Home Fires Read online

  The father of his high school love, Pam Kellogg. Doc never liked Jake and didn’t like him a lot. The feeling had been mutual. His past was being scraped raw.

  Buddy was laughing full-tilt now. “Ain’t that something?”

  “Who investigated the accident?”

  “Deputy Bailey. Good lady, sincere and a hard worker but green as grass. We got the call and Kellogg sent her.”

  “Accidental death should be considered a crime scene to protect evidence and forensics. Did they secure the area?”

  “You sound like...” Buddy hesitated then said, “Are you fucking kidding me? Shit. You’re in the cop business, aren’t you?”

  Jake shrugged.

  “Who you working for?”

  “Can I see the file?”

  “Doc’s been keeping me out of things lately.”

  “What’s the hang-up?”

  “He thinks I might run against him in the next election. Haven’t decided.”

  “Well, good luck with that. You going to allow me to see the file or not?”

  Buddy looked back over his shoulder. “Maybe. Something else you should know. Gage was working for Alex Mitchell and Alex fired him. Seems they got into it about something. Bad blood.”

  Jake knew Gage had been fired by Alex Mitchell. Gage was evasive when Jake asked him about it telling Jake he’d tell him about it next time they were together. Jake had pushed a little but for some reason Gage was keeping his quarrel with Alex to himself which wasn’t like Gage.

  “What did Gage and Alex get into it about?”

  “Hard to tell. You know Gage’s a lot of fun, but he always at things with an attitude that can rub some people the wrong way.”

  Jake thought some more. “Can you get me out of here?”

  Buddy smiled. “No, baby, you’re a dirtbag criminal.”

  Chapter Two

  The money arrived and a bail bondsman came to bail out Jake. His sparring partners were being released at the same time.

  The fat guy, Haller, said, “This ain’t over, boy.”

  Jake looked at Haller. Black eye, blood dried at his nose and at the stain on fatty’s shirt. Fatty had vomited on himself when Jake punched him in his solar plexus. “Wow, you’re my first tough guy. We can do this again you want. But wash your shirt,” Jake said. “And brush your teeth.”

  The other guy, a young guy with a narrow face, said, “Listen, Morgan. You shit your nest. Better remember us.” One of his eyes was closed and swelling. That was how Jake hurt his hand.

  “Yeah,” Jake said. “That’s the plan, walk around remembering you tough-talking guys.”

  An older man, carefully clipped hair, tie and a western cut suit said, “Both of you, shut-up.” The man looked familiar and had come to bail out the pair.

  Tommy said, “Dad, this guy started it.” He gave Jake a look. “And I’m gonna finish it.”

  “That’s enough,” said the older man.

  “Mister Mitchell,” Haller said. “We were minding our business when this guy –”

  “That’s enough, Noah,” said Mr. Mitchell, saying it with a different tone than he’d used on his son. Softer. Jake couldn’t remember hearing anyone calling fat boy by his real name.

  “Mister Mitchell,” Jake said, as a way of greeting. He remembered Vernon Mitchell from years ago. The legend was Vernon Mitchell started his empire stealing cattle from a neighbor, bankrupting the neighbor, then using the profits off the sale of the stolen cattle to buy the neighbor’s farm on the courthouse steps. Couldn’t remember the man’s name at present.

  Mr. Vernon Mitchell eyed Jake. “Who are you?”

  “Jake Morgan.”

  Mitchell’s face changed. He said, “You look different. You’ve...grown. What happened here?”

  “Disagreement. It’s over now.” He looked over Fat Boy and Tommy Mitchell. “I think.”

  “What’re you doing back here?” Mitchell said. Jake thinking that was a funny way to phrase it. Not, ‘what brings you to town’. Demanding to know. Mitchell was used to being answered.

  “Settle a land dispute. Believe it’s with you.”

  “Well that’s all up to the court and the judge now.”

  “What is the problem?”

  “Nothing big. I would consider settling out of court. Would you be interested?”

  “Maybe,” Jake said, watching Vernon closely but getting nothing. “Gage was taking care of the place, living there since Alfred passed away. Gage was one of my best friends. Want to find out what happened to him.”

  “Heard he had a car wreck.”

  “Heard the same thing.”

  “Sorry for your loss.”

  “Gage told me Alex fired him the week before he died.” Letting it hang in the air.

  “I let Alex run things as he sees fit. He knows what he’s doing.”

  “I heard Gage and Alex got crossways with each other. Know anything about that?”

  Vernon’s eyes narrowed. “Have no idea. Are you wanting to sell your Dad’s place?”

  “First, I find out what happened to Gage.” Jake scratched at his cheek with a finger and smiled. “Maybe we’ll see each other around. I’m going to be here for a couple of weeks.”

  Mitchell looked at Jake for a moment. “Well, welcome back.”

  Then Mitchell left with his son and Haller.

  Chapter Three

  Leaving the lock-up and the Mitchells, Jake walked across the town square, past the World War II soldier, resolute and stalwart in all weather, and entered the Paradise Chemical Bank, one of two banks in the town, to draw money in order to pay Sue for the Bail money she’d sent. Besides the bail money, Jake was supposed to check on his father’s account and money left in the will.

  The Chemical Bank was the older bank in town. Jake noticed a shiny new bank all shiny chrome and glass out on the highway when he arrived earlier. Green Summit Bank. It was three stories and gleamed in the sunlight, a beacon to community progress.

  The Chemical Bank was two tellers with an attached drive-in window built onto the 100-year-old building. The foyer was fresh paint over the retro fifties-architecture. It was an old building with a face-lift. The teller, a nice young girl just out of high school, had Jake fill out some forms in order to check on all Alfred’s accounts.

  “It’s your money but we have to jump through some hoops,” she said. “We have a conference room where you can go over these in private.”

  He thanked her and she escorted him back to a small room with a large glass window. There was a monitor in the conference room that afforded a live view of the teller’s booths and the customers coming and going. There were only two customers at that time.

  Jake was examining the papers when movement on the monitor caught his eye.

  Two men came into the bank. Baseball caps, Oakley Sunglasses and wearing hooded sweatshirts, their hands in their pockets. He’d seen this before. The monitor screen was soundless. The two men produced weapons, gesturing at the customers who dropped to the floor and laced their hands behind their heads. The tellers, panic-faced, were frantically digging through the bank drawers.

  One guy on the tellers, one man on crowd control, weapon pointed at the two bank customers on the floor. Jake’s cell phone was still at Hank’s place where he’d left it on the bar. Couldn’t call 911.

  He exhaled, thinking come home, visit old friends, no problem. He leaned down and lifted the Glock 19 from his ankle holster. Ranger policy was to remain armed 24/7. Good policy.

  Now, how to pull this off without getting any civilians killed or himself.

  He gave a look at the monitor and the tellers were still stacking money. Maybe one of them was a dye pack, but no, since that Jeff Bridges movie, Hell or High Water, every lowlife in America knew better. The robbers were intent on their business, the customers were prone and safe if he could neutralize that man first.

  Jake quietly opened the room door and slipped around the corner staying close to the wall. Peeking ar
ound the corner he saw the backs of the men.

  “I’m armed. Don’t turn around. You tellers duck behind the counter.”

  The tellers dropped behind the marble counter and the robber near the counter raised his hands and said, “Okay.”

  The crowd control thug was bolder. He swiveled towards the sound of Jake’s voice his weapon raised.

  Jake said, “Don’t.” But the man wasn’t listening.

  Shit.

  Jake double tapped the Glock, the sound filling the bank foyer. Voices screamed. Blood flowered from the robber’s throat and face. Smell of cordite burn.

  The other thief started to turn but Jake stopped him. Pointed his weapon at the man’s nose and said, “Rethink it.”

  The man nodded rapidly.

  “Weapon on the floor and move away from it,” Jake said it evenly, learning early on that a calm, firm voice was more unnerving to a perp than yelling and screaming. Made them realize you weren’t kidding

  The man’s pistol clattered to the floor and he took two steps back. Jake stepped towards the bleeding robber and kicked his weapon away from the man, all the while watching the other robber. The teller robber eyed the exit doors.

  “Unless you can outrun a bullet, get on your knees, cross your ankles and lace your fingers behind your neck.”

  “You killed him,” said the man.

  “Do it for you if you don’t do everything I say as soon as I say it.”

  The man complied.

  To the bank employees, Jake said, “Call nine-one-one.”

  An old friend, Police Chief Bannister, showed with two uniform officers.

  “Hell of a welcome home, Jake,” Cal said. Cal was a tall older man, his face creased with time and laugh lines, unusual for career law enforcement. Cal never let the job eat on him. To Cal Bannister the job had to be done and that was it. Cal made a grunting sound. “Never get used to it. The blood, the smell.”

  “It’s nasty all right.”

  “I need your weapon.”

  Jake handed it to him.

  “Come along with me,” Cal said. “My guys will take care of this and I’ll get your statement. Besides I have other business to discuss with you.”

  Jake gave his statement, in both oral and written form, to a uniform officer at the police station. He had much experience writing up reports, so he made it as simple as possible. Short declarative statements telling what happened. When he finished, he was questioned again by Chief Cal Bannister. This went on for some time until Bannister was satisfied.

  “You have a history, you know,” Cal said.

  Jake said, “Okay, Cal, what’s the hassle? It was Leo and Gage put the cherry bombs in the fountain in front of city hall.”

  Cal smiled and said, “Not what I heard.”

  “Statute of limitations?” Jake said, raising his eyebrows.

  “Well, guess I’ll have to let that one go, then.” Cal said, “How about take a ride with me. I’ll show you around town. It’s different than when you left.”

  “In an honest-to-God police car. I can turn on the siren, right?”

  Cal had been the police chief in Paradise since Cal was a teenager and all the kids liked the man. Cal would pour out their beer and take their cigarettes, telling them, “Now you know your folks don’t want you messing with those things.” Then tell them he didn’t have the time or the patience to process them but if he caught them again, he’d sure do it.

  Nobody doubted him.

  Jake got in the police unit with Cal and they took a tour of the town. Pointed out the food franchises and C-stores that had replaced the local cafes and service stations.

  “Thanks for intervening at the bank today,” Cal said. “You may have saved some lives.”

  “I was lucky.”

  “What brings you back?” Cal asked.

  “You know anything about Gage and Alex Mitchell having trouble between them?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “What I heard. Alex fired him. Wondering if you heard anything?”

  They drove past the high school and Cal pulled into the parking lot of the football field. The day was bright, and Jake could hear the ping of the cooling engine. Jake looked out across the field. It was green and promising, and the white chalk-lines looked like icing on a cake.

  “Jake,” Cal said, pulling to a stop. “Things have changed, and your return has stuck wires in people’s heads awful damned quick. You upset people who like being upset.”

  “That right? So, you heard about my little set-to?”

  “Police Chief. Finger on the pulse.” Smiling.

  “The Mitchells.” A statement not a question.

  “Maybe.”

  “Doc Kellogg?”

  “Sheriff Kellogg,” Cal said. “Best keep that in the front of your mind. What did you do make him dislike you so much?”

  Jake looked across the football field and said, “I don’t know. Can’t figure whether it’s because I dated his daughter or because I stopped. Anyway,” Jake said, “she upgraded to Junior Mitchell.”

  Cal chuckled to himself. “Not sure that’s an upgrade. He goes by ‘Alex’ now.”

  Cal reached into his pocket and fished out a pack of Camels. Jake noticed the older man’s hand trembling. Cal had always been steady as an oak. Cal shook a cigarette from the pack and offered it to Jake. Jake shook his head and Cal put it between his lips and pushed in the car lighter, removed the lighter and lit the cigarette.

  Cal gave a pull on the tobacco then exhaled a blue cloud out the window.

  Jake said, “Gage’s accident. You know anything about that?”

  Cal was startled by the question. “That why you’re here?”

  “Some.” Hedging his answer. “Not entirely. There is some land in dispute, incredibly the person contesting it is Vernon Mitchell. But for the most part I’m interested in what happened to Gage. Buddy mentioned a car wreck. You know anything about it?”

  “My authority stops at the city limits.”

  Jake turned in his seat to face Cal. “But you are a cop and have cop-like thoughts about such things.”

  Cal looked at his police radio, chewed his lower lip and took another drag on his cigarette. It was quiet between them for a long moment before Cal said, “Kellogg and I have a strained relationship. Accident seems to be the likely result. I can’t see there’s anything shady about it, but I don’t have much information. Kellogg kept that pretty close to the vest. Fell asleep behind the wheel what they say. Drunk. Drove off that old bridge out on county road HH. That bridge should’ve been replaced a long time ago.”

  “What do you think about the investigation by the Deputy? Bailey’s her name.”

  “Nice young lady; has a little boy. Wants to do well. Sincere person. Her husband ran off with an elementary school teacher. I don’t know much else.” Cal took another hit off his cigarette. “What are you doing down in Texas anyway?”

  “Working for the state.”

  “Doing what? You seem different in a lot of ways. Same smile, same sense of humor but you’re a couple inches taller and hold yourself differently. You walk different; your clothes are pressed and neat. Military?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I know you went to Texas to play basketball and football.”

  “Didn’t have enough arm for college football,” Jake said. “So, I stuck with basketball.”

  “What was your major?”

  Jake shrugged. “CJ.”

  “Criminal Justice?”

  “I needed a degree in something.”

  Cal sat up and said, “You’re a law enforcement officer.”

  “Some kind.”

  “Explains why you were armed. Why didn’t you say something? What kind?”

  “Texas Rangers.”

  “Well, well, well.” Cal whistled. “What branch are you assigned?”

  “Was SRT. Special Response team.”

  “Dangerous work.”

  Jake shrugged. �
��Recently moved to Unsolved Crimes.”

  “That’s Homicide and serial killers, right?”

  Jake nodded.

  Cal opened his mouth, stopped, nodded his head a few times in realization and quietly said, “Well, you never were much for doing things halfway.”

  Chapter Four

  Next morning, the sun creased the clouds and the dew glistened with promise; a beautiful moment to sit on his Father’s porch and look out across the rolling hills and multi-colored trees. Loamy smell of decayed leaves was in the air and the autumn sky had turned that forever blue. Sit and sip coffee and smoke a cigarette. One couldn’t hurt.

  Relax some. Learn how it works. Try.

  Had some trouble sleeping. Nothing TV and movie cops will say, it works on a man, thought Jake.

  One of the first things to strike him about his childhood home was the piano keyboard, the ivory keys worn and marked by his mother’s hands, remembering her now. She was the stable force, the lubricant who soothed the grinding gears of a father and son, too much alike to give an inch.

  Alfred Morgan, known as “Al” to friends, built the house, log home with decks front and rear with a green metal roof. Two hundred acres of good dirt for crops, and grazing for cattle. They were never rich, but they never went without, at least until Alfred started drinking.

  Jake rinsed his mug and put it in the dishwasher. The floor needed sweeping, but overall Gage had taken good care of the place, so he went to find a broom. He walked to the mud room leading to the outside back door and stopped. Saw the dog dish, food in it. He looked out to the back and saw the dog pen but didn’t see a dog. There was a doggy door flap on the back door. He’d only been here for a day-and-a-half and hadn’t really surveyed the place.

  He cleaned up, and called his old friend, Leo the Lion and asked if he wanted to have lunch in town. Leo said he could stand to eat something.

  They met at the Dinner Bell Café, one of his old hangouts and one of the few still operating. It was a place served breakfast all day, and the coffee was drinkable. Actual tablecloths on the tables, matching curtains on the windows, pick-up trucks parked in the raw gravel chat. A gathering place for the locals, the town getting swallowed up by corporate franchises, one looking like the next. No charisma.