*
Brian was killing time, the call from Mary Wrightson over with. He’d have stayed on with her, but she got skittish and went to watch at the window. Apparently she hadn’t invested in one of those newfangled cordless phones, because she’d hung up on him to do it, in spite of his entreaties to maybe go upstairs, bar the doors, hide her face. Mary Wrightson had never struck him as the sort of soul blessed with an overabundance of brains. Not that most were, compared to him, but still … stupid. Really stupid to show her face at the window with hellcats running around outside. They weren’t the sort to shy away from coming after a body. Quite the opposite, in fact, from what he’d heard.
“Hey,” Casey Meacham said, door ringing as he entered the station house. He looked sweaty and disheveled, which was about normal for Casey. “Sorry I’m late.”
“It’s fine,” Brian said, shedding his headset. He frowned at the appearance of the taxidermist; he’d need to break out the rubbing alcohol later, maybe give the microphone and earphones a scrub before he put them back on next shift. Casey’s fingers kneaded nervously at his jeans, and they looked … sticky.
Brian held in a sensation of general disgust at the man’s appearance. God only knew what he’d been doing or who with, but it was probably pretty kinky and probably involved Ms. Cherry. Brian had nothing in particular against Ms. Cherry; in fact, if his own personal dry spell of lack of sex continued much longer, he might have considered putting a few sweaty bills in her hand himself in exchange for some form of relief. At least, before he had the point driven home over and over that she traded with Casey on the regular. That had been a blow to her glamorous image. He’d always known she’d fucked for money, but seeing who she fucked destroyed any illusions he’d had about the profession and made his own hand seem like a real classy, sensible, STD-free option.
“Just got the text,” Casey said. “Everybody else on the way?”
“Yeah, you might need to coordinate some,” Brian said, peeling himself out of the chair, a layer of sweat coating his pants to his ass. How long had he been sitting here? He hadn’t even noticed until he tried to stand up, but his legs felt uneven. “Someone always ends up calling in for directions, even when you send them in the text.”
“Well, not everyone’s as bright as you and I,” Casey said in all seriousness. He licked his lips, which looked chapped, and a little bloody at one end. “Any word from the doc?”
Brian shrugged. “Not that I know of. We keep leaving messages, presumably she keeps ignoring them, unless she’s one of our missing persons, but … Reeve says her cell’s active in Chattanooga, so …” He shrugged again. “She left. Sensibly.”
“Still a shame,” Casey said, sitting down in the chair and rolling it around in a circle once with a squeal. “She’s a MILF-y one, ain’t she? And I swear she and Molly feed every mother/daughter fantasy I ever had.”
“Dude,” Brian said, barely keeping himself from taking a step back in revulsion. “She’s sixteen.”
“I know, I know. I wouldn’t do nothing,” Casey said, winking. “Not with the daughter, anyway.”
“I doubt you’d do much with the mother either,” Brian said.
“She’s a fiery one,” Casey seemed to agree. “But that’s okay. I like a little fire.”
Brian blinked. “Take up smoking then. It’d be healthier for you than making a pass at Lauren Darlington. I would guess, anyway.”
“You may just be right,” Casey said, nodding. “But you know what they say about that.”
Brian didn’t. “Uhh … that the heart wants what the heart wants?” He felt stupid after it came out.
Casey just chortled, low and sleazy. “Nawww. That a dick ain’t got no conscience. And lemme tell you … I think about ’em all the time while I’m—”
“Shiiiiiiit,” Brian said, cringing away.
“Ain’t got to feel guilty, son,” Casey said, cackling and turning his back, putting on the headset. “They don’t know they’re involved.”
“I don’t know how it is that you can make shit that’s sorta normal, like a sexual fantasy you have in the privacy of your mind, sound so goddamned creepy, Casey,” Brian said.
“You’re overthinking this,” Casey said, fiddling with the headset and then with the cell phone used for contacting the watch. He slid it over the surface of the table, making an irritating scraping noise as the smooth surface of the plastic raked against the faux wood of the desk. “You gotta do what feels right to get yourself even, brutha.” He winked. “You know what I mean?”
Brian just stared at him. “I don’t think just randomly hittin’ some ass is going to make things right, Casey. Our town is being invaded by demons, dude. Getting laid isn’t going to solve the problem. Getting high isn’t going to do it, though God knows I wish I could right now.” And boy, did he. “It’s just crushing pressure, twenty-four seven, like trying to go to sleep after you’ve watched people die and knowing there’s an axe hanging over you. It’s the sword of fucking Damocles—” He sighed, turning away. “You don’t know what that means.”
“Sure I do,” Casey said. “Man sitting at a banquet after he made wise with a king about how happy or prosperous or whatever the man was, and he’s got a sword hanging over his head dangling by a single hair.” Brian turned and looked back at the taxidermist. “I done some reading in my life, you know. I ain’t just a pretty face. And the lesson is—happiness hangs by a thread, right?”
“Yeah,” Brian said, a little taken aback. “That’s … yeah, that’s basically it.”
“You gotta grab all the happiness you can in the moments when you can, son,” Casey said. “If that means filling your glass with some shine, you oughta get to drinking. If it’s weed, hell, man, smoke it up. Me, I prefer a strict regimen of all that plus ass. Lots of ass. Keeps me level.”
“Gee, I’d hate to see what you’re like when you’re … unlevel,” Brian said.
“I’m a fucking mess,” Casey said. “Like you. But still better looking.” He flashed Brian a grin. “That’s why I do these things, you know. I gotta be effective in my work life, in my personal life. That means finding those stress relief valves and twisting them motherfuckers to let the steam out however you got to. You wanting to be out there today?”
Brian was listening vaguely until the question, then felt like he’d been smacked between the eyes by a football. Which he’d had happen to him more than a few times as his father was trying to teach him about his favorite sport. “Uh … no, actually.” He leaned back against a desk. “I don’t belong out there.”
“Ain’t what I asked,” Casey said. “I said do you want to be out there. You know, one of the boys, gun in hand, sword in hand, whatever—”
“I got a limp now, Casey,” Brian said, trying to keep that frozen smile on his face. “And I wasn’t exactly mobile and effective before—”
“But do you want to be out there?” Casey asked. “You know what I mean. Like Braeden Tarley—wait, bad example, he’s had shit go wrong on him no one wants to. Like Percy Olson? Good ol’ boy, factory worker, been showing up some lately to whoop ass. Neck as red as a fire ant bite, swings a lead pipe like you said something bad about a biker’s momma. You put that boy in a softball game with one of them aluminum bats and he’s going to hit him some home runs and piss off some steady drinking motherfuckers in the outfield because he’s making them run.”
Brian just closed his eyes and shook his head. “What the fuck are you talking about, Casey?”
Casey just stared at him a second. “Do you wish you could be like Percy? Be out there in the fight?”
“No, I don’t want to be like Percy,” Brian said, staring back. “I don’t need to be out there.”
Casey stared back at him. “You sure? Percy’s been fucking Daisy Lenzen for about three years, and I don’t know if you’ve seen her lately, but that girl has matured into a hell of a woman. I mean, she’s a peach. Not like a Georgia peach, but pretty fucking good—”
&n
bsp; “Later, Casey,” Brian said. “I gotta go to the hospital.”
“Hey, whatcha doing later?” Casey called after him.
Brian had almost made the door, and was regretting he didn’t just walk right out. “I told you—I’m going to the hospital.”
“All day and all night?” Casey asked. “You not coming home tonight?”
Brian almost answered, “Nope,” but he hadn’t slept in his own bed in a while, and had a feeling it was starting to show. It was definitely starting to be smelled. “I don’t know, maybe. Why?”
“Because I’m getting off shift here at four o’clock. Figured you might want to do something to unwind.”
Brian nearly pushed the door without answering, but instead he stood there, frozen. Had the town weirdo just asked him on a … man date?
And if so … why was he hesitating to respond with a resounding “NO”?
“I don’t want to visit Ms. Cherry’s with you, Casey,” Brian said, taking a breath. Mostly true. Except for that wiggling few inches below his belt that hadn’t gotten laid since college. But like Casey had said, that thing didn’t have a conscience.
“Wasn’t talking about that,” Casey said. “I wanted to show you my other favorite place. Give you a chance to blow off some steam all real-like. You know?”
Brian tried to unwind that sentence and was fairly sure he’d gotten the gist but still missed something. “Uh … doing what?”
“I’ll show you,” Casey said, eyes glinting. “Ain’t nothing you’d find objectionable, don’t worry. I get your boundaries, and I ain’t gonna expose you to nothing that’d send you squealing in the other direction.”
Brian surveyed him with a wary eye. “What the hell do you know about boundaries, Casey?”
“That while mine might extend to letting Gus Terkel give me a little love in the backdoor every once in a while when he’s desperately on the outs with his wife, most of y’all would find that objectionable,” Casey said, all his humor gone. “And it ain’t gonna be nothing like that, so don’t worry. Just meet me here at four, and we’ll work on getting your head straight.”
Brian just stared at him with a cocked eyebrow. He opened his mouth to protest and then shut it. What the hell else was he going to do? Sit at the hospital all night again? Besides, knowing Casey did have a basic understanding of boundaries was … strangely reassuring. “Yeah …” Brian said, and pushed through the door.
“So I’ll see you at four?” Casey called after him.
“Maybe,” Brian called back, unwilling to commit to more than that right now. The sunshine and cool air hit him in the face as he stepped into the parking lot, the high humidity making it feel chillier than it was. “Maybe you will.” Because why the hell not try something different?
*
Jason Pike was enjoying the ride, surprisingly, even though Reeve was driving like a bat out of hell. Well, it wasn’t like it was the first time Pike had gone a hundred miles an hour down a back road. It was, however, the first time he could recall doing it legally.
“I just want to point this out. We seem to be rushing there in an effort to get to this rendezvous point so we can wait,” Pike said.
“Yep,” Reeve said.
Pike just nodded. “Why not come at this a little slower, knowing we’re going to get there and have to wait for the others?” Reeve’s jaw moved tightly, but he said nothing. “I ain’t objecting, you understand,” Pike said. “Just trying to understand the ‘hurry up and wait’ philosophy we’re embracing here.”
“We’re doing it this way because I’d rather be close by, so we can rush in to help Mary if need be rather than get a screaming emergency call and not be able to get there for another half hour.” He kept his eyes nailed to the road ahead, and the siren wailed from the cruiser behind them. “So yeah, we’re going to hurry up and get there, then wait for the others—unless we get the call that it’s all gone to hell; then we might charge in early. You understand now?”
Pike nodded once and smiled, to show he was cool with it. “Yep. I think I got it.”
“Well, good,” Reeve said, just dripping with sarcasm, “because that’s what I’m here for. To explain to our County Administrator the stuff he plainly don’t get.”
Pike whistled. “Damn. How long you been holding that in?”
Reeve looked pissed, mostly with himself. “I’m sorry. That was—”
“Pretty damned reflective of how you been feeling for months, I’d say.” Pike grinned. “And I can’t blame you. I been a real pain in your ass.”
“That’s something that sticks in my craw,” Reeve finally admitted after a few seconds silence. “You know what a pain in the ass you’ve been. And you’ve proceeded to do it anyway.”
“Look, if I’m a pain in the ass—and I freely admit I am,” Pike said, “it’s because I don’t serve you, Sheriff. I serve the same people as you.” That was a lie. Pike didn’t serve any people, except maybe Darla. Unless you counted the occasional foray into cannibalism. Then he’d definitely served a person or two. “That means I got them to answer to. Now, if it was just you and me and all the money in the world, hell, I’d raise your budget sky high and no one would give a shit. But Calhoun County ain’t exactly the most prosperous place, and when we go over our budgets, we start having to talk to taxpayers about raising property taxes, the sales tax, the wheel tax … Things no one wants to hear about.”
“Yeah, and I get that during normal conditions,” Reeve snapped. The sheriff seemed to be losing his composure, trees whipping by outside the window past his face, which remained resolutely locked on target through the windshield ahead. “But you’ve been aware for a while that we are not operating under normal conditions right now. And I have a hard time giving a good goddamn about blowing a hole in your budget while I’m trying to keep this town, this county, from being destroyed by demons.”
“Well, if you’ll forgive me for saying so,” Pike said, “this feels a little like a World War II metaphor is in order. You know how they used to sell war bonds?”
Reeve sighed. “Yeah, I do.”
“They used them to fund buying bullets and paying for tanks and—well, hell, everything else that needed to be bought, because it wasn’t like people could just work for free the whole war through. Refineries had to pay their workers so their workers could eat, otherwise everybody’d end up starving while you’re fighting the war.”
Reeve frowned. “You suggesting we sell demon war bonds or something?”
Pike hadn’t been going that way, but … “I’ve heard worse ideas. But it wasn’t my point. My point was that the part of the war you hear about is Omaha Beach. Normandy. The Bulge. Okinawa. The soldiers on the field are heroes, and rightly so. Not heroes—the fucking accountants behind the scenes that made sure they had guns in their hands.”
“That’d hold a little more water with me if you’d actually been trying to get guns in our hands before now,” Reeve said, “instead of the opposite.”
“Now look, you can throw all the damned acrimony my way you want,” Pike said, “for how I acted before. But I have come to you now, expressed my contrition, and am trying to work with you to solve the problem, okay? If you want to just keep throwing shade my way, well, that’d be fine if it was summer. But if you’ll forgive me, it’s fall now, it’s getting chilly, and we all need to gather ’round the campfire.”
“‘Throw … shade’? What the hell does that mean? How you gonna throw—”
“Never mind,” Pike said. “It’s just an expression. The point is—I’m here. I’m asking how I help you, Sheriff. Is it just money?”
“Well, that sure as shit wouldn’t hurt,” Reeve said. “Because although I’m sure it’d be great to get some war bond sales going, I’m not really sure I have time to organize that right now. And we’ve just been running through the accounts of one of our wealthier members of the watch. But he took a bullet to the head a week or so ago, and …” The sheriff got quiet for a few seconds. “An
yway, I don’t know how long that’s going to last. I’ll drain my accounts if that’s what I have to do to get us through, but dammit, I ain’t a rich man.”
“And you shouldn’t have to anyway,” Pike said. “The county can take up some of this burden. Now, I know you don’t necessarily get this, but being in touch with people, I know that, uh, over near Culver—”
“Yeah, I don’t need to hear about the politicking of this,” Reeve said. “I get it. The county’s long. Not everyone’s feeling a demon pinch at the moment the way Midian is.”
“You got the idea,” Pike said. “But I been working on them for you—” Reeve snorted. “It ain’t been easy, I might add.”
“I imagine not,” Reeve said. “Seems like someone else has a problem, why would you want to get involved?”
“Well, they’re your neighbors,” Pike said. “We are, I should say, since that’s where I call home. I’m trying to get us all in this together, but—” The car cornered hard onto a dirt road, gravel rattling against the wheel well behind Pike.
“You’d have an easier time damming up the Caledonia River with your own body,” Reeve said, grudgingly.
He was starting to get it. Or maybe he’d gotten it all along, but was too deep in his silo to want to look up over the edge at Pike. That was fine, because at least Pike knew where to dig for him. “I agree, it’s a hell of a difficult task. Like a labor of Sisyphus. And it ain’t made easier by me having worked so hard to drag your ass out of office these last weeks. I probably look like an idiot, in fact, but hey—I’m trying. I’m doing the Whitman thing about shouting all the truth I know today from the rooftops, even if it contradicts everything I said yesterday. This is too big a problem, too huge a cause, stakes higher than the damned sky—we can’t lose.”
Starling (Southern Watch Book 6) Page 27
