Truth Avenged (Green Division Series Book 1) Page 7

  “I don’t know you.” Tuck leaned back into the chair and crossed his legs.

  “Then tell me your name, boy.”

  This man egged Tuck for problems. He didn’t want to deal with it.

  “James Redding.” He fed the man the first bullshit name that popped in his head. “And what is yours, sir?”

  “None of your concern.” The man sized Tuck up.

  Tuck racked his brain. What the hell was his name? Think, think, think.

  Darren Caldwell.

  “Why are you here?” Darren’s small talk was accusatory, not friendly.

  “The same reason anyone is. Why are you here?” He could tell it was because the large grease covered woman next to him had cut her hand, a dirty rag covered it.

  “None of your concern either.”

  Tuck left the pleasant surroundings of the waiting room and walked to the intake desk.

  “Can I use your phone, please?”

  “There is a payphone in the lobby.” The intake worker didn’t bother to lift her head.

  Thanks for the help. Tuck didn’t normally play the law enforcement card, but he didn’t want to walk clear across the hospital lot to get his cell phone. He pulled out his wallet and showed her his badge.

  “Can I use your phone? I’d use my cell but it’s across the parking lot and this is time sensitive.”

  She picked up her phone. “What’s the number?”

  Tuck relayed it. She passed him the phone.

  “Department of Public Safety.” Kevin, the Green dispatcher, chirped friendly as ever.

  “Kevin, do you ever have a day off?”

  “Living the dream man. How the hell are you? I heard you got pretty messed up on that rescue.”

  “Nothing a couple of staples didn’t fix.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Can you do me a favor? Run Darren Caldwell, about thirty five years old, see if he has any warrants.”

  Kevin typed away on his computer.

  “We have….one for unpaid fines and fees…one for unpaid fine and fees….one for more unpaid fines and fees. Hmmm, see a trend here? He’s got about $1800 bail on all three warrants. Nice.”

  “He’s here in the waiting room of Newall Hospital. Do you have their dispatch’s number?”

  “Give me some credit, of course I do. I’ll connect you with ‘em, hold on.”

  Tuck spoke with their dispatch center and they sent a pair of Newall officers whom arrived less than ten minutes later. Tuck waited outside the ER entrance door and greeted officers Jensen and Tyrone. They followed Tuck to the waiting room where he nodded in the dirt bag's direction. They too were familiar with him.

  “Darren.” Tyrone approached him on the left, Jensen on the right. Tuck stayed at the waiting room entrance. “What are you up to tonight?”

  “I fucking knew it!” He stood and pointed his finger at Tuck. “You dirty fucking pig!”

  "Are you here for treatment?" Tyrone asked.

  "I’m fucking here because my wife cut her hand and needs stitches, can’t you pigs leave me alone!"

  “Darren, make this easy on yourself. Don’t make a scene. We have three warrants for your arrest for unpaid fines. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.” Tyrone ordered nicely.

  “Fuck you.” He puffed his chest out.

  “Last warning, turn around, hands behind your back.” Jensen warned.

  “Fuck you! If you want me, here I am! Come fucking get me!” He hit his chest with a balled up fist mimicking a gorilla.

  “Have it your way.” Tyrone said.

  Darren tried to charge his way through them. Jensen and Tyrone scuffled with him, Tuck joining in the fray. Chance came out from the exam area to see them rolling around on the floor together.

  “Stay back.” Tuck warned Chance and the nurse. Not that they needed to be told to stand back, it wasn’t their first reaction to dive into a brawl with a dirty meth user.

  “Sit your ass down now, or you’ll be next!” Jensen yelled to the dirt bag woman who stood and took a step their way. She continued. With his left hand, Jensen pulled out his Taser. Too bad he hadn’t been as quick to pull it on Darren. “Now! Sit your fat ass down!” The chair wobbled when she swiftly retook it.

  “Stop resisting!” Tuck ordered.

  The nurse held Chance at a safe distance.

  “Ahhhhgg, stop! Stop fucking hurting me! Assholes! Police brutality!” Jensen and Tuck each held an arm while Tyrone cuffed his hands.

  “Do we need to get leg wraps and hog tie you, or are you going to cooperate?” Jensen asked. Tuck had him firmly pressed to the ground, knee is his back. Jensen had the same position on the opposite side.

  “Fuck you!”

  “Hog tie time.” Tyrone jogged back to the cruiser and grabbed the straps to bind his legs and hands together. Darren was as nasty as he looked. They carried him out, Darren’s attempts feeble in his straps.

  Chance followed them to the mechanical exit doors and watched as Darren was stuffed into the back seat like the hog he was.

  Tuck closed the door to Jensen’s cruiser and the three stood around shooting the shit. Jensen left with dirt bag and Tyrone went to talk to the friendly woman.

  “I’ll be right back.” Tuck walked past her to the bathroom to wash the grime he felt on his hands. After scrubbing up like a doctor, he escorted Chance to his truck. He started the engine and they pointed the truck toward Lyman.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m not feeling much of anything.” She leaned back. “Too bad it is only temporary. In a few hours, I’ll want to sob like a little girl.” Stitching her back up wasn’t as bad as she imagined. If not for the horrible feeling of the Novocain shot, the process would have been painless.

  “I would too.” The tears wouldn’t come from physical pain. “Are you hungry? Want to grab something to eat?”

  “I’ll get something at home. I’m exhausted.” She leaned her head into the seat belt. “Are you always on the job?”

  “How’s that?”

  “You hiked up to help me, then assisted the cops at the hospital. Do you ever relax?”

  “I try, but I’m a shit magnet. Shit finds me.”

  “Like me.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  Tuck looked over at her. “What?”

  “Warden Huan promised to return my pack two days ago and he still hasn’t. I need the pack.”

  “To continue your witch hunt?”

  “Ghost hunt.”

  “I’ll see that you get it.”

  The ride home they chatted friendly and her mood lightened. His presence comforted her more than she wanted to admit.

  When they pulled into her driveway it was well past midnight. The moon gleamed off of the lake illuminating the shorefront. They lingered on the deck together after she unlocked her front door.

  “I’m sorry for being a mess today. I don’t know what to say to you, other than I’m sorry.”

  “What did I tell you about apologizing?”

  “It’s a habit.”

  “Are you going to be okay for the night?” His concern was genuine.

  “I’ll survive. I’ve gotten by this long, right.”

  “I didn’t ask you if you’d survive. Call a friend to stay with you.”

  “We’ve had this discussion. It’s after midnight, I’ll get by.” She smiled. “You’ve been a saint and you must be exhausted. Go home.”

  “Call me if you need anything, day or night. You have my number.”

  “Thank you.” She opened the door and went inside, taking a fleeting look as he walked down the pathway.

  Shit. She’d forgotten to give his jacket back. It needed to be laundered anyhow, it would only be polite to return it blood free. In her little pink daisy adorned shorts and form fitted white tee, she plunked down on the couch and covered herself with a blanket. Infomercials played on almost every channel. Why did she bother to have cable?
She settled for an episode of Seinfeld and played on her iPad. She’d wasted hundreds of dollars on the trendy gadget and hadn’t touched it until she’d been restricted to the couch. It was a waste of time and money, until all she had was free time. The iPad slid down her lap and she began to doze, her mind racing.

  KNOCK, KNOCK

  The sound woke her harshly from her nightmare. She whirled around jumped by the noise. It took her a moment to get her bearings. Breathe.

  It was the sound of someone knocking on her front door, not the noise that resonated in her dream. Why would anyone knock on her door at that time of night? She debated whether she should answer it. Dropping the blanket, she cautiously walked to the door and peered through the glass slits, a bat gripped in her hands. It was a familiar face. She put the bat aside and opened the door.

  “You forgot something.” Tuck held her phone in his hand. He’d gotten fifteen miles down the road before discovering it in the center console.

  “Oh, yeah, I might need that.” She said bubbly. He passed it to her. “Thank you for bringing it back. Seems you can’t get rid of me, huh.”

  “I don’t mind.” He could get lost in her deep blue eyes if he let himself. He made himself avert his gaze. She clutched the phone.

  “I have your jacket too.” She turned and looked at it draped over her kitchen chair.

  “I’m not worried about it tonight. I’ll talk to you later.” He held up his hand motioning goodbye. He took her front steps two at a time and walked toward his truck.

  “Tuck.” Stay, don’t go.

  “Yeah.” He turned on his heels.

  She couldn’t ask him. It was too much to ask of a man who was little more than a stranger and saved her on more than one level.

  “Safe drive home.” Pathetic.

  Body language accounts for the majority of the manner in which a person communicates. Tuck heard her loud and clear. If he followed through with what she silently asked for, it wouldn’t be a move he would receive a mere verbal warning for.

  He nodded his head and resumed walking to the truck. She closed the door and the outside light flicked off. Half in, half out of his truck, Tuck stared at the front door of her house. He didn’t want to leave knowing the pain she felt alone behind that closed door. But, he couldn’t stay.

  Chance leaned against the door. She needed a drink. A six pack was more like it. If she was a drinker, tonight would be the night for it. Every night of that previous week would have been.

  She would begin chasing ghosts tomorrow.

  Chapter Five

  Hmmm. She looked at period pictures of planes online. The plane remnants in the woods looked possibly to be World War II era and was definitely military. She’d start with that. She typed into the search bar.

  “Squirrel World War II plane”

  A bagillion results popped up. She scrolled through page after page. Nothing relevant.

  “Squirrel World War II”

  Same luck.

  “World War II plane crash Maine”

  Two results in southern Maine. She slumped further into the comfy couch.

  “Plane crash Maine”

  Finally, some potential positive hits.

  She clicked link, by link, through articles that appeared could possibly be relevant. Hours flew by sitting in front of her laptop, so long that her eyes blurred from focusing so intensely. The ER doctor prescribed R&R along with his lecture. So, she followed his advice by leaving her ass on the couch all day.

  “Time heals all wounds and YOU, little lass, need time to heal. Hiking in your condition isn’t only not advised, it’s downright daft. Do you fancy the idea of infection?” Those were his words. His Irish accent seemed very feigned, but was highly entertaining.

  She set the laptop on the coffee table and closed it. A blanket search was difficult without basic information. One would think a plane crash in the Maine woods during WWII, or any other era would be in the history books, especially if it had gone undiscovered. It didn’t fit. None of it fit. Abby rubbed against her leg affectionately. She scratched under her neck and Abby soaked up the attention before wandering off to her cat bed.

  “JESUS. How can people sit on their ass all day like this?” She mouthed aloud to herself. She’d done well. It was 6 p.m. and she hadn’t left her house. Paul promised to come over for dinner, but was called away by work. Her night was open. Very open. Bleakly, depressingly open. Amy, Gabby, and Jon would be over in the blink of an eye if she asked, but she wouldn’t.

  She slid her phone into her pocket and whipped Tuck’s jacket off the back of the chair. She’d washed it earlier in the day while completing Mission: Massive House Cleanup. The alluring smell of his cologne replaced by laundry detergent took away from its appeal, but the roomy, soft jacket was more comfy than any of her own. Out the door and down the steps she went. A little walk in the fresh air would do her good. She wasn’t hiking, it was a leisurely stroll to maintain her sanity. The doctor wouldn’t agree, but doctors don’t know everything.

  Pebbles ricocheted off the tar as she kicked them about like a school child. Traffic was infrequent on her street, only an occasional car passing, so the sound of an approaching vehicle slow behind her raised red flags. Chance’s suspicion kicked into high gear.

  “Listening to doctor’s orders I see.”

  She halted and looked over her shoulder. “I’m not hiking.”

  “Poe-tah-toh, Poe-tay-toe.” Tuck smiled. “I have something for you.”

  “The bag?” She walked to the driver’s window of his truck.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He held it up for her to see.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She didn’t contain her excitement.

  He motioned his head for her to get in with him. “It’s getting dark. Jump in, you can show me all this evidence proving your ghost plane is out there.”

  She walked around the truck and he gave her a ride back to her house.

  *****

  “All that’s here is a bag with The Flying Squirrel written on it.” He held up the bag. “A journal, a pocket watch, a flask, and a photo with some writing on it. A few old keepsakes in a dirty bag doesn’t make for sound evidence of a plane crash.”

  “Explain how they’ve survived the elements if not protected from something in a, I don’t know—perhaps a plane. Can’t you concede there is a possibility my story isn’t a figment of my imagination. I’ve shown you evidence.”

  She pointed to the bag. “It’s World War Two era. Read the note.” She passed it to him. “Read it.”

  Tuck stared at the picture of the beautiful woman on the front posing on a sandy beach.

  “Flip it over.” Chance ordered. Tuck did as told.

  No matter how far apart we must be during these trying times, or how many days pass without feeling your strong embrace and loving touch, I will always wait for you, a month, a year, a lifetime. I love you so much Squirrel, you come home safe to me.

  With all of my love,

  Adeline

  Tuck read it. So what, a love note doesn’t equal a plane crash. No correlation.

  “Come home to me—that implies he’d gone away.” Chance tried to hammer home her point.

  “People go away from home all the time.”

  “You are impossible.”

  “I’m rational. Have you found any news articles on a World War Two plane crash in bumfuck Maine?”

  She didn’t want to answer.

  “Do you have a computer?”

  “Yes.” Of course she did, she was a writer.

  “Let’s look on the internet and see if we can find anything. If it happened, it would be in the history books. Plane crashes don’t happen very often. That’s why Elephant Mountain is notorious.” Elephant Mountain was the site where a B-52 bomber plane went down many decades prior.

  “I’ve looked.” She picked up the journal and began reading.

  “And?”

  “I’ll find it. I saw them.”

  �
�Saw them? Saw who?”

  Her mouth ran away from her again. He would surely think she was crazy if she admitted the whole truth.

  “Saw the ghosts of these so called airmen?” He chuckled. “Good story.”

  She didn’t flinch.

  “You’re funny.”

  She gave him a dirty look.

  “You’re not serious.” His mouth gaped. “You are…”

  Where my hiking bag is, that’s where the wreckage is.”

  “Back up, you said ‘them’. You’re saying you saw ghosts?”

  “The noise I heard led me to the wreckage, to that bag and compass.”

  “Ghosts led you to the plane wreck?”

  “It was fate. I believe I was meant to find it.”

  “Uh huh. And these ghosts, they are people who died in the crash I presume.”

  “I found the bag, the compass, and this journal. How can you not believe me?”

  He shrugged. Because it was hard to believe.

  She flipped over the picture, stared at Adeline, and then brought her eyes back to his. “I’ll prove you wrong about all this. I’m going to find the plane.”

  “You’re welcome to do that.” Tuck placed his hand on the center of her back. “When you are healed. Emphasis on healed. H-e-a-l-e-d.”

  “I get it. Jesus, you’re as bad as Paul.”

  The comparison stung.

  “And you’re as stubborn as a mule.” He said.

  She couldn’t argue that point, she was and she knew it. He thumbed through the back pages of the journal. Tuck didn’t want to overstay his welcome.

  “I should probably hit the road, it’s getting late and you should be resting.”

  “I’ve rested all day. I couldn’t be more rested.”

  “You should be resting right now too.”

  “Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. Whatever? She'd reverted into a teenager with that statement.

  Tuck laughed. “When are you going back to work?”

  “Paul is making me take mandatory leave for a minimum of two more weeks, the jackass. I don’t need it, I’m fine.” She was disgusted with Paul for that reason.