Chapter 1 #2
The warden waved his hand. “Leave. Now.” He shook his head, waiting until the three officers left, slamming the door in the process. “I’m sorry about that, Rory. They obviously need some recreational time. Please sit down. Would you like a Coke, a Sprite? Something?”
“No, sir. I’m fine.”
He chuckled. “Good to see they haven’t beaten the decency out of you.”
“Contrary to what people think, my mama raised me right.”
“Yes, she obviously did. Rory Locke, this is Stoker Hansen from the Montana Forest Service. To his left is Landen Weaver, our liaison with the forest service and the conservation camp program that you’ve been involved in from almost the day you arrived.”
“Alright. You’re a big deal. Why am I here?” I asked, holding my hand out.
They seemed surprised but didn’t hesitate to shake my hand.
When we were finally seated, I realized I was nervous. What the hell was this about?
“First of all, I never had the opportunity to give my thanks for what you did on Garnet Ridge last week. Not only did you contain the fire, allowing the firefighters and smokejumpers the opportunity to finally put it out, but you also saved your entire team and Officer Dunham’s life.
I heard the call you made, son. Shit. I didn’t know you had medical training. ”
The warden’s smile was the warmest I’d ever gotten. I was certain the man’s face would crack if it grew any larger.
“That was my duty, sir. I wasn’t going to let a man go down.
How is the officer?” While my mama had taught me well, including showing respect where respect was due, it took every ounce of control to ask about the bastard officer, a sadistic man who’d found creative methods of torture behind the scenes.
The bastard would find his special place in hell, but I was in no position to be judge and jury.
Maybe one day.
The warden seemed surprised I would ask. “He’s doing fine. It’ll be a little while until he returns, but at least he has a chance thanks to you.”
He studied my eyes as if realizing I had more on my mind. I turned my head away before I said anything I’d regret. One day I’d meet the asshole in a dark alley. Of that I had no doubt. Karma had a way of challenging the system.
“Where did you receive your medical training?” Mr. Hansen asked.
I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jumpsuit, loathing how nervous I was. “The Army, Mr. Hansen.”
“Oh, for the love of God. Call me Stoker.”
“Same for me. Landen will do. My wife calls me Mr. Weaver when I’m in trouble.”
At least I could smile, nodding once.
The warden tossed a manila file across the desk to Stoker.
“I emailed you Rory’s particulars with the program, but you’ll learn more about his military training.
He was in a special unit, the airborne division where he received a medal of honor for saving not only his platoon but several victims from a helicopter failure.
In addition, he’s run some HALO flights successfully. ”
“High altitude, low opening,” Stoker said with respect. “Fifteen thousand feet?”
My smile grew. He knew what he was talking about. Few people did who’d never experienced the jump. “Not to brag, but thirty-four thousand with a full one hundred and eighty second freefall.”
Landen whistled. “Whoa. You must be a legend.”
“Hardly. Sir. I mean Landen.” The two men shared the file and I’d be damned if I wasn’t even more nervous than before. “Not that I mind going over a much better time in my life, but if you don’t mind me asking for a second time. Why am I here?”
The three men looked at each other with the warden handing off the conversation and easing back in his chair.
“You were a firefighter before… your arrest. Right?” Landen asked.
“Yes, I was. A volunteer. After I got out of the Army.”
“Your skills as both a wildland firefighter and your former skydiving abilities are impressive,” Stoker added. “You’d make a damn good smokejumper.”
The sudden silence caused my skin to itch.
“Thank you. I think.”
Landen chuckled. “What Stoker is trying to say is that the forest service would like to hire you to work with the Zullies in Missoula. Now, you’d need to be trained, but it would be on-the-job training given your background.
While you’ll be paid of course for that six-week period, once completed, your salary will more than double.
While the work is typically seasonal at around sixteen dollars an hour plus hazard pay, the seasons are getting much longer.
Still it would be beneficial if you had a second job to help pay for expenses. ”
I sat back, cocking my head. “That sounds amazing, but I still have six months on my sentence.”
“Which I’m willing to commute if you agree to the offer,” the warden stated.
When I didn’t say anything, he laughed. “A little unconventional, yes, but qualified candidates have been difficult to come by. Plus, you’re a model prisoner.
The governor is on board. You would, however, need to remain an employee for the entire six months.
After that, you’re perfectly free to take another job. Whatever you’d like to do.”
“So I’m just changing one cell location for another. Right?” I wasn’t certain I liked what I was hearing.
The warden’s brows furrowed. Then he understood. “No, son. You’d be a free man, although consider it limited parole with regard to keeping your job. Other than that, you’ve served your time.”
I looked away, rubbing my jaw. I’d never really given it much thought about what I’d do when I got out. One thing I wouldn’t do was return to Durango. There were too many bad memories in Colorado, too much sorrow.
“Son. You need a fresh start. In my eyes, you were dealt a bad hand.”
The fire I felt in my belly wasn’t unusual, but controlling it along with killing every other emotion was necessary.
Not only to keep the prison wolves at bay but the devil himself from dragging me to hell where I belonged.
“I don’t deserve shit, Warden.” Fuck me.
I sounded like some idiot child. I’d made my damn bed.
The warden’s face softened and I could sense he was struggling in how best to handle me. “Yes, you do, Rory.”
“I heard your nickname was Viper,” Stoker added. “Do you mind telling me why?”
Grinning, I didn’t mind sharing the reason. “I’m not bragging, but my success rate at three hundred and forty-two yards is ninety-six percent as a sharpshooter with my unit.” Which was extraordinary if I said so myself.
“Holy shit,” Landen breathed. “What do you think? Can you handle jumping out of a perfectly good plane again?”
With another few seconds of thought, I nodded. “I’d love to.”