by Jeff Carson
Wolf followed.
The glass opened like a Star Trek bay door, they walked through, and it closed soundlessly behind them a few seconds later. Inside, the music played at the same ambient volume.
“Take your pick.” He waved his hand at rows of neatly stacked cigars, some in their own state-of-the-art humidor cases.
Wolf shrugged. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
Gary picked two, clipped them with expert speed and handed one to Wolf. “Davidoff. This one will go great with the Macallan.”
“Thanks.”
They left the room, walked back to the waiting scotches, and sat down on the hand-carved barstools.
Young stood behind the bar, eyeing Wolf without expression.
Gary picked up his scotch. “Cheers.”
Wolf chimed his glass against the other two and set it back down without taking a sip.
Gary smacked his lips. “What, you’re not going to drink that? It’s an eleven-thousand-dollar bottle of scotch. Do you want something else?”
“I want to know what you want.”
Gary stood and walked to the other side of the bar. He pulled out a box of wooden matches and lit his cigar, twirling and licking and pulling until he was satisfied with the look of the ember, then set the box down in front of Wolf.
Wolf ignored it.
Gary glared and pointed the smoldering tip of the cigar at him. “I want you to come work for me.”
Wolf shook his head. “What?”
“The reason I asked the rest of the council to appoint my son sheriff is because I want you to come work for me.”
“No.” Wolf said.
“Listen. Hear me out. Like I said, have I ever let you down before? When your father died, who stepped in and bought your ranch and let you and your family stay on it?” He pointed the cigar again. “Payment-free for years, and then interest-free when you insisted on paying me.”
Wolf sat back against the stool, took a deep breath, and looked at two polar-bear heads on the wall. “All right,” he said. “What do you have?”
“You would be working closely here with Henry. Now that we’ve opened our sixth mine, we need more security. But I need competent guys to head it up. You’d be surprised at the kind of shit that goes on in our world. We don’t just need uniformed guards at every entrance. I’m talking about clandestine stuff. Real spy versus spy, and I need people with brains leading the effort to keep CBM safe against the competition.”
Wolf leaned forward thumbing the ring on his pinky finger. The coral inlay reflected a tight beam of light that shone down from the ceiling.
“I know exactly what you are making right now at the department. Forty-one thousand dollars. Before taxes. With a twelve-year-old child. Living on a piece of land you don’t own.” Gary sipped his scotch and set down the glass. “How much is the assisted living your mother is staying at in Denver? Jesus. How are you living? How are you eating?” He took a big puff of the cigar and looked at him with squinted eyes. Gary put on an embarrassed face. Embarrassed for prying so rudely into Wolf’s intimate, personal life, and then he held up a hand. “And now you have that godforsaken incident with your brother in Italy. How much is that funeral going to set you back?”
Wolf looked at Young. He could have sworn he saw a thinly concealed smile.
“Come work for me,” Gary said. “You want the sheriff job? Why? So what? So you can start at sixty-one-K and then finally have enough to live hand to mouth? I’ll start you at two hundred fifty thousand dollars. Within two years you’ll be making more.
“You’ll work from just outside town at our headquarters, and travel a few times a month, just to our other mines, which are in Colorado and California. And when you do travel, you’ll be in the lap of luxury.” He took a loud sip of the scotch and kept his ice-blue eyes locked on Wolf’s. “You’ll be able to buy that ranch back from me. You think I like owning that thing? You’ll be able to pay for whatever college your son wants to go to.”
Wolf stared at the glass in front of him, lifted it, and took a sip. The peaty liquid slid down his throat with a gentle burn. It was the smoothest scotch he’d ever tasted in his life.
Gary laughed and stood tall with his arms out. “David, this is a big deal, a big opportunity, and I would be honored if you would come work for our company. Give that piece of shit job to Derek, and come work for me.”
Wolf picked up and twisted the glass, looking at the distorted magnification of his father’s silver ring through the scotch.
“There are a few problems.”
The silence of the room was deafening. The music was in between overtures, or movements, or songs.
“Firstly, I really wanted that sheriff job. And I still do.” He glanced at Young. The man’s lip was curled into a smile.
“I don’t know why this guy got out,” Wolf said, “but I left the army because I wanted to come here to spend more time with my son. I wanted to show him what a good man was. It’s not about the money. It’s about what I’ve always wanted, ever since my dad was killed in the line of duty. To be a lawman. To be like him, and to make my son proud.”
“David, this is a lawman position. You’ll be doing something—”
“There’s also one more thing. Something more important than anything else. I don’t know what your son told you about what I did to his face. But he got what he deserved that day. If I had let him have his way, I’d be getting buried right next to my brother this week.”
Gary stood straight and inhaled through his nose.
“Your son can’t be sheriff of Sluice County, Gary.”
The music started up again.
Gary’s eyes were glazed, thinking hard about something. Then they focused on Wolf and went mean. “So let me get this straight. Your story is that my son tried to kill you?”
Wolf side-stepped off the barstool and rested his eyes on a snarling boar’s head hanging above Young’s now smiling face.
Gary said, “What my son told me about what happened between you two was obviously a little one-sided. I understand that, David. I know you didn’t jump him on the mountain that day. Probably didn’t club him with a stick while his back was turned, like he said you did. That’s why we never considered raising charges against you, and I told my son to drop it. But what you are accusing my son of goes well beyond what exaggerations he may,” he raised his eyebrows, “or may not have come up with.”
Wolf slapped the bar top and turned away. “Sorry, Gary. I appreciate the offer, but I can’t take it.”
Gary chuffed. “So that’s it?”
Wolf waved a hand and walked out of the room.
Gary’s soft footsteps followed Wolf as he marched down the hall, through rising and falling classical music seeping out of log support pillars, through mouth-watering aromas of seasoned and seared prime rib and potatoes, and out the front door.
“Wolf!” Gary yelled from the front doorway. “We’re going to have to talk about that ranch of mine you’re staying on. I think it’s high time I start charging market value for rent, or I’m going to have to sell it. If you can’t afford it, maybe you can find somewhere else to live. Good luck.”
And with that, he slammed the door shut.
Wolf turned back to his truck and got in. As he turned the ignition, the headlights illuminated a man smoking a cigarette on the edge of the circled drive. It was Buck, one of the ranch hands, staring into the headlights with squinted eyes. Or was it Earl? He could never remember which was which.
Wolf spat gravel from his rear tires on the way out.
Chapter 6
Gary Connell chomped through the tip of his cigar, then mashed it into the ashtray, sending a shower of sparks onto the bar counter.
His father had been right again, and he’d be hearing about it in a few seconds. Or minutes. Or whenever he finished shuffling his ass down the hall. The rattling cough Gary had heard two minutes ago told him he was on his way.
On cue, the old man scraped his
walker around the corner and into the trophy room.
A wide, condescending smile lit up his face. “That went well.” He laughed, instantly breaking into another coughing fit. “Put that thing out.”
Gary held up his hands, looked to the smoldering ashtray, and walked towards his father. “Why don’t you stay in bed, old man?”
Wallace Connell’s eyes were pure fury. “Why don’t you pull your head out of your ass?”
“Right.” Gary walked back to the bar. “You can walk yourself.”
Gary sat down and pointed at his glass.
Young stared at it, unmoving.
Gary raised his eyebrows. “Please.”
After a few seconds of motionless contemplation, Young picked up the bottle and poured a few inches of scotch, all the while gazing into Gary’s eyes.
An involuntary shiver ran up Gary’s spine as the huge man flawlessly grabbed the bottle, took off the lid, and poured without even looking at what he was doing.
He was surrounded by assholes.
Gary sat motionless, watching out of the corner of his eye as his father arrived and steadied himself on a barstool, twisting and tipping it, sending his cane skidding across the wood floor. With a grunt and what Gary hoped was a fart, and nothing else, his father got control and perched himself on the stool next to him.
Young sprang into action, pulling out a fresh glass, setting it in front of the old man and pouring him two fingers of Macallan.
“Thanks, Henry.”
Young leaned back and stared at Gary.
Assholes.
Gary cleared his throat. “All right. I’m on board. Let’s do it.”
His father blew scotch out of his mouth and all over the bar. “You think? Jesus Christ, boy. You don’t have to tell us. He was wearing the damn thing on his hand!” His father shook, like he always did now, like he was sitting on a vibrating bed every second of his life. “We are runnin’ on borrowed time, boys. Make no mistake about it. We’ve got to act. Tonight. They’re getting close down there.” He pointed out of the darkened window.
Gary took a sip, and suddenly the five-hundred-dollar pool of liquid in his glass tasted bitter. “I know. I just wanted to keep him—”
“I know what you were trying to do. You’ve been dickin’ around with that boy for sixteen years now. Ever since you made this goddam mess. You’re well beyond being able to do the right thing here.” He paused and turned to Gary. “It’s decision time.”
Decision time.
Gary had heard that phrase countless times from his father’s mouth during his lifelong tenure with the family business. Decision time was code. Code for time to stop being a pussy and man up. Man up and step over that line you think you’ve established as a boundary you won’t cross—to step off that moral high ground you think you stand on.
Decision time. Them or us.
His father slapped a hand on the bar. “If he’s around when they hit that cave, we are done. This?” He waved his jittery hands to the four corners of the room. “This is all gone, son.” His voice lowered. “Decision time.”
Gary eyed Young, who was concentrating on the glass that looked like a thimble in his mammoth hand.
His father sucked down the scotch in one gulp. “All right. Are we all on the same page now?” He stared at Gary.
Gary’s gaze dropped and he nodded.
“Call Stephanie. I’m going back to bed.”
Stephanie appeared instantly, pushing his plush-top-seated wheelchair around the corner. She had clearly been listening from the hallway just outside the vast room, but Gary didn’t care. Her bionic ears had heard worse things over the years, and she was paid handsomely enough to hear everything she was supposed to, and to forget everything she was supposed to.
Stephanie moved in quick, picked up the frail eighty-eight-year-old man from the barstool and set him down gently, gathered the cane, and then wheeled him away in brisk silence.
Gary watched them leave the room, longing for the day he’d see his father’s body sunk in the ground, and then turned back to Young.
“Buck, Earl, and I will take care of the construction site.” He pointed a finger at the huge man. “You be careful. More careful than you think you need to be with him. He’s competent, and he knows these woods, this land.” Gary took a sip and narrowed his eyes. “Almost as well as I do. So be vigilant.”
Young blew a puff of air through his lips.
Gary stared at him for a beat, and then continued. “When you’re done, bring that damn ring to me, and nothing else. No suspicion. No traces back to us.”
Young nodded once, put his glass down, and left the room.
Gary twisted to watch the behemoth of a man leave, wondering just what he would do to take care of the job. He didn’t want to know. Regret slammed like a lead weight in his stomach. He closed his eyes and took a deep, transforming breath.
When he opened his eyes, he was Gary Connell once again, a man with more power in his little finger than any god these backwoods Rocky Points hicks prayed to.
Chapter 7
Wolf pulled into the gravel driveway and parked behind a giant new model diesel Ford truck. Wilson Construction Corp was scrawled alongside the door. It was Mark’s truck, the ex-addict construction-firm owner who had latched onto his wife in rehab over the past six weeks. Or had she latched onto him?
Wolf rang the doorbell, reminding himself he was here to see his son. There was much worse he had endured around the world for the same reward.
Sarah’s mother, Angela, answered the door. “Oh my! David! Come in, come in.” She pulled the door open.
Wolf scrunched his face. “Hi, Angela. I really can’t. Is Jack around? I just wanted to—”
“What? Nonsense. Come in here and say hi to us.” Her voice was gentle. She pulled him inside, closed the door behind him and held both his arms. “David, how are you doing?” She looked up at him with the same sky-blue eyes as her daughter’s. Tears filled her lower eyelids. “I’m so sorry about your brother.”
Wolf nodded. “Thank you, Angela.”
Jack thumped down the hall and launched into Wolf’s side.
“Hey, buddy. How’s it going?”
“Good to see you, Dad.”
“Good to see you.” He hugged tighter, almost breaking into tears as an unexpected wave of gratitude hit him. Just a couple days ago he was halfway around the world, unsure whether he’d ever see his son again, and the promise of this moment, Wolf knew, was the reason he was still alive.
“Hi, David.” Sarah padded down the hall in her socks, wearing faded jeans and a white tee shirt that showed off her figure. She leaned against the wall and brushed her blonde hair behind her ear.
“Hi, Sarah. I’m just here to see Jack real quick. How are you doing?”
She nodded and smiled warmly. “I’m doing well, thanks. You?”
Wolf nodded noncommittally as he studied Sarah’s face. Her skin was tanned and smooth-looking, and her eyes were the blue of a midday Colorado sky. The whites of her eyes were like cream. She looked full of life. She looked good.
Loud conversation between men bellowed from the kitchen, and Sarah glanced over her shoulder, smiling sheepishly at what sounded like a good-natured argument between her father and Mark.
Her mother ignored Wolf’s protests and grabbed his arm, pulling him past Sarah, down the hall, and into the large kitchen.
Wolf’s mouth gushed with saliva at the sight and smell of open pizza boxes on the counter. It had been before noon since he’d eaten last.
“Hi, David. Good to see you.” Dennis stood from the kitchen table and shook his hand warmly. “How you holding up?”
Wolf smiled. “I’m doing all right, thanks.”
Dennis held his grip with a sincere look. “I’m sorry about your brother.”
Wolf nodded and looked to Mark, who was sitting in awkward silence.
He stood and shook Wolf’s hand. “Hi, David. Good to see you again.”
�
�Hi, Mark.”
“Sit down and eat. I can see you’re hungry.” Angela dug a plate out of the cupboard and gave it to him.
He looked at the thick slices of meat-covered pizza in the box. “Uh. Yeah, okay, thanks.”
Sarah sat down next to Mark, looking slightly mortified.
“This stuff is probably a lot different than you had in Italy, huh?” Angela said.
“Yeah, it is, but I’m sure glad to be eating it again.”
They ate in silence for a bit. Then Wolf fielded their questions about Italy, telling vague snippets of the story, keeping Jack’s sensitive ears in mind.
Sensing Wolf’s desire to change the subject, Dennis and Angela took over being the center of attention, recounting their harrowing adventures with luggage in Rome, the best wine they’d ever tasted in their lives in Tuscany, and a few other mild tales of intrigue from their voyage to Italy so many years ago.
Wolf had heard the stories before, but still laughed in all the right places as if it were the first time.
Wolf ate his pizza with his eyes down, remembering how he and Sarah had had this entire house to themselves for those few weeks, making love in every single room. Back when they were young and their love burned white-hot.
He looked up at Sarah, and found she was looking at him, undoubtedly thinking of the same thing.
Wolf swore he saw a hint of a smile, which she quickly smothered against her glass of soda.
She looked good.
Snapping out of it, whatever it was, he turned to Mark. “So, Mark, what are you working on now? Building houses? Or …”
Mark flicked a glance at Sarah and cleared his throat. “No. I actually have a highway construction company, and then we also do commercial. I used to do houses,” he waved his hand towards Dennis, “but not anymore.”
Dennis snorted. “Yeah, now he sucks money from the government. Can’t blame him. They pay well.”
Mark shook his head and smiled.
“Are you working on the highway expansion in Cave Creek Canyon?” Wolf asked.
“Yes, I am actually.”
