Webb ran his tongue over the hole in his bottom lip where his tooth had been. It hurt. So did the gap in his gums. Even so, it was better than losing an upper tooth. That would be pretty obvious. This way, at least, people wouldn’t see a gap, since his lower teeth were always hidden when he smiled.
It was difficult to guess the time without a watch or a cell phone or a window, especially since he was hearing a new guitar riff in his head. He’d been sitting on the bench, imagining his guitar was in his hands and feeling where he’d put his fingers to play the chords.
He even had the hook of a song to go with the riff. He’d been thinking about the playground just outside the walls of his prison cell. The brightly colored bars of the swing set and the teeter-totter were probably less than twenty steps away. So close, so far.
And that’s where he was headed with the song’s hook.
Take me close
Take me far
But the cages we choose for ourselves
Keep us from what really matters
And you matter most to me
So why are you so close and yet so far…
He was feeling it—the rise of a G chord—when the door opened. It was the cop, his face expressionless.
He pointed out the cell door, and the meaning was clear to Webb. Time to get out.
“I get to make a phone call?” Webb said.
“My advice? Call George to pick you up.”
“Right,” Webb said. “The guy who had my back at the airport.”
“He did,” the cop said. “Call him and let him explain.”
Webb walked out of the cell and saw Brent in the open area beyond the desk.
Brent was a head taller than the cop, and the extra height allowed Webb a clear view of his face. Or, more accurately, of the white gauze and the purple bruises.
Broken nose, for sure. But Webb didn’t need a view of Brent’s wrecked face to tell him that. He’d felt Brent’s nose crack against his skull.
“I don’t want to press charges,” Brent said to Webb. “I’m sorry for everything I did to you at the airport. This misunderstanding is entirely my fault.”
Brent spoke as if he’d memorized his little speech.
“See?” Webb said to the cop. “Someone should have believed me a lot earlier.”
“Yeah,” the cop said in a flat voice. He turned to Brent. “You’re full of crap, and we both know it.”
“I fell and hit my nose on the baggage carousel,” Brent said. “All a misunderstanding.”
“Nothing like a good believable story to keep everyone happy,” the cop said.
“Yup,” Brent said. “Need me to sign a paper or am I good to go?”
“Stay away from this kid,” the cop said. “Understand?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brent said. “All a misunderstanding.”
The station phone rang. When no one answered, the cell phone on the cop’s belt rang. Like the call to the station had been forwarded.
The cop waved his hand, and Brent walked out of the station as the cop answered his phone.
The cop listened, then said, “Thanks for calling me back, George. You should get here right away. I can’t hold the kid any longer.”
When he hung up, he walked to the other side of the office, where Webb’s guitar case was leaning against the wall.
He picked it up and handed it to Webb.
“We’re almost done here,” the cop said. “I’ll get the rest of your stuff.”
“I’m not waiting for George,” Webb said. “Fact is, I’m going to look for another guide.”
“Nobody better than George. He tells me you want to hike the Canol. He’s the guy for you.”
“The guy who pretended he didn’t see a thing at the airport? What’s he going to do if a grizzly shows up?”
The cop shook his head. “Brent—the guy whose nose you busted—has already spent four years in prison for aggravated assault. That’s not the worst of it. At a work camp last summer, two guys disappeared. Got lost, nobody could find them. That’s the official story. Unofficially? Brent had a grudge against both of them.”
“You’re telling me Brent killed two people?”
“Nope. That would be slander. I am telling you if there was the slightest bit of proof that he was involved in how they disappeared, he’d be behind bars. He’s psycho in the worst way possible—a way impossible to prove. George knows that just as much as anybody else in this town. We all breathe easier when Brent is gone.”
“How about what happened at the airport? That’s not enough reason to put him in here?”
The cop let out a long breath. “Let’s say, in theory, that Brent took the first swing at you. And let’s say, in theory, that I put him in a cell instead of you. I’d have to let him make a phone call, because if I didn’t, his lawyer would be all over me. And his lawyer’s a real pain.”
“How do you know mine isn’t?”
“Let me finish. I throw Brent in here and he’d be out in five hours. And there would only be one thing on his mind. Finding you. In a small town like this, that would take him less than an hour. Which means that six hours after throwing Brent in a cell, you’d be at the clinic. Or worse, flown out to the emergency unit at the hospital in Yellowknife. Or even worse, you wouldn’t even be found. There’s a lot of wilderness out there, and Brent knows it well enough to find a place to hide your body.” He paused for a second and looked Webb in the eye. “Much easier to keep you safe by not letting you out. You’re a kid. Your parents aren’t going to be upset once they hear that I was trying to protect you, which is why I was prepared to keep you from calling a lawyer. Brent’s not stupid. He came in and did what he did so I’d have to let you out. Told me if I didn’t, his lawyer would be calling. I didn’t have much choice. Could you do me a favor and stay here the night anyway? I’ll make sure you get a great meal.”
“No,” Webb said. He was done with letting people scare him.
“Then the next best thing is for you to let George take you for the night. He wanted you in here to make sure there was no hassle, because he doesn’t need to spend the next five years wondering if Brent will stab him in the back some night. Too late for that now, so George is willing to take that risk to keep you safe.”
“Nice,” Webb said. “So if something happens to George someday, it’s because of me. No thanks. Call George and tell him I’ll see him tomorrow at the helicopter. I’ll fight my own battles.”
“Not smart, kid.”
“I’ve dealt with worse,” Webb said.
That which does not kill us makes us stronger.
The cop shrugged.
Webb pulled his guitar out of the case while the cop got some paperwork ready.
Webb could still hear the riff in his head and he wanted to try it on real strings. But the cop still had Webb’s guitar picks.
Webb thought of something and rooted around in the back pocket of his jeans.
He hit the first few chords hard, and they sounded great.
The cop lifted his head and gave Webb a half smile. He didn’t have to say it. Webb could tell he liked it.
Then the cop frowned. “That’s not a guitar pick.”
“Nope,” Webb said. “You’ve got all of them.”
Webb hit the chords again. Riffed a little more.
Not bad, Webb thought, even though I had to use my tooth for a guitar pick.