CHAPTER TWO

Calvin Martin tipped the beer can back to get the last of its contents, then crumpled the can and tossed it onto the floorboard of his truck to join its eight brothers. For the umpteenth time he looked out the side window at the house that had once been his. Parked in back of a currently empty house, Calvin had been waiting for night to fall. It was full dark now and lights had come on in his former home. Good. That meant Leslie was home.

Calvin opened the door and the dome light illuminated the cab, allowing him one more look at the restraining order. That bitch. She thought a piece of paper could keep him away. He’d show her. Nobody could keep him away from what was his. Not her father. Not the fucking cops. She hadn’t been much of a wife, truth to tell, but she had been his and nothing was over until he said it was over. Plus there was no way he was just going to let her take everything he had.

Calvin shut the door and started down the driveway. He barely felt the beers. He was a big man and he could handle his drinks. Maybe he would have something stronger later, after he had taught little miss fucking bitch how the world worked.

He looked around as he reached the bottom of the drive. No one about. Great. He could cross the street and come at the house from the side where there were plenty of trees, and that would get him to the back door. Leslie had changed the locks but Calvin knew he could kick the door in. Hell, he’d done it before.

He had just crossed the street and was stepping into the yard when a voice said, “Mister Martin.”

No questioning tone. Whoever the hell it was knew who he was looking at. Calvin turned. In the dim light from a street lamp he could make out a big man standing near the trees. A damn big man. Calvin moved closer. The big guy had close-cropped brown hair and pale eyes.

“Who the fuck are you?” Calvin said.

“That’s not pertinent at the moment.”

“Huh?”

“Pertinent,” repeated the man. “It means it’s not important.”

“I know what the fuck it means, wise-ass.”

“Good. Just making sure. You look a little slow.”

Calvin grimaced. Had that fucker just called him slow? “Listen pal. I don’t know what your deal is, but you better close that smart mouth or you’ll be spitting teeth.”

“That’s unlikely,” the man said. “But back to our discussion. What is pertinent, is that you’re currently under a restraining order, which states that you’re not to come within one hundred feet of your ex-wife. You’re in violation of that order as of now.”

“You a cop?”

“Not anymore. Now why don’t you trot on back to your truck and go home and finish getting drunk.”

“Or what?” said Calvin.

“Or I’ll hurt you.”

Calvin’s face grew hot and he could feel the old anger welling up. He had hoped to let a little of that anger out on the former Mrs Martin, and later he would, but here was a bigger target. Yeah, the asshole was big, but he wasn’t that big. Calvin started toward the man, balling his fists as he went. “Oh so you’re going to hurt me. Gee, I’m all scared.”

The man didn’t answer and his silence only made Calvin more pissed. “I’m going to stomp your ass all over this street, fuckhead.”

Calvin lunged, swinging a long, looping right at the man’s head. He’d always been good at punching. He had big thick bones. Never even broken a knuckle pounding on some deserving head. But there was a problem. The man wasn’t there anymore. Calvin’s punch met only empty air, and he stumbled forward, almost falling.

“Last chance, Mister Martin,” the man said. “Go home.”

Calvin spun. Somehow the man had gotten behind him. “Fuck you,” he said, and threw another punch.

He was never sure exactly what happened after that. His nose exploded into a pulpy mass and then something that felt like a cannon ball slammed into his stomach. Calvin went to his knees, vomiting up his nine beers and the cheeseburger that had preceded them into his gullet.

He looked up just in time to see a foot coming at his face and then the world went dark.

* * *

Wade Griffin grabbed a fist full of the back of Calvin Martin’s work shirt and dragged the man back across the street to the truck. Griffin opened the passenger door and threw the two-hundred-plus-pound man into the cab. Griffin slammed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. He smiled. The keys were still in the ignition. Griffin got in, started up the truck and pulled out onto the street.

Leslie Martin had been right. She had told the county sheriff that her ex-husband would just ignore the restraining order and would find her and give her another of the beatings he had handed out so often over the two years of their rocky marriage.

The sheriff had told Leslie that he would step up patrols in her neighborhood but had also recommended she hire a private investigator. In fact he had recommended one specifically. Griffin grinned, thinking of Sheriff Carl Price sending the woman his way, telling her that she could trust Wade Griffin, a local boy who had just moved back to town.

He had only to watch the house for two nights before Martin showed up. Griffin had waited for the man to build up enough courage and when Martin had finally come strolling over, Griffin had intentionally pissed him off. It had made it much easier to deal with him. Anger makes people stupid and reckless. That was one of the first things Griffin’s sensei had taught him.

He drove Martin’s truck to the parking lot of the Brennert County Hospital emergency room entrance. He had noted that the late-model truck had an anti-theft alarm. Griffin pulled a four-way lug wrench from behind the front seat, locked both doors, tossed the keys into a storm drain, and then threw the lug wrench through the truck’s passenger side window. The alarm began to wail as Griffin vaulted the parking lot’s chain-link fence and disappeared into the darkness.

Griffin took a cab to a gas station a few blocks from where he had parked his own truck. As he walked to his ride he checked his cell phone. He had turned it off during his surveillance of Leslie Martin’s house of course. Three calls. All from Charon, the light of his life.

Griffin hit the button that dialed Charon’s number. She picked up on the second ring and Griffin said. “Looking for me?”

“In all the wrong places apparently. Did you have your phone turned off again?”

Griffin grinned; he could hear the scowl in her voice. She had a really cute scowl. “Yeah, I was on a job.”

“Anything I should ask about?”

“What do you think?”

“We’ll call that a no. Well I may have something a bit more respectable for you. A man named Paul Traylor called. He said his daughter is missing and he wants to hire you to find her.”

“Hmm. I’ll talk to him but I usually stay clear of missing person’s cases. Nothing I can do that the cops can’t do a hundred times better.”

“I figured that,” Charon said. “But I told him I’d relay the message, just like I was your secretary.”

“I bet you’d look good in a little yuppie business suit.” Charon tended to dress in what could best be described as funky Goth-light.

“Dream on. However, if you pick up some Chinese takeout on your way home, I’ll wear whatever you like later.”

“Even if it’s nothing at all?”

“Especially that.”

“Consider it done.”

“See you soon, wild man.”