Black Creek Read online

  "I guess I've got a lot of work to do," Jess said.

  "We're talking to the lieutenant. Come on." Don led her out of the interrogation room, across the office which was growing slightly more busy as the day went on. He knocked on the door to the lieutenant's office.

  "It's Don," he said through the door.

  "Come in."

  "Wait here a second." Don let himself in, closing the door behind him. Jess could hear the two men's muffled words, but couldn't make much out. A moment later, the door opened. Lieutenant Harris, a balding man in his fifties, was settled heavily back in his chair. His jowls hung loosely beneath his chin as he gestured for her to enter and close the door behind her. She did so, and lowered herself into a plush chair opposite him.

  "Alright Jess, tell him everything." So Jess did.

  ***

  It was late, and a cold drizzle was beginning to fall as Jess finally arrived home. She clicked the remote to lock her car out of habit, momentarily forgetting it had broken weeks ago. Sighing, she turned around to lock the door manually before jogging across the street. Her apartment was just up a short flight of rickety old wooden steps on the side of the building.

  It was warm, most of the lights off already off at this hour. Jess dropped her gun, badge, and keys on the entryway table, making slightly more noise than she'd intended. She felt her way through the dark apartment into the kitchen, where she swung open the fridge. Jess contemplated its contents momentarily before giving up and closing it again. Resigned, she went to bed.

  Rachel was there, reading a book in bed under the soft light of her bedside lamp. As Jess entered, she closed the book and gave her a warm smile. Jess slumped into the bed next to her.

  "Hey," Rachel said, putting an arm around her. "Long day?" But Jess was already asleep.

  Joseph

  The light of day had all but faded by the time Joseph made it back into town. It was eerily silent as he half-jogged down the road, much of his energy already sapped by his initial eagerness to run. Rounding a corner, he began to hear faint shouts coming from the main street. Joseph followed the sounds, which grew louder and louder by the minute.

  The street itself was brighter, the town's two brand new electric street lights casting a glow out in wide circles. Halfway down the avenue, a small crowd was gathered outside the bank. Other onlookers peered from their windows or around corners. A few saw him approach, and seemed relieved to see him.

  Gray, the sheriff, and Hank stood together across from the bank. The two lawmen had their revolvers drawn, leveled at the men across the street. For their part, there were four of them, dressed in leather. Joseph didn't recognize any of the men. In front of them, two more men knelt in the dust. These, Joseph saw, were the banker and his son. Then Joseph saw the body, a man lying motionless in the doorway of the bank. Blood dripped down the steps and pooled on the walkway.

  "What in the hell is going on here?" Joseph heard his own harsh voice ring out, and he had his gun leveled across the street.

  The men turned to look at him as he shouted, all of them aside from Hank. He was unarmed, but looked no more afraid for it. He stood with his hands behind his back, eyes focused on the men across from him even as Joseph arrived.

  One of the robbers spoke. "Sorry for the disturbance, Mayor. We were just leaving with your money."

  "That doesn't seem likely," Joseph said, circling around to stand alongside Gray. "That man behind you, he one of yours or one of mine?"

  "Yours," the other man answered.

  "Ralph Ennis," Gray said quietly to Joseph.

  "Can't be letting you go anywhere then," Joseph said. "Jonah sent you?"

  "He did." The man took a step forward, and Gray raised his weapon. "Now Chief, we don't want any more blood spilled. Let us be on our way and these men will see their families again." Time seemed to slow for a moment. The two hostages were only ten feet away, but they cast their eyes downward and he couldn’t make eye contact. The lead robber was only a few feet behind them, rifle at the ready. The three others stood behind. The street was otherwise empty. No cover for anyone.

  "Not a fucking chance." Joseph raised his gun and shot the leader, who fell to the ground with a groan and a thud. In an instant, Gray and the sheriff opened fire. Joseph charged forward as fast as he could, hands over his head.

  "Get down," he screamed at the banker and his son, but Joseph saw that Hank had already leapt toward them, dragging the men to the ground with him. Joseph continued his rush at one of the thieves, who was scrambling out of the way of gunfire.

  The man didn't see him until the last second, and he dropped his gun as Joseph plowed into him, his momentum crushing the robber against the wall of the bank and taking the two of them to the ground. They struggled, and the other, younger, man managed to flip Joseph onto his back. Joseph found his arms pinned to the ground, his revolver pressed up against him, useless. Joseph strained and fought but only took a punch to the gut for his efforts.

  Finally he managed to slip a knee up and into the man's groin. He shrieked and his grip on Joseph's gun hand loosened for just a moment. It was enough for Joseph, who pressed the barrel against the side of the man's stomach and fired. The man howled again, releasing him entirely. Joseph climbed to his feet and shot the man where he lay.

  He turned just in time to see the sheriff gun down another man. The banker and his son had seemingly vanished, and Hank was nowhere to be seen.

  "Joe!" someone shouted, and he wasn't sure who. Joseph whirled around, catching a glimpse of the final bandit stepping out of the bank doorway, where he had apparently taken cover. His gun was leveled at Joseph. He tried to raise his own, but he knew it was too late.

  Joseph dove forward onto the dirt, hitting the ground much harder than he intended to. He rolled onto his back with a groan, his eyes searching above him for his attacker. Instead there was a boom and a flash, then fire erupted in the doorway of the bank. The robber was sent flying, screaming and flailing, across the street, where he hit the building on the other side.

  What the hell?

  Joseph clambered to his feet. Gray fired a bullet into the motionless man across the street, for good measure.

  "What just happened?" Joseph said.

  "An explosion," the sheriff said. "They must have brought some dynamite with them. Goddamn fools."

  The face of the bank was, surprisingly, still standing, though there were deep, smoking cracks in the brick around the doorway. "Where are Hank and the others?" Joseph said.

  "Right here, Joe," Hank was just behind him, the banker and his son looking no worse for the wear. There was some faint clapping and cheering coming from further down the street.

  "Everybody alright?" Joseph looked around. The sheriff and Gray were haggard, but apparently unharmed. "Nicely done."

  "On the roof!" the sheriff shouted, pointing upward, at the same moment as a bullet pierced the dirt between his legs. Joseph looked up and saw another rifle-wielding man crouched on the roof, peeking out from behind a railing.

  "Quick, inside!" Joseph said, and they all sprinted forward.

  "Look out!" Another shot rang out, and Joseph was knocked aside. His head hit the dust, and he saw black.

  ***

  Joseph awoke in a strange place, on a thin cot in a very cold room. Light filtered in through a window above him, illuminating particles of dust which seemed to hover in midair. He lifted himself off the pillow and his head began to spin. It now occurred to him that he had a terrible headache.

  He sat there for a moment, waiting for the spinning room to come to rest. Once it did, he looked around. There were several other cots in this room, only one being occupied. The man lying on it faced away, but his hair and clothing were unmistakable.

  "Hank?" Joseph said, his voice a quiet rasp. The other man didn't stir.

  "Oh good, you're awake." The voice came from behind him. He turned, too quickly, and his head spun again. Dizzy, Joseph laid his head back on the pillow.

  "
Careful now," the voice said. Joseph's vision slowly began to clear.

  "Oh. Doc, it's you," Joseph said. Dr. Simon Wilson, the town's only physician, leaned over him.

  Of course. I'm in the clinic.

  "How is your head?" the doctor asked.

  "Hurts like hell. Dizzy, too."

  "You were badly concussed. You've been in and out since last night. What do you remember?"

  Joseph searched his mind, drawing more blanks than he cared to. There was a gunfight, he remembered. An explosion. Then blackness. Someone shouting, "he's been shot!" Being lifted up by powerful hands and carried. Everything else was more blackness.

  "Not much. Something exploded. Was I shot?" Joseph looked down, patting his body.

  "No. He was," Dr. Wilson pointed over at Hank.

  "Will he make it?"

  "I expect so. Shot in the chest, through-and-through. Missed everything important, though. Miraculous, really."

  "Is everyone else okay?"

  "Yes. Well—you do remember Mr. Ennis was killed? And of course the men who attacked the bank."

  "I do now."

  "Here, this will help with your head," the doctor said, readying a syringe. "Hope will be thrilled you're awake. She’s been here all night. I only just convinced her to get some rest minutes before you woke up." He stuck the needle in Joseph's right arm. "Don't tell her that part."

  Joseph laughed. "How long do I have to stay here, doc?"

  "You don't have to. If you're steady on your feet, you can leave. I'd recommend you rest a few days."

  "I'll do my best." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, steeled himself a moment, and stood up. A mild dizziness came over him, but he braced himself against the wall until it passed. Once it had, Joseph took a few tentative steps.

  "Feel okay?" the doctor asked.

  "Rough, but I'll make do." He walked over to Hank's bed. The man was sleeping, his chest rising with deep breaths. A large bandage was wrapped around his left breast. "Has he been awake?"

  "He was awake all along. Seemed more concerned about you, to be honest. He and the Chief carried you here." Dr. Wilson peeled back the bandage carefully, inspecting the wound a moment before placing a new dressing. "Remarkable healing in just a few hours. He is a very lucky man. You both are."

  "Thank you, doctor. I'm going back to work. When Hope comes back, send her along to my office."

  ***

  "Good to see you on your feet." Gray closed the door behind him and took a seat. Joseph was, in fact, leaning back in his chair, feet resting on his desk.

  "You too," he said. "What the hell happened last night?"

  "Best we can figure, they had another man inside the whole time, still filling his bags. He must have snuck up to the roof once he heard the fighting. Took a few shots. Sheriff put him down quick, though."

  "What exactly happened to me?"

  "Hank, he pushed you out of the way. Caught the bullet himself."

  "Jesus."

  Gray raised his hands in a gesture of agreement. "Hell of a thing. He going to make it?"

  "Doc said so."

  "Amen to that. Reckon we had that man figured wrong."

  "I'm willing to consider that possibility." Joseph put a hand to his head, which had again begun to ache slightly. "So what's next? How is the bank?"

  "Going to need some repair. But it's doable."

  "That's good, I suppose. Just another expense we can't quite manage."

  Gray shook his head. "Personally I'm praying we'll take a fortune off of Jonah. Lord knows how much he's made stealing from us, or what he's taken from other towns."

  "Anything on him?"

  "A good lead, off one of the bodies. We think we know where he is." Joseph put his feet down and sat up. "Before you start, I'm not telling you. The sheriff and I will take a lawful party out there and take him down, one way or the other. Even if I had a mind to let you come—which I don't, by the way—you're in no condition."

  Gray stood up. "We're heading out tonight, Joe. Let me take care of this. Get some rest. See your daughter." He left the room.

  Joseph sat for a moment, hand on his head and eyes fixed on the door. Gray hadn't left him much room for debate. The worst part was that Gray was probably right. Joseph, determined as he was, could barely walk straight on his own, and his headache was worsening. He did need some rest.

  There was a knock at the door, and Hope peeked in.

  "Dad," she said softly as she walked over to him. "I was so worried."

  "I'm sorry, Hope," he said. "I'm okay."

  "Does your head hurt?"

  "A bit," he said. "Did you come from the clinic?"

  "Yes," she said, her moist eyes and soft smile now giving way to a more stern expression. "I was hoping you would still be there."

  "Things to be done here. Plus, Gray and the sheriff think they know where Jonah is. I still don't know what I'm going to do."

  "Maybe you should just let them handle it."

  "Maybe," he said. "Maybe."

  "That other man at the clinic," she said. "Hank. Is he the one you told me about? He saved your life."

  "Yes. How is he?"

  "He seemed fine, actually. He was awake. He wanted to talk to you."

  "I should probably go see him. Thank him."

  "Okay." She stood up, turned toward the door, but hesitated. "Dad, I know I can't convince you not to go after Jonah. I don't even know if I want to convince you. Just... please be safe. I can't lose you too."

  "I'm not going anywhere, Hope. Not yet."

  Dorian

  The cameras flashed, and Dorian smiled. It was the sort of broad, pearl-white, genuine-looking smile that people loved. "You'll steal a girl's heart with that someday," his mother often told him when he was a boy. She hadn't been wrong about that.

  He stood on a raised stage, oppressive industrial lights overhead, dozens of reporters and other onlookers crowded on the floor in front of him. To his right, the mayor spoke at a podium, flanked by the city's chief of police.

  James stood just behind and to Dorian's left. He couldn't quite see him, but he knew he would wear the same blank face, with the slightly too intense stare as he usually employed in public situations. The man didn't quite have Dorian's gift for bullshitting, though he had some others of his own.

  "Dorian Black is one of Pittsburgh's truly great native sons," the mayor was saying, turning to look at Dorian. "His example of charity and community service continues to be the bar for which the rest of us can only strive. It is with great gratitude that I award Mr. Dorian Black this honorary key to the city."

  The reporters applauded as Dorian stepped up to the podium, accepting a handshake from the mayor. An assistant handed Dorian a large mounted key on a plaque, and the two men held it together, smiling as the reporters' cameras snapped. After a moment, he stepped toward the microphone.

  "I am not a man of many words," he said to the crowd, some of whom, those who knew him well, laughed. "Thank you, Mr. Mayor, for this honor. It has been my pleasure to serve my hometown in every way that I can. But let me just say that I’m not the one deserving of your praise, it’s the fine men and women of the Pittsburgh Police, some of whom are here behind me." Dorian turned, gesturing back at several uniformed officers who were lined up behind the mayor and chief. There was more applause. "Thank you," he said, and stepped back.

  The police chief, a musclebound man with close-cropped hair and a patch of vitiligo on his cheek, clapped Dorian on his shoulder. "Good seeing you again, sir," the chief said. There was a soft murmur of conversation behind them as the gaggle of reporters filed out of the room.

  "The pleasure is mine, chief," Dorian said. James sidled up next to him. "Let me introduce James. A close friend and business partner." The men shook hands.

  "Well, gentlemen," the chief said. "I'd like to offer you a brief tour of the station. If you have time."

  "Absolutely," Dorian said. The chief led them off the stage and through a door into a plai
n hallway.

  "I just wanted to say, once again," the man said as they went down the hall. "We cannot overstate how grateful we are for your continuing support, financial and otherwise."

  "I'm very happy to help.”

  They passed through a glass door and out into a small courtyard. "That building is mostly administrative offices as well as the press conference rooms. Across the way here is the main building, where the majority of our work gets done." The chief reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Just a second. Pritchard," he said, stepping away.