He’d taken Sanchez with him to test his loyalty. To see how he reacted. As much as he wanted to believe that Sanchez was among them to help, he had this nagging thought in the back of his mind that his father Hector had sent him among them to spy. Maybe that was how they’d managed to get by his men. If true, he would join the others that had chewed on a bullet.
“What is this place?” Sanchez asked.
“It was home once.”
The farm stretched out for miles before him. He’d sent in several of his men to collect horses and goods but hadn’t heard anything since. As they rolled up in front of his old home, the storm door opened, and his father stepped out, rifle in hand.
Bill parked the truck. He turned to Sanchez. “Remember what I said.”
He gave a nod and they got out.
“Is that how you welcome home your son?”
“It is when he sends men to steal, and take a young girl.”
He laughed and looked at Sanchez. “See. We are two peas in a pod. The same.” He turned his attention back to his father. “I hear Lazarus has risen from the grave. Is it true?” Having grown up in a religious household, he knew how much religion meant to his folks. It meant very little to him now.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“No? And what about my men who I sent here? Where are they?”
“Men? I never saw anyone. Maybe you should keep a tighter leash on your dogs.”
As Bill approached the house he saw fear in his father’s eyes. “Okay. Okay, let’s play your games. You do know lying is a sin, Father, yes? The Good Lord would not want you doing that. Now would he?”
His mother appeared beside his father.
“Ah, mother dearest. God's beautiful ray of holy light.” He chuckled.
“Bill. Don’t do this.”
“Do what? I was just telling father here that lying is a sin, isn’t that what you taught us? Isn’t that what the good book says?” He prowled before them, handgun dangling at the side of his body.
“Son. Listen to me,” his father said, trying to reach him.
“No, you listen to me. I am no longer your son, and you are no longer my father. Your son died the day you ratted on him. So I’m only going to ask this one more time. Is he alive?”
“He is,” Bill’s mother said.
“Finally. Some truth. Confirmation.”
She stepped down a few steps. “There is still hope, Bill. Please, come home.”
He ignored her. “And what about my niece?”
“Far away from here. Far away from you,” his father replied.
He smiled. “And my men?”
“Buried.”
Bill sucked air in as if he was astonished by their confession. “Murder. I never thought you were the killing type, Father. Or was it you, Mother?”
He waited on the answer, watching his father adjust his grip on the rifle.
“ANSWER THE QUESTION!” he bellowed. They remained quiet. He turned to Sanchez. “Parents. You can’t live with them, but you sure as hell can live without them.” Without any hesitation, Sanchez did as directed. His arm swung up, and he fired off a round before Bill’s father could lift the rifle. His mother screamed and fell on top of Jeb, but she soon went silent at the squeeze of the trigger.
Bill felt nothing. No remorse. No guilt.
This was freedom, and finally, he was free.
SIXTEEN Hank Strickland
Humboldt County
Hank was pissed. He wanted to get his hands on Alby so bad he could already smell his blood. He didn’t think for one minute that he’d acted alone. That wasn’t the way either of their families worked. There were no lone wolves. It was a pack mentality, and he was the alpha guarding his territory.
Even though Bruce was gone, it meant very little. Martha Riker was a different beast and he could only wonder what she was thinking now that her youngest had been damaged by his own. He gritted his teeth thinking of Seth, and those that helped him. He understood the anger. They wanted justice for their family, as did he, but acting flippantly or worse — reacting when drunk — was always a bad idea.
Ruth, his wife of thirty-six years, came around the back and rubbed his shoulders. She was a good woman. His guiding light. The only one that had kept him on the tracks when he could have easily crashed.
“Give it time, Hank. Dan will come around,” Ruth said.
“No, he won’t. The man has placed this community before his own blood. He’s harboring Alby, and knows full well that we want justice.”
“What do you expect him to do? Hand him over to be slaughtered?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
She sighed as she ran her hands through his hair from behind as he devoured a bowl of soup. “These aren’t the old days. Maybe it’s good that Dan is there. To act as a mediator. Maybe we can…”
Hank slammed his hand on the table. “Our sons are dead, Ruth. They are never coming home. Do you understand that? They were brutalized and hung out like trash for the birds to feast upon. And what?” He paused. “I’m meant to just settle for seeing him placed in jail? Protected. Fed. It’s an insult to every generation of Strickland that came before us.”
“Then what will you do? Have our family attack another Riker? Then they will lash back at us, and we will keep going back and forth until all our kin is dead. Do you want that?” She took a seat beside him and took his hand and placed it between hers. He studied her soft, aging features. Buried below weathered skin, lines and gray hair was the woman he adored. She still looked every bit as beautiful as the first day he laid eyes on her. They’d met at church. She was new to the area. Her family had just moved to Garberville. Her father built homes for a living, and her mother stayed
