Obsidian by Thomas King

Author:Thomas King
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins Canada
Published: 2019-11-28T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Three

Thumps was fine with the idea of a house guest. In the abstract. The reality of having someone in his personal space was a different matter entirely. Not that Leon turned out to be a house guest in the strict sense of the term.

“No offence,” Leon said, “but I’ll stay in the Roadtrek. More comfortable. Private. My own bed. Bathroom. Television. Kitchen.”

Leon took him on a tour of the RV, and Thumps had to admit that the amenities and the finishes were impressive.

“And I won’t have to listen to you snore.”

Leon unrolled a long extension cord that they hooked into an outlet on the back porch. “Got solar panels on the roof,” said Leon, “but a plug-in is more reliable.”

There was a laptop on a fold-up table.

“Got satellite WiFi. Can write my novels anywhere in the world. Do all the research online.”

“What about the toilet and sink?”

“Fresh water reservoir and the toilet dumps into a holding tank.” Leon rambled on like a proud parent. “Can go at least a week before I have to find a dump station and drain the black water.”

“Black water?”

“That’s what they call the . . . you know.”

Thumps tried to put the picture out of his mind.

“There’s enzymes you have to put in the tank that help break down the solids, but all in all, the maintenance is pretty easy.”

“You need any blankets or pillows?”

“Nope, brought everything with me.” Leon opened the small refrigerator. “Beer, nuts, and hard-boiled eggs.”

“Major food groups.”

Leon tapped the sofa with his foot. “You press this button, and the darn thing turns into a bed. You believe that?”

“Nice.”

“Ron always thought you’d come back. He didn’t fill your position for over a year.” Leon took a beer from the refrigerator. “What happened?”

There it was, the question for which Thumps didn’t have an answer.

“I mean, I can understand why you never came back. But we never heard from you again. Nothing. You had a lot of friends on the force.”

“Herb and Paul?”

“Those assholes.” Leon’s laugh was sharp and cold. “No, they thought you quit, thought you gave up, that you ran away.”

“Maybe I did.”

“Paul mouthed off once too often, and Ron decked him.”

“Ron?”

“Wouldn’t have thought it,” said Leon. “But all that home repair, swinging a framing hammer. Hell of a right. One shot, and Paul didn’t get up.”

“Jesus.”

“Mind you, getting cold-cocked didn’t change his opinion,” said Leon, “but after that, he kept his thoughts on the matter to himself.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Damn straight you are. You don’t treat friends like that.” Leon went back to the fridge. “You want a beer?”

“You want me to try to explain?”

“Do you want to?”

“Not really.”

“Then have a beer,” said Leon. “I hate explanations, and I hate drinking alone. Makes me feel like some pathetic alcoholic.”

THE REST OF the afternoon was taken up with stories, stories they had told each other when they were cops on the coast, stories they knew by heart.

“You remember Guy Dixon?”

“Sure.”

“You remember that charity golf tournament we went to in Truckee?”

“Greenwood something.”

“That’s the one,” said Leon.

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