Episode 176
EPISODE 176
MIKE
River
The traffic here moves like molasses. I tap the steering wheel of my rental, glance at the lines of glittering cars around me, each one as restless as the next. Miami. It’s all sun, sheen, and too many people packed into too small a space, like cattle herded into a pen that’s already full. Everything’s loud here—engines roaring, neon lights shouting for attention, music blaring from every direction. Back home, all I hear is the lowing of cattle and the wind through the pines.
I pull to a stop at a light, staring up at the palm trees. Weird thing is that there seem to be more of them here than on the island. They’d be torn up and gone in one good Montana windstorm. Out there, everything has to be strong just to survive.
Hell, so do the people. The guys and I had to suck up a lot of bullshit to get where we are today.
And damn...
We did some bad things. Some really bad things.
The light turns green, and I roll forward .
I’ve got something to do, and it can’t wait any longer.
Twenty Years Earlier...
“I’m going after Marnie, River. And I’m going now.”
“Fuck, Jake.” I shake my head. “Where the hell did you get the piece?”
I have my own pistol. Several rifles. My dad taught me to shoot when I was just a kid, before his accident. I’m a crack shot. But Jake?
Fuck.
“It’s my mother’s,” he says.
“You know how to work it?”
He spits on concrete in Seb’s back yard. “I’m not a moron, Riv. I know how to shoot. I’ve done it before.”
Chills skitter up the back of my neck. “Jake, I swear to God, you’re not yourself, okay?”
“Fuck off.” He walks through the gate and out of Seb’s yard.
I follow him. “You don’t know she went there.”
“Where the hell else would she go? She followed us to Larson’s, and something happened. There’s no other explanation.”
I can think of another explanation, but Jake won’t want to hear it. Marnie could be having a miscarriage somewhere. Or she could have gone home and her parents aren’t letting her talk to him.
I don’t think she followed us to Larson’s, but the only way to convince Jake is to go back to prove I’m right. It’s not a good idea, going back to the scene of our crime, but I’m out of ideas at this point. Jake is going, and I can’t stop him. I can at least tag along and make sure he doesn’t go off half-cocked.
It’s a trek from town, and we don’t talk. We just walk the dusty path until the Larson property comes into view. And as we do, a hollow feeling of dread overtakes me. Something’s going to go wrong. I can feel it in the way the silence hangs thick around us, in the heavy crunch of gravel beneath our boots. The place is too still, like it’s waiting.
Every instinct I’ve got is screaming to turn around, to walk away, but I push forward. I won’t leave Jake. I won’t let him do something he’ll regret.
Each step feels heavier than the last, and I can’t shake the sense that we’re about to cross another line.
And this one we won’t come back from.
Present Day...
After driving through Miami, I come to a small beach community on the coast. It’s like another world—quiet, unhurried, with pastel houses and fishing boats bobbing gently in the water. The air is salty and thick, warm with the sun but cooled by a soft breeze that feels like a breath of relief after the chaos of the city.
I find the address I’m looking for. It’s a tiny house with stucco painted pink. I park in front of it.
The mailbox is hanging open, and I reach to close it, but before I do, I peek inside. A fishing magazine, a few flyers, and some bills addressed to Michael Brown. Tampering with the mail is a federal offense, of course, so I shove it all back into the box and walk to the door.
I knock .
Knock again.
“You looking for Mike?” a voice says from the next house.
I look over to see a little girl with her dark hair up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a blue one-piece bathing suit with flip-flops. Didn’t her mother teach her not to talk to strangers?
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s an old friend.”
She smiles, revealing two missing teeth right in front. “He’s my mommy’s boyfriend.”
"Is he around?" I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.
The little girl shakes her head, her ponytail bouncing. "Nope. He went fishing early this morning. Said he had a big catch to land."
A sinking feeling wells up in my chest, but I cover it with a casual smile. "Did he say when he'll be back?"
She shrugs her small shoulders, squinting against the sunlight filtering down through the palm trees. "Mommy says Mike comes and goes like the tide. Sometimes he's here all day, and sometimes he's gone for weeks."
Interesting. Did I come all the way for nothing? I have to get back to the island tomorrow.
“What’s your name?” I ask the girl.
“Tammy. What’s yours?”
“River. Is your mommy home, Tammy?”
“She’s at work.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You’re not home alone, are you?”
“No, silly. My grandma’s here. You want me to get her?”
“Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Okay.” She ambles into the house.
I try the knob on the door of the pink house and gasp when it turns. He left his house unlocked? Fuck .
Tammy returns with an older woman wearing a bikini top and cutoff shorts. I walk toward them.
“Hi there,” she says. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for the man who lives here,” I say, holding out my hand. “My name’s River Barrett.”
She shakes my hand. “I’m Lynnette Combs, and I guess you’ve met Tammy. Mike’s out on the boat.”
“That’s what Tammy said. Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“By five, I hope. He’s supposed to watch Tammy until Felicity comes home. It’s my book club tonight.”
Tammy laughs. “Mommy says your book club is more of a wine club.”
Lynnette doesn’t seem embarrassed by her granddaughter’s revelation. “I’m still young enough to have a good time,” she laughs.
“By five, huh?” I scratch my head. “I guess I’ll wait.”
“Would you like to come inside?” Lynnette asks, eyeing me as if I’m a prime rib special.
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
“It’s no bother. Any friend of Mike’s is a friend of ours, right, baby girl?”
Tammy nods, her ponytail bobbing.
I follow the two of them into the house, and before I take in anything else, a photo on the wall jumps out at me.
“That’s him,” Tammy says, pointing. “That’s Mike with my mommy. Isn’t she pretty?”