Jeff Carson - Foreign Deceit

She blushed and forked her pizza.

Wolf gave a shrug. “Any excuse to talk to you.” He put on a somber expression. “I wish I could say I’m sorry he’s dead. I know he was a lifelong friend. A friend of the family…” he let his sentence die unfinished.

“No. It’s okay. He was a shell of a person. A phony. Obviously the person I was friends with probably died a few years ago. Maybe a long time before that. He was probably just using me for all sorts of subtle reasons I can’t even imagine.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said.

They finished eating in silence. Wolf reflected on the vengeance Rossi afforded him, and the anguish he would be in now if he’d been a millisecond later with his shot. He silently apologized to his brother for not being a millisecond sooner.

Wolf and Lia spent the rest of their Saturday in Marino’s office recounting the week’s events leading up to the harrowing demise of Detective Rossi.

Relief flooded him that evening in a crashing wave, allowing him a much needed release of grievous emotion, and to his surprise, his later date with Lia was the most enjoyable night with a woman he’d had in years.

They both slept at John’s, and Wolf found out that Lia Parente was a liar. She was vicious. And he told her so facetiously as they lie next to each other afterwards, completely spent.

The next morning she took him to the airport, and they hugged, and gave each other a soft kiss, knowing it was a long shot they would see each other again.

Wolf’s back pressed deep into his coach window seat as the 777 lifted from the ground. He looked at the receding clay tile buildings below and looked forward to seeing the mountains of Colorado once again. The thought of home raised his pulse.

As the plane popped through the low clouds into the clear blue yonder above, David Wolf squinted out the window, thinking about how the last six days had colluded to mercilessly change his life, bringing him to a wholly foreign land, and now back home with a dead brother. He closed his eyes to get some rest. Something told him it wasn’t about to get any easier.

It was mid-afternoon Sunday, and Wolf swiveled on his heels in the Rocky Points Police Station dirt parking lot, taking in the view and sucking in the smell of pine.

Once again a storm loomed just behind Rocky Points Ski Area. The air shook with a continuous rumble as the sky pulsed behind the dark green curtain of hail and rain. Wolf could feel every hair on his body gently rising as the sky darkened.

Rachette pulled Wolf’s backpack out of the RPPD issue Ford Explorer and set it at Wolf’s feet. “It’s been raining every day since you left. That looks like a big one though.”

Wolf nodded. “Thanks for the ride again.” He picked up the pack, slung it over his shoulder and walked to the light of the open station garage doors, where his own RPPD Explorer had been parked for the week. Turning back, he tipped his buffalo-felt Stetson hat. “Oh yeah, and thanks for getting this back. I still owe you a hanky.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Rachette hadn’t moved from the side of the truck. “Hey, Sarge?”

Wolf stopped. “Yeah.”

Rachette looked over both shoulders and towards the garage, then stepped close. “You going to stick around if you don’t get the Sheriff’s appointment tomorrow?”

Wolf gave a half smile as the air around them lit up with a bright flash. Thunder crashed in under two seconds, but they stood unmoved. He let out a deep breath as a dollop of rain smacked the bill of his hat.

There was a funeral for his brother to be arranged, his mother to comfort, and, yes, either he or Sergeant Derek Connell was going to be appointed to Sheriff within the next twenty four hours — a moment Wolf had thought about each and every waking minute for the last two years of his life.

Wolf narrowed his eyes.

Rachette stared unblinking, shifting his weight side to side. It looked like he knew something. Something troubling.

Wolf turned and walked to the garage as the sky opened in a downpour. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”