North Country(9)

The two fuzzy black dice I gave Jay for Christmas still hang off the rearview mirror. I can’t believe no one’s taken them down.

“They’re gonna make me redo all the road tests. The waiting period and everything,” I say, my voice hoarse as I struggle to push aside my emotion. “I can’t drive myself anywhere for a year.” It’s like I’m sixteen all over again.

“So, you’ll redo the test. It’s no big deal. You’ve got time. Lots of time.” Mom smiles with reassurance, before reaching up to grip my face between her palms. This time, her tears fall freely. “It’s so good to finally have my son home.”

I let the weight of her words settle over me. “It’s good to be home.” Even if we’re the only two people who feel that way.





Chapter 4





Emery




“Is it Benoit or Benny today?” The man’s choice in name usually matches the amount of alcohol he’s consumed.

He glares at me through one eye, the other half shuttered to help his focus.

Benny, it is. “Let’s give you a ride home.”

“Don’t need a ride. I’ve had one beer,” Benny slurs through his heavily accented words, his shoulders slumped over the bar.

“One, huh?” I flash a wide-eyed look at Matt.

The Bale House owner holds up one finger, signaling it’s all he served before he called us for help.

“And how many other drinks have you had today?” The man may as well have bathed in whisky for the stench of it. I’m sure I’ll find a mickey in his coat pocket if I search.

“Nothin’. I swear on Margaret’s mother’s grave.” He makes a sloppy crisscross over his chest with a meaty hand.

I purse my lips to stifle the laugh. There’s a rumor around town that Benny’s been seen pissing on said grave. He hated his mother-in-law. “How about we get you home so you can have dinner?” This guy isn’t eating anything but his pillow.

The key is to remove him from the bar without the situation escalating. Benoit is a gentle giant who morphs into Benny the Hulk when he gets his hands on hard liquor. The wood-paneled walls wear the scars from the last time Matt cut him off and “Benny” threw a table.

Thankfully, it’s only three p.m. and the place is relatively quiet. Still, there are a dozen patrons, and they’re all watching the spectacle with wary interest.

“Can we help you to one of our cars?” I nod to Dan, a young constable who offered backup when the call came in. He might be regretting that soon.

Benny waves us away with a grunt and a slip into his native Quebecois tongue. “J’va marcher.” We’re so close to the border, a lot of locals are fluently bilingual, and more than a quarter are francophone. Benny often waffles back and forth when he’s in this state.

Dan and I exchange doubtful glances. The blue Impala in the parking lot is registered to Benny’s wife, which means he drove here like this and there’s no reason to believe he won’t drive home. “Your house is thirty minutes away by foot, and it’s a cool day.” October weather is funny in these parts—one day you’re peeling off layers with the afternoon sun beating down and the next, you’re bundled up and shivering. In only jeans and a T-shirt, he’s not dressed for a trek. “Why don’t you take the free ride we’re offering and get home, sleep it off.” It’s a lot better than the alternative.

The doors to the Bale House swing open and in walks Russell, the other constable on day shift.

I curse under my breath. He was supposed to stay outside unless I radioed for help.

Benny’s eyes narrow as he spots him, his hands tightening around his glass. “Trop de cochons.”

“Now, that’s not very nice.” I take a step back as my hand moves for my holster, acutely aware of where this is heading, and quickly. Thankfully, so do my officers.

“Fuck.” Matt ushers the young blond bartender toward the back, out of harm’s way. He ducks just in time as Benny launches his pint with surprising accuracy. The glass shatters against the back wall, shards sailing and beer splattering.

“It’s Taser time, Benoit,” I warn. “You heard that? Taser.”

“It’s Benny!” He staggers to his feet, his face twisted with rage, his voice rising. “I just want to drink a fucking beer in— ”

His body stiffens and convulses as the probes strike his chest and upper leg. Dan and Russell move in unison, rushing to pin him down on the barroom floor the second the electricity cuts off.

Even with two of them, it’s a struggle. Benny thrashes against their hold.

“Don’t make me hit the button again.” The prongs are still attached to him.

The threat works. His body slumps, all fight vanishing.

Only when Dan has Benny’s wrists cuffed behind his back can I breathe again. “Check his pockets.”

Dan’s hands disappear, coming back with a small container of whisky, nothing but a dribble left in it.

Bingo. “Good teamwork, guys.”

“What do you want to do with him?” Russell asks.

“Let him sleep it off at the station and then ticket him for public intoxication and public disturbance. Make it hurt his wallet but keep it simple.” Anything more and we’re just creating work for ourselves. As it is, now I’ll have to fill out a use of force report before I can go home.