Burn(71)

“You didn’t get far,” Jason said.

“I will today,” Malcolm said, with a confidence he hoped was true.

“Where are you off to?” Hisao asked, his eyes fully black just above a swollen nose.

“Bellingham,” Malcolm said.

“Bellingham?” said Jason. “That’s a three-hour drive.”

“We’re just going into town,” Hisao told him.

“That’s perfectly good, thank you,” Malcolm said. He was feeling the loss of his bag now that he was in a truck again. It had been a constant companion on this trip, and without it, he felt a bit naked. He didn’t panic, though; he was trained to be resourceful, and he’d kept some cash with him, though it had triggered a worry: He reached into a pocket and pulled out some dollars. “Does this look like your money?”

Hisao and Jason both looked, then looked again. “Almost,” Jason said, then pointed at the portrait, “but who’s that?”

“Aaron Burr,” Malcolm said. “He was president.”

“Not here, he wasn’t,” Hisao said.

“The rest of it’s okay,” Jason said. “It’ll probably work for most places if they don’t look too close.”

They drove down a long road toward a small group of buildings that made the town of Frome. Malcolm recognized some of it from when he and Nelson drove through it. A church, a small grocery, a small post office, a school. This world’s, though, had a large feed store on the main corner, where the last one had a diner. Hisao pulled into it.

“This is where we stop,” Hisao said.

“Thank you,” Malcolm said, getting out. “I’ll find my way from here.”

“Are you really an assassin?” Jason asked.

Malcolm stepped away, letting them both out of the truck. They watched him, Hisao seeming as interested as Jason.

“I’ll be back,” Malcolm said. “I promise.”

“Back for what?” Hisao said.

“Watch out for her,” Malcolm continued. “The prophecy may come right in the end after all.”

With that, he zipped up his coat and headed out onto the main road to look for another ride. Hisao and Jason watched him go.

“Any of that make sense to you?” Jason asked.

“Nope,” said his father.

Sheriff Emmett Kelby was a bad man. His curse was that he was unable to revel in it. His badness came from a fury he could never quite explain, not from any joy at seeing others fear him. He felt no joy at all, not even in triumph. All he felt was the fury.

Which was something to behold. This town knew it. Especially those with darker skin. That Deputy Lopez, for example. A new hire after Kelby had been nearly blackmailed by the County Commissioner, but he was doing his level best to make sure Deputy Lopez was already exploring happier policing options in other counties. It’d be a cold day in hell before Kelby’s force got muddied up.

It was also true that he had never stopped at just Negroes and Mexicans (or wherever the hell Lopez was from) or the Japanese (and boy was that Hisao Inagawa going to regret offering to help start his squad car). The poor, the rich, the middle class, he’d found his fury boiling over at all of them. They hated him.

They were too afraid not to vote for him, however. Sheriff Kelby knew things that others might not want others to know. Even with that, it had been close. He’d only beaten that weakling Jack Stanton by a couple hundred votes. Victory was victory, though, and four years of Sheriff Kelby it was.

That ragtag group of fruits and vegetables out at the Dewhurst farm were going to find the prospect of Sheriff Kelby’s official power very uncomfortable indeed.

“Sheriff!” Deputy Curtis said in deep surprise as Kelby pushed his way through the front door of Frome’s sheriff’s office. Curtis leapt to his feet. “We didn’t think you were coming in today with the broken arm and all—”

“It ain’t bad,” Kelby said, barely referencing the cast he’d had put on his wrist last night at Good Samaritan over in Puyallup, where there was less of a chance of being recognized.

“Your ma told us you fell?” Curtis had doubt on his face.

Kelby winced internally. It was the stupidest lie, but it was all he could think of through the pain last night.

“I was breaking up a fight,” he said.

“A fight?” Curtis still looked surprised, but then Curtis always looked surprised. “Should I send some men out?”

“It was a private matter, deputy, and I’ll thank you to shut the hell up about it.”

“Yes, sir. Any word on the animal sighting, sir?”

“Do I look like I have any word on it, Curtis? Now, are you working or are you just planning on yanking my chain all morning in hopes of coming up a winner? Get me Fort Lewis on the phone. General Kraft’s office.”

“He the one who fought with your daddy?”

“You’re yanking chains, Curtis.”

“Sorry, sir. What reason should I give?”

Kelby ran a tongue over his top teeth. “Tell him, I know it sounds far-fetched, but I do believe we might have some treason going on right here in little old Frome.”

“He’s not dead,” Darlene said, surprised. “He left.”

“Dad left?”