Sweeney grew paler by the moment and seemed to fall in a trance. He finally broke the silence.
“Hmm, that’s interesting. It does sound a bit far-fetched, doesn’t it? Did they say whether she described the guys who did this? If so, maybe I can make some calls, too… you know we have a database of local thugs. It wouldn’t hurt to check on the off chance she’s telling the truth.”
“Well, they said this girl described the ringleader to be about six-foot tall, maybe taller, thin, blond hair, tattoo with a weasel riding a motorcycle on his back. She saw it ‘because they took her to that cabin where Chad was found dead, like I said, and he’d gotten undressed and was, well, you know, about to do the deed.” Jack took another sip of his coffee, then another.
“What else did they tell you, Jack?”
Sweeney’s voice was flat now. His throat kept constricting, and he’d placed his coffee down some time ago. He rested one hand on his hip and the other on the counter. His fingers kept twitching, and so did his nose.
“Said she heard one of the guys call him Beau… He and Chad started fighting, and well, Beau with the weasel tattoo just didn’t have it in him, so he had to do the cowardly thing and pull out a knife. He tried to slice my boy. Then the girl claimed Chad knocked the knife out of his hand, and that was when he pulled out a gun—one just like you and other police officers always have… a Glock 22.” Jacks sighed. “That’s not what was in the medical reports. The murder weapon was listed as a rifle. Strange, huh? Anyway, he was getting his ass kicked, Sweeney. This guy with the weasel tattoo that is… Funny, I remember back in high school you and I had a fight, too. And you pulled a knife on me because I was kicking your ass!” Jack burst out laughing. “Remember that? Those were crazy times…”
Sweeney sported a forced grin, an expression that never reached his eyes.
“Yeah, crazy times.”
“Oddly enough, Sweeney, a local tattoo artist said he gave your son, Brian, a weasel riding a motorcycle tattoo about five years ago. That’s a strange tattoo to have, isn’t it? It’s different. It sticks out. Isn’t your boy about six feet tall, and blond? I haven’t seen Brian in a while. I bet he’s grown into a strapping young man. Weasel, cowardly and all…”
“Jack…”
“Mmmm hmm?”
“If you thought you were going to come here and avenge your son’s death, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“That’s funny, too. Seems your boy, Brian, who apparently goes by the nickname Beau now, was barkin’ up the wrong tree when he came to my home in the wee hours of the morning and found out wasn’t no three little pigs living there—just a big ass bad wolf waiting to huff, and puff, and fuck his ass up behind that same tree you think I’m barking up. I hope Beau is okay…” He looked down into his coffee, dark and rich. “Is that your washing machine I hear? Cleaning some bloody clothes, maybe? Anyway, it would be a shame if he had rabies or something, or worse yet, lost that arm.”
“You crazy son of a bitch…”
“Don’t you worry though, I’m sure a few of the bones will come out once Diesel takes a shit. Diesel is the wolf Brian got to meet, up close and personal. I can look in his pile of crap later, and save anything I find that might be useful, if you want. Maybe the doctors can use them again to help fix him up. I’m sure they’ll test for all diseases and what not at Fairbanks Memorial Hospital… Give him a tetanus shot. He’s in room 344, right? Your wife is right by his side, crying and reading her Bible… praying that God comes and saves her sweet, sweet boy.” He cackled. “He told the hospital staff he had a hunting accident. Oh, he had a hunting accident all right. As my dear Daffodil says, ‘He fucked around and found out!’” Jackson chortled and hooted.
Sweeney walked up to the table and sat across from him, coffee in hand. They smiled at one another, then laughed together.
“Oh, Jack, Jack, Jack. You were always a resilient, and hard-headed motherfucker.” Sweeney shook his head. “That’s good… great.”
“Yeah… true. I meant what I said about the FBI though. They’re just as dumb as you and your entire police department. I wouldn’t trust ’em as far as I could throw them. You’re probably all in cahoots. So, now I’m taking matters into my own hands.”
“If that’s the case, why are you here, Jackson, instead of at the hospital to try and kill my son?”
“Oh, because the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, and history repeats itself. What kind of fool would I be to go to a hospital with all of those witnesses roaming about? I’m already the town leper. People would watch me like a hawk. Killing you will just have to do for now. Besides, you covered up this crime for years. You’re just as guilty as that demonic creation you spawned.”