Page 3 of Shrapnel

He held a blue plastic Lego between his index finger and thumb. His eyes shuttered and he looked back over at his subordinate. A crime scene tech rushed forward with a plastic baggie and Noah dropped the toy into it.

Hodges wasn’t going to ask how he knew the Lego would be there.

Noah stared at the bag as the tech labeled it. His eyes were narrowed, and his jaw worked in frustration. He turned to the older man, and they exchanged hushed whispers. It afforded Hodges a chance to study the young man. The Elliotts were practically royalty in their small town. Everyone knew if you wanted something done, you went to The White Sand Mesas. The city council was a sham. Puppet politicians pretending to care while they allowed the Mesas to take care of the town. For a price.

Hodges knew it was hypocritical. As a cop, he should hate them. But politicians were shady, and he had always preferred someone who pointed a gun at his face rather than his back.

A year ago, he heard about the regime change. Hodges had never met the old leader, which was just fine with him. He preferred to remain anonymous.

Noah turned away from the older man, directing his attention to Hodges. “This is the fourth body you’ve found?”

Hodges flinched under his cold stare. “The third in our district.”

For his own safety, he refused to speculate as to what was going on. He had heard from a drinking buddy in the next county that they also had a Mesa member's body come through their precinct.

“We’ll keep this under wraps, but it’s getting difficult. The newspapers and families are going to start asking questions.”

Noah nodded. “I’d like your preliminary report by tonight, and I’d like to speak to the medical examiner once she’s examined him.”

Hodges made a mental note to remind Dr. Fergus to move her ass tonight. “Of course.”

Alan made a squeak of protest, but he didn’t move. Noah didn’t even glance at him.

“Harvey,” the young Mesa leader called to the older man. “Call the Andrews family. Have them meet me at White Sand.”

Hodges sensed he had been dismissed and he stuffed his hands in his pocket. He needed another cigarette.

As the two turned to leave, Noah leveled a look at Hodges. “Take care of him.”

It was the first hint of humanity he had seen from Noah, and he didn’t know how to respond to him. Hodges just nodded his assent and watched them leave, the Mesa leader's shoulders hunching as they walked down the alley.

“Who the fuck was that?” Alan snapped. Hodges noted that he waited until Noah was safely in his vehicle before moving.

“You’ve just transferred here,” Hodges said as he fumbled for another cigarette, shaking fingers struggling to pluck a stick from the carton. “Let me give you some information that wasn’t in your welcome packet.”

He lit the cigarette and inhaled, letting the smoke calm his nerves. “That was the leader of White Sand Mesa.”

“What? That kid?” he asked in disbelief.

Maybe Alan wasn’t as smart as he’d given him credit for. “That kid runs this town.” He gestured towards where the car had been parked. “You know that new firehouse we got a couple of months ago? Or the new jungle gym equipment at the elementary school? The fixed potholes? That was White Sand Mesa.”

Alan’s computer brain didn’t seem capable of processing what Hodges was saying.

“White Sand Mesa gets shit done when the town won’t.”

Scoffing, Alan ran his hands through his overpriced haircut. “So what? We owe fealty to a little kid?”

Hodges blew smoke toward Alan. “You know those moments in life where you look back and realized you could have died?” he poked a thick finger in Alan’s chest. “This is one of those moments.”

He turned and left Alan alone with the victim and Mr. Swirly.

May they all rest in peace.

Acrisp layer of frost sparkled in the late afternoon sun. Just thick enough to crack and crunch as he waded through the powder, it was a monotonous slog through the knee-deep snow. Without a cloud in the sky, the sun had no obstacles, and yet its warmth didn’t reach the ground. Despite the light, there was a bone-deep chill. The kind that crept under your clothes and clung to joints. His lungs felt frozen and the breath fogging up his sunglasses was becoming fainter with the chill.

Jamie Weaver adjusted the rifle on his back and stared out at the frozen tundra. It wasn’t beautiful. Sure, it looked fine on his computer screen. Or out the window of a climate-controlled airplane. But standing out in the middle of bum fuck nowhere with nothing but snow, snow, and more snow he was having difficulty seeing anything except his utter contempt.

“Sure,” he muttered to himself as he lifted his leg higher than his hip to crunch through the ungodly amount of snow. “Jamie would love to go to Alaska. He was born and raised in the south where the entire town shuts down if a hose freezes but hey—it’s all about expanding our horizons, blazing new trails. Live, laugh, and fucking freeze your goddamn balls off.”