Chapter 8 #2
“What do any of you know about my life anyhow?” He swept his arm around as if including all the restaurant, then focused his look on her.
“Least of all you, boss lady. Not that you even know what goes on right in front of your eyes. Now get out of my way. What I do in my free time is none of your business.”
“You don’t talk to her like that.” Cain dropped his cue as he stepped between her and the usually even-tempered Peyton’s service manager. “And keep your hands to yourself. Got that?”
As if a switch had been thrown the crowd quieted. What had been laughter, singing and friendly chatter throughout the large two-story brick building dimmed to a whisper. JB moved to get up, but Cain motioned him to stay where he was. No need to bring the police into the outburst at this point.
“You okay, Betsy?” Cain asked.
From behind him, she touched his back. “Yeah. I’m fine. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“What’s wrong with you tonight, Earl? Have a bad day?” Cain inhaled deep before exhaling his anger in one breath.
Earl’s expression flashed from sad to mad to wobbly and back again in less than five seconds. “A bad day?” he said as he sneered. “Try twenty years of bad days.”
Earl started to turn away as the crowd noise once again elevated to fun.
“I think you owe the lady an apology before you go,” Cain said.
“Sure, man. Sure. I’m sorry, Ms. Peyton. I was…I mean…” Earl pointed back across the room to the men at his table. “But those weenies”—his voice grew louder with each word—“better stop telling me what to do.”
Stepping in the line of sight between the man and his friends, Cain tried to diffuse whatever had set Earl off. “You might want to tone it down a bit. This is a family place.” Cain nodded toward Joanie as she stared across the room from behind the counter. “I’d sure hate to see you kicked out.”
For a few seconds, the man stared at Cain, then he broke eye contact and walked on toward the men’s room without another word.
Cain braced his hands on the table and nodded in the direction Earl had gone. “You were close to him. Do you think he’s been drinking? Smoking pot?”
Betsy sighed. “I know Crayton’s got its share of drug problems, but not everybody’s walking the wrong side of the street, Mr. DEA Man.
Besides, you don’t have to worry about Earl.
He’s a good guy. Works hard.” She narrowed her eyes into a questioning gaze as she rubbed her forearm once again. “But you’re right, he seems…”
“Amped?”
“Yeah, kind of hyped up tonight. That’s not like him. But thinking back, anytime his wife is out of town he’s easier to rile. That might explain it.” Betsy chalked her cue and turned back to the game. “I believe it’s my shot.”
Eyeing the table, she started to walk around Cain, and when he stepped to move out of her way, she bumped into his arm. His gut reaction was to reach out for her, but he didn’t.
“Do you mind giving me some room?” Betsy said. “Or are you trying to make me miss my shot?”
He raised his palms in surrender mode. No need to answer. He had no one to blame but himself if, by some stroke of luck, she dropped the eight ball and not his. Of course, that would be hard to do, seeing that Joanie’s had a sign on the wall that read “All eights must drop clean.”
Betsy glanced up at the sign. Then at the table. Then at her sister. Marcy shrugged in response while JB covered his mouth to keep from grinning. Betsy shifted her eyes back to the sign one more time and shrugged.
“What say we call it a draw?” Cain didn’t need to win, he’d already got what he wanted when she’d agreed to the challenge. He walked over and stood his cue in the corner. “After all it’s just a game.”
“Don’t give me that crock, Cain Connery.” Finally looking him in the eye, she stepped around the table and into his space. She tilted her head to the side and lifted her eyebrows, wrinkling her forehead in the process. “A game? Really?”
His core stirred with the heat she’d added to his personal space. Never mind that the way she said his name stoked his insides. Something he didn’t need fueled in the middle of a crowded pool room.
Cain met her head tilt with one of his own. “Why? You got a problem with playing games?”
“Nothing in life is just a game.” She turned away, lined up her shot and let it fly. “Didn’t you get the message?”
As if a professional hustler on the prowl had taken the money shot, the eight ball dropped into the side pocket.
Betsy pumped her arm in the air, then leaned into his personal space. Her smile sassy, as if flirting, before she thought better. “You’re in shock, aren’t you? Go ahead. You can admit it. I left you in the dirt.”
He’d never seen her so happy. If this was all it took for her to smile and go crazy, he’d lose to her twenty-four seven for the rest of his life.
For a moment he thought she might actually kiss him.
Or he’d kiss her. Or they’d kiss each other and let everyone else in the room fade away.
But she didn’t. They didn’t. And the moment passed.
She pulled back, and turned toward her sister and JB, who were still watching the table. Everyone else standing around that corner stared in the same direction.
Plop.
Cain and Betsy turned toward the sound. After a long slow roll down the felt to the other end of the table, the cue ball had dropped. She’d lost.
“I should have known not to give you a chance.” She shoved her cue stick in Cain’s hand and walked away.
The crowd dispersed as she headed to the counter.
JB covered his mouth, while Marcy hurried to her sister’s side, and Cain just stood there in disbelief.
He had to do something. Had to make Betsy smile or sass or even flip him off.
He didn’t care what he had to do, but this evening couldn’t end on this note.
“Thanks for letting me win, Betsy,” he shouted after her. “Let me know when to make the reservation for dinner.”
She stopped and turned, fluffed her hair as if she had let him win. “You’re welcome, Cain. But don’t—”
Coming back from the men’s room, Earl bumped into Betsy and Marcy hard enough to knock them against the wall. Cain heard more than saw JB get to his feet and head toward them.
Staggering, Earl spun around, reaching out to help the women. Instead, he stumbled backward. Barely standing, his body circled from his waist up. Knees buckled.
“Call 911.” Cain caught the service manager before he hit the floor. “Tell them they’ll need the Narcan.”
Eyes wide in panic. Pinpoint pupils. Pale. Earl grabbed Cain’s hand and squeezed. “Hel…help.” His hold tightened. “Help me. Tell them I’m sorry.”
“Hang on, Earl. I’ve got you.” Cain lowered him down, never letting go of Earl’s hand.The man’s body went limp.
“Stay with me, Earl.” Cain had seen this too many times not to know what would happen next. Just like every other overdose he’d ever witnessed, he hoped like hell this time he was wrong. “Stay with me.”
Breathing stopped. Heart stopped.
Cain jumped into compression mode on Earl’s chest, pumping again and again and again. He knew the rhythm. Knew the pace. Knew the procedure. “Come on back, Earl. You can do it. Think of your family. Your wife. Think of Steven. Fight, man. Fight.”
In the background he heard JB make the paramedic call. Heard Marcy and Joanie clearing people to the other side of the room. Heard half the voices in his own head shouting defeat, the other half shouting you can save him if you don’t quit.
Cain didn’t quit.
The man’s eyelids popped open as he inhaled a breath on his own. Within another minute, the EMTs arrived. Cain stepped back to let the professionals handle the situation as JB walked over to the group of Earl’s friends all huddled together in the corner.
“Betsy!” he shouted. “Call Earl’s wife and son. Have them meet the ambulance at the hospital.”
Without a second thought delay, she pulled out her phone and followed his instructions.
Cain had wondered about Crayton’s drug problems the other night with Randy.
That incident had been a buried news story.
Now a good, hardworking, respected family man had OD’ed.
Meant front page news. Lead radio news for the day.
That would scare the local community. No ignoring the situation now, Crayton’s drug problems had just made an appearance, loud and clear.
Citizens would rise up in arms. Form a committee. Make a plan. Demand action before it was too late. Someone needed to get the word out that it was already too late, because whether the drug was heroin or fentanyl, for some lives it was already too late.
Right on time, beads of sweat peppered the back of Cain’s neck. He hated that sensation. No, hate wasn’t even close to what he felt. He rubbed the dampness away, but it peppered again.
There’d been other towns he’d been assigned to for DEA surveillance.
People he’d saved. People he couldn’t. Maybe he should have stayed undercover.
Kept walking that line between right and wrong until a bullet made the choice for him.
He swiped his palm down his face, struggling to push the thoughts aside.
He’d given a lot of years to saving others.
Hopefully, Shadow would have more leads to share the next time they made contact.
Part of the reason Cain had taken the leave of absence from the DEA was to find some kind of peace. From what he’d just seen, peace and moving on wouldn’t be coming any time soon.
He glanced at the paramedic. “Will Earl make it?”