***
The two girls stood in a shallow, burning pit, yellow flames reaching to their waists. They held a little baby as high as they could above the licking tongues of fire. They screamed Hunter’s name, screamed for Hunter to save them. Hunter felt herself moving in slow motion, unable to go faster as she watched the children burn and collapse into the fire. When she got to the edge of the pit, the fire was out and Hunter saw them dead but unburned, lying in the same positions as by the river. One girl’s mouth opened and said, “You could have sssaved usss…”
Hunter sat up in bed and wiped her face. Her cheeks were wet. She went downstairs, pacing in the kitchen and looking at the clock’s red LED: 4:18AM. She rubbed her forehead and went out to the back yard to sit in the lawn chair by the large fir trees. The night was clear and the stars were amazing, and she looked at them and wept off and on until an orange sliver of sun peeked over the horizon.
***
At eight-thirty Hunter was in the kitchen eating a piece of toast when she heard a knock on the front door. She was halfway there when the knocking started again, a tapity-tapity-tap, like someone beating out a song. Hunter was reaching for the door when it started again, taptap, bonk-bonk, tipity-tipity thud. Somebody was using both hands and their feet to beat out a rhythm on her front door.
When she opened it there was a skinny, smiling, red headed man carrying a briefcase and wearing tinted granny glasses looking at her. He wore some god-awful looking cowboy boots, a pair of old Levis torn at the knees, a baggy, unbuttoned western shirt with the tails out and a shamrock green tee-shirt underneath with yellow letters down the center saying KISS ME, I’M IRISH. “You about ready?” he asked.
“What?”
“Hellooo. We’re supposed to prepare for your little court case next Monday, and I came out from El Paso this morning just for you.”
“What happened to Don?”
“He was called into Washington. They wanted him for something and,” he tapped and kicked the doorsill with shave-and-a-haircut, “I’ve come to save you. Truman Fortis at your service.” He looked over her shoulder into the house, “Is that coffee I smell?”
Hunter led him to the kitchen and they sat at the counter, drinking coffee. Hunter said, “You know how this makes me feel, you coming in at the last minute, having next to nothing for preparation time?”
Truman drummed his fingers repeatedly on the counter top, “Sure, sure, sure,” he said between gulps of coffee. “Feels like you’re being set up for a fall.” Drumdrumdrumdrum.
Hunter slapped her hand on his to make him stop. “I’ve had a hell of a night, so don’t do that,” Truman raised his eyebrows and made an O with his mouth.
Truman said, “Just to let you know, I think somebody is setting you up, and that’s why they sent me.”
“What? Who?”
He leaned back, “I’m not sure, but it’s fishy, Don leaving and me getting assigned the case.”
Hunter looked at him a long moment, “Why you?”
Truman spread his hands on the counter, “I had an addiction problem, lost some major cases and was practically useless for a while. I finally went to the Commissioner and told him I needed help and that I had contacted people in the EAP, you know, the Employee Assistance Program. I’ve been in rehab the last three months and started back to work two weeks ago. Now I’m the office pariah, and nobody’ll trust me with anything. Until you.”
“What was it?”
“Amphetamines.”
Hunter rubbed her head, “God-o-mighty.”
“Hey, I’m all you got. They made it a point to have everybody tied up. You couldn’t get anybody else even if you wanted to.”
“So, we both go down together, is that their plan?”
“Yep. Get rid of you and me in one shot.”
“Who’s behind it?”
“I don’t know, but it’s more outside pressure from several sources rather than one person, at least that’s what I think. Someone in the AG’s office thought you might be trigger happy. They brought up the big shootout in Florida.”
“Shit,” Hunter said. She thought about John Quick and wondered how he was doing and if he was dealing with his demons.
“I told them that was a load of bull, that if they read the reports they would see you and the two detectives were fully justified in your actions.”
“Are we that important, a GS-eleven Border Patrol Agent and a junkie attorney - no offense?”
“None taken. I think we’re bothering some people. I’ve read up on you, and you’re one of those diggers, the ones that don’t give up, that are always-going-to-get-their-man types. Me, I’m pretty much the same,” drumdrumdrumdrum, “at least when I’m clean.”