by Dale Mayer
Daniela froze. “Well, Angel, if you were one more of his many floozies in the last few months of his life, I hope you enjoyed sleeping with a dying man,” she said softly. “I certainly didn’t mind him enjoying life for a while.” It was a lie of course. She had just wanted him to enjoy life with her, not with a million other women.
“You really don’t mind that he was sleeping with women back then?” Angel asked in surprise.
“I’ve come to terms with it. Let’s put it that way,” Daniela said. “He was very sick, obviously very sick emotionally and mentally as well. Besides, look at his partners,” she said with an attempt at a smear. “Most of them were drug addicts and women who he never would have touched if he was healthy.”
Angel reacted like she’d been slapped, and you could almost hear her growling on the other end of the phone. “I’m not a drug addict,” she snapped.
“You’re not exactly a prime citizen either,” Daniela said, smiling as she felt she had the upper hand.
“You just keep threatening me and treating me like this,” Angel said. “You’ll get your own.”
“You’re the one doing the threatening,” Daniela said. “I haven’t said anything.”
“Well, you’re not treating me nice, and, if you want to be the mother of my child, you need to,” Angel said, her voice returning to normal, bringing the conversation back again to a threat.
“No. You’re forgetting something, Angel. I already am the mother to Sari.” And, on that note, she hung up and set the phone off to the side. She wouldn’t answer it again.
Weston headed out to the feedstore, not that the dog needed more dog food by any means. But, with a leash on her, he walked around the back of the yard, looking to see just how much anybody would have seen of her.
“Can I help you?”
He turned to see the same young man who’d given him the feed earlier.
“I just wondered who all would have seen this dog in the last six weeks or so. Outside of you.”
“Why?” the kid asked. “I haven’t been here the whole time, but not many of the others come out here.”
“Ah,” Weston said. “I wondered.”
“Wondered what?” the boy asked, perplexed. “She’s a stray. You came and got her, and she looks like she’s taken to you just fine.”
“I wanted to know about her old owner,” he said. “Did you know Grant Buckman?”
The kid shook his head. “I’ve not been here very long though,” he said, “just over a month now.”
“And who used to work back here?”
“Johnny,” he said. “Johnny Ryder. But he doesn’t work here anymore.”
“Why is that?”
“He got fired on account of stealing some cash out of the till. He’s done it a couple times, I heard, but this last time he took more than they were prepared to forgive.”
“That makes sense,” he said, wincing. “What about anybody else who worked in this area?”
The kid placed his hands on his hips. “What do you care?”
“I was looking for somebody who knew Grant,” he said.
“You know he’s dead, right?”
“I do know that,” Weston said. “There appears to be a case of mistaken identity though.”
The kid’s gaze lit up with interest. He looked back toward the front of the warehouse with a shrug. “I don’t think so. I don’t think anybody here, I mean, … Grant used to work here but not for a long time.”
“How did you know him?”
“Because of Johnny,” he said, “but I didn’t really know Grant. I just know of him.”
“Had Johnny worked here long?”
“Years and years,” the kid said in disgust. “I hope I’m not here for very long.”
“You don’t like your job?”
“Who could like a job like this?” the kid said. He gave an irritable shrug. “Anyway, you can talk to Johnny. He’s probably down at the pub.”
“He’s got money for the pub?”
“He got another job,” the kid said. “Pays more money than here too.” He looked around the back warehouse with all the feed stacked up. “But then, anything would pay better than this.” He lifted a hand. “I got to go back to work.” He walked back inside.
Armed with the name of the establishment, Weston and Shambhala walked back to his truck, hopped in and headed toward the pub. He didn’t know if he’d be allowed to take the dog in or not.
As it turned out, a group of men sat outside in a covered patio area. He didn’t know which one was Johnny. Just then he heard one of the men call out.
“Hey, Johnny, you owe me a beer!”
A young man in the corner looked up, shrugged and said, “No job, no money. No money, no beer.”
The guy just snorted and said, “You’ve been telling us that for months.”
“Been unemployed for months.”
And that was inconsistent with what the kid at the feedstore had just said about Johnny. Weston walked into the little courtyard area and walked up to him.
Johnny looked at the dog and smiled. “Well, lookie here.”
Shambhala walked over with her tail wagging, and Johnny reached out a gentle hand.
“Right dog, wrong man,” he said, looking up and eyeing Weston. “I heard Grant died, so you must have ended up with his dog.”
“Yeah, I did,” Weston said with a smile. “I understand you knew Grant?”
“Yeah, I did,” he said. “I knew him for quite a few years.”
“Just from your feedstore job or were you buddies?”
“We used to have a brew together every once in a while,” Johnny said. “Once he got married, things got different though.”
“Ah, so you knew him from before the marriage?”
“Yeah, he was a good guy,” he said. “It’s shitty the way he went out, but I guess it was fast.”
“Did he have any mannerisms or anything to really help identify who he was?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know. Things that only he said or did. Physical things you could see and know it was him from across the way. That sort of thing. Things that, if someone described them, you would know they were talking about Grant.”
Johnny stared at him with a frown, then smiled. “He’d motion at the table and say, ‘If you’re going to sit down, you might as well go grab a brew and make it two,’” he said.
Weston laughed. “Good one. Yeah, I can grab a couple beers.” He walked to the open door and ordered two through the doorway. Then he sat back down across from Johnny, with Shambhala at his heels. “So, tell me about Grant.”
“Not much to tell. He was your average boring old guy who liked to have a beer and get away from the wife every once in a while.”
“He was a twin though,” Weston said.
“Yep, he was. He told me about that. He said his brother was a no-good layabout too,” Johnny said.
Just then the beers arrived in large tall glasses with a white head of sparkling foam. Weston lifted his glass and took a sip.
Johnny took a hefty slug and sighed happily as he put the glass down, wiping the foam off his mustache. “That was Grant. Just a nice simple guy, enjoying life.”
“How’d he hook up with Ginger?”
“No clue,” he said, “because she was a lot of woman for him.”
“Have you ever met his brother?”
“No, but he said they were identical though.” Johnny laughed. “Wouldn’t that be a blast? Living your life with a mirror image of yourself.”
“Maybe,” Weston said. “Might be confusing as hell too.”
“Only if the brother was a dick.”
“And I guess that’s one of my questions for you. What kind of person was his brother?”
“No clue. Grant did say he was a bit of an asshole and superlazy. He didn’t like to work. I thought though, even with that, he’d have come up here to look after things.”
“But, if they’re so alike, then what Grant sai
d meant Grant was an asshole and superlazy too?”
“No, not quite the same thing,” he said. “Grant said his brother was a bit of a loser and always looking for the easy way out, or a way to avoid work, instead of just buckling down and getting something done.”
“Did Grant have any tattoos or scars? Any accidents or injuries that you know about? Any way to help identify him? Obviously, they had his body from the accident, but the accident caused injuries to his body, so I’m just asking out of curiosity.” Johnny might have been an interesting character, but that didn’t mean he was stupid.
Leaning forward with a sharp gaze, he said, “There’s more to these questions than you’re telling me.”
“Just trying to make sure it was Grant they buried,” he said.
And with that, Johnny got it. “You think the brother was the one up here, do you?”
“I’m not sure, but possibly Grant’s brother was in the vehicle with Grant’s wife.”
Johnny let out a long whistle. “Now that would be something his brother would do. Apparently he was always getting in trouble over women.”
“And you did say Ginger was a lot of woman for Grant.”
“Yeah, she sure was. She appeared to be loyal though,” he said with a shrug. “But she was a looker. A tall redhead. Hence the name Ginger, I guess,” he said with a smirk. “Slim, busty, long legs and a bit of a mouth on her. She liked to push him around a little, you know? Be dominant, but he was okay with that. She must have been good in bed. On the other hand, I think Grant was the kind of guy who didn’t care either way. He was hooked up emotionally, and she could pretty well get away with anything, and he’d be fine with it.”
“Would he though?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if his brother was having an affair with his wife?”
Johnny’s eyebrows shot right up to his hairline. “You know something? I don’t think he’d be okay with that. The one bee in his bonnet guaranteed to piss him off was his brother. He didn’t talk about him often, but, when he did, it was usually venting and in a rage.”
“Interesting.”
“Why not just contact the brother and see where he is and what his story is?” Johnny asked, leaning back with his glass of beer in his hand again as he took another sip.
“I plan to. I’ve got a couple calls in but no answer so far.” That was at least the truth. He could make all the calls he wanted, but it didn’t look like Gregory would be answering anybody. Weston pulled out another Titanium Corp business card and wrote his cell number on the back side. “Listen, Johnny. If you remember anything, give me a shout.”
“Why would I call you and not the cops?”
At that, Weston looked at him with a glimmer of a smile. “Because you would never call the cops.”
Johnny burst out laughing. “You got that right.” Chuckling, he picked up the business card and slipped it into his pocket.
With that, Weston led Shambhala back to the truck. He wasn’t sure what else to do, except maybe take those steaks home and enjoy dinner with Sari and Daniela.
Chapter 13
After the steaks were cooked, and they’d finished eating, Daniela pushed away her empty plate with a happy sigh. “That was a really good steak.”
“And you did a marvelous job on the potatoes and the salad. Thank you,” Weston said sincerely.
She smiled. “I’ve always loved cooking. But cooking for just me and Sari is not the same as cooking for a man.”
He nodded. “I tend to eat alone most of the time.”
“What will you do now?” she asked curiously.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Like a lot of the guys in my career situation, we’re at a crossroads, trying to figure out what we’re supposed to do next.”
“You have options though, right?”
“Yes,” he said. “Lots of options. I just haven’t necessarily pinpointed what I want to do, as in a second career.”
“You’re really good with Shambhala, so you could always do something with dogs. It might be good for her too.”
“I think her working days are over,” he said, as he put a hand down to the dog, who was ever hopeful and settled at his feet. “She’s a music lover apparently. When we get her settled, we’ll have to find out what kind of music she likes.”
“She’s certainly suffered physically, hasn’t she?” She studied the poor dog, looking far more battle-scarred than others she’d seen on TV. “She deserves a few years of good rest.”
“That is exactly why the government’s been checking into making sure these animals are doing okay.”
“That is so great. Do you have any new skills or training you picked up while you were in the navy?”
“Lots of them,” he said with half a smile. “But not exactly the kind that can land me a job.”
“So you didn’t pick up any tradesmen certifications or a university degree or anything like that?”
“Lock Picking 101, for example?” He smiled.
She shrugged. “As I don’t know exactly what you did in the military …”
“Secret operations. Usually black ops. Learning to jump out of a plane in the middle of the night and not get fired on was always a popular course.”
She laughed and then realized he was serious. She leaned forward. “Wow, you’re lucky you’re not in the same shape as Shambhala.”
“Well, I’m not all that much better,” he said. “I was injured pretty badly myself, which is how I ended up retired from active service.”
She nodded, wishing she could ask more questions but not wanting to get too personal. “Is there money for retraining?”
“There is. Yes,” he said cautiously. “But it still needs to be something I want to do.”
“Well, there are things that you want to do, and then there are things that you may need to do while you figure it out,” she said humorously.
He shrugged. “I had a few things I was thinking about. I’ve just come from a center where a bunch of guys like me came together and created a security company, but they’re also helping a lot of vets reenter the workforce.”
“That’s awesome,” she said. “I really like the idea of people who’ve been through something themselves being the ones to help someone else get back into life.”
“I volunteered for this job with the dog because I was bored,” he said. “I was doing a variety of jobs with them but nothing too major, while I figured out what I wanted to do. Not to worry,” he said. “I’ll figure it out.”
She nodded and didn’t say anything.
“Are you looking for support?” he asked abruptly.
She stared at him in surprise and then shook her head. “If you mean, child support, no. I adopted Sari, fully aware of what it would take to raise a child.”
“Fully aware as somebody who doesn’t have a child could be?” he said gently, and she flushed and nodded.
“That sounded kind of arrogant, didn’t it? At the time, it hadn’t become clear that Charlie’s days were numbered, and things hadn’t gone south yet. But back to your question. No, I’m not looking to you to support me or Sari.”
“But, on the other hand, why shouldn’t I help?” he murmured. He studied the little girl, who smiled up at him.
She was still working on her dinner, which, at the moment, appeared to be mashed carrots. She was working the spoon with a great deal of enthusiasm and not a whole lot of efficiency and splattering carrots all over the floor.
“You almost need a water hose for her, don’t you?”
Daniela laughed. “Normally I just feed her and don’t give her too much time to play with it,” she said. “But we were talking, and she was having fun, so it seemed like a good idea to let her just run with it.”
“I’m all for that.” Then a particular piece of carrot landed close by, and he said, “But we’re getting into the danger zone now.”
Still chuckling, Daniela grabbed a wet paper towel and removed the plate and the
fork from Sari’s reach. “You, young lady, are obviously full, if you are throwing your food around.”
Sari giggled.
Daniela wiped her down, then lifted her from the high chair and let her run free. She ran right over to Shambhala, tripped and fell over the dog, landing on her belly. Shambhala gently nuzzled Sari’s face, then lay back down again.
“I still can’t believe how well the two of them get along,” Daniela exclaimed.
“I know,” he said. “It really restores faith in the bond, doesn’t it?”
“Is it hard to figure out what you want to do next?” she asked curiously.
He looked at her smile and saw she was sincere. “For some guys, yes. Most of us think our future, whatever it will be after our service, is down the road much later,” he said calmly. “So I wasn’t prepared for an accident with an injury that sidelined me long before I started planning my next career move.” He showed her half a smile.
She nodded slowly. “Any clue what you want to do?”
“Maybe security,” he said. “It’s something I certainly know.”
“Like a security guard?” That seemed so wrong to her because it seemed like he could do so much more.
He just smiled and said, “That’s one aspect to it, but I’m pretty good with computers. I was thinking about setting up a cybersecurity company maybe. I’m not sure yet.”
She stared at him, surprised. “That’s a huge field, isn’t it?”
“It is,” he said with a nod. “And I could probably find enough work that I’d have to hire some people pretty fast.”
“Then you can hire other guys like you,” she said with delight.
He chuckled. “Getting a little ahead of myself there,” he said.
She smiled. “But there’s time, right?”
“There’s time,” he affirmed.
Just then her phone went off. Without thinking, she reached for it and saw it said Private Caller. She groaned. “Damn it. It’s Angel again.”
“Again?”
“Yeah. I had at least four or five calls, but no one ever answered. I finally got frustrated and said something rude. But then I thought I heard someone call out, so I felt terrible and worried someone needed help. And then the next time, it was Angel. But now this one, I don’t know.” She hit Talk. “Angel, is that you again?”
