19. seventeen
seventeen
. . .
CREW
It took a week for my brother and I to cross paths, and only because I pulled up to the station at the exact moment he walked outside one afternoon, making a point to wake up earlier than I normally would after spending the previous day on shift.
“Where are you going?” I asked as he came down the concrete path toward his cruiser.
“To interview a suspect.”
He had that shifty countenance of someone who didn’t want anyone—least of all me—asking too many questions, which is exactly why I continued to pry.
“In the arsonist case?”
“Yes,” he gritted out.
“Perfect,” I said happily, throwing myself into his passenger seat when he beeped the SUV open. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, so I’ll ride along.”
Lane’s sigh was exasperated, like I was the most infuriating person he’d ever come into contact with, but he got behind the wheel anyway.
“This isn’t a fire department case.”
“I disagree. Rooting out arsonists is part of the job description, big bro, and you won’t find anyone in the county more qualified than me.”
He grumbled but wisely didn’t argue because he knew I was right. Chief Madden had some experience, but not as much as I’d gained working with the CFD.
“So where are we heading?”
Lane’s teeth still ground together as he spat, “Chris Taal’s place.”
I blinked in surprise.
“He’s still dealing?”
“Is the sky blue?”
I made a show of looking out the window.
“Yep.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time over the last week going over the reports, and it seems my predecessors thought he was good for it but could never make anything stick. So I’m going to see if I can be the one to shake something loose.”
“Like what? A confession? He’s gotta be in his sixties now, Lane. Don’t you think he would’ve come clean already if he was the guy?”
“I think that little weasel will do anything to save his own ass.” He glanced pointedly at me. “Including throwing a seventeen-year-old under the bus.”
I couldn’t help wincing at the memory, but the blame for that incident couldn’t rest strictly on Chris’s shoulders.
I’d been there. Been an active participant.
But he’d made me the fall guy for the whole thing instead of taking responsibility for his role in it all.
That was the night everything changed for me, and if Chief Madden hadn’t pulled me out of that twisted hunk of metal that had once been a car, talked some sense into me in the aftermath while I’d been laid up in the hospital with a shattered tibia, I wouldn’t be having this conversation with Lane.
I likely wouldn’t have made it to my eighteenth birthday without that accident. Wrapping that car around a tree had been the best thing that ever happened to me.
Memories continued to plague me, anxiety rooting in my chest at the prospect of confronting this demon I thought I’d banished.
“Maybe it’s a bad idea for me to come with…”
“Nah,” Lane said, his blinker filling the space between us while he navigated through town, toward the trailer park. “I think it’ll be good having you there. Might make him a little more forthcoming.”
I snorted in disagreement but kept my mouth shut.
Once upon a time, Chris and I had been… close , in the way that all drug addicts were close with their dealers. Now, I doubted he’d recognize me. I was so far removed from that spiraling teenage boy, those events may as well have happened in a different lifetime.
Dusk Valley’s trailer park, aptly named Mountain View Estates because it did afford residents a gorgeous backyard look at the lower peaks of the Owyhee Range, was a well-kept neighborhood. The people who lived there were mainly single parents who worked hard for their money as laborers, waitresses, and nurses.
On two streets perpendicular to the trailer park sat Dusk Valley’s version of the slums. The rows of houses were rundown and falling apart, with broken furniture, vehicles that no longer ran, and other detritus littering the lawns.
Pulling up to Chris’s shack—there really was no other word for the dilapidated two-story that leaned precariously to one side—was like stepping into a time warp that transported me back sixteen years to the very first time I’d been here. I knew without going inside that nothing had changed. The main floor was an open concept kitchen and living room, constructed before such things were fashionable mainly to cut costs on putting in more walls, and a small bathroom with an ancient clawfoot tub, overhead shower, and cracked toilet that somehow still ran. The upper level held the bedroom. Both the front and back yards were postage stamps that Chris kept clean, mostly to not give law enforcement any reason to come knocking at his door—even if they all knew what went on behind it.
The tick of the cooling engine after Lane turned the car off was damn near deafening as he waited for me to move.
I wasn’t sure I could. Walking back in that house…there were inevitably things about a past version of me, the man Chris had known but who existed no longer, that would be thrown in my face. That would stir up all kinds of bad feelings and memories, both for me and my brother.
“I’m sorry,” Lane said quietly. “You don’t have to do this. I didn’t really think it through, what it’d be like for you coming back here.”
That was quite possibly the most sensitive and empathetic thing any of my brothers had ever said to me, and somehow, it gave me the courage to get the fuck out of the car.
Wordlessly, I opened the door and climbed out, and Lane followed my lead.
The grass out front was slightly overgrown along the path, brushing my boots and the hem of my jeans as we made our way toward the house. Lane climbed the two crumbling concrete steps and pounded on the peeling door, the damn thing so flimsy, a stiff wind could easily knock it down.
Beyond, footsteps creaked against the floor before the sounds of several locks, chains, and deadbolts disengaging reached us, the door cracking open a moment later.
I staggered back a step.
Even back in my wild youth, Chris hadn’t been in the best shape, but the years since I’d last seen him had been even less kind than I anticipated. He was rail thin, his skin hanging off his bones, making him appear at least twenty years older than he actually was. His watery grey-blue eyes squinted into the harsh sunlight, sizing us up.
“The fuck you want, pig?” he asked my brother.
“Got a few questions about prom night, Mr. Taal. May we come in?”
Chris’s gaze shifted to me, the fog seeming to lift momentarily.
“Well, well, well. Look who found himself on the right side of the law after all.”
“I’m not a cop.”
“Nah, but you still got the stink.”
I rolled my eyes. Whatever that meant . “Can we come in or not?”
Chris shifted out of the way, opening the door wider as he went. “Be my guest.”
Lane went ahead of me, and it took everything I had to lift my foot and place it down on the other side of that threshold, like I was crossing some invisible demarcation line between the old me, the life I’d left behind, and the one I lived now, which I’d worked my ass off to build for myself.
But now, I was stronger mentally. I wasn’t some kid searching for any high that would take me from my reality, and this visit to the past wouldn’t change that.
Chris’s grin was positively feral as I moved past him, like a lion welcoming prey into its den. Little did he know, I was no longer a lamb.
The place hadn’t changed a bit in the last fifteen years other than falling even further into disrepair. I guaranteed I could walk into the kitchen and easily locate cups and bowls, silverware and plates.
The air was hazy with weed smoke, the pungent scent stuffing itself up my nostrils and burrowing deep so I knew I’d smell it for hours after we left. Despite the odor, there wasn’t any paraphernalia laying around. I glanced at my brother. Sure enough, his eyes scanned the room with that cop’s assessing gaze, searching for anything he could use to pinch this guy and at least bring him to the station for formal questioning. Chris had been at this for a long time, and he wouldn’t allow a random drive-by compromise his business. The house was littered with hidey-holes.
Chris was always high as a kite on weed, but he never dabbled in the harder stuff. Claimed it “muddled his senses.” I snorted at the memory, and both heads snapped toward me.
“Somethin’ funny, pig?”
“I’m not a cop,” I said for the second time, kicking an empty beer can out of my way so I could wade deeper into the room.
“But I am,” Lane said. “You mind if we ask you a few questions?”
“About what?”
“Prom night,” my brother repeated.
Chris groaned. “Why is it when some bad shit goes down in this town, you people always think it’s my fault?”
“Because you’re the perfect suspect,” my brother sneered, pointedly scanning Chris up and down.
“Not helping,” I murmured.
Ignoring me, Lane cut straight to the chase.
“Where were you the Friday night before prom?”
Chris scrunched his eyes, clearly thinking hard. “Meeting a… client at the Swallow.”
That pulled Lane up short, and he reached into his pants’ pocket to withdraw his phone, the device emitting soft clicking sounds as he tapped around on the screen, pulling up a photo of Aspen. Then he held it up in front of Chris’s face.
“Do you recognize this woman?”
Chris’s expression never changed as he studied the photo. There was no spark of recognition, no fear that he’d been caught. Obviously, he had no idea who she was.
Unfortunately, he was already too stupid to play dumb .
Lane seemed to agree but continued to press anyway.
“What about the following evening, the night of prom?”
“Working.”
“At the school.”
“I am a janitor there, so yes, at the school. Cleaning up after all those little brats.”
“Why would you be working during the dance?” I asked, chiming into the conversation for the first time. “Isn’t that something you’d do the morning after?”
“Well, I uhh…” he sputtered dumbly, eyes darting everywhere but at me and Lane.
Huh , I thought, considering the abrupt change in demeanor. Maybe not as stupid as I thought .
“I uhh wasn’t working, exactly,” he continued, brushing his hand through the air and giving me and my brother a cocky little smirk like, you know how it is . “I forgot something in the office, so I swung by to get it.”
“What exactly did you forget?” Lane asked.
“Uhh…my lighter.”
Lane and I shared a look, both of us then sweeping the room, noting the multiple lighters strewn across multiple surfaces near half-smoked packs of cigarettes.
“You wanna try that again?”
As though his legs had given out, Chris collapsed into the armchair behind him, which creaked loud enough I was certain it’d fall apart right under him. Resting his elbows on his knees, he scrubbed a hand over the top of his shiny head. “Look, man. I didn’t hurt no one. Sometimes, I go to the school when there are dances. You know, relive my glory days.”
A disgusted sound came from deep in my throat at the same time my brother made a similar one.
“We’ve had numerous reports about you over the years, Mr. Taal. You creep the young girls out. And I’ve heard several rumors that you deal to those kids too. That’s what you were really doing there that night, isn’t it? Dealing.”
Chris exploded out of his chair so fast, I barely saw him move. Next thing I knew, he was damn near nose to nose with the sheriff—or as close as he could be given Lane had a good five inches on him. Normally, the sight would make me laugh. This guy was a fucking loser, the scum on the bottom of society’s shoe. My brother was a highly decorated police officer and the youngest sheriff this county had ever seen, not to mention twice as wide as Chris, his biceps as big around as the dealer’s head.
Under normal circumstances, it would be no contest.
But apparently, Chris didn’t like being called a creep, because he held a shiny silver knife to the underside of my brother’s jaw, a crazed look in his eyes as he silently dared Lane to make a move.
In the end, I was the one who moved first, not even thinking as I threw myself at Chris and tackled him to the ground, flipping him face first into his rank ass carpet and driving my knee into the center of his back to keep him pinned.
By the time I’d collected his wrists and brought them together, Lane was holding his cuffs out to me, which I slapped on Chris and hauled him to his feet.
“I didn’t do nothin’, man! What the fuck!” he shouted as we marched him outside.
“You threatened a police officer with a knife, you dumb fuck,” Lane said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe the audacity of this guy. “ With a witness .”
“Police brutality!” Chris shouted as I practically carried him across the lawn, his body going limp as he tried to halt our progress. “This is police brutality! Help!”
I snorted. He wouldn’t find any assistance in this neighborhood.
“I’ll remind you once again, Chris,” I said as I stuffed him in the backseat of Lane’s cruiser and bent close. “I’m not a fucking cop. ”
Chris continued to scream obscenities—at me, at Lane, at the goddamn government, at anything he could think of—once I slammed the door in his face.
When I faced my brother, his tattooed arms were crossed over his chest, an amused smile tipping the corners of his mouth.
“What’s so funny?”
He tipped his head in Chris’s direction.
“Bet that felt good.”
The realization of what I’d done barreled into me, and I swayed slightly on my feet.
I’d helped arrest one of my abusers.
I wasn’t a saint back then. The drugs, the booze, the sex—I’d been a willing participant in all of it.
But after I’d gotten out, and with the help of my therapist, I understood Chris had taken advantage of me. He’d preyed on my pain and used my naivete and the fact that I didn’t have a legitimate father figure in my life to get close to me. Plainly put, Chris Taal was a predator, and I had been one of his victims. My brother was right, but good was a woefully inadequate way to describe how I felt in that moment.
Elated was more like it.
A wide grin stretched across my face, a matching one appearing on his as we got in the car and headed toward town.
When we arrived back at the station, Lane handed Chris off to a couple of deputies, but before he could follow them in, I held him back.
“I never did get to ask you what I came here for.”
Lane’s eyes narrowed. “You said it had something to do with this case?”
I nodded. “Aspen is hoping—actually, both of us are—that you’ll give us a copy of the case files for review.”
“Crew—” he started, clearly readying to deny me, but I held up a hand.
“It’s the least you could do for trying to run her out of town. ”
At least he appeared chastened by the mention of his dickheaded actions. “She’s a civilian.”
“She’s a PI,” I corrected.
“She does have a pretty impressive closure record from the few cases I could find…”
“Ahh, so you finally ran a background check.”
“Only so I could assure myself you weren’t living with some sort of psychopath.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re so goddamn dramatic. She’s five two and probably a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. She’s not going to stab me in my sleep.”
“It’s exactly those types of women you gotta look out for. Especially ones with faces like hers. They’re sirens waiting to lure you into the deep and drown you.”
I snorted. Lane would know all about that.
“Whatever. Are you going to give us the files or not?”
My brother tapped his chin thoughtfully, pondering, leaving me hanging for long enough that I was about to storm off when he finally said, “Fine.”
I eyed him suspiciously “You mean it? You’re actually going to help?”
He nodded. “Against my better judgement, yes. But I trust you. Those files don’t leave your house once you take them to Aspen, got it? And lock them down when you’re not home.”
I held up three fingers like the Boy Scout I never was. “Scout’s honor.”
Lane cuffed me over the head. “You’re such a little shit.”
“You love me.”
“God knows why.” He turned to go, then paused. “Give me a day or so and I’ll have a copy of everything we’ve got for you.”
I saluted him. “Take your time. See you at dinner tomorrow?”
“Considering Mom would kill me if I missed it? Yeah, baby bro. I’ll be there. ”
The mention of our mother had some puzzle pieces clicking together in my head, and I said, “Hey…she and Dad were in school around the same time as Vicky and Roger, right? Have you ever asked her about them?”
Lane’s eyes widened in surprise. “Bring the girl to dinner. We’ll tug on Mom’s heartstrings a bit.”
With a chuckle, I waved goodbye, and we headed in our separate directions. My mom didn’t need any help in the emotionality department, but I could get on board with bringing Aspen to my ancestral home and introducing her to the whole family.
Inexplicably, the idea of Aspen meeting my mom and brothers didn’t feel like a one-off. It felt…momentous, like the start of something new and enduring.
The thought was pure insanity.
We barely knew each other.
She wasn’t staying.
And yet…
I couldn’t help hoping.
What a dangerous, silly emotion.