Shallow Creek (15 page)

Chapter 36

The situation was far from clear, but Brendan now had a sneaking suspicion that if Grant had doctored one legal document with
his name, more were sure to follow.  The bastard had probably plastered Brendan’s name all over the place either as a poorly thought-out decoy, or to implicate Brendan in everything and make his life that much more difficult.  And he did it all with a brotherly smile on his face.

“How
are you so sure Grant’s involved?” he asked.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss those details with you here,” Spee said, suddenly telegraphing all kinds of signals.

“Fine.  I followed Grant out there.”

“
What made you do that?”

“I spoke with some people in town,” he replied.  “Some people who’ve had suspicions about Grant for a while.”

“I’ll need their names.”

“You already talked to Kim.”

Spee made a note.  “Who else?”

“
Doesn’t matter.”

“I need to talk to them.”

“I don’t
care.”

“We’ll come back to that
.  What kinds of things are suspicious about Grant?”

“
Same stuff Kim talked about at her apartment: The expensive vacations, all the nice stuff in their double wide.”  Brendan sighed.  “I know that doesn’t sound like hard evidence, but Michelle doesn’t work and Grant sells chemicals to farms.  There can’t be that much money in it.  Oh yeah, and he drives a damn nice new truck, too.”

“Wh
at do you know about Michelle?”

Brendan paused.  What
didn’t
he know about Michelle?  Thankfully his unfortunate love life wasn’t on trial here.

“Just that we were friends in high school and then she married my brother,”
he said guardedly.  “Not much other than that.  I haven’t really seen her for the last nine years.”

“Okay, Mr.
Rhodes.  You suspect your brother because he lives beyond his means, basically?”  Brendan had nothing to say to that.  It was thin reasoning, to be honest, but deep down he knew he
wanted
Grant to be into illegal shit.  He wanted to bring his brother down.  “Lots of people rack up large amounts of credit card debt to live a lavish lifestyle,” Spee suggested.

“At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter why I checked him out, ma’am.  He was there, and that’s enough justification for me.”

Spee regarded him for a moment.  “One problem with your story is that Grant wasn’t at that farm,” she said.  “And neither of the two men we picked up claim to have any knowledge of your brother.”

“You’ve
already played the Grant card,” Brendan said evenly.  “You suggested him as my target earlier, so you know he was there.”

“Very good, Mr.
Rhodes,” Spee said with a nice smile.  “But he still wasn’t there when we arrived.”

“Maybe someone tipped him off.”

She watched him closely, her eyes more grave now.  “Maybe someone did.  Like his little brother who showed up right before the cavalry rode in?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“Do I?”

“Quit playing games.  Why would I warn Grant?  How would I even know the police were coming down on him last night?”

“Deputy Armstead is an old friend of yours, correct?”

“Marcus didn’t tell me shit about this.  He’s the one who told me to quit snooping around and leave it to the DEA.”

“I’d take his advice, if I were you.” Spee shifted gears.  “Why would your brother want to, allegedly, falsify titles under your name?  Do you guys have a history?”

“How long have you been in town, Agent Spee?
  A month?”

“Long enough to hear some stories about the kid who ruined the town’s only shot at a State Championship run.”

“You spent much time in Texas?”

“
That’s none of your concern.”

“Do you know how much high school football means to a little place like Shallow Creek?  There’s not a hell of a lot else going on around here.”

“I get the gist of it,” she said.

“Then you should understand why my brother hates me.”

Someone rapped on the door and Spee went to answer it.  Another plainclothes cop stood on the other side and beckoned her out.  Without another word to Brendan, she went into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

What a joke this was.  They
obviously had nothing solid on him, he knew that much, but her mention of Marcus struck him as odd.  If they were worried about a leak, he guessed the DEA would first look at the local cops assisting in the investigation.  It was too easy to pin the blame on the other guy.

Spee marched back into the room, but didn’t take a seat.  Brendan took this to mean he was about to be escorted from the room, either to a cell, or to the street as a free man.

“How did you get out to the farm?” she asked.

“I rented a Ford Ranger and stashed it in the bushes.”

“Okay. You’re free to go.”  She held the door open and motioned for him to get out.

“That’s it?”

“Sure is.  My associates found and verified the truck.  Hiding the truck suggests you weren’t exactly invited out to the party last night.”

“Ain’t that the truth.
” He stretched his stiff neck.  “Can your
associates
return the truck for me?  Would save me some time, and I don’t really want to be seen out in that area again.”

“
Sure.  I don’t really want to see you out there either.”

Brendan stood, but before he left, he had one more question.
  “Did the two guys you arrested see me?”

“No, I don’
t think so.  It’s possible they saw someone getting loaded into the ambulance, but you were surrounded pretty well, so I doubt they saw you.”

That was good enough for him.  When he stepped past Spee, she put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Just because they probably didn’t see you, doesn’t mean you should keep pursuing this little quest you’ve got playing out in your head.”  Brendan said nothing.  “It won’t end well.  These people will kill you if they catch you. Let us handle it.”

“You guys have done a
bang-up job so far.”

She didn’t rise to this, but passed him her card.
  “Call me if you think of anything else that can help.  My cell number is on the back.”

“
Sure thing, Casey.” Brendan pocketed the card and continued past her.

“Do I need to detain you for your own safety?” Spee called after him as he walked to the exit.

“No, ma’am,” Brendan yelled back, noticing Marcus coming in through the front door as he approached.

The two men crossed path
s and made eye contact briefly.  Brendan stopped and watched his friend stride right past him.

“Hey
—”

But Marcus ignored him and kept on walking.  Brendan took the hint and stepped into the West Texas sun.

Chapter 37

The percussion section camping out in Brendan’s head had lightened up while he’d watched his brother’s drug barn, but now they pounded away in full force.  He gingerly probed the back of his skull, the pain a sharp reminder of his futile battle with gravity the night before.  Inhaling a few gallons of natural gas probably didn’t help either.  Brendan poured himself another glass of water from the filtered pitcher in the fridge.

The cool
liquid froze his whole mouth as it flowed over his tongue and down his throat, a typical sign of dehydration for Brendan.  He stared out the kitchen window into the front yard, watching nothing at all.

Other than the general thumping inside his skull, he wasn’t really the worse for wear.  Most of his injuries incurred at the hands of Fisher’s crew had healed enough not to remind him of their presence
every time he moved.  And the recent knock to the back of the head hurt his pride more than anything.  Trapped by a bunch of amateurs.  Next time would be different.

Special Agent
Casey Spee had warned him to stay away, to keep out of it.  Leave it to the professionals.  Well, that wasn’t going to happen, but he did need to reconsider his approach moving forward.  Now that he knew his brother was heavily involved, or at least high enough up that his subordinates feared him, Brendan needed a strategy for their next confrontation.  Those guys in the barn were genuinely frightened at the prospect of disappointing Grant, something Brendan knew far too much about.  With a heavy sigh, he crossed to the back of the house and exited onto the porch, where a pair of wicker chairs stood guard next to a glass-topped table.  He sat down and let his mind drift back to the worst days of his life.

How old was he back then?  Fourteen?  That made sense.  Grant was about to start his senior year at Shallow Creek High School, and Brendan was making the transition into ninth grade.  The year before
that, the Shallow Creek Coyotes had crushed their regular season competition handily, but had faltered in their first playoff game, burning out painfully.  Grant had wrestled a rare case of the flu in the days prior to that game, and it showed when he played so badly that the coach was forced to sub in the backup quarterback at halftime.

Grant had been devastated, but since he still had his senior season
remaining, and enough other good players returning as well, redemption was all but assured.  The whole town was thinking State Championship, and they weren’t quiet about it.

So when the school year
started, the varsity football team held a party of epic proportions.  In their minds, the championship already sat in the mostly empty trophy case at the school.  They all met at a gigantic bonfire outside of town, fueled by the hungry flames and untold numbers of beer bottles.  Brendan shouldn’t have been there at all, but as the superstar’s younger brother, no one would dare tell him to leave.

While he sipped his one and only beer that night, feeling lonely and out of place, despite his older brother’s insistence that they stay close all night, Brendan slowly grasped Grant’s intentions.  The invincible quarterback didn’t want a younger brother there; he wanted a designated driver. 
Grant hammered that point home when Brendan reached for a second beer.  His brother swiped it from his hand, telling him one was enough.

Six
hadn’t been enough for Grant, so Brendan hardly thought two would break any arbitrary limits.  In spite of his own feelings, he acquiesced to his brother, not wanting to ruin his fun on his special night.  As the night dragged on, a drunker and drunker Grant got caught up in more and more of the festivities, leaving Brendan to hang around on the outskirts of the raging fire alone.

Another hour
dragged by and finally the fire burned down and the alcohol ran out.  Grant stumbled over to Brendan and inaccurately tossed him the keys.  After a few minutes of digging around in the dark, Brendan produced the keys and helped his brother mount the step into the passenger side of his old beat-up truck.  Brendan sat at the wheel for a moment before inserting the key and turning the ignition.  He’d driven a few times out on the backroads with his dad, learning the basic concepts of handling a vehicle on the off-chance he’d need to drive one.

And now he had that chance.

Grant’s head lolled back and forth drunkenly as Brendan put on his seatbelt and turned the engine over.  He remembered very precisely telling Grant to put his damn seatbelt on, but his brother had laughed this off and told him to start driving before he puked all over himself.  Confident in his driving abilities, Brendan pulled into the stream of pickups fleeing the sputtering bonfire and headed for the highway.  After a few more urgent requests from Brendan, Grant eventually, and sloppily, installed his seatbelt.

After a few miles on the state highway, the procession of vehicles started to break up, with teenagers making their turns to head to homes on different sides of town.  Brendan followed along until his left turn appeared suddenly in the dark.  Adhering to procedure, he flicked his blinker on and made a hard left into the gap in the wide median.

The next sequence of events always got a bit blurry for Brendan.

Grant punched him in the shoulder, hard.  That much
he remembered for sure.  Brendan had turned to admonish his drunken idiot of a brother, and in doing so had failed to yield to the oncoming truck darting towards them on the opposite side of the highway.

The impact
was so damn loud.  That was what Brendan recalled the most.  Grant’s pickup spun wildly and settled in the middle of the grassy median, engine dead and silent.  He didn’t find out until later, but none of the other kids flying by on the highway stopped to help, or even to check on them.  They’d all been terrified of parents or cops finding them drunk.

The only help came from the driver of the other truck, who’d managed to slam on the brakes just enough to not end up dead himself.  He wasn’t from Shallow Creek.  He was passing through on a late call to a land-based oil rig.  Brendan couldn’t remember what he did, couldn’t even remember his name.

But he remembered his face.

His vision was blurred and he had that hopeless feeling of being lost, despite knowing exactly where he was.  His brain quickly tried to churn through the options of what to do next, but all of them ended with a fourteen-year-old kid facing a world of trouble, and soon.

But the man hadn’t been pissed.  He’d carefully helped Brendan from the battered pickup, and he’d set him on the grass before checking on Grant.  The man had then immediately run back to his truck to call the fire department.

The
next couple of days zipped by, but that didn’t mean they were easy.  Grant suffered a shattered leg and a cracked pelvis in the wreck, landing him in traction.  Brendan’s impotent claims that he’d been the one who’d forced Grant to put his damn seatbelt on satisfied no one, especially his own father.  Yes, Brendan could admit even to this day that he’d screwed up that night, but he also took responsibility for saving his dumbass brother’s life.

At the end of a tough week, doctors ruled conclusively that Grant wouldn’t just miss his senior season, but he’d never play ball again.  All eyes had turned to a lowly young teenager hu
ddled in the corner of the room; a teenager who’d tested positive for alcohol in his system after a car crash.  That whole thing was bullshit; he’d had one damn beer, but of course, that’s not the piece of information anyone cared to remember.  As the story burned across town, his blood alcohol content doubled and tripled and more.  The residents of Shallow Creek liked a good story, and they created one.

Brendan hadn’t cried at the announcement
of his brother’s fate, but after the first day of school, with hundreds of disappointing kids relentlessly tormenting him, Brendan had broken down in his room, sobbing his heart out.

Surprisingly, his father had shown up.  Brendan had braced himself for a beating, assuming that was the reason for his dad’s visit.  Instead, Darryl
Rhodes had instructed his son to man-up and accept the consequences of his stupidity.  He saw no reason to discipline Brendan any further, since he knew how cruel his high school years would be, but by the same token he would
not
move the family to a different school just for his son’s stupid mistake.

Brendan and his dad enjoyed a strained relationship throughout high school, but it was nothing compared to the vindictiveness endured at the hands of his brother.  Grant never really spoke to Brendan again, and definitely never defended him against the various forms of assault brought upon him at school.  It all came to a head when Brendan started his own senior year.

The varsity football coach had made it perfectly clear Brendan would never play for him, so Brendan had given up on his passion early in high school.  He saw no point in pursuing it if the ultimate goal was unachievable.  Plus, the other players hated him, even the ones who’d never even met Grant.  They all knew that Brendan had blown everything.

So Brendan had been confused when Grant showed up drunk one night, bitching him out about his senior season.  As far as Brendan was concerned, he’d suffered enough for Grant’s ill-fated decision to let his fourteen-year-old brother drive all those years ago, but Grant was juiced up for a fight.

Grant beat Brendan mercilessly, leaving blood splattered on the kitchen floor.  Brendan was a late bloomer and nowhere near strong enough to defend himself against the furious onslaught built up over three years.  He’d curled up on the floor as his brother waylaid him for what seemed like forever before his dad rushed in and threw Grant across the room.

And Brendan didn’t say another word to his brother, even after he graduated and headed for the Marines.