Buttes Chapter Three

The lion is killed. The threat is over... or is it?

Chapter Three

Jeep sat in his truck in the diner's parking lot, the ignition off. He stared up at the sky as the sun slid toward the western side of the range. The day's over half gone and all I've done is act like a crazy old man scared of shadows...

A cluster of clouds banked against the tallest peak, shrouding it in heavy gray mist. He watched the dark blanket roil and shift. Dread settled deep inside him, in that place where knowing lived. He could almost hear the mountain whispering, I know your secrets, taunting him, drawing him back to that place... waiting.

Fear clenched his gut, sharp and sudden. "God damn it." He leaned forward, massaging his temples as he fought the memory down. "No... no, no." His eyes burned; a single sob escaped before he could stop it. He straightened, dragged in a breath, and wiped his face. Through the diner window he saw his brother still inside.
"The old man chose you, you son of a bitch."

A group spilled out of the diner and gathered near the road. Jeep heard the siren before he saw the lights--blue flashes streaking past in his mirror. A county sheriff's unit sped west, followed by rescue and ambulance rigs, sirens wailing.

A gold Tahoe followed close behind. It slowed, brake lights flaring, and pulled into the lot beside Jeep. Cal David sat behind the wheel.

Jeep lowered his window and asked the question Cal lived for. "What's going on?"

"Stu Smithers' place." Cal David was always the go‑to when something went wrong. He carried a police scanner like it was a second heartbeat--legal or not didn't matter. If trouble was brewing, Cal knew before most folks finished their coffee.

Jeep hated giving him the satisfaction, but curiosity won. "You get a hint of what's going on out there?"

Cal didn't answer. He twisted knobs, jaw tight, eyes flicking between the road and the glowing scanner. Static hissed. He slapped the console. "Damn interference."

Jeep almost smiled. Cal hated silence. Especially when it wasn't his.

Cal came from one of the old families--land, orchards, money that went back generations. He liked to talk about hard work, liked it even more when people listened. Jeep knew better. Cal paid his workers as little as he could get away with and complained loudest when they didn't show gratitude for it.

Today, though, the crowd wasn't watching him. They were watching the road. And that made Cal fidget.

Most of the diner's customers had drifted into the lot. Jeep noticed Martin among them. Cal kept working the scanner, cussing under his breath. A moment of adulation was slipping away, and he could feel it.
"It's that damn cloud cover up on that mountain of yours."

Jeep opened his mouth to answer, but Henry interrupted, horn blaring as he pulled in.

The game warden parked beside Jeep's truck. Cal was still fiddling with knobs, unwilling to give up the role of town crier.

Jeep rolled down the other window and nodded. "Henry."

"Looks like we got your lion." Henry glanced at the road as the ambulance passed, lights on but siren silent. He looked back at Jeep. "Stu Smithers is going to be okay. Shook up, but they're taking him in just to be safe."

The onlookers edged closer. Jeep heard the whispers ripple through the crowd--lion... Stu Smithers.

Jeep exhaled. "That's good. You say you caught the lion?"

"They caught a lion," Cal called out.

"Shut up, Cal," someone said.

Henry paused, frowned past Jeep at Cal. "I'll take it from here."

Cal leaned back, face red, fuming.

Henry turned back to the group. "Actually, Stu shot it." He smiled faintly at the murmurs. "He was sitting on his porch, heard something, then saw it. Said it came right at him. Rifle was beside his chair, locked and loaded. First shot hit. The second caught it in midair. Damn thing landed at his feet."

Henry let that sit. "He called 911. That's how we found him--still sitting there, dead lion inches away."

"Is the threat over?" Martin asked. "You think that was the one doing the killings?"

"I've got it loaded in back, taking it in for examination. But yeah--I think it's likely this was the one causing the trouble."

Martin stepped forward. "Mind if I take a look?"

Henry shook his head. "Can't let anyone touch it until the examiner's finished."

Martin shrugged, glanced at Jeep. "Well, glad Smithers is okay. Sounds like the threat's past us. Everyone can relax now." He adjusted his hat and walked off toward his truck.

Henry watched Cal pull away, then winked at Jeep. "Guess we took the wind out of his sails." He checked his watch. "I've got to deliver this cargo." He started to go, then stopped and honked. "Tell Grace I'll be by in a day or two for that promised cookie and coffee. Got to go out of town for a bit. Promised Footie I'd take her to the zoo."

Henry waved and drove off.

Jeep watched him disappear, frowning. Grace... cookies? He twisted the key. "Come on, baby." The engine coughed, sputtered, and died. Jeep leaned his head back against the window. "It's been a day."

The crowd drifted away, engines starting, doors slamming. Tomorrow they'd talk about it over coffee. Maybe for another day or two. After that, it would fade--just another story filed away and forgotten.

Jeep watched them go, his hand tightening on the wheel. He opened his mouth once, then closed it. No one was listening anymore.

He pumped the gas. The engine coughed, sputtered--then caught. He pulled onto the road, the diner shrinking in his mirror. The mountain rose ahead, half hidden in cloud.

"It's over," he muttered to the empty cab.

The words sounded thin.

He parked and stepped out just as the screen door slammed against the house. Grace stood on the porch, arms crossed, waiting.

Oh Christ...

He considered turning around, giving her time to cool off. But he was bone tired. His back ached as he climbed the steps, rubbing at it. He searched her face for sympathy and found none.
"Grace..."

"Martin?"

She didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to.

Jeep stopped at the bottom step and tried a smile--the one he used when he wanted trouble to disappear. "It's all good."

Her eyes flashed. "Good? You and that gringo are never good."

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

"Have you forgotten the last time?" she said. "Jail. Hospital. You came home bloody." Her voice wavered once, then steadied. "I won't do that again."

"Gracie, that was a long time ago."

She shook her head, sharp and final. "No. You two cannot be in the same room. You always fight."

He shrugged. "All we did was talk."

"About what?"

He hesitated. "Stuff."

She stared at him, then turned away.

After a beat, he tried again. "So what is it between you and the game warden?"

She stiffened. "What...?"

Jeep grinned. "Henry--"

She cut him off, throwing her hands up as she walked away. "I will not listen to this. You are a crazy old man. You and that brother of yours are loco." Halfway to the chicken coop she spun and yelled it again. "Loco."

"You don't have to worry about the lion," Jeep called as she yanked the coop door open. "It's dead." He waited. Nothing. "It's safe now."

He wished he believed it.

Grace scooped scratch into an old coffee tin and flung it across the ground, hard enough to scatter the chickens. Jeep shook his head, almost feeling sorry for them. Better you than me.

He turned and moved deeper into the house.
"Mattie, son--we need to have a man talk..."