by Jeff Carson
If only these cops and FBI agents knew the truth about the building they were walking into every night of the week. That it was Sergeant McCall who owned this place free and clear, and sucked four grand a month, and that was just his cut, out of the local law-enforcement paychecks to help fund his more lucrative deals. Deals that went down behind the backs of the local police, sheriff’s deputies, and the local FBI. Not that it took a genius to outsmart the bunch of assholes that carried badges and IDs in this valley. McCall had met them all, and none of these guys could solve their way out of a shitter.
Sheriff Greene waddled in with Sergeant Willis and one of the many suck-up deputies of the department, Michaelson, trailing behind. McCall smiled and gave a high wave. They waved back, unsurprised to see him. He was sitting in his favorite stool, visiting his brother, like he did most nights of the week after clocking out at the station, or so he led them to believe.
McCall watched them sit down. Sergeant Willis popped back up to fetch a menu for Sheriff Greene from a neighboring table, and Michaelson was laughing at something the sheriff had said that he probably hadn’t intended to be funny.
“You need another one?” Dirk, their hired-on manager, asked from behind the bar.
McCall shook his head. “Nah, thanks.”
Dirk turned and tended to another patron sitting on the other side of the horseshoe bar. Dirk was a competent, strong man who could hold his own in a fight. And he could have run the place for a month without any input from Tyler or McCall. And if they’d given him access to the money, he’d be able to run it for years.
McCall saw him as the keystone for the Mountain Goat, and paid him accordingly to keep him happy and loyal. Without him, the bar wouldn’t collapse, but any outside activities McCall and his brother partook in would have to be put on hold. Tyler would be chained to this place, taking orders, placing orders with vendors, cleaning glasses, and counting money. There wouldn’t be any cocaine wholesale operation, no weed distribution chain they had a hand in, and sure as hell not the opportunity, the goldmine, they were sitting on right now.
He smiled a little, picked up his Guinness, and walked over to Sheriff Greene’s table.
“Sheriff,” McCall nodded.
“McCall,” Greene said, keeping his eyes on the menu. “What’s your brother got for specials tonight?”
Sergeant Willis smirked.
“Not sure. You’ll have to check with Dirk.”
Greene looked past McCall to the bar. “Can you get him?”
McCall blinked, noticing Willis was having trouble containing his full-fledged smile now.
“Sure,” McCall said. “I wanted to ask you something first.”
“Shoot,” Greene said, studying the menu again.
“I just wanted to say I’d be happy to volunteer for the Rocky Points Music Festival that’s happening this weekend. I know you already have Richter and Jones out there, but if they need anyone else, I wanted to make sure you know I’m interested. I could use a change of scenery.”
Greene nodded and flipped a page. “All right. But I don’t think they need it.” Then he looked up and past McCall again. “Can you get Dirk over here? I’m famished.”
McCall nodded and turned to the bar.
“Hey,” Greene said. “What’s with your brother? I saw him last night and he looked like death. Is he all right?”
McCall turned back. “He’s not feeling well. Some sort of bug, I guess. In fact, I was going to check on him now. I’ll get Dirk.” He walked away from them.
“Can you tell Dirk to bring us a pitcher?” Willis called after him. “Budweiser.”
McCall gritted his teeth and walked on. He passed the bar without looking at or saying anything to Dirk, knowing Dirk didn’t need reminding of anything about doing his job efficiently, and entered the dark wood door to the back office.
Tyler looked up at him from behind the desk. “Hey.”
“Hey.” McCall shut the door behind him.
Tyler’s cheeks had a red hue and he sat straight in the chair.
“You’re looking better,” McCall said.
Tyler nodded and the chair squeaked as he leaned toward the computer. “The doctor did me up pretty good today. Gave me some sort of vitamin concoction, and stuck me with some needles, right into the frickin’ stitches.”
McCall sat down on the couch and sighed. “Well, I’ve been freezing my ass off all day up there, but everything’s set.”
Tyler studied his brother. “So what’s the plan for tonight?”
McCall leaned on his side, and the leather of the couch groaned under his weight. He wanted to just lie there for an hour or five, but there’d be the rest of his life to lounge around and do nothing if he chose to. If they passed over this last speed bump without incident. Then he could rest.
He dug his hand in his pocket and pulled out the crisp-edged metal key. He sat up, leaned forward, and slapped it on the desk.
Tyler picked it up and looked at it. “That’s to her house?”
McCall nodded and sat back. The air in the cushion deflated slowly, and he was sucked into a deep comfort.
“How the hell did you get that?” Tyler asked, clearly impressed.
“Dragon’s got a locksmith, and we employed him today.”
Tyler narrowed his eyes and nodded. “That helps.”
“Yes, it does.”
Chapter 35
Wolf and Luke sat in silence on Luke’s back deck, watching the last rays of sun as they disappeared behind the mountains across the valley. The few remaining clouds in the sky glowed bright orange, fading like cooling embers in a fire pit.
The tension between them had diminished greatly since their talk. Wolf mused that Luke had become a completely different person, easy-going and someone that he found easy to talk to. But as they sat conversing and enjoying another round of beers, Wolf still had a nagging feeling in his gut.
He wondered whether Luke’s involvement was going to help or hinder them. He wondered what would happen if Luke was faced with the choice of taking her brother down, or hesitating. Wolf had seen hesitation kill many soldiers on the battlefield, and something told him he was edging closer to yet another battle.
“I’m heading in,” she said, scooting back her plastic chair. “Gonna take a shower. You can go after me, then we’ll fix up that wound of yours. It probably looks like shit.”
Wolf watched her walk to the sliding glass door.
“Make yourself at home,” she said, unzipping her sweatshirt and getting started on the top of her blouse. “We can make some pasta when we’re done.”
Wolf nodded and averted his eyes to the exquisite view underneath her blouse. He’d already stolen a look at that earlier, and figured it didn’t give him the right to take another. He felt himself blush a bit, and realized there was still plenty of tension between them, though it had morphed into a different kind.
After a few minutes, he stepped inside and walked into the cozy living room. It was just around the corner from the kitchen, and had windows that looked out onto the front property of the house. There was a bookshelf with a stack of pictures and personal papers, and lots of other things besides books.
Facing east, the space would be sunny and warm during the morning hours. Probably a room Luke never got the chance to sit and enjoy while the rays of sun streamed in. Not with her job, and with her apparent love of the outdoors. She was probably out biking a trail, or paddling a river, or riding a few miles on the motorcycle during her time off, rather than sitting down with a good book.
She had no television, and Wolf couldn’t tell whether it was her décor on the walls or not. Maybe it wasn’t even her furniture. Could have been a fully furnished rental, which would have explained the stack of boxes in the garage. Maybe there was no room for her personal stuff in the house.
He looked back at the stack of photos in hard frames, and then bent down and pulled out four of them. The first was a washed-out picture of her and her family fr
amed in dark wood. She was little, probably ten years old, and just as cute then as she was now. Her little brother stood leaning against her, shorter and younger. Her older brother was tall and gangly looking, in his awkward teen years, and keeping his distance from the rest of them. Her father’s smile was partially hidden by a bushy mustache. Her mother was pretty and young, wearing a heavily sprayed hairdo and a smile with eyes that looked more intelligent and aware than the Bernadette Richter of today. They all wore clothing that was way too tight for this day and age. The thing that really held Wolf’s attention was Luke holding her father’s hand.
Wolf furrowed his brow at the second photo. It was Luke alone on a mountainside, looking in her college years. It was taken on the Flatirons of Boulder, the jutting sandstone geological formations that loomed over the college town. She was dressed in a huge, baggy, yellow-and-black flannel shirt. She had green combat boots on, with baggy pants tucked into the top of them. She had a short boyish haircut that would have still looked cute on her if it weren’t for the scowl on her face. She glared at the camera, like she despised the act of getting her picture taken.
“That was when I was a lesbian.”
Wolf turned his head to see that Luke had snuck up on him.
She studied Wolf’s surprised expression and laughed.
He blushed, startled by what she had just said, and how he’d been caught glancing down the length of her body, seeing that she was only wearing a T-shirt and what looked like nothing else.
Luke held a towel in her hand and pressed it against her wet hair, which was combed against her scalp and draping onto her shirt. She padded forward on her bare feet and stepped close, looking at the photo. She smelled like lotion and that great shampoo again, or whatever it was.
“I’m better now, though,” she said.
She took the towel in both hands and scrubbed her hair as she walked away and around the corner, giving Wolf a fleeting glimpse of her white panties, which gently hugged her perfect butt.
He took a deep breath and looked back down at the photos.
“I took those out of my mom’s house,” she said from the kitchen.
“Why? To hide that you were related to your brother?”
There was no answer from the other room.
He looked down at the next photo, which was a picture of a young man in an army combat uniform with a name patch that said Richter. He had shaggy blond hair, disheveled by wind and dirtied by sand. He was standing in front of a tent with his helmet in hand, smiling wide.
“There’s my brother,” she said quietly. She was leaning against the wall with her legs crossed.
Wolf nodded, and set down the pictures on the shelf. “Sorry for snooping.”
“That’s all right. I have nothing to hide.”
“Now,” Wolf said with raised eyebrows, then looked past her down the hallway. “Do you mind?”
She walked back out of sight. “There’s a towel on the counter in the bathroom. Have at it. I’ll start making the food.”
Wolf walked to the hallway, and looked to his right. Luke was bent over slightly in front of a lamp. She had just flipped it on, backlighting an oblique profile of her naked upper body underneath her shirt. He sighed quietly and walked to the bathroom door that billowed warm steam.
Chapter 36
McCall killed the lights to his GCSD Ford Explorer and shut off the engine. He opened the door all the way until it bounced on its hinges, and then pulled the booties out of the center console and put them in his pocket. He slipped on the leather gloves, and made a shuddering fist with each hand, stretching out the fine material. He pocketed the black ski mask and stepped out into the cool, damp evening. The clouds were a dim orange, and it would be completely dark in a matter of minutes; then they would be able to pick their moment.
McCall crunched along the wet gravel of the dirt road to the rear, and stepped into the running black Chevy Trail Blazer that was parked behind him.
The inside of the cab was silent, save for the low whoosh of the warm air coming out of the vents. No radio. No nonsense.
Tyler sat inside, dressed identically to his older brother, with a black pair of sweatpants, still creased from the way they’d rested on the shelf at the store, a black jacket, black leather gloves, and black boots two sizes too big—by design, just in case. He had a ski mask in his pocket, a pair of light-blue booties, a knife strapped to his leg, and a silenced, untraceable Beretta on his belt—supplied by their go-to Aspenite on the other side of the law, Dragon.
Tyler flipped the headlights on and drove up the dirt road for a half-mile. Before they rounded the final corner he flipped them off, without McCall having to remind him to do so. They’d gone over the plan, and it was clear; they had complete faith in one another’s abilities, as they’d been tried and tested many times over the years.
They stopped behind a grove of aspen trees, just short of Luke’s house, and turned the truck around. They parked and got out, donned their ski masks, and walked into the trees.
The ground was wet from the day of rain, and the aspen leaves dripped cascades of cold water when they bumped a branch.
The house looked to be fully lit inside, which would help their efforts of sneaking up unnoticed, McCall thought, just as they’d have suspected at this time of night. He pulled his Beretta and clicked the safety off, then racked the slide. Tyler did the same, and they walked across the lawn to the side of the house.
Chapter 37
Wolf had enjoyed the shower. Despite the pain in the ass of having to keep his stitches from getting too wet, the water had warmed his body and relaxed his still sore muscles from the exertion on the trail two nights before.
Luke had set out some bandages and cotton, and even though she’d mentioned helping with the redressing of the wound, he figured he’d get it over and done with now. He drew a cotton ball across a warm stream of water and dabbed the stitches. The skin around the cut had turned black. Pus oozed through the softened scabs, which flared with pain as he gently scrubbed.
He took off his towel from around his waist and wiped the mirror, then went to the window and opened it wide to let the steam escape. As the cool and warm air met, a puff of cloud formed and dissipated into the dark night.
He turned to the mirror and was surprised to see the shadows of two feet underneath the lit crack of the door.
Was Luke standing just outside, wondering whether to come in?
Wolf stood, contemplating the feet for a moment, wondering what to do. He reached for the door and heard a faint noise. He stopped short of grabbing the knob, because the noise, a crisp knock of something on wood, hadn’t come from the other side of the door. It had come from down the hall.
Was there someone else visiting Luke’s house?
Wolf bent down and looked underneath the door, and every muscle in his body flexed tight. There were two large feet, way too large to be Luke’s, covered in blue fabric. Like booties worn by doctors or cops when they didn’t want to contaminate a crime scene.
Before Wolf could straighten back up, the door exploded in splinters above his head. Three shots cracked through the wood in quick succession. There was a pause. At that moment, Wolf twisted and dove into the window screen. The thin wire mesh stretched out against his head and then gave way almost instantly, and Wolf tumbled out naked after it.
He felt wood splinters sting his right buttock as the window frame popped and exploded. For a brief moment, he tumbled in complete disorientation, seeing only the bright light of the window flipping in his view. Then he landed hard on his right side, knocking the wind out of himself. The cold of the ground was so startling that he cried out and sprung to his feet as if he’d landed on a trampoline. Without thinking, he sprinted into the night. He heard the spit of a suppressed weapon behind him and saw the aspen trees in front of him flash with light. A bullet slapped one of the white trunks next to his head and it sprayed his face with bark. A piece of wood dug into his open eye, stinging so bad that he
slapped himself in the face and almost fell over.
“Outside! Outside!” he heard a man’s voice yell from the house. His voice was frantic, and was yelling back into the house, not out at Wolf.
The shots stopped coming, and Wolf stole a glance over his shoulder at the windows. Through his one good eye he saw no one was in the bathroom window anymore, and he couldn’t see any movement behind the other lit panes of glass. Luke.
His gut tightened at a vision of her lying sprawled on the hardwood floor with a puddle of blood growing underneath her head.
Just then he heard the thump of boots on the back porch and he saw two figures dressed in black sprint onto the lawn. One ran strangely, with a limp arm at his side, and Wolf knew instantly that it was the man Jack had shot. They came right at him. The first was much quicker, and a flashlight flicked on in his hand.
Wolf turned and ran as fast as he could, dodging the white trunks of aspen. The ground was pitch black, and his right eye streamed with tears, making it impossible to see where he was stepping. His feet crunched down on jagged sticks and rocks, and slick decaying wood, tearing skin with each step. Despite the pain, he accelerated to full speed, and continued as fast as he could in the direction he remembered as downhill.
More spits came from behind, and the night lit up around him with each, but the bullets missed each time. Wolf saw the bouncing light of the man’s flashlight on the trees, and it seemed to be gaining on him.
Wolf dodged left and right, but was immediately wary of losing speed, and opted to go straight again. In his fastest all-out sprint, he grunted in defiance of any danger, knowing he must be gaining a lead on the men behind him. A few steps later, the trees around him vanished and he was looking at points of light, blurry in his wet vision. The instant he realized it was the lights of the valley below, he was already tipping forward with his legs whiffing the ground that had dropped out underneath him.
