Rag and Bone by Joe Clifford

Author:Joe Clifford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oceanview Publishing
Published: 2019-06-21T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

AFTER I WHISKED Fisher out of Alison’s driveway, I scampered back upstairs, returning to the filing cabinet to finish what I started. If the man at the caretaker quarters wasn’t Peter Pugh … who the hell was he? I felt a sucker for buying his aw-shucks, humble routine. He got me. I could drive back and ask what was going on, but we both knew he wouldn’t be there.

I got home late, tired, feeling the cumulative effects of several beers and a ravaging week that had taken its toll. Seeing Hank Miller’s light on reminded me I needed to figure out how to pay him his rent. As I took the stairs, thinking about the cold, empty apartment waiting for me, I ached to reset the clock. Let me start over, chart a new path. I wanted my brother back. I wanted my wife back. I wanted my newborn son back. Another chance. Let me go back seven years to when this all started and take a different road, make better choices, give me something worthwhile to hold onto.

Flicking on the light, I saw him sitting in my kitchen chair, smoking. I was pretty sure those were my cigarettes.

Prison-chiseled body, tattoos up and down beefy arms, curly-cue script scrawled across his thick neck. So much like Bowman. Except he wasn’t Bowman.

“You’re the guy who brought me home the other night.” I asked the question but I didn’t need the answer. “From the bar.”

All this time, trying to shove the paranoia out of my mind—I’d been right; I was being watched.

I studied him through my still-puffy eyes, trying to shake the déjà vu. “Do I know you?” I watched him, unsure whether I’d need to fight or bolt. I didn’t see any scenario where I came out on top. He looked in peak physical shape. I felt like I had six body parts still functioning adequately.

“Nah, bro, you don’t know me. But I know you.” He leaned over for a respectful handshake. “Travis,” he said. He didn’t look like a Travis. Travises lived in trailer parks down South and listened to country music, ate crawdads, ran a trawler. This man was correctionally raised. Sometimes a name doesn’t fit a face.

“You’ve been following me?”

“Nah, bro. Not following. But you may have seen me around Ashton. I had to find you. Didn’t have much to go on. Just a name and town.” He lowered his stare, fixing his eyes on mine, and my skin chilled from the inside. “I have a message for you.”

I glanced around my apartment, wondering if this was it. Had Adam and Michael finally sent someone to shut me up once and for all? I gauged the distance to my cutting block. Not that it would do much good. The blade on my one steak knife couldn’t pierce tomato skin with a running start.

“Relax,” he said, picking up on my unease. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

I pulled out the chair and reached for the cigarettes. Travis passed along my own pack, which was big of him.

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