The Reach Chapter 2

Here is the second installment of The Reach. Hope you enjoy.

TWO

Chief of Police, Peter Garza, sat on a bench, smoking a cigarette, letting the cold wind whip him. Forty-nine lashes, he thought. He laughed. This was shit. The coldest night of the year and it was the opening of the Festival of Lights. He shook his head.

A figure approached through the thick blanket of darkness. "Who's there?" shouted Garza. 

"Damn, Garza. It's just me." Jake. Jake was a hard ass. Used to be a drunk, but quit when his daughter died. Damn, she was gorgeous. Who the fuck cared if she was only seventeen? Garza thought. I would have fucked her in a minute. 

Garza stood, facing Jake. They shook hands. "How are you, Halden?"

"Pretty fuckin' shitty, Pete." Jake looked shaken up. As if he had seen a ghost. Hell, in this town, that shit was possible. Anything was possible now. That's the way Garza saw it, at least.

"Why?" asked Garza after a long bit of silence.

"Someone died."

Garza wasn't sure he had hear right. "I'm sorry. Did you say someone died?"

Jake nodded. "That's what I fuckin' said. A little girl. I'll take you to the body now."

Somehow,  for some reason, Garza had the feeling that this was just beginning.

***** 

The former Mrs. Jake Halden, now known around town as "Ms. Jessica Call-Me-By-My-Fuckin'-Maiden-Name Halden", sat in her kitchen, looking at a picture of her beautiful daughter, who had been dead for almost three years now. Claire was such a wonderful girl, and Jake had taken it so hard. He had felt like it was his fault. Jessica always knew it wasn't. But Jake turned into such a jack ass after he left the force. Honestly, he was worse sober than he was drunk. 

She still loved him. She knew that. Always. She would always love him, no matter what. It just got so hard and she had no choice but to leave. Jake would never see it that way. He always wanted to blame himself for every problem in the universe. But sometimes things were not his fault. 

*****
Rob sat in his office at the station, pouring over old photos, older documents, and ancient phone records. Nothing in this damn building was up to date. A picture of a woman and her child. The child was now thirty and lived in South Dakota. A phone call from a residential number to a hotel outside of town. Six years ago. A newspaper article from the fuckin' nineties. Nothing was getting done here. Not tonight.

Rob stood up and picked up his coat. He started to walk towards the door, but his phone rang. Probably Jake. He walked to his desk and answered the phone. 

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mister Way." The voice was deep. Dark. Gravelly.

"Who is this?" asked Rob.

"I wanted to let you know that your intuition about death is correct. Someone will die in your town tonight. But it's not who you think. And it won't be just one," said the man on the other line. 

"Who the hell are you?"

"Keep an eye out. I'm sure your Chief would be doubly grateful for saving his life."

The line clicked dead. "Shit." Rob rushed out of the building.