Chapter 31

Forrester

Forrester ached all over. The prison mattress couldn’t have been more than two or three inches thick. He pulled up his shirt and examined his ribs. They were purple with bruises. He tried to sit up and winced.

He called out.

“Guard? Sheriff?”

The door leading out to the police station opened and the sheriff appeared. He looked like he’d a good night’s sleep in his own bed. He was showered and shaved. In his hand was a mug of fresh coffee.

“What is it, Snow?”

Forrester looked at the man. His uniform was crisp. He took his job seriously. Forrester could respect that, even if he hated the fact that he was being locked up without due cause.

“What are you guys doing with me?”

The sheriff shrugged.

“This can’t all be because I caused trouble with your son and his buddies. You know they’re the ones who started that.”

The sheriff looked Forrester in the eye, and then nodded.

“I know the kind of kid my son is,” the sheriff said.

“I’m sure he’ll grow out of it,” Forrester said.

“I hope so, for his own sake.”

“You can’t just lock me up in here for defending myself. You at least have to charge me with something. Let me see a lawyer. Let me make a phone call.”

The sheriff looked behind him back toward his desk. There was a phone right on the table.

“And who would you call?” he said.

“My girl. Elle.”

The sheriff nodded. “I thought you’d say that.”

“I’ve got to call her. She’s going to be going through hell thinking I skipped town on her.”

“I know it, son,” the sheriff said, and Forrester could hear the sympathy in his voice.

“So are you going to let me call her?”

The sheriff sat on the seat facing Forrester.

“You know,” he said, “you sure don’t seem much like your old man.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Forrester said.

“Good. That’s how I mean it. You remind me more of your mother.”

Forrester eyed him. “What happened between you and her?”

The sheriff sighed. He pointed to a wedding ring on his finger. “I’m long married, son. That’s all ancient history.”

“But what was it? What was the story there?”

“What do you think? We were in love. Both of us. Not just me.”

“So how did she end up with my daddy and not you?”

“Good question,” the sheriff said, the regret in his voice palpable. “I guess I let him get the better of me. I knew your mother wanted to be with me. I knew I could have given her a good life. We’d have been happy, her and me.”

“But my father.”

“Your father put an end to all of it. I never found out what exactly he did, but he blackmailed your mother and her parents. Basically forced them to make her marry him. She didn’t want to do it, and for good reason. Everyone knew your daddy was going to put her through hell.”

“But they let it happen?”

“That they did.”

“They should have stopped it. You should have stopped it.”

“Don’t think I don’t think about that every day that goes by, son.”

“There are men in the world who try to take women against their will,” Forrester said.

“Like the men who took Elle when she was a baby?”

Forrester looked up. “How do you know about that?”

“Her friend, Gris, he told us the whole story.”

“And what else did he say?”

“He said you were working for them. He said you’re the last living member of Los Lobo.”

“Oh, shit,” Forrester said. “And you believed him?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Los Lobo is history. Everyone knows that. They’re all dead.”

“Gris said you slipped through.”

“I didn’t slip through shit. I know for a fact Los Lobo is dead. Gris is lying.”

“Well, Gris can be pretty persuasive,” the sheriff said.

“I bet he can. You know he’s the one who’s going to take Elle against her will, don’t you?”

“And what if I did? What could I do about it?”

“You could let me out of this cage. I’ll stop him. I swear to God you’d be doing the right thing. I love Elle, and she loves me. Gris is going to take her against her will, just like my father took my mother. I know it.”

“Son, even if I believed you, I couldn’t let you out of that cell. Gris would string me up like a pig.”

“Don’t make the same mistake with Elle that you made with my mother,” Forrester said. “Stand up for a woman for once in your life.”

“I’m afraid,” the sheriff said helplessly.

“You’re the sheriff of this town. You can’t let Gris tell you what to do. Can you?”

As if to answer the question, some men came into the police station. They came down the short corridor toward Forrester’s cell. It was Gris, with the sheriff’s son and his friends.

Gris did the talking.

“What have we got here, sheriff?”

“Nothing, Gris. I was just talking to the prisoner.”

“I thought I told you to stay away from him.”

“Yes, sir,” the sheriff said, uncertainly.

Forrester looked at each man in turn. He read the situation perfectly. Gris had come into town and intimidated the sheriff into doing what he wanted. Forrester wasn’t sure why Phil and his buddies were helping, but he guessed it wasn’t because they were too loyal to him. No. Either Gris had paid them, or he’d threatened them, and either way, they’d be easy to turn against him if the tables were turned.

“Sheriff,” Forrester said. “You don’t have to be afraid of this guy. I’ll take care of him for you.”

The sheriff looked terrified at the sound of Forrester’s words. The last thing he had in mind was standing up to Gris.

“You’ll take care of me?” Gris said. “I don’t think so, fucko.”

“Everyone knows the kind of creep you are, Gris. I know it, the sheriff knows it, and your friends here know it too.”

“They don’t know shit,” Gris said.

Forrester watched all the men at once. He couldn’t tell if the younger guys would turn on Gris now that he was standing up to him. He had to find out.

“Hey, Gris,” he said, trying to provoke him. “When I get out of here, I’m going to make you wish you’d never been born.”

Gris laughed. “Is that so, fucko? And when are you getting out of here?”

“Sooner than you think.”

Gris laughed again. He walked up to the sheriff and took a key from him. He put the key into a control panel on the wall and hit a green unlock button. Forrester heard the cell door clank open.

“Oh, look,” Gris said, tauntingly. “You’re free, fucko.”

Forrester forced himself to sit up on the bed. The pain in his ribs was excruciating but he pushed through it, refusing to allow himself to wince.

“Oh, you’re feeling better?” Gris said.

Forrester threw his legs over the side of the bed. He tried to stand but he couldn’t. He sat on the bed and tried to look as confident and tough as he could. He wasn’t sure if Gris had seen that he couldn’t stand up.

Gris was sneering, towering over him in the tiny cell.

“I’m going to take Elle back where she belongs,” Gris said.

“You so much as lay a hand on her, and you’re going to regret the day to the end of your life,” Forrester said.

“And who’s going to make me? You?”

“That’s right, me,” Forrester said.

At that moment, Gris threw a punch. Forrester dodged, leaning back, his ribs burning with agony. Gris’s fist flew in front of his face, harmless in the air, and Forrester grabbed it and yanked the wrist backward. Gris grunted in pain and lunged toward Forrester. Forrester tried to rise up and get out of the way but his body refused to obey. The cracked ribs needed time to heal. He leaned back but Gris landed on him painfully. He punched Gris twice in the face but as soon as Gris’s knee landed on his broken ribs, he knew the fight was over. He almost blacked out from the pain.

Gris noticed and capitalized on his advantage, punishing Forrester’s already damaged rib cage with a flurry of powerful punches. Each punch further damaged the broken ribs, causing agony in every nerve of Forrester’s body.

Gris got back to his feet and looked down at Forrester. Forrester had to struggle just to remain conscious.

“I’m going to fuck you up so bad, you’re not even going to remember your name,” Gris said.

And then the heel of his boot struck Forrester’s ribs. Forrester tried to grab it but he was losing control of his muscles. He looked up and saw the lightbulb of the cell above him. Then Gris’s face. Then everything went black.

He couldn’t see, but he hadn’t fully lost consciousness. Gris kicked him repeatedly, in the ribs, in the chest, in the face. Forrester was powerless to protect himself.

Through the fog of pain he heard the sheriff’s voice.

“Enough, Gris. You’re going to kill him.”

“I want to kill him.”

“Not in my jail, you don’t.”

“Well then, at least let me make sure he doesn’t follow me.”

“Follow you?”

“I’m taking the bitch home, where she belongs, and I need to know no one’s coming after her.”

Forrester felt a merciless kick from Gris’s boot strike him in the face, and then he blacked out for real. It would be days before he regained consciousness.