Whispering Rock (Virgin River #3)

Whispering Rock (Virgin River #3) Page 12

“I don’t really care what anyone else thinks about a guy like you.”

He stood up. “Well, you should. I could probably help out a little, but cops don’t work alone. You might not have local police, but you don’t want this new idea of yours to drive away the coverage you have. One thing at a time.”

Mike borrowed Preacher’s computer to fashion a pretty informal résumé and letter of introduction. Because Preacher’s printer wasn’t top quality, he put the information on a disk and drove over to Eureka to have both printed. He chose a simple format that merely listed his experience and gave plenty of phone numbers to check references.

If Mike had been applying for a job, he would have gone into more detail about training, awards, special assignments. In fact, he felt boastful about his accomplishments at LAPD, about his experience. He couldn’t see the advantage in downplaying what he knew about law enforcement and criminal justice, but when trying to fit in with the local cops, he didn’t want to appear arrogant. It was a very fine line. His goal was to become one of them, and he was curious if they would accept him. He was from the city, he was Mexican, he’d been around the block. Around a lot of blocks. One thing the local guys never appreciated was some hotshot hitting town, acting as if he knew it all—whether that happened in L.A. or Eureka. A lot of ex-cops were boastful, eager to play on their war stories. A lot of times their war stories were bullshit.

His first stop was the Fortuna Police Department. The chief, Chuck Andersen, was a big guy with meaty hands, bald, and he wasn’t smiling. Mike got the immediate impression he reserved his smile, kept it inside so it would never appear he was playing around. Mike shook his hand and introduced himself. “Thanks for seeing me, Chief,” he said, handing him a couple of pages. “I’ve been asked to take a job in Virgin River—town cop, more or less.”

“Sure,” the big guy said. He indicated a chair but didn’t sit behind his desk, so Mike continued to stand. The chief looked over the résumé quickly. “How long you been here?”

“Since just before Christmas. Couple of my best friends live in Virgin River.”

“Why didn’t you apply to one of the departments around here?”

“I wasn’t looking for work,” Mike answered. “This was a surprise. I guess the woman who put together a contract for a constable has been looking for someone, but I didn’t come to Humboldt County to work. I came here to fish. Hunt.”

“Not too many people can do that at…” He looked through the résumé briskly. “At thirty-seven.”

Mike took a glance around the office. Family picture, good-looking wife, two handsome kids, a dog. He smiled with a little envy. “I don’t have a family. I was retired from LAPD with a disability.”

The chief’s eyes came up to Mike’s face. “How’d that happen?”

“I got shot,” Mike said without self-consciousness. “During that last assignment on the résumé,” he added with a nod toward the paperwork.

“Gang Unit,” Andersen said. He looked as if he might have memorized the page by now. “Patrol, narcotics, gangs, robbery, gangs again.”

“I worked gangs, then after passing the sergeant’s exam, was reassigned there with my own squad. I loved gangs. I hated narcotics,” Mike said unnecessarily. “I was always good with Patrol. Grassroots policing suited me.”

Finally the chief sat, so Mike took his seat. When he did so, the chief lifted his eyes slightly, maybe surprised. “Marine Corps,” he said.

“Yes, sir. Active for four, reserves for ten.” Then he laughed. “I got through a lot of stuff, then got picked off by a fourteen-year-old.” He shrugged. “No accounting for luck.” As the résumé described, when Mike had finished his first tour with the Marines, he’d started college on the GI bill, and got his degree in criminal justice while working LAPD.

The chief read awhile. Then he lifted his eyes again. “What’s your mission here?”

“Here? In your office or in Virgin River?”

“Okay, my office.”

“I just want to say hello. I’m going around to the departments. If the meter reads No Help Wanted, I’m not signing that contract. If the local cops think they can stand having a guy like me helping out in Virgin River, I might go with it, see what I can do.”

“A guy like you?”

“Ex-cop,” he said. “I know at least as many ex-cops as cops. I realize most of us come with a lot of baggage, a lot of stories. I used to get real bored with ’em, real tired of all the drama. And here I am—one of them. With drama. With a big story.” He shrugged. “I’m checking out how that goes over. It’s only fair. To you guys.”

“This department doesn’t have any presence in Virgin River….”

“There’s always the chance a problem in Virgin River could connect to your town, your department—in which case I’d like to think there’s someone I could talk to over here.”

The chief seemed to think a moment. He almost smiled. “And the disability?”

“I’m as close to a hundred percent as a guy can get. It was mainly the shoulder,” he said, working it a little bit. “It’s all good. I can shoot straight, angle just fine. I’ve got a left arm that’s getting better all the time.”

“But you’re taking the comp, the disability.”

“Damn straight,” Mike said with a nod. “I paid into it for fifteen years and it wasn’t the first time a weapon was fired my way. I’m just a working guy. But you know, I’m so damn lucky—the head works, the brain seems okay. I’d like you to know something—if I’d had a chance to talk my way out of that shooting, I might have tried, but it wasn’t like that.” He nodded toward the paperwork. “There’s a report available, if you want it. I was kind of… I was ambushed. That’s all. It was a jump into a gang, and picking off the sergeant was a coup. So… That’s it. I thought I’d come up here and—”

“You could get a good job with a résumé like this. There are lots of places—private industry, corrections, small departments…”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, chuckling. “That’s nice, I appreciate it. Go ahead and call some folks for references. There are lots of names on that résumé there—and you can get all the numbers of people not on the résumé. If I can help out in Virgin River, great. If it’s a problem—I got a lot of fish to catch.”

“How much can there be to do in Virgin River?” Andersen asked.

“Hopefully, not a lot,” Mike answered. He nodded toward the pictures on the credenza. “Beautiful family,” he said. “Good-looking dog,” he added.

“She’s yours,” the chief said. Then he smiled. “The dog.”

It was Mike’s turn to smile. “You wouldn’t give away that dog,” he returned.

“Nah, but I might trade her for enough dirt to fill the holes in the yard. Try me.”

Mike laughed and stuck out his hand, which Andersen shook. “Thanks, Chief. Enjoyed it.” He gave a nod, the chief gave a nod and Mike left.

To be met with some suspicion and reluctance was not unexpected, but it didn’t make the experience very inviting. Mike was damn glad he wasn’t looking for work. He had to fight himself to keep from being a little insulted; he was a decorated police officer from a big…no, huge department. But he reminded himself this was their turf. He was an interloper.

Despite the fact it was intimidating and difficult, he visited the Eureka department, the sheriff’s department, Garberville police, Grace Valley, a few other small towns that had local police, sometimes just one or two cops. The initial reaction was always the same. Yeah, you’re this big-shot guy? What’re you doing up here, poking around? Why not go after a real job?

A few days later Chief Chuck Andersen called him. “I thought you might want to spend a little time over here,” he said. “Do a ride along, look at a couple of things. See how it’s different in a small city. Maybe give us a perspective…”

“That would be good, sir. I’d like that,” Mike said.

“I called a couple of people at LAPD,” Andersen said. “You have a pretty good reputation there.”

He had an excellent reputation there. “Thanks,” he said. “I was better at some things than others. I did okay in police work.”

“Seems like,” Andersen said. “Good to have you helping out. Do a ride along with one of our guys. And Valenzuela? Bring a pillow.”

Mike laughed. “Thanks, sir.”

The sheriff called, then the Eureka chief. Tom Toopeek, the chief from Grace Valley, weighed in, but there were towns that never got back to him. No matter, the consensus was that he would be welcomed as a constable. By state regulation he was not an official law enforcement officer, but more or less one of the team as far as most of the local guys were concerned. He’d be happy to help out anyone who asked, but what mattered was that he could go to them if there was a problem in his town. And he’d be happy to have a purpose again.

He signed the contract. The first person he told about it was Brie.

Tom Booth met a girl in physics who he thought might fill the bill. Brenda. Gorgeous Brenda. Soft, shiny, light brown hair that curled under on her shoulders, blue eyes, drop-dead figure, long legs, a smile that could put him in a trance. She was more beautiful than any girl he’d seen in D.C., which was some kind of miracle—the D.C. girls were pretty awesome. Fortunately, she seemed almost as shy around guys as he was around girls, which could work to his advantage. He struck up a conversation with her in class and learned that she was only a junior, in accelerated math and science programs, and he thought, hot shit. Pretty, smart, nice. Yup, this was a winner.

They talked about her plans for college, his horses. He asked her if she’d like to go out sometime and she said maybe. “Not right now. I’m kind of just getting over a really bad flu. Had me flat on my back right as school was starting and I’m still on medication, so my mom is a little overprotective.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “Maybe we could do homework together sometime, when you start feeling better.” Then he smiled his most engaging smile and said, “If you don’t mind me saying so, you sure don’t look sick.”

“I’m feeling lots better than I did, believe me.”

“So—maybe I could call you sometime? You feeling well enough for that?”

“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “That would be okay.”

“What do you like to do? When you’re not—you know—feeling bad?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Games. Dances. Movies.”

“Great,” he said. “That sounds great. I’ll give you a call one of these days.” And he thought, maybe this isn’t going to be such a boring place after all.

He called her that night. Why waste time?

Four

The fall air was crisp and refreshing and Mel, still troubled by a couple of her cases, wandered over to the bar in the afternoon as David napped in Doc’s care. She found Mike sitting on the porch, feet up on the rail, his hat, his Rio Concho, pushed down on his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun, taking in a relaxing autumn day. She sat in the Adirondack chair next to him, scooted forward on the edge.

“Looking for your man?” he asked.

“Actually, I was looking for you,” she said. “What’s going on in there?” she asked, giving her head a toss toward the inside.