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Later that night, their plans in place—even if none of them made Di feel any better—he was crocheting plush animals at about the rate of one every ten minutes. It was a pretty good way to keep track of how nervous he was. He was also on a videocall with Boomer.
“Look, Di, I know you’re nervous, buddy. I get it. But you can do this.”
Di was not at all as confident. Tomorrow, he was going to have to try to draw the sheriff into a private conversation they were then going to record. It seemed an absolutely insane plan.
Of course, without it, there wasn’t much they could do. They didn’t have direct evidence yet, and arresting the top law enforcement in the city was already a fairly dicey prospect. They were going to have to have something to make a pretty good case against him, or else.
Just “we think he did it” isn’t going to be enough for the state police. And, if we give our hand away without getting an excuse to arrest him, any or all of us might get poisoned, too.
Still, he had to put down the bunny he was working on before he ended up making its face look more like a turtle. His hands were shaking.
“Easy for you to say,” he sighed.
For a moment, he rested his hands on the table in front of him and tried to breathe slowly.
It didn’t help. He was still shaking.
“I’m no hero. I wouldn’t even make a good mallcop outside of the tiny, no-crime burg I live in.”
Although he was trying to feel tough, he wasn’t. He defined the term “big softy” and had all his life. He was basically 6' 4" of big teddy bear meant for cuddling and making cute things and . . . very little else.
It’s no wonder Mac will never want me, he mused, feeling sorry for himself. She’s absolutely fearless and tough as nails.
After all, the woman had once come across a black bear and her cubs in her backyard. When the bear was about to attack to defend her offspring, Mac had not run into the house or screamed or frozen. Instead, she’d stood up on her tiptoes and let out a ferocious yell which had echoed around the town. The bear had quickly sprung away, herding her kids in the other direction.
Mac had been sixteen at the time.
It had been her dad’s favorite story about her. He’d always wanted her to take over as sheriff after him—although he’d seen that as happening in about thirty years, not anytime soon.
Continuing to let his fears out, Di gestured at the screen.
“You and Mac, y’all are tough.”
Although Boomer frowned, it might have been in confusion over what Mac had to do with this—even though, when talking to Di, Mac had something to do with everything.
“Look at you. You went to another country and took on terrorists.”
Granted, the man didn’t look like it now, as he was carefully crocheting a baby cap with a halo on it, but still . . .
“I’m too scared to take on a porky little old man.”
Sighing, Boomer put down the cap and stared at him. Di knew it was serious, as the man rarely put aside his crafts.
“Okay, first, idiot bravado is not the same real bravery. Hell, every man in my unit was terrified, except for the ones who would have run at the first signs of trouble. The ones who’d be there when they were needed were all scared.”
He shook his head.
“Real, brave men and women are almost always scared when they head into danger. But they’re brave, ‘cause they do it, anyway. You, my brother . . .”
He pointed to Di.
“You’ve got a heart of pure gold. You ever punched anybody?”
Di shook his head, as Boomer went on.
“And yet you put up with being picked on by those idiots you work with every day. Now, do you do that ‘cause you’re scared?”
“Of those guys? God, no.”
He thought about it for a second.
“Well, except . . .”
“. . . When they start to turn into serial killers,” Boomer nodded, continuing. “And do you know why you’re not scared?”
“‘Cause they’re all morons?” Di guessed.
Boomer snorted.
“They’re all morons you could take out with one punch. And they know it. And you know it.”
Pointing at Di’s chest again, he went on.
“It’s that heart of gold of yours. You don’t slap them down, ‘cause you know they’re just wilfully stupid and aren’t attacking anyone who can’t handle it. It’d be like stomping some yappy little dog. You don’t need to prove who’s stronger, ‘cause you know you are.”
While Di couldn’t entirely disagree with this, he still wasn’t sure. He continued to listen, though.
“Now, if they took on someone weaker . . .”
Bristling a bit, Di had to agree—if only internally. Had any of the idiots he worked with tried to attack or bully someone it would actually hurt, someone who wouldn’t see it as more an annoying fly buzzing around, he would have ended it fast.
“The reason you’re scared,” Boomer explained. “. . . is 1) ‘cause you’re not stupid, and you know you’re going up against someone dangerous. And 2) While you are more than capable of taking care of yourself, you’ve never actually had to step up and do it. No one’s ever been dumb enough to attack the weak while you’re around. If you had that muscle memory of what you could do, well . . .”
Boomer laughed softly.
“You’d still be afraid but not as terrified.”
While Di supposed so, he still felt overwhelmed.
“Think of it like this,” his friend guided him.
Picking back up his halo, Boomer smiled.
“You’re going to do this, because the only other people who can are either Mac or Velveteen . . .”
To Di’s intense glower, Boomer smiled further.
“. . . and there’s no way you’d let them do this alone.”
Giving him a look, his point made, Boomer ended the call, and Di sighed, knowing he was probably right. There was certainly no way he’d let Mac anywhere near the sheriff now.
Trying to keep his calm, even if he never did get any sleep that night, Di pondered Boomer’s advice. He just hoped he was worthy of living up to it.
Still, by the morning, he had at least stopped shaking. And he had an entire crocheted, plush animal army to testify to how ready he was.