, pulling the shirt over his head and putting it on to head outside. “I’m your husband and that’s my daughter. I need to get the fire started in the dressing shed. Nice move letting me know it was there, taking off the silencer, and the clean-up. You’re pretty sharp.”

  “Cotter, we have a lot to discuss,” she said, getting to her feet.

  “True, but I need to work on that deer first, get that meat ready,” he said. “Looking forward to having some sausage for supper. After that, we need to head to Vegas in a day or so. It will do you good to dry out those lungs and we can pick up our marriage license.”

  “Wait a damned minute! You say it all so casually,” she said.

  “You asked me to stay, didn’t you? So, I’m staying,” he said, shoving his feet into the boots by the fireplace. He grabbed his jacket and gloves, looking at her.

  “Cotter?” she said softly, feeling suddenly shy. “I’m looking forward to having some sausage too.”

  He laughed. A loud, gut-busting rumbling laugh as he blew a kiss to Johnnie and made his way out the front door. Picking up an armload of firewood, he slugged through the snow to locate the shed on the side of the house. Opening the door, he was pleased to see the hooks, meat grinder, and even supplies for bagging and casings for making sausages. The shelves were loaded with seasonings and dry spices, and there was even a wench to pull in the kill to hang it from the rafter to clean it. A drain was in the floor for the blood run off and Cotter smiled.

  “Shit, everything a man needs is right here on this land,” he said, dumping the logs into the potbelly stove and getting the fire started. Cotter was also pleased to locate an unopened box of white freezer wrapping paper sheets for the meat. Letting the shed warm, he slogged through the snow to his truck, ready to drive around to the shed and unload the buck and cut it up. Growing up, he’d learned methods to break down game in less than a few hours, ensuring there was always meat in the freezer in their house. Once he joined the Army, he sent a portion of his check home to help his mother. There were so few times in his life when he’d done a thing for himself.

  The woman and child he wanted for himself. At this point, it wouldn’t matter if she was lousy in bed, he’d teach her the things he liked as he learned what pleased her in bed as well. Right now, she was sick. He couldn’t run the risk of getting sick too. There was too much to do. More than anything, in order for it to work, he needed to tell her the truth.

  He only hoped she wouldn’t hate him for it.

  INSIDE THE HOUSE, A very nervous Judy started Johnnie on a class lesson as she changed the bedding and put on fresh sheets. Tonight, she would share this bed with him. He was also going to need a bath after the whole deer gutting thing.

  Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she looked a fright. Her hair was disheveled, her skin was pallid, and her lips were slightly crusty from the dehydration. In three days, he had waltzed his huge ass through her front door and changed everything for her and Johnnie. Love, she told herself, was for school girls. This made sense. They needed protection and he obviously needed to take care of someone. It was a win-win.

  A flash of all the men she and Princess had lived with on and off through the years shot across her mind. I’m no different than my Mama. All these years of self-righteousness, and I still turned into my mother. Stopping at fluffing the pillows with the fresh new cases, she thought about his phone call, realizing she needed to make one as well.

  She placed the call, asking about the order she’d bought plus proof of services provided. Judy gave the operator her new phone number and was told that the information she’d requested had been mailed and she would receive it in a day or so. It would take several weeks to get the death certificate which she needed in order to file the insurance paperwork to get the money.

  If Cotter turned out to be an asshole, she would have a rainy-day fund for herself and Johnnie. Sitting on the side of the bed, she only wished that he wouldn’t be. Instead, her heart held onto a blind hope that finally, the family she’d always wanted, she’d finally have.

  Chapter Nine – A Quiet Night

  Three hours. It took three hours to cut out the good pieces of meat along with the backstrap. Never much caring for the offal, he bagged it up to take it deep in the woods to feed a carnivorous family scratching out a meal in the snow. The shed was a nice touch. It had everything a man needed to get things done and take care of his family. Whoever designed it took into consideration all the small details. The shed even had a dividing wall from the main room that held a toilet and a urinal. A sink, deeply recessed, sat outside the wall to be shared with the processing part of the shed. It was only, in his estimation, 800 square feet of man cave awesomeness. There was even a speaker with an MP3 player connected for tunes.

  He didn’t care much for the musical selections on the device and opted instead to work in silence. He added chunks of meat to the freshly washed grinder and attached the casings. Adding just enough spice, he began hand-cranking the grinder, watching ribbons of sausage fill the clear casing, twisting as each meat link got to the perfect length. Cotter thought about the kid who lived next door to them in Minnesota. What was his name? Ralph. Ricky.

  Ricky!

  Their family was poor like his own. His father, Mike, hunted for their meat. Ricky wasn’t the type to take a life. Deer, elk or otherwise. When Cotter asked to learn to hunt, Mike was happy to teach him. Unlike his son Ricky who threw up at the sight of gutting a deer, Cotter didn’t balk. The first two times he watched. The th
ird time Mike handed him the knife and showed him how.

  At the age of 13, he couldn’t get a job to help out around the house, but he could hunt. He took down his first buck in one shot which provided enough meat to last his family for six months. It was a lesson learned. The following season he made sure he shot two deer a season to have enough meat to last until the next season. By the time he was 15, he calculated that if he took down four animals, he could sell the meat from the other two in order to buy pork chops, ham and bacon.

  Mike, a connoisseur of venison, explained every season which spices made the best sausage, and how to cook a roast so that it melted in your mouth and didn’t taste gamey. Over the years, he’d held on to those tips and his sharp shooting was what led to him becoming a sniper in the Army. The sharp shooting and quiet methods of getting shit done earned him a spot in the Ranger Regiment, then in Special Forces. He started out taking down deer to feed his family. He wound up taking down bad men under the guise of protecting his country. Finally, he ended up taking out bad decisions made by people with too much money.

  Today, he was a married man with a daughter. I have a family. A little thing he hadn’t planned on since he’d never quite gotten right the whole share his life with a woman thing. He hated being nagged. Bossed around. Whining. That’s what it was: the whining. Susie, his little sister, whined all the time. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard to him, and he hated the sound of a woman whining, expecting a man to do things for her.

  The few women he’d dated, even in the Army, started out tough and hard core, but in the end, started whining about his socks, his boots, a dirty plate left in the sink. Just to have peace of mind, he lived alone. Living alone, a man could wash a fucking dish when and if he felt like it. His boots, smelly socks, and dirty underwear could grow into a Christmas tree in the corner of the house if he wanted them to, but it wasn’t his style.