We Begin at the End(51)

A glance around the room, wood-paneled wall, shag beneath his feet. Boulder rocks around the fire, suburban ranch throwing back to the seventies. Air sweetly freshened, cans all over but still, it was there, the blood beneath.

Milton cleared his throat. “You can’t do what isn’t right. You can’t just skip a piece of the past, highlight the good. You know?”

“You called us before, lot of times, seemed like every time Star had a man stop by. Even when it was Darke, right? Said you were worried.”

Milton bit his lower lip. “It’s part of the Watch. But maybe I was mistaken those times. Darke’s a good man. It’s the way he looks, that’s why people talk. I know. I know how it feels. You don’t think I hear the kids? Brillo. Wookiee. Furby. Meatpacker. Joke’s on them because I don’t even pack the meat.”

The clock chimed, sunburst, ten minutes slow. Milton turned his head, Walk saw sweat pool beneath his arms.

“Hey, Walk. You want to head up the Mendocino again?”

Walk smiled. “I enjoyed it, but I think I’m more of a fisherman than a hunter. Get me out on the waves and I’m happy.”

“Not me. Never did learn to swim. I had the lessons, but I used to open my mouth all the time, try and swallow it all down. I like the chlorine.”

Walk didn’t know what to do with that.

“Doesn’t matter, I got other friends into it.” Milton looked like he was desperate to share.

“Yeah?” Walk took the bait.

“I went hunting with him.”

“Who?”

Milton grinned. “Darke. He took me in his Escalade. You seen it? I tell you, that man can shoot. Brought back two blacktail.”

“That right?”

“You’ve got him wrong, Walk. He’s …”

“Different?”

“A good friend.” He said it firm, eyes locked on Walk. “He said he’d come here for the next shower. Not till February but still. I think he’ll actually show.”

The barb was there, but Walk didn’t have the energy to feel any guilt.

“I asked him to come away in the spring. A week, the hunt. I bought him a veil, gaters, the wax kind.”

Walk looked at the spilling shelves beside, so many books, most on hunting. “You don’t know him. You should be careful, Milton.”

“So should you, Walk. You look sick.”

“I also wanted to let you know that I talked to Brandon again. Leah said you called in.”

Milton stiffened at that. “Well, it didn’t do any good. He does it because he knows I have to be up early. Last night I went to the window and he was just sitting there revving the engine. And when he saw me he smiled. I’m not a kid now, Walk. This isn’t like school. You know he used to bully me. Flushed my head down the toilet. I don’t have to put up with it. I should—”

“Leave a sheep’s head in his yard?”

Milton stared, wild eyes, hair spilling from the top of his shirt. “I don’t know nothing about that.”

“You said he urinated in your yard.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How’d you know it was him.”

“Caught in the act. I opened the drapes and came eye to eye with it.”

“Jesus.”

“I filed a report. 10-98.”

“Jail break.”

“And you know he’s got a boat, fixed it up nice. He keeps it at Harbor Bay. I figured maybe he’d sell the car and spend his time on the water.”

“He said he’s willing to try if you are. He said you’re a decent neighbor and he feels bad about it.”

“He said that?”

Walk knew Milton could not read him at all. “So you’ll knock all this shit on the head.”

“It was never on me, Walk.”

Walk stared, pleading in his eyes.

“Maybe one day I’ll send him over a cut or something. Nothing too special, not at first. Chuck. How does that sound?”

“Thank you, Milton.”

Milton followed him to the door.

On the porch Walk stopped and looked over, across the street.

“I miss her,” Milton said. “I’m real sorry I …”

“What?”

“I’m just sorry she’s not there anymore.”

“We owe it to her and the children to arrest the man that did this.”

“You already did, Walk.”

Milton would not meet his eye, instead letting his wander to the night sky. He stood there, hands deep in his pockets, lost to Walk and the town and the blood that was spilled.





21


THEY SAT IN THE YARD as the Santa Ana warmed them.

Walk had been trying to sleep, despite the early hour, but instead found himself staring up at the ceiling when he heard the knock at the door.

“I can’t believe you still live at home, Walk. That’s so uncool,” Martha said.

She’d brought dinner, chili she warmed on the old stove that Walk used to store takeout menus.

“I feel like I should line my mouth with wax before I try this.”

“Relax, Walk. I went easy. Barely blips on the Scoville. Chili for pussies.”

He touched the fork to his tongue and immediately felt the lava. “Seriously? It’s like an illness. You are actually ill.”