Warpath

We all look at her like she just said we should start calling soccer “football.” I look at Graham and let him answer. “A bunch of gangbangers are dying, and best of all the people responsible for Grandma and Grandpa’s deaths are among them. That’s the good news.”

Molly just stares at him. “You guys and your coppiness.”

We talk for a while longer and eventually Collins makes his goodbyes. Leaves.

“Let’s go. First round is on me,” Graham says.

“I’m not drinking Oktoberfest,” I say. “Let’s get that clear.”

Graham looks over and smiles at me. “Man, I haven’t thought about Oktoberfest beer in a long time. I used to love to love that stuff.”

“I’ll kill you,” I say.

We get to the car and Graham stops, gives me his serious look. “Richard, thank you.”

I pat him on the shoulder and nod. “I’m not good at that stuff, Graham. Never have been.”

“I know. But you need to hear it.”

“Heard it. You’re welcome.”

He smirks. “Okay. Fine. That’s out of the way now.”

“Yes. Now we can get to the booze,” I say and Graham steps inside the car, scoots over to Molly.

Graham laughs and says, “Booze. That’s all you care about, Richard.”

I look inside the backseat, see my only true friend and his wife, look at the shadows of bruises on their faces, see where Graham’s lip was split but healing, feel the burning hole in my back. Think of the elephant I took from Ursa’s closet and set back amongst my wife’s other things.

“Booze isn’t all I care about,” I say to myself. Get inside next to them and shut the door on the whole mess.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book was a stop-and-go process that took me years to complete. I started writing it while my wife was pregnant with our third child. Now he’s four as I’m typing all the not-story stuff that each book requires. Hell, child number five will be born before this book is actually published.

Benoit Lelievre deserves a special shout-out here. He runs the Dead End Follies website and reviews things—books, movies, the NBA, whatever else pops in there—as a second job. He took time out to read an earlier version of this (while still consuming books to review, writing his own stuff, working his day job and being the best dog owner he could be) and his comments made it a much stronger book. So, thank you Ben.

Susie Henry also deserves a special shout-out here. She’s an astronaut or something, as well as a poet, photographer, editor, devoted mother and wonderful friend. She’s been a huge supporter of my work since I met her and has informed me she would marry Buckner if he were real. She also took time out of her busy life to read an earlier version of this and her comments were fantastic. They dug at the nuanced stuff; stuff I never would have caught on a self-editing run. Her comments made it a much stronger book.

Chris Leek deserves a special shout-out here. My English brother from another mother, a much stronger writer than I’ll ever be, and tall. He dug in deep here and I can’t remember the shape the story was in before he came through and fixed it. What can I say? Chris mother fuckin’ Leek, ladies and gentlemen. His comments made it a much stronger book.

And here is my standard disclaimer: I always wanted the book tuned slightly higher than reality—maybe up to 110%, because normal anything isn’t entertaining enough—and I felt comfortable where I landed. It’s exaggerated here and there. Mainly the violence. Whatever is written correctly, I was advised on. Whatever wouldn’t fly in real life is squarely because of me.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ryan Sayles has over two dozen short stories in print, anthologies and online, including the Anthony-nominated collection Trouble in the Heartland: stories inspired by the music of Bruce Springsteen. He is the author of Subtle Art of Brutality, Warpath, Goldfinches and That Escalated Quickly! He is a founding member of Zelmer Pulp. He was in the military and is currently a police off

icer. He’s online at https://vitriolandbarbies.wordpress.com/.

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ALSO BY RYAN SAYLES

Richard Dean Buckner Mysteries