Death of Innocence
Day 27
Cimarron, Colorado, December 2013
In the morning, Reese had gotten up early to do some chores. Had to drive up to one of the local storage units where he had a space. Kept a lot of his Army gear in one of the lockers there – things he'd brought back from deployments overseas. He had a good sleeping bag rolled up tight in there, some tools, ropes, and other items to fix things at the cabin if he needed them. Hadn't been up there for a few years now, and Reese had no idea in what condition the cabin might have been left.
Packed the items from the locker into the back of the truck, then ran over to a grocery store for some supplies there. Once he was finished with that, he headed up the back roads out of Cimarron for the cabin. Chase had told him that he'd been up there the week before to check on things.
The road in was smoother than he remembered. And on the turn to drive onto the property, he had to jump out and unhook the chain across the road. No one used the cabin this time of year. He bumped along on the driveway until he could see the cabin tucked back at the edge of the woods.
High-sloped roof to keep the snow from piling up. Some windows where the cabin looked out on a view. Even with the windows, there was a sense of privacy here. Nestled in among the trees.
He slid off the seat and pushed the door closed behind him. Took a breath of the mountain air. Bracing, this early in the day. Sunbeams slanted down through a mist swirling above the trees. There was a sound, like a soft, sighing sound around him. The air blowing through the pines. He took a deep breath again.
Home.
Reese stepped up onto the porch and fit the key in the lock. Chilly inside, and the sunbeams were just slanting through one of the high windows under the roof in the back. He'd get the woodstove going first for a little heat in the place.
Half of the porch in back had split hardwood stacked on it for the stoves. They'd left some of the fatwood kindling in a basket next to the stove. A few pieces of crumpled paper, the fatwood sticks, and a flame from a lighter got the fire started well enough to set a few split logs on top. He noticed a little white puff of smoke coming out of the chimney when he went back for his gear and groceries.
It was gonna take a few hours to get things working after everything had been shut down for the season. He threw his sleeping bag over the railing on the porch to air it out. There were some clothes to put away. He'd found a decent ski jacket hanging in his old closet. That'd work for now. Old skis, poles and such were leaning up against one of the walls inside, memories of past visits to the slopes.
Had the front part of the cabin warmed up in about an hour, and had the groceries put away by then. Working on the plumbing to get the water going and looking forward to making some coffee to take the chill off.
By midday, he had the place working for him. He'd be comfortable in the cabin like this. And as long as he didn't get snowed in, he could come and go as he pleased.
"Get in the car!" Her voice was curt, not scared. Harold helped Arthur into the back, while Diane jumped in on the other side. Shaw stood inside the driver's side door, swinging through an arc around them with her weapon held high. Harold made his way around to the passenger's side and bent down to slide in.
Once everyone was in, Shaw dropped into her seat and rolled.
Members of a paramilitary group they knew as Vigilance had shown up, looking for Arthur. Anyone in Security positions like his, in government, were on their hit-list – and as soon as one of them had been identified sweeping the halls, Shaw had evacuated the couple and Finch to their car.
It sped along, smoothly rolling over any imperfections in the road, and Finch consulted his laptop for an appropriate place for them to land. Shaw's eyes scanned around them, down side-streets, and behind their position for anyone following. So far, nothing to report.
She noticed how Arthur's wife, Diane, seemed to be taking everything in stride. No particular stress at being evacuated from the hospital abruptly like that. Shaw's eyes kept slipping to the rear-view mirror to catch a glimpse of the two of them back there. Arthur, himself, sat nearly transfixed. He'd gone silent shortly before they'd left the hospital. In and out of lucid times. Shaw knew his chances. He was running out of time.
"Take a left at the next intersection, Miss Shaw. I've found a place for us," Harold whispered to her.
Shaw swung left, without bothering to stop for the red light, and accelerated smoothly through the turn. Her weapon sat on her lap, and her eyes scanned the road ahead and to the sides. One more glance back at the couple. And even with her deficits in reading people, she'd noticed something about them. Something wasn't quite right …
Reese had the stove working, and cooked himself a hot meal just as the sun was going down in the west. Stood out on the porch for the view. A long time since he'd seen it like that. Mist rose off the top of his coffee cup into the cold air, and his breath funneled out above it. Clear night. The stars'd shine like diamonds in the sky over the cabin.
Now, when he looked at it, something homey about the look – yellow glow coming out of the windows in front, and the trails of smoke coming up out of the chimney against the darker sky. Somebody lived here, it said.
Reese stepped back inside and policed-up the skillet and plate from his meal. Left them to dry next to the sink. Still early yet. Thought he'd celebrate down at the bar with a beer or two. Chase said he was off today, so someone else'd be there instead. Reese still had his truck, but he'd look around for something second-hand of his own. Shouldn't take long, and then he'd get the truck back to Chase. His pride and joy. Reese found himself actually smiling – still felt kinda strange.
He grabbed his ski jacket and keys, then headed out the door. Noticed the quiet out there. And the soft sigh of the wind in the pines.
Early for most of the regulars. Reese walked in and scanned around. A couple of people in the back playing pool at one of the tables. Tall, skinny guy behind the bar. Didn't recognize him.
Reese kept to himself for now. Nursed his beer up at the bar. Felt a little shaky inside for some reason. Now that he was here, back home in his old stomping grounds, thought he'd be okay. Little by little the trip out here had been unwinding him. Tearing away at all the layers he'd built up back in the City – just to survive. And now, after the ripping, the scars forming – and plenty of those.
Reese couldn't recall the last time he'd been in this situation – free. Something new for him. He'd always had another mission to go to, next.
Now, nothing in front of him. It was gonna take some time to get used to that. Felt like his motor was still running hard – but no place to go. Supposed it'd change with some time. He'd been running flat out for so long – only natural it'd take some time to drop back down.
The door opened behind his right shoulder, and a brief hit of cold air stirred him. Glanced over there, and his heart sank.
Tanky body, curly brown hair and a New York smirk on his face.
Reese turned back to his beer and took a sip.
Fusco shuffled over to the bar, sliding his coat down off his shoulders and shaking it out next to Reese. Raindrops sprayed off the coat and landed on Reese.
He shook it again. Reese turned but said nothing. Fusco looked over at him – who me? on his face. Then he dropped down on the seat next to Reese. For another minute or so, he bothered his coat, folding, unfolding, re-folding, and then rolling it up in a cigar-shape to drop it on the barstool next to him.
By then, the bartender had come over. "What'll it be, Mister?"
"I'll take a hot cup a coffee, and a glass a whatever he's havin'," he said, the New York accent hanging in the air between them. The bartender took a look at him, up and down, like some kind of rare species had shown up in his bar. Then he glanced at Reese.
"Make it two – looks like he's runnin' low," Fusco said. Reese shook his head, no.
"I buy my own," he said, in his whisper-voice.
"What's eatin' you?" Fusco leaned over, practically right on top of him. Reese turned his head. The blue in his eyes had started to change. Fusco backed away.
A beer showed up in front of Fusco, and the bartender stood there, glancing between the two of them. Didn't want any trouble. Reached behind him for a mug and pulled back the handle on the coffee urn. Slid it over to Fusco, so he had to grab it to keep it from sliding off the edge. Fusco glowered up at the bartender, who gave him a certain warning look back with his eyes. Don't mess with us, it said.
After a while, Fusco had drained half his beer and the whole mug of coffee. Lights flashed outside through the windows, and the lights over the bar flickered. Reese looked over through the glass. Rain pounded against it and left trails. Huh – just a little while ago the sky had been clear and full of stars. Now it looked like a monsoon out there. He'd have to get used to the weather out here, all over again.
Without turning his head away from his beer, Reese said, in his whisper voice, "what're you doin' here, Lionel?" Fusco turned toward him and smirked.
"Glasses sent me. He was worried about ya. Can't imagine why – you're still the same schmuck – " and let it hang like that at the end. Reese didn't respond, so he had a little more to say.
"What're ya doin' out here – god-forsaken, hole-in-the-wall, crap-hole?" he said. The bartender looked up. Not cheerfully.
"I live here," Reese said, a little edge to his voice. Fusco wasn't gonna be deterred.
"Well, it's time tuh stop playin' house, and get back to reality now. I'm takin' ya back," he said. Reese notice he'd shifted on his stool. At least he'd had the presence of mind to protect himself, if Reese launched one at him. A little show of respect, then.
"Tell Finch I'm retired." It came out hoarse, like a strain in his voice, saying it.
"Don't think you'll find that in your contract, Reese." Smirking, again. If he only knew how close he was to pushing him over the edge. Never could stop him from running his mouth.
"Drink up," Reese said, ragged in his voice. He shoulda known by the sound, but Fusco kept pushing.
"Who's gonna make me?" The bartender glanced their way again.
"Ya don't wanna fight me, Lionel. No match."
He heard the scrape of the barstool and saw a blur at his side, as Fusco stood up.
"Take it outside, you two!" And the bartender slammed his fist down in front of them. Fusco turned to Reese and nodded his head. Turned around and headed for the back.
Big lot in the back, with spotlights showing the rain pelting down out there. The two of them slogged out in it, the dirt turning to mud under their feet. Fusco turned and lifted his hands, boxer-style, just in time for a jab to land. His head snapped back.
A couple of jabs of his own, missed. Then another from Reese landed. Almost too easy. Tagged again, then another. Reese was just playing with him, and that got to him. Fusco dropped his hands and bull-rushed him, catching him around the chest, pinning his arms, and dumping him backwards into the mud. He groaned as he landed, with Fusco's whole weight on the top of him. They skidded along, and the cold, thick mud slopped over the two of them. Reese rolled him, then, into the mud and landed on top, pounding him with a fist.
Twice. Almost forgot himself and let him have it again. Lifted himself off and backed away.
"Ya don't wanna do this," he said, half-breathless. But Fusco wouldn't stop. Rolled to his feet and leaned forward, like a tackle on a football team.
He was gonna keep coming, Reese thought. Unless I put him down, he was gonna keep coming. A left hook caught him good, and Fusco went down to his knees.
Strobing lights shot around the back of the bar – red, white, blinding. And a siren sounded as the cops caught sight of them back there. They were still facing one another, Fusco up off the ground by then, bent forward bicycling with his fists in front of him, and Reese, hands up, ready to take him on.
A couple of the locals came out of the bar to watch. The cops slipped on their rain gear, and stepped out of their cars.
"Let's see 'em, Men." The cops stood there and waited for the two to turn and show their hands.
One went in one car, and the other in the second. Off to the station, and out of the rain.