CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LUX
I’m so used to the glum weather of Tasmania that the heated hammer of the Midwest US comes as something of a shock.
It’s a blur now. I was thankful the others weren’t home when I arrived back from the beach, that they couldn’t see the tears falling from my face, my broken heart on show. The taxi ride to Hobart wasn’t much better. The guy driving kept asking me what was wrong. All I could tell him was “I’m fine, I’m fine,” the whole way there, thankful to catch the last flight out of there even if it did cost me everything I’d earned at Sarah’s.
Jason picked me up at LAX. He was kind enough to let me crash at his for a while. His girlfriend didn’t mind, said she enjoyed having a female around after being stuck at sea for six months with a Navy ship full of “dicks with heads”.
Days began to blend together. I lost track of things, couldn’t even summon the energy to get out of bed most mornings.
It was something Jason’s girlfriend said that finally motivated me to get out. “You know the best cure for a broken heart?” she told me. “A road trip.”
I made plans the very next morning, Jason loaned me a couple of hundred and his car provided I’d be back by the working week. Where I was headed, I certainly wasn’t planning on staying, not after what Deacon had said about the place.
And now I’m here—smack dab in the middle of the United States headed for the mysterious Millertown.
I squint up at the sun as I step out of the car, no company but for a tumbleweed that, given its dry disposition, seems about as happy as I am to be here. What the hell are you doing, Lux, seriously? You should just let him go.
But I can’t.
The guy behind the counter of the gas station is wearing a World’s Biggest Dick shirt with one arrow pointing downwards to his crotch and another to his head. He chews on jerky, gut brushing the counter.
I keep my distance. “Hi, I’m wondering how far it is to Millertown?”
He eyes me. “’Bout fifteen minutes up the road. Ain’t much of a vacation spot, though, hunny.”
I take out my phone, pull up the picture of Deacon I took with my cell that day in his room before the whole wardrobe incident, the picture of him with the mysterious girl. “I’m looking for this man.”
Jerky Guy studies the picture.
He leans back, hands on the counter, eyeing my chest. “You know, kind of looks familiar, but hell, we get a lot of people through here.”
I doubt that.
He finally looks up. “What did you say your business was again?”
I pull out my badge, the one I was supposed to hand in weeks ago, let him take a nice, long look. “Police business.”
He nods, satisfied. “Look, there’s this guy, Storm, about ten miles up the road, got a big place. If it’s ‘police business,’ he’s you’re best shot. Damn well knows everyone around here. Knows trouble, too… or did.”
“His actual name is Storm?” Jesus, I really have hit the sticks. What next? ‘Rainbow’?
The World’s Biggest Dick spits a wad of something to the floor. “That’s his name. Tell him Aaron sent you.” He points down to a map laminated into the counter. Five miles and then left down this road. Follow it straight. Can’t miss the place.
I tuck my cell away. “Thanks.”
*
The weather turns a little as I come into the driveway. For all I know I’ve been sent to some serial killer club. That’s why I slip a Glock into my waistband, the metal cold against my ass—Deacon’s ass. If only I could stop thinking about him I’d be fine. If only I never left California I’d be fine.
Too late for that.
On the property there’s a palatial house that looks new and a large shed nearby not so new. I try the house first, but no one seems to be home. I have better luck in the shed, grease-soaked jeans and boots jutting out from the bottom of a lime Chevy Nova. The whole shed’s full of cars and bikes in various states of repair. It’s the kind of testosterone drenched zone Dad would have loved.
“Hello?”
Someone slides out from under the car. Given the guy’s ink and dark hair, he could double as another Hunt. He sits up, no shirt, body also at a Hunt level of muscular perfection.
“Can I help you?” he says, voice rough, large wrench in hand.
“Storm?”
He nods, placing the wrench down and standing. He swipes a rag off the tool bench.
This time I pull out the badge first. “I’m Officer Jackson, from California.” I replace the badge with my cell, bring up the shot of Deacon and zoom in. Concentrate. “I’m looking for this man.”
While he looks at the picture I quickly sweep my eyes over the shed. It’s filled with car parts, engines. There’s a university degree of some kind on the wall, a little out of place, a picture of a woman and a kid pinned above it.
Storm flicks his eyes up to me, continuing to clean his hands. “Long way from California, aren’t you, Officer Jackson?”
I slip the cell back into my pocket. “It’s very important.”
“How’d you find me?”
“A guy at a gas station, Aaron, said you might be able to help.”
Storm shakes his head. “He did, did he?”
“Yes.”
“Motherfucker.”
“Sorry?”
He points to my pocket. “What’s he done, your mystery man?”
“I’m afraid I can’t really comment. It’s a personal matter.”
This guy is the dictionary definition of a bad boy criminal, yet I don’t feel uncomfortable in his presence. There’s something about him that puts me at ease. Maybe it’s the photo on the wall. Maybe it’s the fact he hasn’t killed you yet.
“So, Storm’s your real name?” I continue. Good one, Lux. Insult the guy.
“You haven’t told me your first name yet, Officer Jackson.”
“Lux.”
“Well, Lux, it strikes me as a little odd you’ve hiked up all this way from California looking for this guy, no partner, no patrol car. So, if you want my help, I’m afraid I’m going to need a bit more than ‘it’s a personal matter.’” He leans back against the door of the Chevy.
He’s got me there. Oh, fuck it. “Okay, I met him in Australia, surfing. You might say we formed something of a relationship, but I think he’s in trouble.”
“What makes you say that?”
I don’t want to give this guy too much information, but he seems like he knows Deacon. I expected to be door-knocking for days, but if I can get what I need now it would save a whole lot of time. “I don’t know. He pushed me away, completely out of character. I think he’s expecting something to go down maybe, didn’t want me to be in danger. I want to help him, be with him, but I need to know a bit about his past, who he is. He’s very… private.”
Storm’s smiling. “And why should I help you?”
“Because you seem like a decent guy.” I motion to the photo. “Your family?”
He nods. “My wife Alice and little girl Faith.”
“They’re not here?”
“They’ll be home soon.”
“So,” I press, “will you help me find him, find Deacon?”
Strom laughs, looking to the door of the shed. “Deacon, is that what he’s calling himself these days?”
“Yes.” A funny feeling knots in my stomach.
“Your boy went by ‘Damien’ when he was in Millertown.”
“Damien?”
“Damien Cruise.”
I’m struggling to believe it. The knot tightens further until I can barely breathe. “Are you sure?”
He crosses his arms and nods. “I never forget a face and I sure as hell remember that one.”
“Why, was he a criminal? Did he do something?”
Another laugh. “That’s a funny question to be asking considering, isn’t it?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Considering he’s one of you.”
“One of what?” I ask.
Storm releases his arms, hands flat against the panels of the Chevy. “A cop.”
*
I sit with Storm inside the house, the afternoon light turning the windows honey maple.
I pick up my coffee with two hands and try to stop them from shaking. “How did a cop from California wind up out here?”
Storm, now clad in a body-clinging white tee, places an arm over the back of his chair. “I don’t know the full story. From what I hear he lived with his brothers down in Newport, got sick of the place for some reason and asked to be transferred here.”
“To Millertown?”
Storm nods. “The lumber mill closed a while back. The place was a real shithole when he arrived as Sheriff. Still is, but he was pretty set on cleaning things up, took a real hard line against the bikers.”
“The bikers?”
“At the time, Millertown was caught in a kind of drug war. Crime was high, no jobs—people wanted a release and the bikers were more than happy to give it to them, and more. I had my own run-ins with them on more than one occasion,” he points to a bullet hole in the roof, “as you can see.”
It’s still not making sense. A cop was the last thing I expected Deacon to be, Damien, whatever his name is. I’m struggling to make sense of it all. “He got into trouble with these bikers?”
“After a while the cartels started using the town as a sort of distribution center, partnered up with the bikers—real elaborate shit. Your boy worked it out and took their whole operation down—him, his deputy and another officer, the three of them. When the Feds showed, everyone was tied up in a nice little bundle, but a ton of money was missing, almost three million. The bikers would never let on, of course, but word on the street was one of those cops, maybe all of them, bagged it up.”
So Deacon could be a criminal after all. “What happened to the others, the deputy and the other guy?”
“What do you think? A week later someone found the deputy less half his head down by the interstate, the other guy made it to the border before they got him, and Damien? When they showed up at his doorstep, he was ready. He took three of them down single-handedly. After that, he was gone, a ghost, roped up his brothers and got the hell out of here. Guess you just solved the mystery of where he went.”
I don’t really know this guy. He could go to the bikers, the cartels, whoever wants Deacon right now. I might have signed his death warrant by coming out here. His name’s not even Deacon. “How can I trust you?”
Storm takes his mug from the table. Herbal tea doesn’t really suit his demeanor. “Look, I used to be part of that world a while ago, but not anymore, not for a long time. I’ve got a family now. I’m… reformed.”
“Reformed?” comes a voice from the doorway.
I spin to find a woman there near my own age with grocery bags in hand, a toddler gripping her leg tight.
Storm gestures to me. “Alice, my wife. Alice, this is Lux. She’s looking for someone from Millertown, thought I could help.”
Alice slings the bags up onto the counter, the toddler running behind her and peeking out at me with one eye. She looks to me. “Was he able to help?”
Considering her husband is sitting here, alone, with a complete stranger, she doesn’t seem too concerned. “Yes, a great deal, but I don’t want to intrude.”
She spins around, pulling the little girl close, and smiling. “It’s nice to have company. Will you be staying for dinner?”
“No, I couldn’t possibly…”
The little girl bounds out from behind her mother, her shyness lost. “Stay! Stay! Stay!”
I look to Storm.
“It’s a long trip back to California,” he says, mug cradled in his hands.
“Okay,” I relent. “I’ll stay.”
*
It’s been forever since I had a proper home-cooked meal like this. “You’re a lucky guy,” I tell Storm across the table, trying to shove in a few more roasted potatoes without coming across like a complete garbage collector.
“He is,” Alice smiles, gathering plates and taking them to the sink. She runs the tap, addressing Storm. “Can you put Faith to bed, baby?”
He stands, pulling the little girl up into her arms amongst protests of ‘But, Daddy.’
He pulls her cheek. “Come on. You’ve had enough excitement for one night.”
She waves to me. “Bye, Lux!”
“Bye, Faith,” I wave back, swallowing the last of the potato. “It was nice to meet you.”
When they’ve gone, Alice sits beside me. “So you’re from California?”
I place my knife and fork down on the plate. “Born and raised.”
“I’ve never been, but I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”
“It is.”
“Was Storm able to give you any information on your friend?”
“He was. He seems like a really nice guy.”
Alice takes my plate, standing. “Between us girls, I thought he was a bit of an asshole when we first met. He definitely looked like trouble, but that was a long time ago. He’s different these days. What about the person you’re looking for? Is it a guy?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Something like that.”
“I take it he’s trouble too?”
Could well be. “Hard to say. If anything, what Storm told me about him only makes this whole thing more confusing. He’s not who I thought he was.”
Alice shuts off the tap. “That can be a good thing, trust me.”
“But he hasn’t been straight with me.”
“Maybe he was trying to protect you.”
Maybe he was. It would certainly explain why he was so eager to push me away. Taking the money would make him a criminal, but maybe he took it for the right reasons? Can you even hear yourself? “I don’t know what to do. I really don’t.”
Alice sits again, places her hand over mine on the table. “I’m probably the last person who should be dishing out relationship advice, but take it from me, sometimes the bad boys go good. It can happen. Storm is living proof. Go to him, whoever it is, if that’s what you want and if you can’t picture life without him. Make it work, no matter the cost.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
She lets go of my hand and stands, looking down the hall. “As someone once told me, it’s best to stop worrying about what can go wrong and get excited about what can go right.”