Resolution: Evan Warner Book 1 (11 page)

“We haven’t yet.”

“But you could!” Mom said. “That’s the point.”

Dad said, “We were very lucky today. Things could’ve gone very badly for both of us.”

I argued, “Luck had little to do with it. If those guys had any brains at all, they’d have waited till dusk to make their move. Inept, bumbling amateurs.”

“Maybe. But your mother has a legitimate point. Did I tell you that the trooper found a pistol in that van? That’s serious business. We both need to be more cautious around here. Times are changing. Too damn fast.”

I said, “Look, if a SEAL team parachutes in to overthrow us, then we can panic. Until then, it’s just business as usual. No worries.”

“Evan,” Dad sighed. “If your mother wants to worry, let her worry.”

“Why would I want my mother to worry?”

He waved his arms and said, “Maybe it makes her feel better. Hell, I don’t know!”

“You’re not a parent,” Mom put in. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“I’m a dog parent.”

“That’s not the same.”

“It’s very similar emotionally,” I said. “Science agrees with me. Yahoo! it if you don’t believe me.”

Mom made the last ditch response, “But you’re not a spouse.
Or
a mother.”

That was true. I never had to worry about being a mother. Unless something very weird happened involving a space ship and an experiment. I looked back and forth at my parents for a moment. Mom appeared very satisfied after her final verbal jab. Dad just wanted the whole thing to go away.

“Listen to yourselves,” I said. “Have you both gone insane in this heat factory? What is it, eighty degrees in here?”

“Evan,” Dad said. “That’s enough. Let it go for now. Willya?”

I shrugged and said, “Okay. Have a good night.”

As the door closed behind me, I heard Dad saying, “Damn it, Doreen, I know you’ve got sweaters in your closet. The kid’s got a point. It is hotter than hell in here.”

17

Will was asleep in my rocking chair. My headlights washed over him as I turned into the drive. His big frame was reclined as far as the rocker would allow, with one foot propped up on the side railing. The lights roused him. By the time Frank and I got to the porch he had gotten to his feet and was stretching.

“Exciting night?”

“Very,” he grunted.

“Nothing at all?”

He shook his head as he scratched his chinstrap beard. Said, “Everyone’s pretty charged up about the kidnapping. I heard you really rocked one of those guys.”

“Not really,” I said.

“Some woman,” he said. “Linda, I think. She said you dropped him like a sack of potatoes.”

“It took two swings. Didn’t land my punches clean. I was too eager.”

After a pause he asked, “Did you talk to Uncle Danny?”

“He told me they found the kid’s father.”

Willie nodded. He’s twenty-two, the younger son of my father’s older brother, my uncle David. Big Willie has been his nickname since he played high school football. He’s an inch or so taller than me and at least fifty pounds heavier.

If not for a catastrophic knee injury sustained in his third season of college ball, Willie might have had a shot at the NFL. Or at least a practice squad. He was a damn good center to build a line around and several scouts had spoken with him. But that part of his life ended abruptly when a teammate fell and caused Willie’s knee to bend in a direction it was never meant to. Now he spends half of his time playing video games. Either football or shooter games.

I went into the cabin and found an empty pizza box on my little kitchen table. A large box. Empty. Not even a stray peperoni to give Frank. I gave Willie a funny look.

“Your Mom brought it for me,” he said. “I was gonna save you a piece. But, you know …”

“It’s your waistline, man.”

He nodded proudly. Then he noticed that I was carrying a broadsword. He looked long and hard at it with sleepy eyes. Like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

I unsheathed the claymore and assured him that it was real.

“Holy. Shit.”

“It’s nice, right?”

“That is
boss
, man. Can I hold it?”

“No way. Get your own.”

I replaced the sword in its scabbard and passed through the kitchen to the living room. There were three doors leading to two bedrooms and a bathroom at the back of the cabin. I went through the left door, into the smaller of the two bedrooms. Years back I removed the bunk beds and now use the space for a personal armory. I leaned the claymore against the back wall. Beside Gimli’s battle axe. Someday I plan to get a nice display cabinet. But there just never seems to be time.

“You been with Laney?” Willie asked when I came out to the living room.

“Not since dinnertime. Why?”

He shrugged. Said nothing. Then he sat on one end of the couch. I took the other end. Frank settled on his blanket by the fireplace. The small living room was pretty much full with the three of us. We were quiet. I was glad to be home and so was Frank. Willie was bored and sleepy and curious. It was a strange mixture of differing vibes.

“What are you looking for?” I finally asked.

He shook his head and tried to act disinterested. But I could see by his expression that the wheels were turning.

“What?” I said again.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just that your mom was sort of worried. We were talking earlier. She thinks you might get obsessed with the missing girl again.”

“Lucy Kurtz.”

“Yeah, her.”

“You really wanna know?”

He looked at me intently. Obviously he wanted to know.

“You want to help me?” I asked.

“Hell yeah.”

“Great. If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

“Now? Tonight?”

“Not now. I’m in for the night.”

We fell silent again. I guess I was being a jerk, stringing him along. And it was working. Willie was concentrating hard to try to guess what I’d been up to. He was leaning forward, wringing his hands. I was tired and ready to quit for the day. Willie had absolutely nothing going on in his life.

“So,” he finally said.

Willie’s not a gossip. I know for a fact I can trust him with just about anything. So I gave in and told him the whole story of my evening. Everything from meeting Kendra to checking out the house of horrors. The only detail I held back was the amount of cash I recovered.

“You really trust this girl?” he asked. “I mean, you’re sure she’s not playing you for some reason?”

“I couldn’t detect any acting when we spoke. Yeah, I trust her.”

He leaned back and settled deep into the couch. I could feel the poor frame and springs straining and buckling under our combined weight.

“It sounds funny,” he said. “She picks you out of a crowd to ask for help.”

“I was standing by the bulletin board. She saw Frank’s hair on my shirt.”

Frank lifted his head momentarily. Once he realized he wasn’t being directly addressed, he settled back down with a sigh.

I resumed, “And she didn’t come right out and ask for my help. I offered.”

“Maybe that was her game. To recruit someone sympathetic. Maybe she’s got a grudge against those boys and needed a guy to set them straight.”

“Maybe she really misses her dog.”

“I like dogs,” he said. “And I don’t think those guys should get away with fighting them. But they sound like the wrong guys to mess with.”

I laughed.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Maybe they are a couple of idiots, but they might have friends. They could be into bigger stuff than dogs.”

It was a legitimate point. One I had already considered. But I didn’t care. My mind was already made up. They were at my mercy now. Not the other way around.

“Real big stuff?’ I asked. “Like big money?”

“Maybe.”

“And they stay on Bow Street?”

“Could be good cover.”

“They’re nobodies. Just dirt bags slithering around in their comfort zone. That’s all.”

“All right,” Willie said. “If you’re not worried, then I won’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” I assured him.

With that Willie heaved himself up off the couch with a grunt, said, “It’s getting late.”

“I’ll call you if I need you.”

“Boot your ass if you don’t,” he said on his way through the kitchen.

“Take your friggin’ empty pizza box,” I called. “Or I’ll boot
your
ass.”

He grabbed it, said, “Peace,” and went lumbering out the door.

I got up and went to the screen door and called, “Wait.”

He came back in a hurry. I met him at the door. He looked hopeful. Like something big was about to happen. Until he saw that I was in the process of tying a bag of trash. Which I then handed to him.

“Here, toss this in the dumpster on your way by.”

“Gee, I’d love to,” he said and trudged away with the bag in one hand and the pizza box in the other.

I give Willie a hard time now and then. But really I love the big ogre and he knows it. He looked like a paler version of Shrek marching away in defeat into the darkness. He slid into his truck and the whole thing rocked on its old springs.

I went back to the living room and flopped on the couch. I was drained from the long day and the excitement of the evening. A few minutes on the couch made that very clear. I considered turning on the TV, but instead reached up to the shelf at the end of the couch for a book.
The Call of the Wild.
One of my absolute favorites.

This particular copy of
Call
is a cheap paperback. The first copy of the classic I had owned. The first book that I had ever purposely owned. At age eleven I devoured it, and I haven’t lost my love for it since. The pages are yellow and brittle and full of highlights of various colors. It’s ugly and holds no value to anyone but me. I suppose that’s part of its charm.

My affinity for wolves and dogs, and also fiction, can be blamed largely on Jack London. A century separates our lives, but even so, he’s the one who really opened my eyes. My subsequent attitude towards people and canines can also be attributed to London, though in all honesty, I can really only blame myself for feeding the fire.

Somewhere in ancient history, a human and a wolf struck up a partnership. A primal relationship of mutual trust. A friendship that can only be rivaled perhaps between a horse and a rider. Of course there was no official ceremony, but the merging of lives certainly was a solemn undertaking. A vow of devotion unto death. Not terribly unlike marriage. The greatest distinction being not the lack of elaborate ceremonial attire and festivities, but the fact that said devotees actually do remain devoted unto death in the majority of cases. Along the way they argue less. Never use kids as leverage against each other. Divorce is all but unheard of.

From those early wolves with their unparalleled senses and unsurpassed survival skills came the domestic dog. A human creation, and therefore a human responsibility. Like all things touched by humans, the canines have suffered unduly for their association. The primitive contract has been violated. Not by savage animals, the wolves so often demonized, but by sophisticated modern human beings. The sort of creature that will proudly boast of its great intellect and individual value, its inalienable rights and good sense, and the greatest delusion of all, its humanity.

Humanity. The single greatest lie ever propagated by humankind. Steeped in conceit. Upheld by the steadfast denial of reality. More fictitious and yet less appealing than the complex world of fantasy constructed by Mr. Tolkien.

If there is such a thing as genuine humanity at work in the world, it is a virtue practiced more often by canines than by humans.

I looked over at Frank. He was sleeping quietly. Sure, he lacks table manners and he rarely bathes. But at least he’s honest. In him I find none of the unappealing qualities that I observe in people on a daily basis, myself included. He does not lie or cheat or deceive. Apart from the desires of his stomach, his character is largely selfless, as trustworthy as a Cub Scout. But for his own defense he would never maliciously harm anyone. Even under duress I find it difficult to imagine Frank biting someone. More likely he would just run away. Perhaps he might attack someone in defense of me. But since he hasn’t been put to that test, I can only speculate.

I’ve argued my case plenty of times over the years. Most notably in my own mind with one of my high school teachers. But rather than just insisting that my opinion is right simply because it’s mine, I usually end up falling back on simple questions.

Why would an animal capable of easily outrunning its tormentor not run? Why would it allow itself to be dominated by a weaker creature? Beaten? Starved? Set on fire? Thrown from a moving vehicle? Ultimately killed? Most other animals wisely avoid the human species. Why are canines so different?

Some would answer simply that dogs don’t know any better.

I disagree.

In The Call of the Wild, Buck is used and brutalized by multiple men. Even so, he finds it in himself to make friends with John Thornton. When presented with the chance to escape mankind once and for all, he denies his own urges, turning his back on the call from the wilderness so that he might remain at Thornton’s side. Which is exactly like the first wolves must have done when feeling the pull of two worlds.

No, it was not for any need that wolves first befriended primitive humans. Such people traveled slowly on foot. Had no plush couches to offer. No cupboards stocked with tasty doggy treats. Hardly an adequate traveling and hunting companion for a top carnivore. The disparity is laughable. In all reality, the relationship was likely far more beneficial to the humans than the canines. Many Native Americans revere the wolf as a friend and a hunting instructor.

With need ruled out, the only viable explanation for the merging of such opposite beings is the desire for companionship. A mysterious urge for partnership and friendship. Therefore the primal loyalty of a dog to its owner is not merely the actions of an uneducated simpleton hoping for a snack, as some would suggest. To me it is a clear example of the beast honoring its end of the ancient pact of companionship.

But that’s just me.

Your opinion may vary.

On the table beside my TV stands a framed picture of a proud German shepherd. Max, the dog who showed me in practice the lessons that Jack London later made clear with the written word.

Max was a stud. No two ways about it. A hundred and thirty pounds of no nonsense peacemaker. Or a mild mannered sidekick who could be trusted to play gently with small children. Take your pick. An old-fashioned shepherd with big shoulders and a straight back. No weak hips and sloped back. He had a barrel chest and a trim waist. He once had an awkward moment, just for the hell of it. Aside from his coloring, he looked like a wolf moving through the woods. There’s no telling how many miles we hiked together. My parents got him when I was a kid, partly as a family companion, and partly as a watchdog to help with their expanding campground endeavor. Uncle Danny had highly recommended the breed. And it turned that he wasn’t exaggerating.