THE STATION WAS STILL CLOSED WHEN THEY GOT THERE. Batey put the Bronco into park and sat there with the engine idling. He leaned over the wheel and looked at the building. There was a light on. Batey looked at his watch. He said, Marty’s usually early. Come on. He’ll let us in.
They ran through the rain. At the door Batey started knocking. Not long after, a head popped out of an office door. Rawlings squinted. You could tell he was having a hard time making out the faces standing out in the rain. Rawlings came out from the office and down the hall and through the double doors and put his key in the lock.
What’re you boys doing up so early? Rawlings asked as he opened the door.
Need to make a report, Batey said.
Rawlings sniffed at the air around Fielding.
You been drinking, Amos?
Yes, Fielding said. Whole bottle.
Maybe you better get on home and sleep it off.
You’d a drank the same, Batey said, once you find out what happened.
Okay, Rawlings said. His face now serious. Come on in.
They went up to the fourth floor and sat at the two chairs in front of Rawlings’s desk. Rawlings brought a cup of coffee for each of them. Rawlings sat down and leaned onto his desk and laced his fingers together. He said, So? What happened?
Amos thinks he saw the guy who did it, Batey said.
Did what?
Lit that girl on fire.
Rawlings looked at Fielding.
You did? he asked.
I think so.
How do you know?
Sumbitch tried to run me over.
Where was this?
I went back down there.
Why?
Didn’t feel right.
That’s the understatement of the century, Rawlings said. He leaned back and opened a drawer near his feet and pulled out a form and took a pen from the cup on his desk. Rubbed some sleep from his eye then looked at Fielding and said, Okay, I tell you what. Chief isn’t in yet, but I think he’d like to hear this. You mind hanging tight till he gets here?
You mind? Fielding asked Batey.
Nope.
It was 9:05 when Chief Price walked into his office. He took off his hat and his slicker and hung the slicker on the coat tree. Through the glass partitions Rawlings saw him and said to Batey and Fielding, Hold on a minute. He filled a mug with coffee and went into Price’s office.
Thank you, Marty, Price said. Who’s that with Dee in there?
Amos Fielding, sir.
He the one that bought the old Harris place? Fella from Iowa?
Yessir.
So what’re they doing in your office so damn early? You boys starting a book club I should know about?
No sir, Rawlings said. Fielding there nearly got run down last night.
Run down?
Yessir.
By what?
A vehicle, sir.
Whereabouts?
On the spit. Where Summers was found.
Price was about to sip his coffee, but when he heard Rawlings say that he stopped and set the mug on his desk and furrowed his brow. His whole demeanor changed. He said, What was he doing out there?
Said something didn’t feel right, Rawlings said. And when he was walking on the road a car came out of nowhere and tried to hit him. Thinks it’s got some connection to the body.
That you talking or him?
Him, sir.
Why would he think that? Price asked.
I don’t know, sir. Said he went down there again to have another look around.
Has anyone told him that’s none of his business?
Want me to file the report and send them home?
No, Price said. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Hell, isn’t even nine thirty yet. Haven’t even had my coffee. He exhaled. Alright, he said, send them in.
Chief Price’s office was austere and seemed modeled after his personality. There was no clutter. There was a framed picture of the constitution on the wall. A framed National Rifle Association membership. An American flag hung in the corner. There was a crystal decanter and several tumblers on a silver tray next to his desk. Batey walked in behind Fielding, and Price extended his hand and Fielding shook it. Price was wearing a big gold ring with diamonds in it. When the chief stood Fielding noticed a .50 caliber nickel-plated Desert Eagle in his holster. Seemed an unusual choice for an elected official, Fielding thought. The chief noticed Fielding looking at it.
You a fan?
Fan?
My firearm.
He took it from its holster and popped out the clip and ejected the round from the chamber by pulling back on the action and spun it gracefully in his hand and held it by the barrel so that Fielding could take the grip.
Go on, Price said. Give her a feel.
I’m alright, Fielding said.
What you mean you’re alright? Go on. Give her a taste. Ain’t going to bite.
Fielding reluctantly took the pistol.
Heavy, Fielding said.
Hell yes, she’s heavy, Price said. That’s not some government-issued peashooter you’re holding. He smiled. His teeth seemed too white. That’ll rip a hole the size of a baseball in a shipping container. You ever fire one?
Fielding shook his head.
You were an old lawman, weren’t you?
Yessir.
You telling me you’ve never taken something like that off a one of them gangbangers?
Can’t say I have.
Well, you stick around long enough I’ll find you one.
Mighty kind, Fielding said.
Going on ten years with this beauty, Price said. Got her off some wannabe hot-shit banger out of Vancouver running dope across the border. Took three shots at me. One nearly did the trick.
He unbuttoned his shirt to the sternum and pulled the fabric aside and tapped the scarred skin just above his heart.
Bastard aimed too high, Price said. Took the shot in fear. Adrenaline going a mile a fucking minute. Holding it all sideways like a real gangster.
Again, he tapped the skin above his heart.
Dumb son of a bitch, Price continued. Took off running when he was out. Trained him with my rifle. Deadnuts in the crosshair. One shot. Boom. Hit him right where I wanted. Dropped that fucker like a bag of gravel. I don’t miss, Mr Fielding. You want to kill me, you better learn to fire your weapon first.
Fielding handed him the gun back and the chief popped back in the clip and pulled back on the action. He puffed some hot breath on the nickeled barrel and took a handkerchief from his pocket and buffed the silver metal. Then he put the gun back in its holster.
So, he said. He sat down on the corner of his desk. What is it you think you saw?
For a fourth time Fielding told the story. Just as he told it to Batey and just as he told it to Coraline and just as he told it to Rawlings. He didn’t leave out a single detail so nothing could be inferred or speculated over and when he was done all the chief said was,
You been drinking, Mr Fielding?
Yes, Fielding said. I’ve also never seen a burned girl before. Wanted to try to forget that as quick as possible.
Thought you were a sheriff?
Different time, Fielding said. I don’t know, maybe different place.
That some kind of commentary on the way I run things around here?
No sir.
Sure sounded like it, Price said. He looked at Rawlings. Sound like he was making some kind of commentary, Deputy Rawlings?
Rawlings did not answer and only looked down at his hands. He wanted no part of it.
Well, Price said, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions.
He stood from the corner of the desk and walked behind it and placed his hands on the back of his chair and leaned against it and eyed Fielding for a long moment as if trying to parse out something within him. As if gauging his next move. As if deciding what kind of man Fielding really was.
People don’t change, do they, Mr Fielding, Price said. Well, that’s not really true. They evolve, I suppose. They mutate. I’d argue they’ve gotten better. Take criminals, for example. The bad guys. Empathy has seeped into the mind of the modern criminal. The heinous acts are not what they once were. Sure, there’s some spooky shit happening with the cartels south of the border, but that’s just a bunch of spick dope runners acting out of desperation. Notch above animals, if you ask me. But the truly great villains, there was no empathy in them. Genghis Khan used to fillet strips off his enemies and eat the meat in front of them while they were still alive. The Vikings did something called the blood eagle. Nasty stuff. They’d cut slits in the backs of their captured enemies and pull the lungs through the ribs and whenever the captive would breathe the bloody lung would flutter like a wing. Or the Judas Cradle. You ever heard of that? The guy or gal would be lowered onto this pyramid-shaped spear, with the point right up one of the holes and then weights were added to increase the effect. Can you imagine? Tore them apart. See, there’s nothing like that now. Now they just shoot you. Hardly feel a thing. Pretty humane in the grand scheme of things.
That girl wasn’t shot, Mr Price, Fielding said.
You can call me chief.
Okay. Chief Price. What happened to that girl is as bad as it gets. Make old Khan’s stomach turn.
Well, Price said. He smiled at Fielding. He pulled out his own chair and sat and leaned back with his coffee resting on one of the arms of the chair. Listen, he said, I appreciate you coming to me with this. I really do. What happened was a tragedy. Not something we take kindly to around here. Despite what you’ve seen, Mr Fielding, Port Cook’s a nice little town. Friendly. Nice place to raise your kids. And it’s good to have another lawman of your stature kicking around, but we’re all staffed up. If you catch my drift.
Price extended a hand and Fielding shook it.
Don’t be a stranger, Price said. He stood and so did Fielding and Batey. And I’m serious about that Desert Eagle. Consider one yours.
Fielding and Batey left the office and nodded at Rawlings and walked out into the hall and as they did Price followed them with his eyes. Watched them until they disappeared and when they had Price rapped on the glass with his knuckle. When Rawlings came in Price said,
Keep an eye on him. I want to know exactly where Mr Fielding is and exactly what he’s up to. You understand?
Back in the Bronco Fielding said, Charmin.
He’s been like that as long as I’ve known him.
How long is that?
Nine years, Batey said. Which is nine years too long.
Thinks highly of himself.
Big dick swinging, Batey said. So what’re your plans?
Plans?
For the day.
Sleep, Fielding said. I’m goin a feed the horses and then I’m goin a sleep for a few years.