4. Welcome to Grants Crossing
FOUR
Welcome to Grant's Crossing
STEVE
Grant’s Crossing, Ohio
“I’m Juan Palacios,” a tall, olive-skinned man with jet black hair sporting a hint of gray and dark brown eyes stood to greet him with a handshake from across the table the following night at Jo’s Bar & Grille, the sports bar in the historic downtown.
Steve quickly learned that locals knew Carousel Square simply as the square, the heart of Grant’s Crossing, Ohio.
“It’s nice to meet you, Steve.”
“He may be our lieutenant now, but he’s been Tank ever since high school.” Another man about Steve’s height, with dark wavy hair and green eyes, patted Juan’s back and offered his hand. “I’m Derek Mitchell. And this,” he pointed his thumb back to another man standing up from the table, “is Kiro Marinov.”
“Kiro Marinov, you said?” Like the word hero, Steve repeated KEER-oh carefully. He figured the last name was easy enough as Marine, plus an added off at the end. “Russian?”
“Nah, man. Bulgarian.” Kiro, a fair-complected man with short, spiked black hair and whiskey-brown eyes, corrected him with a grin. “And it’s good to meet you. Welcome to Grant’s Crossing.”
“We’re the primary paramedic team on B-shift,” Derek explained, gesturing with his hand to Kiro before continuing around the table.
A tall, slender man of Indian descent stood up and extended his hand. “Abhishek Battacharya,”
“Pardon me?”
He laughed at Steve’s knitted brow and open mouth. “Call me Shek.”
“Ah. Thanks!” Steve laughed.
Derek continued with the introductions. “That’s Tiny Tim.”
Steve’s own six feet of height seemed short by comparison to the bald, solid wall of muscled man who had at least another five inches on him.
“Tim Ellis.” Tim’s deep voice sounded out. “Welcome.”
“And this is Emerson,” Derek introduced the last person at the table before settling back into his chair.
“RJ Emerson.” An inch or two shorter than Steve and a tad more slender, Emerson was a man with messy, dark red hair and deep brown eyes who offered an equally friendly greeting. “Glad to have you with us.”
“Thanks.”
Tank ordered a beer for Steve, who started answering the usual questions. “After the Marines, I spent some time in Chicago, then almost a year in Ypsilanti before moving down here.”
“That’s too close to Ann Arbor. Tell me you’re not a Wolverine fan. I mean, you’re in Buckeye country now.” Emerson laughed as he referred to the University of Michigan’s rival, The Ohio State University Buckeyes, whose campus was in the nearby capital city of Columbus.
Steve scoffed. “Nah, man. Navy.”
“Well, this should make the Army-Navy game more fun this year.” Kiro took a pull of his beer.
“Why’s that?”
He tilted his bottle toward Derek. “D and Tank are both Army guys.” He glanced up and pointed toward the man standing behind the bar, who gave a quick wave. “So is Mike Porter.” When Steve’s expression remained blank, Kiro explained. “Mike and Jo Porter own this place.”
“Jo’s makes sense now,” he acknowledged. “I think I’ll be fine. Besides,” he smirked. “Three to one isn’t exactly outnumbered.”
Tank rested his drink on the table. “What did you do in the Marines?”
“Usually saved you Army boys’ asses.”
“Uh. Oh. Them’s fightin’ words.” Emerson joked in his best cowboy drawl, drawing laughter around the table.
“We may just have to make a friendly wager this year,” Tank said as he and Derek shared conspiratorial grins.
Steve tipped his bottle in a friendly salute. “You’re on.”
A couple of hours later, most of the men had gone home to their families, leaving only Steve, Derek, and Kiro behind. They all lived within walking distance of the popular downtown watering hole. Steve didn’t comment on the fact that Derek was still putting down beers while he and Kiro had already switched to non-alcoholic beverages.
Curious and with lowered inhibitions, Derek spoke up as the server dropped a fresh beer off at the table. “So what’s with all the moving? You’ve been out of the Marines for what? A few years now? And you’re already on your third station in as many states.” He glanced over at Kiro and back at Steve. “We don’t want to have to treat our own.”
Despite having expected the question, Steve’s body tensed. He stared at his root beer and took a sip while contemplating how best to answer. He leaned forward and rested both hands around the base of his bottle. Lifting his eyes to meet Derek’s, he relaxed his shoulders and replied. “I’m not a discipline problem, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Reckless, then?” Derek pushed, receiving a hard look in response. “I mean, why move so much?”
Kiro’s eyes drifted back and forth between Derek and Steve, monitoring the swift influx of tension. “We’re a tight-knit group here. We’re like family. On shift, we trust each other with our lives. Off-shift, we do the same thing. Look.” Steve’s eyes narrowed in response as Kiro continued speaking. “We don’t mean to pry, but...”
“I do,” Derek countered with a single arched brow, earning a frustrated glare from Kiro. “I mean to pry.”
“We just want to know who we’re working with, that’s all,” Kiro explained, casting a warning glance toward Derek, who took another sip of his beer. “If you don’t want to tell us, that’s fine. But if it’s something that will affect us on the job or put us in danger, then we have a right to know.”
“Right to know, huh?”
“Yeah.” Both Derek and Kiro answered in unison, apparently agreeing.
Steve nodded in understanding. He’d worked at fire stations where guys got along well out of necessity, but it always seemed forced. He’d also worked at some houses where they went out of their way to support each other. Well, one house, but it had been a while since his time in Chicago. Perhaps this one was similar. Taking a risk, he stared at his glass and started speaking. “It’s for my brother.”
“Your brother.” Derek’s tone was flat.
“Yes. My brother.” Steve met his gaze with a glare that dared him to say more. “I’ve barely seen him since I got back,” he mumbled into his glass.
“Since you got back?” Derek set down his beer. “Back from what? Vacation? Your last job? What?”
“From Iraq,” Steve growled.
Kiro was lifting his glass to his lips and froze. “Wait. You haven’t seen him since you were in the Marines?”
“Nope.” Steve finished his drink. “Well. A few times, but that’s it.”
“That’s been what? Two or three years?”
Steve’s glare confirmed Kiro’s math.
“What about your parents?” Derek leaned forward. “Don’t they know?”
Steve huffed out a laugh. “My parents aren’t exactly in the picture anymore. And my brother,” Steve set his glass on the table. “Let’s just say it’s for the best that he got away from them.”
“Why don’t you just show up at his house?”
Steve’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t.”
“What do you mean?” Derek furrowed his brow.
“I don’t know where he lives. He...” Steve shook his head. “He fell into a dangerous crowd, and I haven’t been able to locate him. They keep moving him.”
“Dangerous crowd,” Kiro repeated. “You mean he gets into trouble with the police or something?”
“More like traffickers…,” Steve mumbled and shook his head to clear the thought out of his head. “Shit. Look. Just forget I said anything.”
He started to rise when Derek reached across the table and grabbed him by the forearm to stop him. “This stays between us.”
Steve almost shrugged him off, but hesitated and glared right at Derek, whose expression had changed from mistrust to genuine concern.
“And we can help,” Derek added.
Steve turned to Kiro, who nodded in confirmation. “Let us help.”
Steve leaned in and gritted his teeth. His expression was stern and his voice gruff. “How? How can you help? Every time I think I find him, he disappears. He’ll set up a time to meet, but then cancel at the last minute. Something comes up. It’s as if they know I’m coming, so I’m always a step behind.”
Derek tilted his chin toward the bar. “Drew can help you, then.”
“Drew?”
“Sheriff Drew Strager, Jo Porter’s brother.”
Steve looked at a man in a sheriff’s uniform talking to the woman behind the bar. He yanked his arm back. “I don’t want him arrested. I want him to be safe.”
“Fine.” Derek pulled back, holding his palms out as he leaned back into his seat and stretched his legs out beneath the table. “I know you just got here, but you can trust him. He’s good people.”
“Yeah?” Steve took one last look at the sheriff, sharing a joke with his sister. “That’s what they said about our parents.” He stood up and dropped a few bills on the table. “Thanks for the drinks tonight. I’ll see you both on Friday.”