Chapter Six
Miah made it three whole days before impatience got the better of him.
Breaking things off with Denny had eased the ache in his heart some, but with it gone, the other itchy feeling chewing at him only nagged that much louder. He waited for Nicki to call, or a detective, anyone who might have an update for him, but by the time he was toeing off his work boots in the front hall on Wednesday evening, he couldn’t take it anymore. If he didn’t call he was going to drink, and he didn’t want to be that man, not now that he’d managed to redeem himself somewhat on the Denny front.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the call log until he found Nicki’s number. No answer until her voicemail picked up after a ring.
“Fuck.” He waited for the beep, then panicked when it came and just hung up. “Fuck.” He headed for the cabinet beside the fridge, pulled out the open bottle. Just a small taste. A single shot. He was setting a glass on the counter when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out. “Deputy.”
“Nicki, for Christ’s sake.”
He laughed, if weakly.
“Hi, Miah. Sorry I haven’t called you since Sunday night—a case of not much to report and hardly a free second to report it.”
“It’s okay. Your son’s back home, right?”
“Yeah, and my mom. But that’s no excuse. I’m actually on duty now, but I owe you a couple minutes. I just wish I had some information worth filling them with.”
He eyed the glass on the counter, the bottle beside it. He got busy putting them away. “Nothing, huh?”
“The detectives aren’t saying much, but one of them did tell me there wasn’t really anything new in that note. The only thing it seems to confirm is that whoever hired Bean is a man.”
Miah nodded. “What’s gonna happen to his widow?”
“Nothing, I don’t think. They’ll probably talk tough, scare her a little as punishment for not coming forward before now, but she knew so little, they won’t go after her for obstruction.”
“That’s good, I guess.”
“It is.”
He took a deep breath and let it ooze out, feeling zero calm, zero relief. “Well, I won’t keep you. Just couldn’t bear the waiting.”
“I hear you. Wish I had news, Miah. I really do.”
“Me too. Thanks for getting back to me all the same. You have a safe night.”
“Thanks, I will. Tell your mom hi, okay? And take care of yourself.”
“Yeah. Well, good night.”
“Night.”
He stared at his phone for a long time after he hung up, feeling . . . lost. She was the same woman he’d walked with, sounded just as warm and familiar, and yet . . . He sighed and pocketed his phone, eyed that cabinet yet again.
You want to drink, Church? Fine. But don’t do it alone, you fucking sad sack. He pulled his phone back out and dialed Vince. He picked up almost immediately.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Vince. You feel like a drink?”
“I’m fucking beat to shit, Church, but for you, I can rally. Benji’s?”
“Yeah. I’ve got some news about the case. Sort of.”
“No shit? See you in a few then.”
“See you.”
Miah found his mom in the office and let her know his plan, then laced his boots and grabbed a jacket and his helmet. He hadn’t ridden his old Triumph in way too long. It was all he wanted to do—ride his bike or ride a horse, he wasn’t picky—but work had owned him so thoroughly. It was like a homecoming, feeling it come to life underneath him. That roar felt essential, eating up every thought in his head for as long as it took to cruise downtown.
The sound, the wind, that premature bite of winter from the way the temps were already crashing after dark, and it wasn’t even fall yet. He’d made this ride so many times, and he’d make it many more, provided he didn’t prove to be the Church whose captaincy the ship ultimately capsized on. Maybe someday there’d be some ugly-ass resort casino glaring down at him from the hills in the distance, maybe not. There was just no knowing.
Not a busy night at Benji’s, to judge by the lot. He parked his bike next to Vince’s R80 and hung his helmet on his handlebar. The red glow of the sign on the lot’s gravel brought back a hundred memories, fond and hazy and lustful and bitter alike. Every fucking thing a man could feel.
Miah couldn’t remember when he’d last walked into Benji’s. He’d been here a handful of times since Casey had taken over as co-owner and added the kitchen, but it still felt weird. Smelled great, but felt weird. His feelings about the place were so mixed, he couldn’t say if he missed the way things used to be.
One thing was for certain, however—he was relieved to find Casey and Abilene behind the bar, not Duncan Welch. Miah was over Raina, but he still didn’t like the guy she was dating. Never mind that Welch had first come here as the lawyer on behalf of the casino outfit, and that he was currently playing house with the only woman Miah had ever really loved—that was all water under the bridge. What it boiled down to was that Miah just couldn’t trust a man who’d choose a cat for a pet when dogs were an option.
He toyed with approaching the bartending newlyweds to make some lame joke about them not knowing what a honeymoon looked like, but he didn’t feel entirely up to it. Vince waved him over from their usual table in the front corner, standing as Miah neared.
“Hey, man.” He pulled Miah in for a hug, a clap on the back. “I was glad to get your call.”
Miah gave him a brotherly smack on the shoulder and they stepped apart. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“Might’ve only wound up here anyhow—Kim’s out of town until Sunday.”
“Doing what?”
“Some friend’s wedding back in Oregon.” Vince took out his wallet. “Your first round’s on me. Shot and a beer?”
“Just the beer. I’ve got an early morning.”
“Shocker. Anything to eat?”
“I’m good.”
Miah took a seat and hauled the nearest window up. The breeze was cold tonight, but just having the window open made him feel a little less claustrophobic.
Vince returned shortly with two beers, setting one before Miah. “So. What’s up?”
Miah took a drink. “Fuck if I know. Not nearly enough.”
“Oh?”
“I had half a mind to ask if you wanted to go for a ride, but I figured I need to talk. Except now I think about it, I’ve got fuck-all to talk about.”
“Catch me up. You said there was news?”
“Yes and no. An incident, anyhow. Three nights ago, Deputy Ritchey came by the ranch. She’s the new one.” It felt crass somehow to say “the black one,” even if it did make things clearer. In any case, Vince just nodded. “We’re getting to be friends, me and her. She’s been coming by to see me and my mom ever since the fire. We went for a walk on Sunday night—” Vince’s raised eyebrows stopped Miah short. “A literal walk.”
“Uh-huh.” Vince took a drink as deep as the skeptical furrow between his pinched eyebrows. “While the rest of us were here, celebrating my brother’s nuptials.”
“It wasn’t like that. And it wasn’t planned, it just happened. You think I’m in any state for romance?”
“You show her the hot springs?”
Miah frowned. “Yeah, why?”
A smirk. “Because every girl you’ve ever fucked or was hoping to fuck got a walk to the hot springs, Church.”
“That’s all beside the point. She’s nice, and her dad was murdered back in Chicago. She’s the only person who gets me right now, it feels like.” A familiar pit opened in his middle, echoing and achy.
“Fine,” Vince conceded dryly. “It was just a walk. Go on.”
“We walked and we talked and that’s all we did, and when we got back to the farmhouse we saw somebody messing around on the front porch.”
Vince’s cocky expression went stony. “Messing around?”
“Crouched by the door. Turns out they were slipping a letter under the door, but I didn’t know that so I called after them, chased them down.”
“And?”
He took another sip. “And it was Chris Bean’s widow.”
“The fuck?”
“It was fine, in the end.” He gave Vince the gist of the letter.
“Took her sweet time.”
Miah shook his head. “Thing is, it’s useless. Good to maybe wake the detectives up, get them hungry again, but I can’t imagine it’ll lead anywhere.”
“Tease.”
“Understatement . . . Listen, I feel like I’m going crazy. After six months of waiting I got in the habit of it, but that letter changed things. Made me think for a minute maybe something would finally come clear. Now I don’t think it will, but . . . Shit, I can’t sleep. I need something. Anything new in this case.”
“You got a plan?”
“No. Last thing I want to do is fuck around and risk messing up the investigation, but goddamn, I don’t think I can just keep twiddling my fucking thumbs. I haven’t felt like myself in all this time. I’m doing shit I wouldn’t ever, normally—”
“Such as?”
“No comment. Just shit I’m not proud of, and I want to get drunk pretty much all the time, though thank God I’m too busy to. I don’t even know who I’m looking at in the mirror. Not until that letter, that little scrap of hope. Now I feel like me again. Me, way angrier, but me.”
Vince nodded, looking uncharacteristically serious. What Miah was describing must be how Vince had felt after Alex’s death—he’d gone half crazy then, too.
“I can’t fucking go back to how I’ve been since the eclipse—dead inside,” Miah said. “Feeling like something’s being done is the only thing that’s snapping me awake. What the fuck does that mean?”
“Means you’re a man who needs to be doing, not waiting. Anyone who’s met you for five minutes could tell you that.”
“So what should I do?”
“Stick your fucking nose in. If the detectives aren’t managing to find anything out, get in there. You get in there and make a mess, that’s better than sitting back, knowing the pros are doing fuck-all for you and your mom.”
Hearing it put that way had Miah sitting up a little straighter.
“You know I’ll help you. Case, too, and Raina. All of us. Just say the word.”
Miah said nothing, staring hard at the bottle in his hand.
“I know you’re Mr. By-the-Book, Church, but fuck the book. Frankly, don’t trust the authorities. After what went down with Tremblay, who’s to say these detectives aren’t being paid not to solve anything?”
“That’s paranoid.”
Vince shrugged. “With all the shit that floated to the surface when the casino was getting going, I think I’ve earned my paranoia.”
“Fair enough, but this isn’t about the casino.”
“You sure? This used to be the kind of town where nothing ever happened, but since Dooley got elected mayor and that referendum went through, everything’s gone to hell at light speed.”
“True.”
“Here, let’s play a game.” Vince took a long drink. “Humor me. Say it is related to the casino. Tell me how.”
Miah sputtered, annoyed by his best friend’s conspiracy theories. But Vince wouldn’t let it go until Miah played along, so he rolled his eyes and racked his brain.
“Okay . . . So, say whoever hired Bean to kill me wanted the ranch gone. Wanted my folks so heartbroken on top of the droughts and the tanking market, they’d throw in the towel and sell up.”
Vince nodded, making a little go on motion with his hand.
“Maybe whoever’s behind it wanted the land so they could run a highway through it. Develop it into a load of strip malls and slot parlors.” That had been Miah’s father’s theory about the sudden buyout offers they’d begun getting back in the late winter. The fact that he’d laughed them off made Miah shiver now.
Vince gave the table a rap with his knuckles, hazel eyes bright. “See? That’s a motive. Money makes people fucking psycho.”
“Not a single property scout’s come knocking since the fire.”
“Because that’d be too obvious, especially if they’re being investigated, too. And hell, too tacky. Maybe they’re waiting around for you guys to give up on your own.”
“I don’t buy it.”
“Okay, fine. Fuck the casino angle if you want, but somebody out there wants something from you guys, and dollars to donuts it’s your land. I mean, you don’t have any enemies. Industry rivals, maybe, but nobody who’d want you fucking dead. No way your mom’s crossed anybody, right?”
“I can’t imagine so, no . . . You know, I was thinking back when this all started, the person who hired Bean . . .”
Vince sipped his beer, waiting while Miah got his thoughts assembled.
“Bean was a junkie,” he said. “He had a record, and zero friends at the BCSD. Part of me wonders if whoever hired him picked him because they knew that. They heard from someplace that I was hard on him when I caught him using on the job, that we weren’t on good terms. And that maybe that person expected him to get busted, and if he’d managed to take me out like he was supposed to, the cops’d blame it on some meth-addled grudge, you know?”
“There’s something to that.”
“For a while after it all happened, I wondered if the bit about him being hired for the job was a lie, just some story he blurted out after I shot him. That maybe he really had just wanted me dead. It would’ve been so simple, really. And I’m sure the detectives have been liking that angle better and better the longer they go without breaking the case.”
“But now there’s this letter.”
Miah nodded. “He was hired. I believe that much, and hopefully the cops believe it to. Maybe, if whoever hired him knew all that about my and Bean’s history, their picking me wasn’t personal. They just needed somebody killed to cripple the family, and Bean hating me was a convenient finger pointing out the target.”
Vince nodded. “Could be. Easily. Why the fuck else would anyone pick you?”
Miah nodded back, feeling strange. Feeling more sober than before the beer, in fact. Lit up and focused like his vision had gone from a blur to twenty-twenty in a single blink. Every cell in his body was screaming for more of this feeling, this belief that there were more answers out there if he was just willing to hunt them down. Waiting for someone else to find them was going to turn him into an alcoholic or a basket case, but chasing them just might save his goddamn mind.
“Evenin’, motherfucker.”
Miah looked up to find Casey approaching with a red plastic basket bearing a pile of steaming, good-smelling fries on a nest of parchment paper.
“Hey, Case.”
“On the house,” Casey said, dropping the fries between them. “Ware’s trying out some new seasoning.” James Ware was Benji’s head cook, in addition to being Abilene’s baby’s father and Vince’s old prison buddy. Long fucking story.
Casey focused in on Miah. “Wanted to say thanks again for hosting our wedding.”
“It was an honor to be asked. And a hell of a good time.”
“Asked nothing—your mom volunteered you guys the second she saw Abilene’s ring.”
Miah smiled at that. His mom did love a wedding. “Thanks for the excuse to celebrate.”
“It’s nice to see you down here in your old spot,” Casey said, rapping the table. “Giving yourself a night off for a change?”
“Something like that.”
Vince cut in. “Miah wants to figure out who put out the hit on him.”
Miah rankled, not ready to commit to this course of action just yet. The Grossiers made a sport of flaunting the law, but Miah had always stayed on the right side of it. Though how right can it really be, if there’s no justice for someone as good and deserving as my mother?
“Whole goddamn town wants answers,” Casey said bitterly.
“No,” Vince said. “Like, he wants to find out for himself.”
Casey’s red eyebrows rose and he looked between his brother and Miah. “Oh yeah?”
“Cops aren’t much use,” Vince said.
“I’m not saying I’m all in,” Miah said carefully. “But doing nothing’s driving me crazy, I won’t lie.”
“You know I’ll help.”
“I do, Case. Thanks.”
“It’d liven shit up, frankly. Married life’s fucking paradise and I love the bar, but I gotta say, all this law abiding is cramping my style. You need any shady shit done, you got my number.”
“You just said it—you have a wife and a kid and a business to worry about.”
Vince grinned. “I don’t.”
“You’ve got Kim and your mom,” Miah returned.
“And you’ve got your mom and the ranch. We’ve all got something, and we all goddamn know we need something else—answers.”
“Motherfucking justice,” Casey added.
Miah sighed, torn between trepidation and hunger. He was out of his depth, but there was no denying that talking this way got something white-hot pulsing inside him, ravenous as lust and bright as hate.
“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” he admitted.
“Start with Bean’s friends,” Vince said. “Anybody he ever got high with. Anybody he might’ve spilled his guts to.”
“Find his dealer,” Casey added. “People say all sorts of shit when they’re antsy for their next fix.”
“Nobody’s gonna offer up the names of local meth dealers to me,” Miah countered.
“Buy yourself some names, then,” Vince said, leaning back in his chair.
“Who the fuck from? Ware?” Abilene’s ex had been a gunrunner in the area, probably had done business with some dealers.
“He’ll never say,” Vince said, shaking his head. “He’s too goddamn discreet. Try him, but he’s not talking. Trust me.”
“Sorry, Church,” Casey said. “I think Vince’s right on that one.”
Anger flared, and it felt goddamn good. “Who then?”
Casey grinned. “Oh, you know fucking who.”