28. Lennon
Lennon
T here's a rumble of a vehicle coming up the track, followed by the sound of doors opening and closing, then a thump at the door, and a voice calls out, "Police."
I sigh. What has Reed been doing in town this time?
Love him as I do, Reed can be a pain in the ass sometimes.
Well okay, to be fair, all of us can. But Reed kinda specializes in it.
It's the womanizing. Men tend not to look for fights with any of us—particularly when we're all together, but generally even if one of us is on our own.
We're big guys, perhaps a little scary even, and we look like we can take care of ourselves. Which of course we can.
We all learned hand-to-hand combat techniques too—not following a specific martial art as such, instead employing stuff that works in the real world, though not necessarily all that showy to watch.
All three of us had seen action in several theaters of war.
All three of us have literal and emotional scars to prove it.
I'd been given a commendation for one particular action, where I'd managed to hold the enemy back whilst the rest of the platoon got its shit together.
But to be honest, any one of us would have done the same thing in my place.
We were a team. A family. But all that stuff is in our past now, and we try not to let our history in the SEALs dictate our present or future out here on the farm.
I open the door to see the Sheriff and one of his men on the doorstep.
The sheriff is wearing a black, ten-gallon cowboy hat beneath his chubby, pink face, and mirror sunglasses that he probably thinks makes him look cool.
His badge glints on his khaki tactical shirt, pockets bulging with pens, a notebook, other shit he carries.
His pants are hitched high, in an attempt to cover up his large belly, but it's not working.
Anyone can see the guy is overweight. He stands there, sweating a little in the morning sunshine.
Wouldn't harm you to spend less time eating donuts and writing reports, and more time chasing actual bad guys.
I think it, but I don't say it. I don't even bother looking closely at the guy behind him.
A big guy, dressed pretty much the same.
Heavy built. Looks like the type of guy who's handy in a fist fight, but would struggle to put a whole sentence together if asked even a simple question.
He's holding a briefcase, which looks like a child's toy in his large hands.
"Yeah?"
"This is an official visit. Police matter.
" He wears a frown on his face to indicate the seriousness of the situation.
But we covered interrogation techniques in my time in the SEALs and I'm not about to be phased by a fat prick like him, no matter how big a buddy he's brought along with him for support.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Are your two partners here? I need to talk to all three of you."
What the fuck's this about? Reed must really have done something special this time. I give a grunt, swing open the door and head to the kitchen. If they want to talk they'll follow. If they don't—well, so much the better.
I enter the kitchen, and Dean and Reed look up from where they're seated at the table, looking through a seed catalog and discussing next season's planting strategy.
"It's the Sheriff," I say flatly. "Says it's official. Wants all three of us."
Dean and Reed exchange a look. Then chairs scrape back. Nobody says a word—we've been half-expecting something like this since his last visit. Seems this is not about anything Reed has done after all. Seems now's the moment that the Sheriff has decided to take things into his own hands.
"What's it all about then, Sheriff?" Dean's voice is not unfriendly, but it holds a certain level of authority in it. A promise that he can't come in here and think he's going to intimidate us.
The sheriff steps further into the kitchen, removing his sunglasses and puffing himself up like he's the big dog in the room.
Behind him, his deputy stands in the doorway, still holding the briefcase, chewing gum and trying to look menacing.
He cuts no ice with Dean though, who barely even glances at him.
His eyes are on the Sheriff, waiting to see what he has to say for himself.
Dean's as cool as can be in a combat situation, but with stuff like this he tends to boil over quickly. Best keep an eye on this.
"I'm here as part of an official investigation into the possible theft of valuable land—namely the property known as True Heart Lodge, which sits directly adjacent to your own."
Dean cocks an eyebrow. "You're investigating theft of land now?
" There's a slight twitch in his right hand, like he's clenching it too tightly, holding back from swinging it, and I can see a blood vessel swelling in his neck.
I glance at Reed, who gives me the barest nod back.
We need to make sure things don't escalate.
"I've received information suggesting this property was unlawfully taken from another local landowner—a Mr. Sinclair. He claims the deed transfer was fraudulent, possibly involving falsified documents or coercion. That's a serious matter."
Dean lets out a low laugh. "He's full of shit. We all know it. You know it too." He reaches for his coffee and there's a slight tremor in his hand, a slight tension in his voice. No one who didn't know him well would notice. But I notice it, and I can see Reed has noticed too.
The sheriff clears his throat. "Mr. Sinclair is prepared to be reasonable. He's offering each of you a $10,000 good faith payment if you'll sign this document, verifying that to the best of your knowledge, the land was previously under his ownership."
The Sheriff signals to his henchman, who hands him the briefcase he's been carrying. The Sheriff sets it down on the table, clicks it open, and pulls out an official-looking document, placing it on the table in front of us. At the top it says Victor Sinclair Vs Hailey Thompson.
Even if Dean doesn't explode, which I have a feeling he might do any minute, I've had enough of this shit myself. I fold my arms across my chest. "And if we don't?"
"Well…" The sheriff shrugs. "That'd be a real shame, boys." He purses his lips and shakes his head, like he's thinking about how terrible the consequences will be. But he's full of shit, and we all know it.
"I'm not saying anything will happen, of course.
But let's be real. Once you're flagged for land use issues, it's a damn paperwork minefield.
The IRS, Department of Agriculture, the EPA, Planning and Zoning—they all get involved.
Wraps you up in paperwork for months. Or years.
Then there's all the court appearances, the lawyers' fees…
so, expensive years as well as all that wasted time. "
"You threatening us, Sheriff?" Dean's voice drops into a dangerous calm, the blood vessel in his neck is now pulsing, and his face is flushed red. I glance a little nervously at Reed. This is going to turn bad any moment now.
"Just explaining the realities of bureaucracy, son. That's all."
Reed stands up slowly, as he does so he puts one hand gently onto Dean's shoulder.
A reassurance that he's got this covered, a reminder not to go ape shit.
He may be a corrupt son-of-a-bitch, but he's still the Sheriff.
Neither Reed nor I want to be bailing Dean out of jail for beating up the Sheriff.
"Here's a reality check for you. You come here again peddling this kind of filth, we'll wrap you in so much red tape they'll have to cut you out with a hunting knife."
Dean turns to me. "Get him out. Get him out now, or I won't be responsible for my actions."
I step forward and open the door. "Time to go, Sheriff."
The man puffs up, trying to hold onto his bluster. "You boys are making a mistake. You think you're tough? You think this ends well for you?"
Dean doesn't even blink. "I know exactly how it ends."
I step between Dean and the Sheriff, and hand him back his now empty briefcase.
"The answer's 'no'—and for your own health, don't come back."
By this time the two of them are out of the door. The Sheriff opens his mouth to say something, but I'm not interested. I slam the door shut without bothering to listen, and head back to the kitchen.
Reed slumps back into his seat with a growl. "So, it's started."
"Looks like it," I agree.
Dean crosses his arms and leans against the counter, staring at the spot where the sheriff had been standing. His jaw is tight, eyes stormy.
"I want eyes on Sinclair," he says. "He's obviously desperate to get his hands on Hailey's land.
I don't get it, but there it is. He's shown us that he's desperate enough to bribe a corrupt Sheriff and try to bribe the three of us.
What else might he be prepared to do to get his own way?
I want to know how far he's willing to go. "
"I'll call in a few favors," Reed says. "Discreet surveillance. Nothing traceable."
Dean gives a single nod. "Good."
Silence settles, heavier this time.
Then I speak up. "What about Hailey?"
Dean's jaw tightens. "She’s got enough on her plate right now, trying to fathom out this whole thing with her parents’ messages. Better she’s not involved."
"She already is," I reply. "Her name’s on that document, Dean. And it was about her land. Sinclair's move today? It wasn't just pressure. It was a warning shot. What if he goes after her next? She's directly in the crosshairs—of course she needs to know."
Reed sighs. "Yeah, you're right, Lennon. She has to know. We need to tell her. We have no right to keep this from her, and in any case not knowing won’t help her in the long run, and could potentially be disastrous. On the other hand, she could probably do with just a couple of days of not having to worry about it while she sorts her shit out, and nothing’s likely to happen like straight away, anyway. Court stuff takes months."
Dean doesn't respond at first. Then finally, with a reluctant nod, he agrees. "Yeah, okay, we tell her. But let's give her some space to sort her shit out, as Reed puts it. A day or two can't hurt. Then we tell her. Agreed?"
I nod my agreement, not feeling the need to add anything else.
Dean looks between us, something hardening in his expression again. "Whatever happens though… we keep her safe. No matter what."
We all agree.
Nods from Reed and me. We all know what it's like to fight for something, and this time, we all realize we've got something worth fighting for.
Something's coming, I can feel it.
And whatever is coming… we'd better be ready for it .