Page 132 of Five Mountain Daddies

Idon’t think about Mason River all that much anymore, but when I do, I’m always glad Ileft.

It wasn’t a hard decision. After getting into college at the University of Chicago and majoring in Criminal Science, I knew that I couldn’t go back to some small Midwestern town. Of course, at the time, I didn’t know that I was going to take my fancy, expensive degree and get a job as a cop, but that’s anotherstory.

In Chicago, I’m in demand. I’m young, handsome, and doing damn good moving up through the ranks of the Chicago PD. I get pussy when I want it, and I want it more often than not. I’m killing it out in the city, and that’s the kind of guy I’ve become. I left behind all this small-town bullshit, this backwoods bumpkin garbage, and made my life better out in the bigcity.

But back in Mason though, things haven’t changed at all. Hell, I even feel more like my old self here, like the guy I was back before I got my nickname. The guys in the force call me the Lovemaker, and that was supposed to be some kind of jab. Like it’s bad that I get more pussy than they can even imagine. Really, I’m the Fuckmaker, but they can’t call me that around the brass. Here in Mason though, I’m just Wyatt Reap again, good old boy, past football player and all-around nice guy. I’m not so nice, not anymore, not since I started to see the world for what it is. Being a cop changed me, for better or forworse.

Maybe not everything changes, though. The Great American is exactly the same, the people are exactly the same, and the motel I’m staying in clearly is exactly the same as the day they built it in the ‘50s.

I sigh and lean back in my chair. I glance at the window and back to my phone, wondering if I’m doing the right thing. I keep seeing Cora’s face in my mind, so familiar but so different. I wasn’t kidding when I said she’s all grown up. I remember a spindly young girl, auburn hair, pretty face, but awkward and uncomfortable. Cora isn’t any of those things anymore, well, except for the pretty face. She’s gorgeous, to be fucking frank, the sort of beautiful that always surprises me. Her auburn hair is still long and thick, and she still has that pretty face with those nice green eyes, but her figure’s all filled out. I feel fucking weird, thinking about the sister of my dead friend, especially since I’m picturing her in the black dress she was wearing to hisfuneral.

And yet I’m doing it anyway. I always had a weird thing for Cora, even back in the day when we were kids, although I don’t know if I understood those feelings back then. And anyway, Atticus would have killed me if I had admitted anything like having a crush on his kidsister.

Atticus loved that girl more than anything, although he never said it that way. He always let her tag along, and was always nice to her, but he was still her older brother. He teased her mercilessly, beat her up sometimes, but she always fought back and I always liked her for that. Atticus taught her things, tried to make her less dorky, and looked out for her. At least until he started having issueshimself.

I should have seen it coming back then. I just thought he was a stoner dick, and he was getting boring and hanging around with shitty kids with petty criminal records, just like their petty, shitty parents. I wanted to stay away from all that Mason River bullshit, but not Atticus. He fell right in with the sort of kids you should never fall in with, and he never gotout.

I got out, though. Got the hell out of there. And now my friend’s dead, and I’m home for hisfuneral.

Fucking murdered. The Atticus Lewis I remember was kind, loyal, the sort of person that everyone wanted to be around. He was always smiling, laughing, trying to be helpful. He was a good student too, although that quickly went downhill in highschool.

He was still a shadow of that kind, happy person when we parted ways last. I haven’t seen him since high school, but I’ve caught glimpses of the guy he turned into through Facebook and through mutualfriends.

Heroin does a lot of shit to people. Atticus went from the best friend I’ve ever had, the guy that made me a better person, to just another starving junkie willing to do anything for his nextfix.

I’ve known a lot of guys like that. Chicago is full of them. I just never thought Atticus Lewis would go down thatpath.

Now he’s dead. As far as I can tell, the locals don’t know why yet, but Cora’s desperate. I could see it in her eyes. She wants me to investigate this, push this, find out what’shappening.

I don’t want to do it. I want to get back to the city as soon as possible, get away from this piece of shit motel and this piece of shit town. But I told Cora I’d look into it, and Iwill.

My phone finally rings. It’s Mitch Range, a friend from school. He’s a local cop these days. I pick it up on the thirdring.

“Hey, Mitch,” Isay.

“Wyatt, how areyou?”

“Fine,” I answer. “I’m in town rightnow.”

“Oh yeah? Whatfor?”

“Atticus Lewis’sfuneral.”

Mitch laughs a little bit. “No shit? I knew you guys were friends back in the day, but I didn’t know you kept intouch.”

“No, we didn’t,” I say. “I just saw that he died and thought…” I just shake my head, not sure what Ithought.

“Well, yeah, it was good of you to go,” he says, though he doesn’t really sound like he means it. “How was theservice?”

“Like every other funeral,” I say. “Listen, I actually wanted to ask you aboutAtticus.”

“All right.” Mitch says, sounding a little wary. His tone switches from the friendly, open voice he was just using with me to his professional cop voice. “What can I do foryou?”

“I’m just curious about the case. You guys have anyleads?”

Mitch scoffs. “Plenty of leads,” he says. “But let’s be honest, we’re not actually working them toohard.”

I frown at that. “Whynot?”

---