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The River Ridge Chamber met in a large, comfortable conference room at the community center. Mase walked in at noon on the dot, to find the other members assembled around the table. Coffee was brewing and bottles of water and snacks were set out.
Mase nodded to the woman seated at the head of the table. Nedra Farr was a local Realtor, a chic woman in her fifties with short silver hair. She smiled back. “Officer Barnett, welcome.”
On Nedra’s right sat Bob Gardner, the owner of the local Stop & Save grocery store, a stout, balding man with a bowtie and a dour face. He turned to greet Mase over his shoulder, then relaxed again.
On the far side sat Jessica Dey, an ultra-slender brunette with long hair and darting eyes. She widened her eyes at Mase, curved her lips up in a smile that she clearly thought was cute, and tossed her hair. Her mannerisms struck Mase more as the posing of a high school girl than a woman confident in her own appeal.
And finally, beside her, one of Mase’s least favorite Ridge citizens, Buzz Allen. The redhead’s hooded eyes were trained on Mase like a toad waiting for a fly to amble nearer. Manager of his family’s Main Street sporting goods/hardware store, the little prick carried himself importantly as if he managed a multimillion-dollar business. He was as unlike his unpretentious father, Cole Allen, as possible.
“Mase, buddy,” Buzz said with a loud ‘between-us-guys’ laugh. “Have a seat. Glad you could make it.”
Like he had a fucking choice. Mase nodded and took the seat at the foot of the table, angling his chair to face the open door.
“Sam is late,” Jessica said in a breathy little voice. “Should we begin without him?”
“Sam is always late,” Nedra Farr said briskly. “He’ll get here when he gets here.”
She scanned the printed agenda on the table before her. “We have a number of things to discuss, but since Officer Barnett’s time is valuable, I move we begin with our request for him.”
“Second,” the grocer said.
“All in favor?”
The others nodded. Mase waited, crossing one foot over his knee.
Nedra opened her mouth, but Buzz Allen held up one beefy hand, sending the Realtor a patient smile. “I think I’m the one who should handle this,” he said. “Since Blues and Brews is kinda my baby.”
Mase watched with interest as Nedra’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Really, Buzz?” she said with studied pleasantry. “And all this time I thought it was the group who brainstormed the idea. But please, go on. I’ll just fill in the gaps when you’re done.” She smiled at the younger man like an indulgent primary school teacher, leaving no doubt she was certain there would be gaps.
Mase caught Bob Gardner’s eye and the grocer lowered one eyelid in a slow wink. Mase had to flatten his mouth to keep from grinning. Small-town drama.
Buzz laughed again, all good humor. “Anyways, Mase, as you know, we’ve got Blues and Brews coming up in early September. Only eight weeks away, can you believe it? And we’ve selected you to open the festivities for us. Give a little talk at the Panida, welcome everyone, then hand the mike over. Think you can handle that?” The twist of his thick lips said he at least wasn’t sure.
Mase maintained a neutral expression with an effort. “I appreciate the honor, folks. I’m not great at public speaking. I’m sure you can find someone a lot more entertaining to open the festival.”
“That’s all right,” Bob Gardner said easily. “Don’t sweat it, son. Just show up, that’s the main thing.”
“Hey, hey,” Buzz called, leaning in to recapture the attention. “It’s not a problem, Mase. Heck, I can write something up for you, buddy. Won’t be a teleprompter, so you’ll have to keep track, but no harm in having a few notes, right? Local bad boy makes good, that kinda thing. Folks will eat it up.”
Mase looked at him. “Thanks. I’ll take care of it.”
Buzz’s smile slid away along with his gaze. “Okay, okay. Hey, don’t shoot. I’m an unarmed man.” He held up his hands and laughed, his shoulders shaking. But something ugly flickered in his gaze. Mutual dislike, or something deeper?
Whatever, not worth wasting his mental energy on. Everyone over the age of thirty in River Ridge knew Mase had been a screw-up when he was a hormone-laden early teen. Knew about the fateful football game and what had happened there.
Mase turned back to Nedra. “Anything else, or can I let you folks get to your business?”
“That’s it,” Nedra said briskly. “Thank you. We’ll get back to you with a date and time.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“That is so cool,” he heard Jessica breathe as he walked out the door. “He’ll wear his uniform and weapons to give his talk, right?”
Mase didn’t wait to hear the reply to that. Because the answer was, he’d do whatever the Lt. wanted, which would be whatever the Chamber wanted.
He wondered what it would take to erase his ‘hero’ status before September, and yet not quite get his ass fired. Climbing back into his department rig, he shook his head at his own thoughts.
Yeah, he could just hear what his old man would have to say about that.
* * *
AFTER WORK, MASE STOPPED briefly at his place, a sturdy two-story bungalow on an acre north of Vancouver which he planned to fix up one of these days, but was now mainly a place to sleep and eat a few meals. The house needed painted, his lawn needed mowed and the flowerbeds were a tangle of weeds. He’d get to all of it when he was fully recovered.
He walked to the end of the drive, grabbed his mail from the locking box and waved at his neighbor across the road, a retired teacher painstakingly mowing his acre of lawn on a riding mower. The man lifted a hand and executed another precise, sweeping turn. Mase knew all the neighbors and figured they put up with his lack of home care because he was a cop. Fair enough, as he put up with them making his place look bad in return for keeping their disapproval silent.
It was too hot to mow on foot, and he wasn’t cleared for his usual tri-weekly runs, so he stripped out of his uniform, distributed his weapons to his safe, his clothing to the washer, donned an old tee and some workout shorts and trainers, packed a bag with his leathers and headed for Beaverton.
His first stop was Big Iron Fitness, where as a Club 3 Dom he had an honorary drop-in membership. He had time for a light workout, a cool shower and some supper at Zellaby’s across the street before he headed to the club.
Dack and Jake walked across the street with him to the restaurant. Mase wore his jeans and a dark gray tee, but left his leather vest in his duffle for later. Dack, who had a quirky sense of humor and a fiancé who’d beat breast cancer, wore jeans and a tight, faded pink tee with a red stiletto on the front along with the words ‘Kick Cancer’. Since he was six-four and at least two fifty, and this was Portland, Mase figured no one would dare look twice at the big weightlifter even if he wore nail polish and lip gloss to match the shirt.
Jake, who looked like the tough ex-Marine he was, and who was even bigger than Dack, wore black jeans and what looked to Mase like a black silk tee, although he wasn’t gonna ask. Since Jake had gotten engaged to Carlie, who was pure class even in her sexy club-wear, the big man had started dressing with a bit of flair.
Mase eased into the comfortable booth, wincing as his shoulder pulled.
Jake eyed him with a frown. “You hit the workout too hard today, didn’t you?”
“I’m okay,” Mase said instantly. He leaned back in the booth, resting his left arm on his thigh. “Can’t take it easy too long, I’ll get soft.”
Dack slid in beside him. “Nah, you don’t have the slacker mindset. You’ll get back in top shape. But Jake’s right, a gunshot wound is nothin’ to dick around with, man.”
Just as Mase was opening his mouth to tell them both where to shove their suggestions, the slim, dark waiter popped up like magic. He set three tall glasses of ice water before them and proffered menus.
Jake shook his head. “I’ll have the lifter special fried-chicken sandwich and Caesar salad, and a Rogue amber.”
“Lifter cheeseburger, salad with ranch,” Dack said. “With the Rogue amber.”
Mase nodded. “Another of those, but make mine iced tea.” If he drank a beer, he’d be nodding off before he even got to the club.
The waiter left and Mase slugged back some of his ice water, along the pain pill he’d slipped into his pocket, just in case.
Then he forestalled any more talk about his physical health. “Appreciate your concern, guys. But I’m handling it.”
Jake nodded impassively, letting it go. Dack gave Mase a sidelong look and jiggled the ice in his glass. “How’s things at River Ridge PD these days?”
Mase shook his head, watching the droplets of condensation roll down the sides of his glass as he set it on the coaster. “To tell you the honest to God truth ... I’m about ready to hang up my badge and my gun.”
“Fuck,” Dack muttered, shock in his voice. “What’s goin’ on?”
Mase told them how he’d been chosen as the department’s poster boy and how little he was liking it. Dack and Jake exchanged a look.
“What’s the problem with that?” Jake asked.
Mase shrugged and then winced as the move sent pain through his shoulder. “Aw, I dunno,” he muttered. He rattled the ice cubes in his glass and then sighed. If he couldn’t tell these two men the truth, who could he be honest with?
“I’ve had a lot of time to think lately. Too fuckin’ much time,” he said wryly. “And I don’t much like what I’ve come up with. I didn’t exactly ... put on the uniform with the high ideals I recited in the oath. ‘Serve and protect’ ... Shyeah, it should’ve read more like ‘show my dad I’m not the screw-up he always told me I was’.”
“Hey man,” Dack murmured. “We’re listening.”
Jake jerked his chin in agreement.
“On top of that shit,” Mase added doggedly, “one of my latest collars, local kid who went bad and I mean all the way down—after I tried my damnedest to set him straight, because he started at Ridge High and reminded me a little bit of myself at that age, pissed at his old man and thus the world. The kid told me where I could shove my offers of help and kept escalating, selling everything from weed to crystal meth to his stupid underage girlfriend. Left us no choice but to throw the book at him.’
“He just got released from jail this morning on a technicality. All that fuckin’ work for nothin’, man. He’s right back out there because his lawyer says we didn’t hold his hand the right way. And the little shit won’t stick around, you can bet on that. Probably already in California or Nevada by now, where some other department will have to go through the whole thing again.”
He rubbed his hands over his face, still damp with perspiration even after his shower. “It feels like a losing battle lately, you know? Our hands are tied, we gotta have evidence cameras on all the time so people can’t claim we pulled shit on them, but they can pull it on us. On top of that I’m supposed to smile for every goddamn news camera pointed at me? I—it just feels like I don’t even know why I’m there anymore.”
There was a short silence, during which their drinks appeared, the waiter setting them down silently and disappearing.
“That’s some heavy shit,” Jake said quietly. “Maybe you should think about gettin’ out.”
When Mase looked at him in surprise, the big man shrugged. “You signed on to be a cop, and you’ve done it for how many ... fifteen years? That’s longer than I served in the Marines. I didn’t wanna be a lifer, so I got out.”
“Eighteen years for me. It’s different, though,” Mase said. He’d always known he wanted to be a cop, had gone into the academy right out of two years of junior college, and never looked back. Until now, anyway.
“How’s it different?” Jake said. “And you don’t have to answer now. Just think about it.”
As the waiter reappeared with plates piled high with food, Mase merely nodded.
The three of them dug in. His burger was hot and juicy, the salad cold, crisp with creamy dressing and the minute the level of tea dropped in his glass, the waiter reappeared with a refill.
After eating, Mase felt better. He leaned back and smiled wryly at Jake.
“You have a point. I just ... it would feel like failure if I quit, you know? Like I can’t hack it.” Like his dad had been right about him all along.
Jake nodded. “That’s not all that unique. I felt some of that too, when I didn’t re-up. Thought my career buddies would look down on me. But I finally realized it was mostly me doin’ it to myself. I was so busy proving to myself I wasn’t my old man, and I could succeed at the hardest thing I could find, that I didn’t pay attention to where I wanted to be goin’ for the rest of my life. I’m glad I served, don’t get me wrong. But when I was done, I was done.”
Dack nodded respectfully. “That’s good that you realized that shit, man.”
He turned to Mase. “And speaking as a civilian—not to get too emo without even a bottle of good whiskey to back me up here—you’ve both done the rest of us a huge service, laid your lives on the line in ways that no one but you can ever really understand.
“Mase, buddy, you damn near gave your all for the people in your town. No matter what you decide from here on out, you already gave that. The rest of the time you serve them ... that’s all bonus.”
Mase’s chest felt tight, as if something was working to be free. Something big and good.
Jake gave him a chin lift. “He’s right, bud. Ain’t no possibility of failure, ‘cause you already played the winning round.”
Mase finally recognized the feeling—a deep gratitude that these two men, whom he counted friends, understood his turmoil. Not trusting his voice, he nodded.
“You got the trophy in your hand,” Dack added, his lips twitching as he lightened things up.
“The pinup girl hanging on your arm for the photo op,” Jake added deadpan, “dressed in a really short, tight little red dress.”
Mase burst out laughing, and they joined in. It felt good after the painful introspection of the last several moments.
“With a handful of good toys, begging you to use them on her,” Dack tagged on in a stage whisper.
Mase nodded, still chuckling.
But in his mind’s eye he was picturing instead, a strawberry blonde on his arm. Natalie, wearing that lacy bra, barely holding in those bodacious breasts of hers, and maybe those little matching panties she’d mentioned. Now that would be a trophy moment.
Then he yanked his thoughts back in line. He was headed for hot, kinky sex at the club, and he was thinking about a woman he’d probably never see again? What was up with that?
“Thanks,” he said as they all rose. “Appreciate the pep talk.”
“Any time,” Dack said. “And by the way, did I mention to you boys we’re short a bartender tonight—as in, we don’t have one?”
“I can do it,” Jake said, resignedly.
“Maybe you should try it,” Dack said to Mase.
Mase looked at him in surprise. “Me? I don’t tend bar—I mean, I did once when Danny was sick, but Karl did the fancy stuff. I just pulled a few draft beers.”
Dack lifted a brow. “It’s not rocket science, buddy. Just ask people what they want, look it up on the bar laptop, throw it together and hand it to them.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind me pissin’ people off when I screw up their drink orders?”
Jake showed his teeth. “They’ll have to live with it, like they do when I bartend.”
“Okay,” Mase decided. “I’ll do it.”
Jake shook his head. “You’re nuts, but that works for me, ‘cause I hate it. Mixing those foo-foo drinks the women like ... oh, hell no.”
“Yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Mase punched the big man in the bicep.
“You’ll do fine. And we’ll make sure to spell you out,” Dack said as they walked back out into the sultry summer evening. “So you can scene if you want.”
Mase shrugged. For once, he was surprised to realize, he wasn’t raring to go. Unless his very own trophy blonde walked through the club doors. At this image, the evening sun’s heat arrowed straight down inside him, settling in his groin.
Oh man, he was so screwed.