Shallow Creek

“No, no.  It’s nothing we don’t already know,” she said.  “It’s just… it’s just hard to deal with.”

They both stared at the table for a full minute before Brendan changed the subject.

“Mom, if it’s just money he wants, I’ve got plenty to pay for rent, or food, or—”

“No, no,” she interrupted.  “We don’t want your money, honey.  Your dad just needs some time to get used to you being around again.”

That was an unexpected blow.

“What’s his problem?”

Her mind wandered for a moment before she said, “Why don’t you look up some of your old friends?  Reconnect with some old memories.”

“You trying to get me out of the house?”

“Just trying to help.”

Brendan leaned back in the chair.  “I don’t know anyone anymore.”

“What about Michelle?  Or her cousin?  You always liked Scott.”

This got a laugh out of Brendan.

“Are you kidding, Mom?  You hated Scott.  Said he was a bad influence.”

She smiled.

“Hun, I think you’re old enough now not to fall in with the wrong crowd,” she said.  “Just look him up.  It’ll give you something to do.”

At that, she got up and walked towards the bedroom.  Brendan stood and went to his brother’s room.  No matter what, that bedroom would never be his.

Moments later, he sat on the bed, staring at Michelle’s number in his phone.  She’d probably have Scott Fisher’s number.  Scott was her cousin after all.  In high school, the guy had smoked weed with guys like Taylor Hunziker, so maybe Brendan’s mom had inadvertently given him a lead.

The nine digits glowed ominously, which was surprising since Scott had probably cleaned up like the rest of the high school screw-ups.  No big deal, although, Scott was a couple of years older than Michelle and Brendan.  That would make him the same age as Grant, which could make things uncomfortable, like everything else in the damn town.

Screw it.  He had nothing better to do.

Chapter 11

Brendan liked to think of himself as a quick learner.  Adaptable.  That’s the word he’d use.  He’d definitely need mental quickness if this upcoming encounter went as poorly as his first shot at being a detective.  He’d shown up thirty minutes early to his meeting with Scott at Trish’s Place, one of the less seedy bars in Shallow Creek.

He was still nursing his first beer when Scott opened the door, pausing in the doorway to let his eyes adjust to the sudden lack of light.  Brendan waved subtly, not wanting to look too ambitious.  Scott nodded and sauntered towards the bar.  Only then did Brendan notice the second figure in the equation.

She followed close behind Scott, a sly grin on her face as she took in the scenery.  Brendan waited patiently for Casey’s eyes to meet his.  Before they did, Scott directed her to the back of the bar, where a few guys did their best to suck at pool.  Casey kissed Scott on the cheek and then breezed on by without so much as a glance in Brendan’s direction.

“Good thing I’m not the jealous type, am I right?” Scott asked, checking over his shoulder as he sat down on the stool next to Brendan’s.

“I guess so,” Brendan replied, watching the guys eye Casey as she bent over the table to line up a shot in the game she’d casually inserted herself into.  The black leather pants certainly enhanced the view from Brendan’s vantage point.

“So how’s it going, man?” Scott asked with an easy smile.

“Not bad, Scott.  Yourself?”

Scott stared at the bartender until she glanced in his direction.  “Yeah, not too bad.”

When the chick in the tight t-shirt got close enough, Scott ordered a beer, and then picked up Brendan’s before adding another one onto the order.

“Looks like you’re about ready for another,” he said.

“Sounds good to me.”

The two sat in silence for a few long moments.  Scott was fidgety, unable to keep still.  One of the many lessons the Marines had imparted to Brendan was about remaining still, yet vigilant.  Out of the corner of one eye, he could still see Casey entertaining her new friends.  It hadn’t taken her long in Shallow Creek to fall in with the wrong crowd, that was for damn sure.

The beers appeared and Scott flashed a ten-dollar bill to the bartender, adding a crooked grin when he told her to keep the change.  He turned to Brendan and tipped his bottle towards him.

“Cheers to the old days, am I right?” he asked, his face way more serious than the simple question should imply.

Brendan nodded.

After a couple of beats, Scott finally asked, “Why did you call me?”

“What do you mean?”

The expression on Scott’s face suggested Brendan had just stepped in dog shit.  “I was on Grant’s football team,” he sneered.  “I’d figure you remember that.”

Brendan stared at his beer, not sure how to proceed.  The conversation had taken an unexpected turn for the worse.  He looked around the bar and saw no one in earshot, so he figured he might as well go for broke, or at least burn another bridge.

“I’m looking to score some… stuff.”

Scott took in the whole bar in one sweeping movement.  “You a cop?”

“No,” Brendan replied with a smile.  “Just a Marine.”