Tracer

by Dustin Stevens

  They drove on in silence for two full minutes before the trees opened up. Gave way to a wooden outpost thirty foot square. Painted dark brown. Windows blacked out.

  A tendril of smoke rising out of the chimney was the only sign of life from the building.

  A handful of aged pickup trucks sat silent out front.

  Drake pulled up on the end of the line and put the truck in park. Assessed their surroundings.

  “Why do I have the impression we need to be armed to walk in here?”

  “Trust me,” Rink said. Pushed his door open. “That would not be a good idea.”

  Drake climbed out opposite him. Pocketed his keys and crunched across the frozen grass to the front door.

  Rink paused for him to catch up and knocked twice. The door swung open as if by itself.

  Rink glanced once at Drake and stepped inside.

  A deep uneasiness settled into Drake’s stomach as he followed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Stale.

  Air. Peanuts. Beer.

  The combined smells hit Drake like a wall as he walked in. So pungent it brought a bit of moisture to his eyes.

  Just as fast he shook it off. Became acutely aware of the half dozen men staring straight at them.

  Side by side he and Rink walked three steps into the room and stopped. Remained still. Swung their gaze in a full half arc.

  One end of the room served as a makeshift bar. A homemade counter constructed from plywood and two by fours. Stood about four feet tall, stretched almost from wall to wall.

  Just enough room for the bartender with grizzled grey hair to slide behind.

  Seated at it were two men close in age and appearance. Early thirties. Hair grown out a bit further than Drake’s. Suntanned.

  Clearly not home more than a month or so themselves.

  The opposite end of the place housed a pair of pool tables lined up square. The one on the left stood empty. On the right was a pair of men in their forties. Jeans and flannels.

  Both leaned against their cues. Stared.

  The last man in the room was the oldest by at least a decade. Steel grey hair shorn into a flattop. Plaid shirt tucked into jeans. Hiking boots laced tight.

  He sat with a newspaper before him and finished the article he was reading before looking up.

  Every person in the room seemed to hold their breath as he did so.

  He aimed his gaze at Rink. Shifted it to Drake. Ran it the length of him. Returned to Rink.

  “This the guy?”

  “It is,” Rink said.

  The man extended a hand to the remaining chairs around the table. “Have a seat.”

  The words snapped whatever spell the room was under. At once, the brothers at the bar returned to their beers. The men in the back resumed their game of pool.

  There was no doubt, this was the old man’s house.

  Drake waited a moment for Rink to be seated. Remained standing and extended his hand to the man. “Drake Bell. Good to meet you.”

  The man looked at the hand, up at Drake. Paused a moment. Reached up and accepted the shake.

  It felt like iron in Drake’s grip.

  “Jensen Hall.”

  Drake nodded. Settled himself down into his chair.

  “The General here is who set up your meeting in Helena this morning,” Rink added.

  “Thank you for doing so,” Drake said. “I appreciate it.”

  “Didn’t do it for you,” Hall replied. Not hostile. Deadpan. “I hope it helped.”

  “Insofar as it eliminated the prosecution’s top angle, yes, very much so,” Drake replied.

  Hall leveled his gaze on Drake. “But?”

  “But it brought me no closer to figuring out why he did it.”

  A small grunt from Hall. A curt nod of the head.

  “And that is important?”

  “Very,” Drake said. “Establishes motive. Might be the key to the entire defense. May even keep there from needing to be a defense.”

  “Is there any way he didn’t do it?” Hall asked. Narrowed his eyes.

  Drake paused. Matched the stare. “No.”

  Hall held it another moment. Glanced over to Rink and nodded.

  “Good.”

  The word surprised Drake. He made no attempt to hide it.

  “Good?”

  “Not what you said,” Hall clarified. “Just the fact that you said it. No offense, but we’ve all had our share of encounters with lawyers over the years.”

  A bit of understanding dawned on Drake. He glanced to Rink. “You wanted to see if I’d lie to you.”

  “I did,” Hall said. No effort to obscure his intention. “You didn’t, so now we can talk.”

  A dozen different comments came to Drake’s mind.

  Some were questions. Some were confirmations. A few were smartass remarks.

  He let all of them pass.

  “You mind if I ask you a few questions?” Drake said.

  “I assume that’s why you’re here,” Hall said. “Go ahead.”

  Drake drew in a breath. Thought back to his notes still tucked in his bag in the truck.

  Hoped he remembered everything he wanted to ask.

  “Did you know Lukas Webb?”

  “Not directly,” Hall said. Shook his head. “I mean, I knew there was a sniper out there from Hamilton, but that’s all.”

  “So he was well known?”

  “No more than the next guy,” Hall said. “But I made it my business to keep up on the local kids.”

  “Did you request them under your command?” Drake asked.

  Hall shook his head again. “No. I wanted to have eyes in as many places as possible.”

  “Eyes for what?” Drake asked. Blurted the words out before he even thought to stop himself.

  Again Hall leveled his gaze on Drake. “Is that important?”

  The response was sharper than Drake expected. His lips parted a bit as he stared at the old man. After a few seconds, shook his head.

  “No, it’s not,” Drake conceded. Paused a moment. Drew in a breath. “This morning I spoke to Dr. Woodson. She said that Lukas was one of the most well-adjusted returning soldiers she’d ever encountered.”

  He let the statement lingered. Hoped Hall might take the bait. Open up something he had not yet considered.

  The General did not.

  “I have not seen his military record, but the doctor and his sister both told me it was clean.”

  Again, Hall revealed nothing.

  “Now, I know I’ve never met the man before, and I’ve only been looking into this a few days, but my immediate reaction is what happened had nothing to do with the military.”

  Drake glanced to Rink. Back to Hall.

  “Am I correct in my thinking, or am I missing something?”

  A long moment passed as Hall continued to study him. “I have no doubt you’re missing plenty, but I’ve had my own guys looking into things as well. So far, your conclusion is valid.”

  Drake chalked up a mental point in his favor.

  “May I ask, how connected are you to the local community?”

  The question drew a smirk.

  Hall held his arms out by his side. Pointed to the Don’t Tread On Me flag on one wall. At the closed circuit television above the bar that had watched Rink and Drake enter a short time before.

  “As you can see, we pretty well keep to ourselves.”

  Drake passed his gaze over the items Hall pointed to. Noted a gun rack behind the bar.

  The glances every other person gave them from time to time.

  “So you’re not aware of anything going on that might have caused his actions?”

  “Like I said, nothing we’ve been able to find so far.”

  “Is there anybody around that might have reason to hide something?” Drake pressed.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Hall said. “But again, we’re digging.”

  “How about the man that shot Lukas?” Drake asked.

>   Hall’s features hardened in response. The brothers at the bar both turned and glared.

  For a moment, Drake feared he might have said the wrong thing.

  He soon learned their venom was aimed at not at him, but the person he was asking about.

  “Hank McIlvaine is not a man,” Hall said. Voice with a razor’s edge. “He is a deserter. A disgrace to the uniform.”

  Drake’s jaw dropped a half inch. He glanced around the room.

  “So, he doesn’t...”

  “No,” Hall said. “That man knows better than to ever come here. This establishment is for honorable veterans only.

  “He doesn’t fit the bill.”

  Drake nodded. There was no need to press the matter further. He knew to look into Hank McIlvaine further.

  That was enough on that front for the time being.

  “Francis here mentioned you weren’t charging the Webb’s anything for your service,” Hall said.

  The statement seemed to come from nowhere. Drake wasn’t sure if it was a question, but nodded anyway.

  “That’s right.”

  “Appreciate it,” Hall said. “But if that becomes a problem, we can pay you. We take care of our own here.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem at all,” Drake said. “I might have questions over the next couple weeks if you don’t mind, but money isn’t an issue.”

  Hall nodded. Said nothing.

  Drake glanced to Rink, who met his gaze, flicked his eyes towards the door.

  The statement from Hall wasn’t out of the blue. It was a sign that the conversation was over.

  Drake nodded in understanding. Stood.

  “Mr. Hall, thank you for meeting with us,” Drake said. Held out his hand again.

  Hall stood as well. Shook it.

  “You come back if you need anything else. Just remember, not many people know where to find us. I trust you’ll keep this location to yourself.”

  “I will,” Drake said. “You have my word.”

  The two men released grips. Drake and Rink headed for the door.

  Drake got almost to it when a final question crossed his mind. He stopped and turned, his momentum still carrying him away.

  “General Hall, let me ask you something. Is there any way a trained Army sniper opens fire on a public meeting and doesn’t hit somebody?”

  The old man looked at Drake and smiled.

  “Only if it wasn’t a somebody he was trying to hit.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Three nine three.

  A four year old heifer with a solid black hide. A single splotch of white near her hip.

  Not once did she object as McIlvaine singled her out from the herd surrounding the barn and slipped a lead rope around her neck.

  One large carrot was all it took to get her attention.

  A second won her affection.

  A few others smelled the carrot in the air as they walked on by. Feigned interest for a moment. Just as fast lost it. Went back to huddling tight against one another.

  The ground, churned up by dozens of hooves and frozen solid, passed uneven beneath McIlvaine’s boots. More than once he cursed as he stumbled.

  Tugged harder on the lead rope than intended.

  Behind him, Three-Nine-Three picked her way over the rocky ground without incident. Focused all her attention on the carrot.

  Chewed loudly.

  Once the second carrot was gone, she slowed her pace. Pushed her enormous skull into McIlvaine’s hip. Almost tossed him to the ground.

  He gave up a third carrot without opposition.

  It took ten minutes for him to pull her around to the front of the barn. Away from the other animals he slid a pair of pliers from his back pocket. Removed the tag from her ear.

  Led her out through the gate.

  On the other side of it sat his truck, a one-horse trailer hitched to it. The gate on it stood open, a metal ramp leading up into the back.

  A small pile of apples sat in the middle of the floor. All sliced in half, aroma permeating the air.

  Three-Nine-Three caught their scent the moment they passed through the gate. Tugged hard on the lead. Almost jerked McIlvaine from his feet.

  This time, it drew a scowl. “I’m starting to feel a lot better about this.”

  From that point on, the heavy lifting was done by Three-Nine-Three’s stomach.

  She walked a straight path to the trailer. Climbed aboard and started in on the apples.

  McIlvaine closed the gate behind her. Circled around to the bed of his truck. Fished out the improvised brand he’d made a few weeks before.

  A handheld blow torch.

  The smell of acetylene filled his nostrils as it kicked to life. Shot out a blue-orange flame. Hissed in the darkness.

  Holding it in one hand, he gripped the brand in the other. Passed the torch over it until the metal glowed red hot.

  Returned back to the end of the trailer.

  Inside, he could hear Three-Nine-Three chomping on the apples. Head down, her attention trained on the unexpected feast.

  He kept the flame focused on the brand a moment longer. Slid it between the metal bars on the rear gate. Tossed the torch to the side.

  For a brief second, the night was still. No sound at all but the rhythmic chewing of the tranquil beast as McIlvaine lined up the brand.

  The silence ended with the searing sound of hot metal on rawhide.

  The smell of burnt hair and flesh filled McIlvaine’s nostrils. Brought a sheen of tears to his eyes.

  Inside the rig, Three-Nine-Three forgot about the apples. Threw her head back. Bawled into the night.

  The sound of her pained cries echoed out across the empty fields.

  The entire trailer rocked under her weight as she bounced up and down. Alternated throwing her front and back end into the air.

  McIlvaine extracted the brand and took a step back. Waved the scent away from his face. Watched as the heifer bucked herself tired.

  Using the instep of his boot he pushed some snow into a pile. Stuck the brand into the middle of it. Watched as steam rose from the hissing metal.

  The pile melted into water.

  Once it was cool, he tossed it and the torch back into the bed of his truck. Climbed into the cab. Pulled off his gloves. Took up his cell-phone from the dash.

  Tierney answered after a single ring.

  “Yeah?” Voice low. Terse.

  “She’s loaded up,” McIlvaine replied.

  No need for further explanation. His call was expected.

  “Good. Any problems?”

  McIlvaine glanced into the rearview mirror. Could see Three-Nine-Three’s head return to the apples. Smirked.

  “None.”

  “Good,” Tierney repeated. “You know where to take her?”

  McIlvaine nodded in the darkness. “Same place as before, right?”

  “Right.”

  “You sure that’s the best idea?” McIlvaine asked.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Tierney snapped. Voice still low. Now a trace of hostility present. “Where else would we take her? The damn thing is branded, remember?”

  McIlvaine shook his head. Glared back at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

  “You’re right. I’m on my way now.”

  The call ended without another word.

  Muttering to himself, McIlvaine put the truck in gear. Drove away into the darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Wednesday morning.

  Most weeks, a time reserved for Zoo Crew outings.

  Given the holidays and Ajax’s absence, it was decided to hold off until Friday.

  Two things stood out to Drake as he woke and stared up at the ceiling in the early morning half-light.

  First was the simple fact that he wasn’t jumping up to head off somewhere. After the same three-a-week routine for seven years, his body was accustomed to getting moving.

  Missing Monday for Christmas Day was a pleasant respite.


  Missing two consecutive outings left him restless.

  The second was how quiet the house became without Ajax around. No late night video gaming. No food deliveries showing up at odd hours. No sound of feet shuffling back and forth to the kitchen.

  Instead, all he had was the steady snoring of Suzy Q pressed against his leg. Burrowed down into the covers, wrinkled face smashed down so tight he couldn’t discern her eyes or mouth from the other folds of skin.

  Drake rolled over and checked the clock. Square red digits stared back at him. Told him it was ten after seven. Still almost an hour before Kade arrived.

  He did a quick check in his head of his options.

  The gym on campus was closed for the winter break and it was too cold to run outside.

  That left only a bodyweight workout in the living room. Something he hated doing. Only resorted to in the direst of situations.

  If he had any hope of clearing his head though, of unraveling what happened before Lukas woke from his coma, he had to burn off some excess energy.

  Starting at his closet, he layered up as if going outside. Thermal pants. Wool socks. Polyprene long sleeve shirt. Fleece pullover atop it. Knit cap. Gloves.

  Suzy Q grunted her disapproval as he went into the living room. Started with a few hundred jumping jacks. Went straight into body weight squats. Pushups. Sit-ups. Mountain climbers.

  When he was done with the circuit, he made another pass through.

  Then another.

  By the time he was finished, sweat dripped from the tip of his nose. Ran the length of his face.

  His clothing stuck to his body.

  Moving fast, he dumped the wet garments in the laundry basket. Showered. Dressed.

  Forced Q outside to do her business and filled her bowls in the kitchen.

  Stepped outside at two minutes before eight to find Kade climbing from his truck parked along the curb.

  “Are my eyes deceiving me?” Drake asked. Faux surprise in his voice. “When I told you eight o’clock, I didn’t think there was a chance I’d see you before noon.”

  Kade smirked at the comment. Waved with one finger at him.

  “I’ll have you know that I was home and in bed by ten o’clock last night. Sage can vouch for me.”

  Drake raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Headed for his truck. “Strike out at Blue’s again?”