“The news goes on and one about that Bushmaster rifle,” Bill said. “I knew this guy from the paper mill; he was a sniper in Vietnam, a Marine. Wish I could remember his name...”
Aron was in the kitchen, preparing a pot of chili. Bill sat in his recliner, Helga watching Aron cook. Sonya was upstairs.
“That guy had a hard time,” Bill said. “Shell shock.”
“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Aron said, almost to himself.
“Bad nerves. The war always in your head. To think; I avoided the draft because I was a foreigner, got married young. I lucked out.” Bill sighed. “Are you making that chili spicy?”
“Sonya doesn’t like it too spicy. You can add more chili pepper to your bowl. There’s cheese and sour cream. Corn bread.”
“Yum. Hey! I remember that guy’s name! Dave Warren. He had a wife and a daughter. His nerves were so bad, he had to go on Disability. Drank too much, so did the wife.”
“You’d think the police would find someone like Dave Warren interesting,” Aron said.
“He’s got to be seventy by now. Too old to be running around shooting people. Besides, he probably drank himself to death.”
Aron finished stirring the chili, putting the lid back on the pot. He opened a drawer, taking out the local phone book. He found Dave Warren’s phone number, writing it down. “This will probably lead to nothing, but what the Hell. Maybe someone like Warren, with his expertise, could help the police.”
Aron dialed the number. The phone rang several times before getting picked up. “Hello?”
A female voice.
“Hello. Is Dave Warren there?” Aron asked.
“No. He’s deceased.” The woman hung up the phone without a good-bye.
“Well, that was rude.” Aron said. “Whoever she is, she said Dave Warren is dead.”
“Did she sound young?” Bill asked.
“Yes.”
“Maybe that was the daughter.”
“What was her name?”
“Don’t recall. Are you making that chili spicy?”
“I’m outside.”
Bobby read the text message, knowing Archie would show. Their conversation on the phone had been brief, but Bobby said nothing to try to stop Archie.
After showing Mr. Fuller the photo of Timothy Union, alias Colin, Bobby had given a lot of thought about the two. If Colin was the sniper, and Archie knew, Bobby suspected that Archie was too frightened to tell anyone because he didn’t want to be sent back to Oregon and The Church. But what was Archie to Colin? A cover? The seemingly single father of a teen son? Archie didn’t go to school, rarely came out of the apartment the whole time he lived there.
Bobby bundled up in his coat, gloves, and boots. Delia would be upset to find him gone, but Bobby couldn’t help but wonder what Colin would do if Archie stopped being useful.
Bobby locked the door behind him, going out of his unit and into the storm. He saw Archie at the wheel of Colin’s truck, the headlights on. Bobby let himself in, the heat blasting.
Archie, also dressed for the weather, said,”We can’t stay here. I can get us back to the Dockside.”
“Are you sure? The visibility is bad. I’m surprised you made it.”
Archie flashed his dimpled smile. “I’m a good driver.”
“Do you have a license?”
“No.”
*****
Toon, in Popcorn’s truck, was once again parked near Bobby’s unit. He watched the blond boy get in the same damn truck. Snow was collecting on his windshield, but the wipers managed to keep it off, he didn’t have time to do it himself if he wanted to follow the other truck. He waited until after the truck pulled out; then he followed, once again getting on the highway.