Page 99 of Shadows Reel

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The Reckoning

Joe waited in baggage claim at the Portland airport for his single piece of luggage to arrive. He loosened up his arms and legs from the stiffness that had set in from the flight. His injuries at the library had been minor, but he had the distinct impression that if he stopped moving for too long, he’d freeze up like a mummy.

It had been the last flight of the night on United Airlines, and most of the passengers from the aircraft had apparently used carry-ons, because there were only two other people at the carousel. One was a seventyish man with long silver hair and small round glasses who wore a tweed jacket. Joe thought of him as “old Portland.” The other was a young woman about Sheridan’s age with blue hair and elongated earlobe gauges that stretched nearly to her jawbone. She was clutching an overlargeteddy bear and she wore pajama pants and black combat boots. Young Portland.

“Are you from here?” she asked Joe. He could tell by the way she pursed her lips that she already knew the answer.

“Nope. Are you?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re from here.”

The woman smirked and turned toward the luggage belt that had jerked and roared to life.

Joe’s piece came out first. It was a long black plastic case with a handle on top. It was obvious what it was: a battered rifle case.

The woman gave him a look of disdain. “What? Are you going bear hunting?”

“Teddybear hunting,” he said.

“Very funny.”

“Don’t worry. Bears aren’t in season in Oregon,” he said.

“How do you know that?”

“I’m a game warden.”

She rolled her eyes and apparently decided to end the exchange. That was fine with Joe. He grasped his case as it came by and turned toward the arrivals area.

—

As he limpeddown a long hallway covered with garish green-and-blue carpeting that hurt his eyes, Joe drew out his phone. He sent a quick text to Marybeth telling her he’d arrived in Portland, and another to Nate asking where to meet him.

After a beat, Nate replied:Outside.

Joe felt the cool humid air the second he pushed through the double doors. The air, he observed, was a salty mixture of pine, the Pacific, and engine exhaust. The pickup area was covered by a massive portico to keep visitors dry from the rain.

While he waited, Joe squatted down on the curb and unlocked the fasteners of the gun case. He felt like a backcountry hit man venturing for the first time into the big city. It was unnerving.

He looked up to see Nate’s Yarak van approaching and crossing over three empty lanes to pull up next to him. It was obvious that the vehicle had been through some adventures. Joe was well acquainted with bullet holes in cars, because every wreck in Twelve Sleep County was peppered with them.

He was suspicious when he didn’t recognize either the driver or the passenger. The man behind the wheel wasn’t Nate, but instead a big Black man with a mass of hair. The passenger was a pale, thin guy with ginger hair and a feral look.

The van stopped and the passenger window powered down.

“Joe Pickett?” the driver asked.

“Yup.”

“I’m Geronimo Jones. Your buddy Nate is in the back.”

He gestured toward Joe’s rifle case. “What did you bring with you?”

“My shotgun,” Joe said.

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