Reprise (8 page)

The RAM wasn’t as comfortable as his rig, though. He liked the bounce of the rig seat, the padding was made to be planted in for hours at a time, and the cab felt like a cock pit. Everything was in easy reach. Even the wheel sat in the most ergonomically satisfying way. Driving this truck was a bit less luxurious, but there was still no way Knuckles was taking over.

Knuckles kept up a steady stream of chatter and ribbing, which was a relief. If the guy had decided to Doctor Phil him all the way to Cleary Tiny was going to gag, bind, and throw him in the back. No, somehow Knuckles always knew the best way to deal with emotional situations.  He knew Tiny would want “normal” for the drive, so that’s what he was giving him.

They reached the Colorado border around dinnertime, and they passed the
Welcome to Cleary
sign around seven o’clock. Driving down Main Street Knuckles gave a low whistle. “Fuck, isn’t it Friday night?”

Tiny had to chuckle. “This is Cleary on a Friday night.”

“Shit. How did you ever get into trouble in this town?”

“Bonfires and beer, man. I’m telling you. You missed out not growing up in a town like this.”

“There’s a place for us to have a beer at some point, right?”

Tiny pointed it out as they rolled past, his chest constricting. Just a bit. “The hotel bar. Right there.”

“Jesus. I can’t believe you’re such a square.”

Tiny laughed again. “Am I?”

Knuckles grinned at him. “You fucking
have
to be. I can’t wait to tell everyone what a poser you are.”

“Fuck you.”

“Where do you wanna go first?”

Tiny’s smile vanished. “Shit. I guess, to the sheriff’s department.”

He’d called Wexler before they left so the guy knew of his plans.  The Sheriff himself was going to be in Cleary to meet him by around six-thirty. He’d kept the Sheriff waiting.

“All right. First time I’ve willingly walked into one these.”

Tiny had to smile again, angle-parking in front of a squat brick building with white trim and the stars and stripes flying out front. No plaque, no sign.

“This is the sheriff’s department?”

Tiny opened his door and stepped out, groaning as he stretched his arms overhead. “Yeah, it is.”

“It looks like the post office.”

“Half of it
is
the post office.”

“Jesus. This place is smaller than Markham.” Knuckles slammed the passenger door and turned in a circle, taking in the view.

“Yep. And nicer, too. So watch the blasphemy in these parts.”

“Fuck, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. You know I don’t give a fuck. Just a word of warning.”

“Okay.”

They made their way up the steps to the double doors. To the left, post office with a
Sorry, We’re Closed
sign up. To the right, Sheriff’s Department outpost.

He’d only been here once growing up, but man that was a story and a half.

He pushed on the Sheriff’s Department door and it swung inward. They were expected, after all. No one was at the desk. Tiny tried to peer around the wall behind reception to see behind but the view was good and blocked. “Hello?” he called out, aware of how loud he was compared to the room.

There was a shuffle, then a man came around the corner with a napkin stuffed in the neck of his uniform, a sandwich in his hand. He was wiping his mouth with a second napkin before putting the sandwich down on the reception desk with his bib. “Harlon Gray?”

“Yes sir. Sheriff Wexler?”

“That’s me.” Then he grinned.

Tiny wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. The voice on the phone matched the voice of the man in front of him; official, sharp and commanding. But in person the guy seemed like a bit of a bumbling fool.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

Tiny frowned. “Umm, sorry. No. You’re from Cleary?”

Wexler nodded, coming around to the front of the desk. “Yeah. We went to school together, but I didn’t move here until high school. We played ball together.”

Jesus Christ.
Wexler
. No one called him by his first name, he was always—

“Wex,” Tiny breathed, hardly believing it.

The guy broke into a grin and held out his hand, which Tiny shook. “Don’t feel bad. That was a long time ago.”

There was only one reason to remember Wex, really. And it was because Tiny had fucked his girlfriend on prom night after the formal.

Oh, shit.

Tiny’s face must have given something away because Wex laughed, pointing now. “Shit, that’s a funny look. Don’t sweat it, Harlon. She was bitch of a girlfriend anyway.”

All this time Knuckles had been watching this back and forth like a ping pong match, half-smile in place. Now Wex addressed him. “He snuck off after prom with my girlfriend. Fucked her noisy and senseless with all the senior class within earshot.”

Knuckles eyes widened, going to Tiny. All he could do was shrug.

“Sorry,” Tiny sputtered, remembering himself and desperate to change the subject. “This is my pal Knuckles. Knuckles, Sheriff Wexler.”

Knuckles took the offered hand and shook, smiling. “Good to meet you.”

“Jesus. The rumors are true then?” Wexler asked, releasing Knuckles’ hand and lifting an eyebrow.

“What rumors?”

“Last I heard you’d gone and fallen in with a biker club in California. And you two got trouble written all over you.”

Shit. Not the bumbling idiot after all.

Knuckles froze, but Tiny kept it in mind that they weren’t here on suspicion of anything. And he had the card to play to move things along. “Wex, it’s been a long day. I really want to take care of the business at hand.”

“Right. Of course. Just follow me, sorry.” Wexler seemed honestly sorry as he led them around reception and to the back. They followed him past a half dozen workstations to a stairwell that led down.

It was dank here, the cinderblock walls seemed to be sweating. The overhead florescent lights had an off-putting hum, but they trudged on to a room marked morgue. That’s where the Sheriff stopped them.

“I’ll go in and set up. You won’t be able to identify by his face. I’m sorry, Harlon.”

Tiny nodded, taking a deep breath. “It’s fine.”

As the Sheriff went into the dark room Tiny took another deep breath and felt Knuckles at his back.

“How are you supposed to ID him if you can’t look at his face?” Knuckles mused softly.

“He’s got ink,” Tiny replied numbly. “Both arms. My mom’s name on one, a pinup girl that looks a lot like my mom on the other.”

Knuckles didn’t say a word. When the door opened again Wexler waved him forward and Tiny followed, then turned to Knuckles. “It’s okay, man. You don’t have to see this part.”

“You sure?”

Tiny nodded, and then wondered at how relieved the guy looked.

“Okay. I’m right here if you need me.”

The morgue had very specific lighting, probably installed just for this purpose. There were only three drawers in a vertical row, the rest of the room occupied by stainless steel equipment he didn’t spend time looking at. The middle drawer was extended, the white sheet pulled back over a man’s arms, both sides, as Tiny had expected.

The room was hot and thick, or maybe that was just him, and even as his legs moved him forward he fought the need to turn and run. That was his
dad
. The man who’d raised him and taught him and given him shit, and now he was hunk of meat in a metal tray waiting for disposal.

Fuck. He couldn’t do this. If he didn’t look, the old man might still be alive. He wasn’t dead until Tiny knew for sure—

And then he saw the pin-up girl and he knew. Time had faded the ink and stretched the skin, but that ink had been there since before Tiny was born. A hot blonde in a one-piece dress, the front whipped up in unseen wind showing some leg, biting her fingernail like she’d meant for that to happen.

Tiny had to smile. So unlike his mom, at least, the woman he knew as his mom. If she’d been a little vixen before having him he was glad. She’d always been beautiful.

Without realizing it, he’d been nodding. When he caught that Wexler was waiting for him to say something he cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’s...uh. That’s Dad.”

“The weapon he used was a mid-century Luger. Any idea where that came from?”

Tiny cleared his throat again and swiped at his eyes. Fuck, he was leaking. “I had an uncle killed in the second world war. Some friend brought his personal belongings home, and the grandparents didn’t want any of it. But mom kept it.”

“That included a German Luger?”

Tiny was still nodding. “Yeah. Some kind of kill trophy.”

Wexler was adjusting the sheet over the arms carefully, wary of the top edge. Tiny turned away, his skin starting to feel like it was shrink-wrapping around him. This room was small to begin with. Suffocating under his own flesh made it unbearable.

“...funeral home has already been contacted.”

More blinking, then a squeak. When he turned Wexler was pushing the drawer closed again. “What was that?”

“Maude at the funeral home has been contacted. Your father left clear instructions, so there’s no need to worry about any of that stuff.”

“They’ll still do a service, even though..?”

“At the home’s chapel, yeah. Or graveside, your choice. Non-denominational.”

Tiny nodded. For his entire life his parents had shunned religion and he had no idea why. He didn’t think he was even baptized, and it had never occurred to him to ask.

“Maude’s father will just say a few words, and anyone else who wants to can talk as well.”

For the first time Tiny was hearing the name. “Maude’s running the funeral home?”

Wexler chuckled softly, like he knew doing it outright would offend someone. “Took over when her dad retired. Yeah, I know. Kind of a weird development.”

The Graham family had always run the local funeral home. They were loaded since there was no competition in town or the surrounding trade area. Maude Graham had been the most popular girl at school, likely the prettiest, and she’d known it. But she hadn’t been all bitch. In grade school she’d been teased mercilessly for her family’s creepy business, and her old-lady first name hadn’t helped things, but it made her a somewhat decent person. Hell, she’d taken Tiny’s virginity one week and then taken the captain of the football team to prom the next.

Well, wasn’t this going to be interesting?

“I’m going to head to the folk’s place,” he said, his voice sounding foreign. Gruffer than usual.  “If anyone needs me.”

Wexler nodded. “Your old man listed the place with Dax.”

Tiny frowned.

“Dax Beverly. He runs the only real estate office in town. He went to school with us too.”

“Daxton?” Tiny clarified, and Wexler nodded as he pushed the door open, leading them back to the slightly less-stifling hallway. “Daxton Beverly is a real estate agent?”

Fuck, Tiny had hated that guy. On the high school football squad Tiny had been a defensive lineman, naturally since he was built big and always had been, but he’d been fast in the day, too. Daxton was a receiver, nowhere near as talented as his loud mouth might lead you to believe. No one on that squad thought they were going to be playing in the NFL one day. Only Daxton thought himself destined for greatness, which was a laugh. He was a fast runner but his hands hardly made him clutch, and once the season was over senior year Tiny had the pleasure of knocking out a few of the guy’s teeth after a few beers at an after-prom party.

“Don’t be surprised if he comes by in the next couple days. He was telling me he wanted your dad to fix the fence and remove the carpet in the front room to make the house sell faster. Which you can take to mean for
more money
which means a higher commission.”

Tiny shook his head. “The guy says one fucking word to me about that—”

“Don’t finish that statement,” Wexler requested with a wry grin. “That makes it premeditated.”

And just like that Tiny was reminded he was in a hallway, heading up the stairs with an officer of the law.

“Thanks for the warning, Sheriff,” he said instead, grinning back.

“Just let me know when the service is. I’ll come down for it.”

Tiny shook his head as they returned to the desk farm and made their way back to reception where Knuckles was waiting. He must have wandered back up here on his own. “You don’t need to do that. It’s a fair distance—”

“Not at all. And it’s good to see you again, Harlon.” Wexler shoved his hand out there and Tiny was shaking it before he thought about it.

Then Knuckles and Sheriff shook, and Tiny was back behind the wheel of the Ram in under a minute.

“So where to next?”

Tiny turned the key. “Parent’s place. There’s a spare bed there. Not much else but—”

“What else does a guy need?” Knuckles finished, covering his yawn. “I wanna see where you grew up.”