THE SWORD OF GOD CHAPTER ONE (PART TWO) LESTER DROVE west, following the long straight line of Highway 28, crossed the bridge over the Presque Isle River, and continued to Truth. They passed the mailboxes of the big houses on the edge of town and kept going, passing the sign for the KOA Indoor Playground and the strip mall with the gas station, the ATV rental shop, and the Pizza Hut that had only recently been opened. He had lived here ever since he had come back from the Gulf, and every little detail about it was familiar to him, from the wide-open spaces between the businesses to the ever-present green of the forest on the fringes of town. There was the four-way junction where old man McDonald had crashed his pickup into the UPS van last week. Johnny’s Bar where, last night, he had been forced to stop a fist fight between Thor Bergstrom’s boy and a couple of hikers who had been a little too enthusiastic with their drinking. He knew it all. It was a peaceful, pleasant town. Small, just over a thousand residents, never too busy and rarely presenting any kind of challenge when it came to policing. Lester liked to think of himself as a modest man, but he was quite sure that the firm way that he went about his job was one of the main reasons for that. He kept on top of things, never allowing problems to develop, stamping them out quickly and decisively. That was what he was paid to do, and he took pride in his job. The man sitting in the car next to him could become a problem. Lester could read the signs. He was going to make sure it didn’t happen that way. They reached the junction with Falls Road, the main drag that led into the center of town. There was a blue sign for the state police and another for Big Trout Falls. The lights changed to red, and Lester drew up to a stop. “So,” he said as he waited for the lights to change, “where are you from?” “Here and there,” the man, Milton, said. “You don’t say much, do you?” “I don’t have much to say.” “What about that accent? What is that, English?” “That’s right.” “That’s not an accent we hear all that much up around here.” Milton said nothing. The longer Lester was in his company, the more uncomfortable he became. His initial impression, as he had watched him on the side of the road, had been that he was a vagabond, a drifter. The kind of man who, in his experience, only brought aggravation to a place. He wasn’t so sure about that now, but after talking to him, the initial reason for his reluctance to allow him into town had been superseded by something else. It wasn’t fear, because it took a lot to frighten Lester, it was more of an apprehensiveness that this John Milton was trouble. He was closed off, opaque to the point of being unhelpful, and it made Lester nervous. He acted like he had something to hide. The reasons for his unease might have changed, but his initial conclusion was the same: this was not the sort of man that Lester wanted in his town. The lights changed to green. Instead of taking the right that led into Truth, he drove on. Milton turned his head to watch through the window as the glow of the town disappeared behind them, and then, when he turned back, he almost started to speak. Lester stiffened in anticipation. But Milton changed his mind, and a thin smile breaking across his face, he stayed quiet yet again. Lester kept on driving west. They passed the sign that said YOU ARE NOW LEAVING TRUTH – COME BACK SOON and then, at that point, there could be no further doubt. Still Milton said nothing. Lester drove on another mile until the blue expanse of East Lake was visible on the left, and there, he slowed the cruiser and pulled into the lot that served the campsite beyond. He turned off the road and crunched across the stones and gravel until he came to a stop. Dusk had fallen fully now, and beyond the wooden guard rail and the gentle slope of the terrain lay the wide tract of the water. He switched off the engine. “I hope that was helpful.” Milton opened the door and got out of the car. He opened the rear door and took out his gear. “There’s a campsite over yonder.” Lester pointed down to the shore. “It’s ten bucks or something to stay the night, but if that’s a problem, you let them know that Lester Grogan sent you. They’ll look the other way.” Still Milton did not reply. “Goodnight, then,” Lester said, reaching across for the door handle. He pulled it shut and lowered the window. “Look after yourself.” Milton put his right arm through the straps of his big pack, hoisted it off the ground, and settled it across his shoulders. He picked up his rifle and turned back to the cruiser. “I’ll be seeing you around.” Lester’s hand hovered over the start button. He looked back at him with a smile on his face, but he made sure there was steel in his voice when he replied, “No. You won’t.” He stared out at the man, saw him looking down at him, felt that same jolt of disquiet and, hoping that he had just misinterpreted his meaning, pressed the button and put the cruiser into reverse. The night was drawing in quickly now, and the lights flicked on automatically, the beams sweeping out over the still water, catching the insects in the bright shafts. The gravel crunched beneath the tires as Lester put the car into drive, rumbled away to the road and turned right, to head back into town.
Posted on: Wed, 13 Aug 2014 20:45:30 +0000