The Terror of Living by Urban Waite Read Free Book Online Page B

coaching or something."
        "Doesn't pay as much as the state."
        "Well, it won't make you rich."
        "No, but I guess that's what my father thought, too." Drake met Driscoll's eyes for a moment, then looked away.
        "Must be hard to be the son and deputy of the guy who made the sheriff's department famous up there."
        "Like I said, it was before my time."
        Driscoll looked across the table at him. He straightened up in his seat and leaned forward. "You playing on the right side here?"
        "I'm playing on your side, if that's what you're asking."
        Driscoll apologized. "I can't make much sense of it," he said. "I don't know a lot of people who would go up into those mountains. What were you doing there?"
        "My job."
        "Sounds like you were doing your father's as well."
        "It was my father's. It's not his job anymore, it's mine."
        "Sorry," Driscoll said. He did a little wave with his hand, like he was shooing away an odd thought. "I had to ask."
        "It's fine. I know who my father was and I know who I am. We're not the same."
        "I'd guess you'll never be elected sheriff."
        "No? People can surprise you. There's a few forgiving hearts out there."
        The agent took a moment to thumb the report. "I can't say if the story running tomorrow in the paper is going to be positive. You might want to start thinking about that." Driscoll looked through the files in front of him, and when he looked back he said, "This is pretty big."
        "I realize that."
        "This is really going to piss a few people off. I'm just telling you because I think you should be ready. The people you stopped are not going to take this lightly. About now, their only concern is how to make this all go away. That means silencing those who try to get in their way. The story running tomorrow will have your name in it. Are you ready for that?"
        "I suppose I should have thought about that at the time, but I didn't and I don't think I'd have changed the outcome."
        "Taking in the two of them would have been nice."
        "Yes, it would have."
        "Is there anything you can tell me about the second man that could help out my team?"
        "There's not much to tell." Drake knew he wasn't being helpful. Wasn't doing his best. Driscoll was looking for answers and Drake had none to give. All of it was too close to him already. He could almost feel his father's presence, sitting there in the room ten years before.
        "You are the only one, besides the kid, who knows anything about this man."
        Drake tried to draw the man's face from memory. The only image he could find was of his father, fifteen years ago, riding slow up a game trail in the West Cascades. His father turning in his saddle to look back at him, face shadowed, church light filtering down through a patchwork of green forest branches, blue and green as stained glass, yellow slanted columns of sunlight, dusted through with tree pollen, floating, ghostlike. "I'm afraid what I do know is not much," he finally said.
        "Is there anything to add about the second man that I may have skipped over in the report?"
        "I'd prefer not to speculate."
        "But if you did."
        "If I did, I would say he was a very fine horseman."
        "Yes," the agent said. "I had guessed at that from the report." The agent waited for Drake to speak on the subject, and when he didn't, Driscoll continued. "I'm at a loss. I wonder if you might be more familiar with this sort of thing. It's not often we come across something of this caliber. Hippies with backpacks are one thing, but aerial drops and horsemen are something quite different."
        "I'm not the most familiar with this sort of thing either."
        Driscoll gave him a doubting look. "Where did you learn to ride?"
        "My father had a few horses when I was a kid. He would take me into the mountains for