Natural Evil (Elder Races #4.5)(9)

“That’s fine,” Jackson said.

What was fine? He wasn’t tracking too well. Damn cotton in his head. Shouldn’t have taken the meds. It messed with his thinking.

Jackson was continuing. “Was thinking about you and John when I went to pick up supper. What you said and didn’t say.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Claudia. “I didn’t say anything to Rodriguez, or about him. All I said was I didn’t know him, or you.”

“It was more your attitude than anything else,” Jackson said. “Look at us. We’re perfect strangers. We still saved a dog’s life, we’re eating supper and drinking beer together, and you’re staying in my trailer tonight.”

She burst out laughing.

“All right, that sounded more suggestive than I meant it to.” Jackson sounded embarrassed. “My point is, you wouldn’t have done this with John. There was something about how you reacted to him.”

The dog made an immense effort, raised his head and took hold of the hem of her jeans with his teeth.

Claudia didn’t move. “I was annoyed. I knew he was still going to ticket me even though I was just trying to save the dog’s life.”

He said, “Okay, that’s got to be true enough. But I think it’s more than that, because it wasn’t just you. It was John’s attitude too.”

“What do you mean?”

Jackson was silent a moment. Then he said, “You know, Nirvana’s like any other small town. There are a lot of personal soap operas, and half the folks who attend church go for the gossip. You know the kind of thing. Usually somebody done somebody else wrong. Or maybe they have something or someone that somebody else wants. At its heart, though, this is a simple place. This town is owned. It has one big employer, the Nirvana Silver Mining Company, and one owner of the company, Charles Bradshaw. His son, Scott Bradshaw, actually runs the mine.”

“That’s a lot more than I knew a couple hours ago,” said Claudia. She leaned sideways to slip her hand under the table. She stroked the dog’s head, her fingers moving so gently over him, he sighed and let go of his hold on her jeans. The meds made her touch seem far away, just like the pain. He wished it were otherwise. Gods, he was tired. He put his chin on her shoe again.

“As you can tell, the power structure around here is not complicated.”

“Where are you going with this, Jackson?”

“I don’t know.” He paused. “Yes, I do. See, John has to answer to the powers that be. And Scott Bradshaw is dumb and mean. John isn’t the only one affected by that, of course. Everybody in Nirvana has to bear that particular cross. Scott’s father is smart and mean, which is a whole lot worse, but at least Bradshaw Senior lives in Las Vegas and pretty much stays there. Scott, though—I could see him torturing a dog. He has a hellish temper.”

“Does he, now.” Claudia sounded thoughtful.

“Or maybe one of his cronies would abuse an animal,” Jackson said. “Scott’s got four or five buddies who aren’t any better than he is. So maybe one of them did this. Then John has a problem on his hands. Maybe he has to clean up other people’s shit or he’s the one that lands in trouble with Bradshaw Senior.”

“Nobody’s forcing Rodriguez to be sheriff,” Claudia said. “Man’s got choices.”

“I know he does.” Jackson sighed. “Hell, I don’t even know what I’m talking about, anyway. This is just where my imagination went when I was in the diner.”

“The law is a funny thing,” Claudia said. “When it’s fair and impartial, and it’s on your side, it can be the backbone of society. But when I was in the army I saw a lot of corruption in various communities at the local level. Somebody taking the law and using it for his own ends? That never turns out well.”

Shortly after that conversation, Jackson left, a gust of sand blowing in the door before he slammed it shut behind him. She cleared away the takeout containers.

The wind had picked up until it sounded an unending, mournful howl. The trailer was warm but the floor seemed chilly to her, so she collected one of the old cotton blankets she had found and shook it out over the dog’s prone figure. She checked on the container that held the pot roast dinner. The meal had been too hot before, but it had since cooled to a comfortable level.

The dog had been dozing, but his eyes opened when she sat down on the floor beside him with the container and a couple of dinner rolls. Her guess had been right, the floor was chilly. She tucked a corner of the blanket over her legs. She tore off a piece of the roll, soaked it in gravy, and held it out to him. He looked at the morsel of food but didn’t move.

“It must be really painful for you to swallow right now,” she said. “But try a few pieces. Please. You’ll get your strength back more quickly if you can eat.”

He took the food with obvious reluctance. She looked away from his struggle to swallow as she prepared a second bite. She added a sliver of meat to it.

“I think we have something of a simple binary situation,” she said. “Either/or, yes or no. Only this time, it’s a matter of can’t or won’t.”

She offered him the bite. He accepted it, watching her with wary, drug-glazed eyes.

“I’m not sure if you can’t or won’t shape-shift,” she said. “My guess is you can’t because you’re too hurt. I could see how you might pretend to be a mundane dog, except that pretending won’t get you anything. If word hasn’t gotten out already that you lived, it will. Rodriguez knows that you survived the trip to the vet, and your reaction earlier told me that’s not necessarily a good thing.”