Reed Ferguson Short Stories by Renee Pawlish

Author:Renee Pawlish [Pawlish, Renee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Creative Cat Press
Published: 2018-04-13T22:00:00+00:00

The project at the site was a large apartment complex on a hill with good views of downtown Denver, but right now it was still in the early phase. I drove up a winding road and parked down the street from the entrance to the site, then rolled down my window and waited. There were so many trucks and cars on the street that no one noticed me.

At four o’clock, workers started coming out of the site. It didn’t take long before I spotted Deuce. He glanced up and down the street, then saw my 4-Runner and hurried over.

“Hey, Reed,” he said as he approached.

“Has Max left yet?” I asked as I gestured to the passenger side of my car.

He took off his hard hat, brushed himself off, and opened the door. “I don’t think so.”

“Get in and we’ll wait.”

A faint odor of sawdust filled the car as he slid onto the seat. We listened to the Psychedelic Furs while we watched the entrance. More people trickled out, and then Deuce pointed excitedly.

“That’s him!”

A tall man with curly dark hair emerged from the site. I started to get out of the car, but he went straight to a beat-up green truck right across from the entrance, hopped in, and started the engine.

“You going to talk to him?” Deuce asked.

“Too late now.” I got back in the 4-Runner. “I’ll follow him.”

A moment later, the truck pulled into the street and drove off in the opposite direction.

“Why don’t you go home and I’ll call you later,” I said.

“Let me go with you,” Deuce pleaded.

He was dying to be a detective.

I thought for a second, then said, “Okay, but let me handle things with Max.”

“Sure. You want to give me your gun and I’ll cover you while you talk to him?”

I cocked an eyebrow at him as I started the car. “I didn’t even bring my gun.”

“Why not? It might be dangerous.”

Deuce was also dying to carry a gun. It didn’t matter to him that he couldn’t hit the side of a building if he was aiming right at it. Nor did it matter to him that my philosophy was more like TV detective Jim Rockford’s, who didn’t carry a gun because, as he always said, he didn’t want to shoot anybody. I carried my Glock when I needed to, but I hadn’t anticipated Deuce calling me.

“There’s no danger,” I said.

“Well, okay.” He wasn’t convinced.

I followed the truck from a safe distance and kept it in sight as we drove east onto Colfax Avenue.

“What’s the plan?” Deuce asked after a minute.

“Let’s see where he goes.”

“You think he’s still got the ticket? If it were me, I’d have turned it in. Maybe he did, and he’s spent all the money.”

Deuce filled the time with nervous chatter, his hands resting on the dashboard as he peered out the windshield. I let him talk and kept my eye on the truck. It stayed on Colfax, passed Kipling Boulevard, then turned into a lot next to a bar.

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