Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) (2 page)

He looked down at the scuffed boot on his foot and sighed.
 
Acting like a civilized person would take practice.
 
He looked ahead through the thin veil of snow and saw what looked like the entrance to a secluded neighborhood.
 
A slow smile spread across his lips.
 
He stood there, leaning against the tree and waited for his army to approach.
 
Bondo, his chief lieutenant and former cellmate stepped forward and braved his wrath.

"What you got, boss?"

Evans closed his eyes and counted to ten.
 
"Like I told you before, you gotta call me
sheriff
for this to work.
 
At least in the beginning."
 
He didn't bother to look—he knew Bondo was nervous.
 
Little shit was always nervous.

"Sure—sure, you got it.
 
Sheriff."

Evans started talking again as the others caught up.
 
"Listen up, boys.
 
You’re gonna stay here—I'm heading on down and see if I can speak with the good folks in that house around the bend."

"Looks like we're coming up on some lake or something…" said Gimpy, an older-than-dirt Navy deserter.

"That it does, that it does."
 
Evans flicked the corner of his hat and watched as the snow cascaded off the brim.
 
I thought I was taking us south?
 

He turned and looked at Bondo.
 
"Think you ladies can keep it under control for a few minutes while I check things out?
 
You see me wave my arms, you can come down after me."

His scrawny lieutenant made an attempt at standing at attention and nodded.
 
"I got it, we'll hang out here.
 
Sheriff."

Evan sighed.
 
"Not
here
, you fucking moron.”
 
He waved one massive arm at the trees that choked the road.
 
“Get ‘em off the damn road and into the trees or something.
 
I don't want the first person I find to look up the road and see you assholes standing around.
 
Won't make anything any easier, will it?"

"Yeah, I guess," muttered Bondo as he scratched his greasy, dome-like forehead.
 
"Yeah—yeah I guess I see what you mean."

Evans didn't bother to respond, he just walked away.
 
As he drew closer to the house up ahead, he realized old Gimpy was right.
 
They were next to some lake.
 
A big one, from what he could tell through the pines.
 
As he exited the forest and walked down the hill toward the house, he took a look around and realized what a pretty scene everything made.
 
He glanced at the rusted mailbox on the side of the road and noted the name: Holden.

He squared his shoulders, trying to look as official as possible and strolled up to the front door of the ranch house.
 
Situated on a relatively small lot, the yard sloped down to the lake about a half-acre behind the house.
 
Majestic spruces and what looked like a few oaks lined the edges of the property, giving it a secluded feel.
 
He imagined it must be quite the vacation spot in the summer.
 

The house itself was small, but well-maintained.
 
It looked like everything had been prepped and readied for winter.
 
As Evans approached the door, he glanced in a large picture window and saw straight through the house.  Out a rear window facing the lake, tilled, snow-kissed earth and the remains of a large garden sat in plain view.

A sincere smile spread across his face as he knocked on the door and waited.  A minute later shuffling sounds from the other side rewarded his patience.  He listened as the deadbolt disengaged, then the door opened a crack.

His smile widened, and he tipped the brow of his wide felt hat at the elderly woman who faced him.

"Howdy ma'am," he said in his best good ol' boy voice.
 
"My name's Undersheriff Dixon," he said, thankful the man he'd killed for the uniform had a respectable sounding name.
 
"We're doing a special patrol through the area and unfortunately…well, my cruiser's having some trouble.
 
Would you mind if I stepped inside to warm up while I radio back to dispatch again?”
 
He held up the radio.
 
“This thing’s on the fritz—I can’t tell if they’re hearing me or not.”
 
He glanced around at the snow-covered yard, looking for witnesses.
 
“I've been outside for hours now and it's not getting any warmer."

A nervous smile appeared on the old woman's face as she opened the door all the way.
 
"Why, of course, sheriff! Please, come on in—this is no weather for you to be out walking around.
 
You'll catch your death of cold," she said, shutting the door behind him.

Evans stepped inside with a grateful nod and stood on the doormat as if he cared he would drip water off of his uniform.
 
“Oh…uh…”
 

"Don't mind the snow," said the woman as she turned and waddled toward the kitchen.
 
"Follow me—it's warmer in here."
As soon as she turned away, the smile vanished from his face.
 
He'd been locked up for a long time and he was desperate to find himself a woman…but not
that
desperate.
 
He grimaced.
 
Why the hell couldn't she have been a soccer mom?
 
He followed her, hardly aware of the hollow echo of his boots on the hardwood floor as he fantasized about twenty-something blondes.
 

She led him into the kitchen, tastefully decorated in a French pattern that reminded him of a cookbook.
 
Light blue paisley patterns painted all over all the cabinets.
 
The rest of the kitchen had been painted a creamy white.
 
Porcelain cats rested on every horizontal surface.
 
The little figurines watched him with unblinking eyes from cabinets, the top of the fridge, and little custom-built shelves scattered around the kitchen.

Well this is creepy.

He removed the campaign hat and placed it gently on the kitchen counter, blocking a little black cat with big eyes from staring at him.
 
The old woman moved to the island in the middle and motioned for him to sit.
 

"Would you like coffee?
 
I've got a fresh pot on… Alvin went down to check on the boathouse, but he should be back any minute.
 
He likes his coffee black, but I have some dehydrated cream and a little sugar, if you'd like?"
 
She stood there by the coffee pot, waiting for his answer.

"Oh, black would be just fine, ma'am—I sure do appreciate it.
 
Seems a fair bit colder this year, don't it?"
 
He winced internally.
 
Don't it?
 
That didn't sound like what a sheriff would say, at least not north of Virginia.
 
Fuck—hold it together, Evans.
 
Just wait until ‘Alvin’ makes his appearance…

"I have to admit—I usually have my deputies make the runs out in this neck of the woods," he said with what he hoped passed for a sheepish manner.

Mrs. Holden turned, coffee pot in one hand, a large mug that proclaimed the owner to be the ‘world's best grandma’ in the other.
 
She smiled.
 
"Oh, don’t worry about that, we don't mind.
 
It's quiet out here—can't say as if I've ever heard of anyone nearby having any trouble with the law, though…"
 
She poured the coffee and looked back at him.
 

"I shouldn't think there'd be any real reason for you to have to come out here at all."

Evans took the cup, grateful for the warmth it imparted to his cold hands.
 
He was suddenly apprehensive about the snake tattoo that peeked out beyond the cuff of his right sleeve.
 
Mrs. Holden missed it as she turned to replace the coffee pot on the island.
 
He adjusted his too-small sleeve—no sense in blowing his cover before her husband arrived.
 

He took a sip of the hot coffee and grinned as he thought of his comrades freezing their asses off up the road.
 
Serves them right.
 
Nobody else thought of a plan, nobody else took charge—all the perks should go to the leader.
 
Evans was damn well going to make sure he remained the leader.

"Thank you.
 
Thank you very much.
 
It's been a long walk…"

"Oh?
 
Where'd your car break down?
 
Down the road a ways?" she asked over the rim of her mug.

Shit
.
 
Evans had to think fast—he hadn't come up with a proper back story yet.
 
"I sure do appreciate this."
 
He took another sip and swallowed.
 

"Yeah, it crapped out on me down the road a bit—pardon my French.”

She laughed.
 
“Oh please, my husband swears a blue streak every time he has to weed that garden of his,” she chuckled, shaking her head.

Evans smiled.
 
“I had to walk past another house before I got to yours—don't recall the name of the good folks that live there… didn't appear to be anybody home so I kept walking."

"Which way?" she asked.

He gestured with his mug.
 
"Oh, down the road.
 
Came 'round the bend, by the mountain," he said.
 
He was thankful at least he'd taken notice of the tree-covered mountain in the distance.
 

She smiled like someone's grandmother.
 
"You were down there by the farm,"

"Yes," he blurted, relief washing through his body.
 
"I passed it and the car just up and died on me.
 
When I saw there was a house up ahead, I got out and walked.
 
Turns out nobody was home."

"Mmm hmm," she said over her mug.
 
"That would be the Larssons.
 
Eddie and Vi."

Evans arched an eyebrow.
 
"Can't say I've had the pleasure of meeting them before," he said.
 
He looked down.
 
"Only just started when everything fell apart."

"You poor thing."
 
Mrs. Holden clucked to herself as she got up and moved to a cupboard.
 
She smiled at him and pulled a package of shortbread cookies out of the well-stocked pantry.
 
Evans' stomach rumbled and his mouth watered at the sight of all that food.
 

If that was just one cabinet in the kitchen, what else might the old broad have squirreled away…in a basement, maybe?
 
His eyes moved to the door next to the fridge.
 
Down there, I bet.

"Cookie?
 
I know we're supposed to be rationing...but I must have ten boxes of these things here."
 
She sat down and leaned over the table, dropping her voice to a whisper. "They're my only vice," she said with a snort.
 
She pulled one cookie out and handed the package to Evans.
 

He pulled three cookies out and put the package on the counter, barely resisting the urge to grab a fistful.
 
With a nod of thanks, he popped in one whole cookie and chewed, closing his eyes as the delicious flavor of butter and sugar exploded in his mouth.
 
He hadn't had something so sweet in nearly a decade.
 
Prison fare wasn't much to be desired.
 

"Thank you, so much," he mumbled.
 

She waved off his thanks with a dismissive hand.
 
"Oh, never mind that.
 
The least I can do for an officer of the law is to provide him with a cup of coffee and a cookie or two on a cold day."
 
She turned and looked wistfully out the window at the falling snow.
 
The tiny flakes which had graced his walk in from the woods had transformed into large, wet globs.
 

"Looks like we're getting a few inches out of this one," she observed casually.

Evans cleared his throat.
 
"So, are the Larssons—is that what you said their name was?"

She turned back to face him and nodded.
 
"Oh, yes.
 
Edgar and Victoria Larsson."
 
She smiled.
 
"Eddie and Vi."
 

Evans nodded as he munched on his second cookie.
 
"I take it they're not home?
 
Did they leave for someplace warm, I hope?" he said with his own smile.

She chuckled and took a second cookie from the package, pinched between her fingertips like it was delicate treasure.
 
"Oh good heavens, no.
 
They spent every summer up here while their kids were growing up then moved in permanently some time ago.
 
We miss their little ones so dearly now.
 
They used to always run between our yard and the Colonel's…"

Colonel? That's interesting.  Must be the house on the other side of the Larsson place.
 
Have to take care of him.
 
Can't afford some ex-hero fucking things up.

Mrs. Holden prattled on.
 
"…retired now, like the rest of us," she said with a rueful laugh.
 
"But why we spend our remaining years up here around this frozen lake instead of down on some beach in Florida I'll never know."