Filed to story: Return of the Reaper Story
“You’re ex-military, right?” Joe Bob said and flipped the lever to shift into a right exit lane.
“That’s right.”
“Which branch?”
“I was one of the good guys, sir.”
Joe Bob barked a laugh at that. There was no spirit in it. It was more a reaction of surprise than humor.
They pulled into a place called Andy’s Bunker, nestled in a grove of evergreens between a Home Depot and a Walmart. It looked like it had been there since Prohibition ended. Flat roof and asbestos siding painted in a riot of blue and orange. The sign promised BBQ and ice cold beer. There were a few pickups on the lot already.
“I need help and I think you’re the man to help me. I’m willing to pay a shitload more than fifteen an hour,” Joe Bob said, turning in his seat. His voice was low. The bullshit and bluster gone now.
“I’m not doing anything illegal, sir,” Isaac said meeting the big man’s gaze.
“And I wouldn’t ask you to. Nothing strictly immoral or illegal.”
Isaac waited.
“I need you to find my daughter,” Joe Bob said opening his door and turning to hide from his passenger the sudden well of tears.
Joe Bob and Isaac took a booth at the rear of Andy’s Bunker. The place was quiet. The country pop on the jukebox was turned way down so the four guys at the end of the bar could hear two women arguing on some political panel show.
The bartender brought them a pair of glasses and a pitcher of Coors. Isaac didn’t touch his glass.
“Go on. Have a beer,” Joe Bob said.
“I’m on the clock, sir.”
“I’m the damned boss and I say it’s okay. And call me Joe Bob.”
Isaac poured a short beer and took a sip.
“Do you know we’ve had zero losses at Evergreen Estates? We’re close to finishing the first phase and there’s not so much as a nail missing from inventory,” Joe Bob said.
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“And no vandalism. No fights. Nobody showing up high or drunk. Just everything running smooth and easy.”
“This is about your daughter?”
“I’ve never been on a job where there’s been zero shrinkage. These Mexes walk off with anything they can carry. Tools. Lumber. Plumbing. Hell, I build it into my estimates. They’ll take concrete if they can. Wet concrete right out of the truck. And don’t get me started on vendors, son. Pirates is what they are.”
Isaac took another sip, watching Joe Bob drain his second glass.
“The only difference between this job and all those others is you, Kane. I brought you on this summer and thefts stopped like someone turned off a tap. The only variable is you being there near all the time. And even when you’re not there, the rest of the security I hired is more on the ball than they used to be and the laborers keep their hands to themselves. You either scare them all shitless or maybe you’ve been a good influence.”
Isaac nodded.
“I looked into you, Kane. I mean, past your bullshit résumé when you applied. I Googled you and you know what I found.”
Isaac looked at him level across the table.
“I found jack shit. Oh, I found out you were born in Raleigh and when. You graduated high school. You live in a one-bedroom in a complex I built. Your wife passed two years ago and you have a little girl that doesn’t live with you and you’re in a custody fight with your father-in-law. You have no criminal record and, until a year ago, you were in the service. That sound right to you?”
“That’s the public record, sir.”
The argument on the television spread to the four men at the bar. They were in a three to one deadlock and telling each other how full of shit the other was. Joe Bob waited until the outnumbered party stormed off to the men’s room before continuing.
“Only it’s not real clear which branch you were in. Your record has more redactions than Obama’s college transcripts. You trained with the Navy, the Marines, the Rangers and a few outfits that only had letters and numbers. There’s some dates and places but the rest just isn’t there. What isn’t there tells a story. It tells me you’ve been places and done things.”
Isaac let the beer warm in his hand.
“I need someone with your knowledge. I need someone to find my daughter,” Joe Bob said.
“I’m not a detective,” Isaac said.
“Don’t you think I hired a detective? A private outfit that came highly recommended. They told me they’d exhausted every lead. Didn’t find Jenna. Didn’t send my check back either.”
“What do the police say?”
“They tell me she ran away. They tell me she’s shacked up with some dude. They say there’s no evidence of foul play. I know every parent says this but my girl isn’t like that. She’s serious about her classes. She’s engaged to a nice local boy here in Huntsville. She’s not some tramp who’d run off.”
“Like I said, sir. I’m not a detective.”
“I know that. That’s not what I need. I’m figuring you didn’t spend your time in uniform repairing air conditioners at Fort Bragg. The story all those blanks in your record tells me is that you were some kind of badass.”
Isaac took a pull of the flat beer.
Joe Bob removed his tinted glasses and leaned over the table to look into Isaac’s face. The older man’s eyes were rimmed red. His skin was dry like paper. His chin bunched and quivered as he spoke in a whisper.
“I have the reports from the Tampa police and the Hillsborough County sheriff. I have the papers from the agency I hired. Timelines and witnesses and all that. They take Jenna up to a little past midnight on a Friday three weeks ago and they end. I flew down there, I’ve livedthere for the past few weeks. And all anyone can tell me is that there’s nothing they can do to follow this any further. There’s nothing the law can do. You understand me, Kane?”
“You said this was nothing illegal, sir.”
“There’s the law and then there’s law , son. I’m talking justice.”
“Excuse me, sir, but you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”