A Good Killing by Allison Leotta Read Free Book Online

the . . . ?” she muttered.
    “Welcome to America’s last frontier,” Jody said.
    Cooper pulled his motorcycle onto a street that had only two buildings: a burned-out house on one side, and, a bit farther along, a shabby but still functional mansion on the other. If other houses once existed on the surrounding lots, they were long gone. Anna followed his bike onto the circular driveway of the mansion. She stared at the structure. It was a crumbling redbrick frivolity with an arched stone entranceway, multiple turrets, and a slate roof. She looked at the surrounding yards. Instead of the tallgrass and trash that filled most of the vacant land, the lots around Cooper’s house were planted with neat rows of cherry and apple trees, dotted with red fruit. It was surreal: a leafy green oasis in the middle of a shattered cement desert. The orchard ended at an abandoned warehouse whose windows were as broken and empty as if it had survived a bombing. Beyond the warehouse, Anna could make out the shimmering silhouette of the Renaissance Center’s skyscrapers—Detroit’s failed attempt at revitalization in the 1970s—less than a mile away.
    The two sisters got out of the car and met Cooper on the driveway. Anna said, “What is this?”
    “My farm,” Cooper said, taking off his helmet. “The house was built by a lumber baron in 1892. Now it’s what you’d call a bit of a fixer-upper.”
    She’d been out to his family’s farm countless times when she was in high school. That was five hundred acres in a rural corner of Holly Grove County, where the most threatening creatures were the deer that might carry Lyme disease. This was a new kind of farm.
    Cooper climbed the front steps—surprisingly agile on his prosthetic leg—and opened the door. He threw his leather jacket and helmet inside. Underneath he wore a faded black THE NATIONAL T-shirt and jeans. A giant white dog came out onto the porch, sat in front of Cooper, and grinned up at him, a happy pink tongue lolling out of its mouth. Cooper scratched under its chin. “Come on, Sparky,” he said. “Let’s show the ladies around.”
    Sparky trotted down the steps, sniffed Jody’s hand, and licked it. He did the same to Anna. She scratched under his chin, like Cooper had, and the dog sat on her feet.
    “He looks like a big German shepherd, except all white,” she said.
    “That’s what he is,” Cooper said. “A white shepherd. He likes you. He only sits on the feet of the people he likes.”
    “I’m honored.”
    Cooper led them to the back of the house. The backyard wasa square of grass surrounded by the rows of cherry trees. A few free-range chickens pecked around the dirt, ignoring Sparky, who did the same to them. A dirt patio off the back of the house had a makeshift stone fire pit flanked by a few plastic chairs. A pile of firewood was neatly stacked against the house’s brick wall, near a tree stump with an ax in it. A small pond, maybe three feet wide, was dug to one side, lined with a black tarp and more stones. It was filled with monstrously large goldfish.
    “I always wondered, as a kid—and it’s true,” Cooper said, pointing to the fish. “They do grow as big as their bowl.”
    On a back corner of the orchard stood a big red shed with white trim. It was the perkiest building for miles. Cooper pointed at it.
    “That’s where I keep my equipment and store the fruit. I also dry some of the fruit and make my own granola. I’m branching into cider, too. That way I’ll have stuff to sell at the farmers’ markets all year long.” They walked toward the barn, Sparky trotting by Cooper’s side.
    Anna asked, “Why urban farming, Cooper? Why not just take over your family farm? You’re so far away from where you grew up.”
    “So are you,” he said with a smile. “My brother’s taking care of the family farm. You know what I liked about Afghanistan? Not the fighting. I liked helping people. Digging wells, bringing water to a village,