Choices, p.28
Choices, page 28
Yasmin said, “Leash him and go with him. Better to not catch a trespasser than have Luger bite some tourist birdwatcher.”
Nick said, “My gun’s back in the car. No time.”
Brian shivered. He’d hoped to be done with guns forever. We’re probably overreacting. He pulled Luger’s leash out of his pocket and clipped it on. “Find him.”
Luger’s lunge almost took Brian’s arm out of its socket. He lurched behind the dog, breaking into a run as Luger yanked him along the fence line. Nick sprinted beside him, running easily. “See anything?”
“No.” He didn’t have breath for more than that.
“Me neither.” Nick moved slightly ahead but didn’t offer to take Luger’s leash. He was clearly scanning the woods as they ran, his head swiveling, while Luger was intent as an arrow on his goal. They reached the edge of the trees and Luger stopped abruptly. His head went down and he began quartering the ground with audible huffs. After a moment, he sniffed the air, then tried to head deeper into the trees. Brian dug in his heels and stopped. “Luger. Stay.”
“What?” Nick asked.
Brian unwound the leash from his tourniqueted fingers. “You take him. You’ll be a lot faster. Go.”
Nick blinked as if doing a fast calculation, then took it.
Brian said, “Luger, get him.”
The dog leaped into a run, pulling Nick along. Brian puffed behind, trying to keep up through the thick tangles and muddy puddles under the leafless winter canopy. Even doing his best, he was soon twenty yards back. He heard Nick swear as he pulled Luger away from a dog-sized gap in the brush to where humans could get through too, but they’d dashed on before Brian caught up.
For ten minutes, they battled the undergrowth and whippy branches before Nick and Luger broke out of the trees up ahead and stopped on the shoulder of the road. Brian put his head down and found the reserves to keep jogging till he reached Nick’s side. Luger was nosing in the weeds along the side of the road, back and forth. Nick followed him, bending for a look now and then.
Brian braced his hands on his knees and concentrated on not falling over. Or dying. After a minute, he recovered enough to say, “Did you… see him?”
“Nope. Got a glimpse of a car driving off. Dark-red sedan. Didn’t see the plate.”
“Crap.” His lungs hurt. His gut hurt. He’d jabbed something into his thigh dashing through the scrub, but he was still too shaky to spare a braced hand to rub at it. He opened his mouth and sucked in a couple deeper breaths.
“You okay?” Nick was barely sweating.
It’s unfair, even if he does get out and run every stupid day. Brian shut off the whiner in his head and tried to straighten. “Fine.” A slower breath. “Really.”
Nick kicked at a tuft of grass, then bent down. “No good footprints. Someone’s pulled over into the softer dirt here more than once, but the tracks are smooshed. No way to tell if it was the same car.”
“Smooshed,” Brian said, to hide the lurch in his stomach. “Is that a professional cop word?”
“It’s an I-can’t-fucking-tell word.” Nick turned away from the road. “Come on, let’s head back.”
They walked silently the way they’d come, with Luger content to pace calmly alongside. When they reached the other edge of the band of woods, Nick handed Brian the leash and walked back and forth, peering at the ground there. Twice, he squatted and checked something, and once pulled out his phone to take a picture.
“What?” Brian glanced at Luger, but the dog was more interested in Yasmin and the two collies who’d joined her by the fence than whatever Nick had spotted.
“He was here for a while. Paced around, maybe squatted down behind that bush to hide. There’s enough mud to see some of his prints.” Nick pivoted. “No reason I can figure, except to watch the farm. I took the picture for shoe tread. He’s about one size bigger than me, so an eleven, probably. Deeper prints than mine, so he’s heavier.”
“That means a man, right?” How many women wear guys’ elevens?
“Probably.” Nick hesitated, then said, “That’s about all I can tell.”
“What, Sherlock? You can’t figure out his workplace and the type of cigar he smokes?”
Nick laughed. “I had a crush on Holmes once. But that kind of forensics takes a lab, not a magnifying glass. Come on. Yasmin looks worried.”
“Which Holmes?” Brian asked as they cut back across the field toward her.
“The BBC guy.” Nick’s tone got more serious. “I’m worried about you and Yasmin working out in the open today. Who knows what that guy was up to?”
“It makes no sense.” When they reached Yasmin, Luger and the collies sniffed noses, tails waving, strangers seeming forgotten. Brian bent to rub Laddie’s ears, and spoke to Yasmin and Nick together. “Why would anyone be watching this place?”
“Watching?” Yasmin asked.
“Nick thinks the guy was out there for a while, pacing around, watching us. Except there’s nothing to see.”
Yasmin glanced at Nick. “Could Sam or Reggie have followed you?”
“I didn’t spot a tail. Plus they’d have had to drive miles around, park all the way down the back road, and hike in through the woods. Seems like a lot of work just to see what I’m doing.”
Brian was not a fan of creepy mysteries. This sucks. “Maybe it’s a coincidence. Maybe he was hanging out in the woods to do… mushrooms or something.”
“And ran away when he saw us?”
“I’d run if I was trespassing and Luger was charging toward me.”
“Maybe.” He could tell Nick didn’t believe it, though.
Yasmin said, “Well, no damage done, and the ewes won’t take their own dewormer. Come on, Brian. We’ll bring in the flock from the big oak pasture today and work through those.”
Nick frowned. “You wouldn’t consider staying inside? Until we find out…”
“Find out what?” Yasmin gave a single headshake. “Nope. Work needs to be done, and I’m not going to let some peeping Tom keep me from doing it.” She flicked her fingers at the dogs. “Lad, Lass, let’s get ’em.” The collies leaped to her side, tails wagging in anticipation.
Brian said, “I’ll open the pole barn for you.” The dogs would gather the flock, while Brian set up gates to funnel them in through the doors.
Nick watched Yasmin as she strode to the more distant gate and let the dogs through it. Luger whined as if he wanted to follow, but Brian held his leash tight. Luger’d only be trouble around a bunch of milling sheep. Nick said, “Keep your eyes open, okay? Keep Luger near you today. If he acts antsy, don’t brush it off.”
Brian glanced back at the woods. Nothing moved. The sun was bright. Luger yawned and wagged his tail. Ordinary. Normal. “Sure.”
Nick still hesitated. “I need to go talk to Charlie.”
“Go on. We’re fine. The guy’s long gone.”
“I’d be happier if I had any idea what he was doing there.”
“Planning more vandalism?”
“Maybe, but there’ve got to be more important targets. It wasn’t Sam or Reggie. Their feet are bigger than that.”
“Well.” He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He wanted to tether Luger and get set up and lose himself in the rhythm of handling grubby, sweet-faced, foot-tromping, knock-you-over sheep. “Tell me what Charlie says.” He headed for the barn with Luger at his side, but he was aware, as he rolled open the door and began shifting out the sides of the chute, that Nick was still standing there, staring back at the woods.
Is it too much to want to just work a farm? Too much to not have strangers and damage and mysteries and greed and being scared?
Finally, he heard Nick walk off toward the car, the gravel crunching under his boots. He wondered if Nick realized he was whistling, very cheerfully, as he went.
Chapter 20
Three evenings later, Nick was becoming all too familiar with the sound of Sam’s voice. Of course, he shouldn’t be complaining. He was getting it via earbud from the transmitter in Charlie’s pocket. Charlie had to tolerate it firsthand.
“…and then the fuckin’ transmission went.” Sam was starting to develop that whiny slur that suggested he was on his fourth or fifth drink. “Two fuckin’ thousand dollars. Where’m I gonna get that?”
“Can you borrow it?” Charlie sounded sympathetic. He was one hell of an actor.
Nick slumped lower in the seat of his car, parked at the back of the lot beside the bar. He’d debated with Charlie about how to put the screws to Sam, to get him to finally make a fucking move, but now fate had done the job for them by taking out Sam’s Mustang. The guy still had his truck, but he was clearly pining after his sports car.
“I already owe a couple people. No one’s gonna lend it to me.” Sam’s voice dropped a half octave. “Unless you wanna? Y’r a good guy, Charlie. I’d pay you back.”
Charlie laughed. “I’m on disability. My old lady just had a kid. If you think I’ve got a spare dime, you’re nuts.”
“Shit. Yeah. That sucks.”
“Maybe you could sell something? Your truck? Or sell the car.”
“No way! That’s the sweetest ride in the state. I’m not selling.”
“So what are you gonna do? Save up for it?”
“Shit, I don’t know. It’s gonna take forever!” Nick heard something thump, over the background music and chatter, like Sam had hit the table. “Gotta get it somehow.”
“Second job?”
“I wish. There’s no work ’round here. Fucking Obama killed the jobs.”
“Then what? Knock over a bank?” Charlie’s tone made it clear he was joking.
“Yeah, no. Not that crazy. Yet.”
“Don’t want to get that sheriff on your tail. Although I wouldn’t mind her on my tail, ya know.”
Nick bit his lip. Jesus, Charlie, over the top?
Or maybe not, because Sam said, “That’s all the bitch is good for, and she’s too sour and dried up to even be a decent fuck. Can’t believe the fuckheads who voted for her.”
“I guess they wanted a change.”
“Yeah? Well you don’t put a fucking girl in a man’s job. They’re seein’ that now. When we get a new sheriff in, then we’ll see some changes.”
“Won’t help get your car fixed, though.”
“Fuck. No.” There was a pause. Nick imagined the two men drinking their beers. He took a swig from his thermos of coffee.
Charlie said, “There’s got to be something you can do to earn a few bucks.”
After a hesitation, Sam said, “Maybe. I dunno. Might be something I can try. Shit. Shit!”
There was a rustling sound. Then Charlie said, “I gotta go. My old lady’s got me on a short leash. Kid cries all the time, and she says it’s my job to look after it too.”
Sam chuckled. “Women. I tell you. They get the ring and the kid and they own your ass. Come on. One more drink.”
“I can’t. If I have one more, I can’t drive, and then she’ll really kick me to the couch.” Another rustle. “Good luck with the money. I hope you figure something out.”
“Yeah. Right. You gonna be back ’round tomorrow?”
“If the ball and chain lets me. See ya.” From the sounds, Charlie was moving through the bar, then the background sounds went away. Nick saw him come out the front door, head to his car and drive off without looking around.
A couple of minutes later his phone rang. “Hey, did you get that?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah. Too bad, so sad about the Mustang. Why’d you leave. He was getting loosened up.”
“Letting him stew on it. Seems like, as long as he has someone to bitch to about it, all he does is complain. And I’m sick of hearing it. Let’s see what he does now his audience is gone.”
“Okay.” The last two nights with Charlie, Sam had drunk himself under the table and ended up needing a ride home. Charlie had obliged and Sam had been grateful, but too out of it to say anything useful. “You don’t want to drive him home again?” They’d hoped he’d spill secrets the next time around.
“I’ll head back in half an hour, if he doesn’t come out. I’ll tell him the wife drove me to drink.”
“Does Lori know she’s getting a rep?”
“All in a good cause. She understands an acting job.”
“I guess.” Nick noted Charlie seemed quick to deflect criticism of her lately. Not his business, though. “You doing okay with the alcohol you’ve had to drink?”
“Yes, Mother. I told you, I’m off the hard drugs, and I’m good at stretching a beer.”
“Sam’s not. Don’t wait too long. If he comes through that door and he’s clearly too smashed to be safe on the road, I’ll have to call it in.”
“I know.”
Nick called Brian and added him to a three-way conversation. They talked randomly about day-to-day shit while Nick kept his eye on the bar. A few people came and went, but Sam wasn’t among them. None of Sam’s friends showed up either. That was good. It meant he was sitting in a bar on a weeknight, broke, with a grudge, and no support. Maybe he’d tip over into action at last.
Eventually, Charlie finished a rambling description of how he thought little Josh might’ve smiled for real today. “Okay, time. Going back in. More beer.”
Brian said, “The sacrifices you make.”
Charlie laughed. “This place has crap beer.”
“Oh, well then, poor you. Nick, good luck with the surveillance. I hope something pans out.” Brian hesitated, cleared his throat, and Nick was expecting the obligatory “stay safe” or “be careful,” but Brian said, “I’m so glad you guys are pros and know what you’re doing.”
Wish I was a pro with official standing. Maybe soon. Nick quipped, “Charlie, go drink like a pro.”
“On it,” Charlie said. “Bye, Brian.” He hung up.
Nick added to Brian, “Get some sleep, big guy. I’ll text you when I’m heading home.”
“’Kay. Good luck.” Then there was dead air on the line. For a moment Nick held the phone to his ear and appreciated a boyfriend who let him do what he needed to do. Brian wasn’t happy about Nick’s delusions of law enforcement, he could tell, but the guy was making such an effort not to say so that it was like a gift.
Then Charlie’s car pulled back into the lot by the bar and Nick put the earbud back in. As Charlie went inside, the background bar sounds resumed.
“Hey! I thought you split.” Sam sounded drunker than before.
“I did. Got home and that bitch started in on me. Where was I for two hours, how could I waste our money on beer, how dare I bring my drunk self around our precious angel?”
“Guy’s got a right to a drink or two.”
“I know, right? So I said I’d take my fucking drunk self off again.”
“Hah!”
“She pitched a fit and I walked out the door. ’Cause I need another beer.”
“Fuck yeah. I’d buy you one, but I’m tapped out.”
“I’ll buy.”
There was a break with background mumbles as Charlie fetched the beers.
Then Sam said, “Ahhh. You’re a good friend.”
“Us guys gotta stick together.”
“Hell, yeah.”
“And make money. Somehow.”
“Are you broke too?”
“Yeah. About the only thing the old lady got right was that I’m buying booze with the bill money.”
“Sometimes a man’s gotta get through the day.”
“Yup. Need to find work. Although, fuck, if I work a paycheck, I’ll lose disability money and probably end up more broke. They get you both ways.”
“Fuckin’ gov’ment.”
“I need a cash job. No questions asked.”
“Ain’t none. Less you got hidden talents.” Sam’s voice strengthened like he was leaning in closer. “There’s always work for guys with a talent.”
“Talent like fucking what? Tap-dancing?”
Sam barked a laugh. “Nah, but I know a guy. He’s got a plan.”
“What plan?”
“Shhhhh. It’s a secret.” There was a thump and crash. “Fuck, that was m’beer. Buy another round?”
“Sure. It’s only money.”
Nick heard them both laugh, then there was the usual business of buying a drink. Sam said, “Don’t you wan’ another?”
“Still finishing this one. Then I gotta leave ’cause I’m tapped out, and you’ll be on your own.”
“It sucks.” Sam’s tone got lower. “I should have money coming in. Did a job. Did what I was told, but do you see any money in my pocket?”
Charlie said, “I’m guessing hell to the no?”
“You got it.” A pause. “I’m gonna go get my share. Now. Tonight. He owes me.”
“Who does?”
“Shhh. Secret. Gonna get it.” Nick heard the scrape of a chair.
“Stay put. The bartender’s looking at you. Probably going to take your keys.”
“Fuck.”
“Even if he doesn’t, you can’t drive anywhere till you sober up, which’ll be hours, and it’s fucking late.”
“Shit. Yeah… Fuck… Hey. You’re not too pissed. You drive.”
Nick mouthed a silent Yesss! although the audio was one-way, and no one would have heard him.
“I don’t know.” Charlie sounded impressively reluctant. “Is the guy’s place far?”
“Nah, man. Fifteen minutes tops. When I get paid, I’ll buy you a drink. I’ll buy two drinks.”
“Well, I guess. Okay. You really think this is a good idea? What if you get there, and the guy says, ‘I don’t care how much hard work you’ve done for me, you gotta wait on your money’?”
Nick gritted his teeth. Charlie, what are you playing at?
It turned out Charlie was a better judge, though, because Sam’s reply came back low and angry. “He better not. Y’know? He owes me and I’m damned well collecting some of it tonight.”
“Okay. Lead the way.”
Nick ducked low as they came out the door, not turning on his engine until they’d pulled out of the lot. He had to follow a bit closer than he’d have liked, especially in light late-evening traffic, but the tracker was in Sam’s truck. Charlie gave clues via the transmitter as he drove, asking Sam out loud where to turn, so Nick didn’t have to be right on their tail.
