Bad Things
Bad Things
Jasper Tripp
To Lucy
Bad things happen. Cope!
Eileen Atkins
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
About the Author
Chapter One
Cooking meth can be difficult.
Most things are harder when you’re dumber than hell.
Tommy and Danny are currently cooking up meth, and both are beyond dumber than hell. They are the Christiansen brothers, and they prefer to live life outside the bounds of traditional society. Find the trappings of social norms are somewhat limiting.
"This place is shit," Danny calls to his brother, Tommy.
Danny stands outside the broken-down trailer with a surgical mask pulled down around his neck puffing on a cigarette. This is what he does most nights. Stands outside while his big brother does all the work. He likes the night air, staring out into the stars, pondering the big issues. His limited brain churning through it all. It’s a calm night. The sky is dark with pinhole pricks of starlight peppering the nighttime canvas just above the Teton mountains.
“You know that? The planet? It’s shit,” Danny says louder. “Complete shit.”
Tommy is working hard slinging chemicals inside the trailer, the door held open wide by a Bible. His blue doctor’s mask is up snug over his nose and mouth, just below his sunglasses. His favorite hat, a ratty-ass Denver Broncos cap, is planted firmly on his shaved head, turned around backward. He's a six-five wall of meat sweating bullets while cooking up illicit drugs.
Danny is a five-two, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound sack of poorly made Jell-O.
“What?” Tommy barks back, fighting to be heard above the sophisticated jazz playing in the background.
“Turn that fancy-boy bullshit down so I can carry on a conversation with you, dammit.”
“No.”
“You’re not present, man.”
“Shut up. The music stays on.”
“Why?”
"I like it. Soothes my ass while I work."
“Well, I can’t talk to you with all that shit-ass noise rattling on and on.”
Tommy removes his sunglasses and wipes the sweat from his brow with his arm. “Well, maybe you should come on in here and help for once. Make this process go a lot faster.”
That suggestion doesn’t interest Danny, who continues assessing the stars, smoking his smoke and drinking his drink.
“This place is shit,” he says again.
“What place? Stagstone or the whole state of Wyoming?”
Tommy steps outside now with his mask hanging down around his neck. Danny opens the cooler and hands his brother a beer before snagging one for himself.
"No, if you were listening before, you'd know that I was talking bigger. Talking about the planet. Earth. It's shit."
“Oh. That. Okay.”
“It is.”
“Not that bad.”
“It’s shit,” Danny firmly insists.
“Fine.”
“People are worse.”
Tommy tilts his beer back. “Well, can’t argue there.”
“No, no you cannot.” Danny takes offense to the idea he might even think of debating the topic.
Tommy shoves his brother sideways. Danny jolts hard, then hangs in the air for a moment before falling to the ground and slumping into a pile. Danny spits some dirt from his mouth, thinks about fighting back, decides lying there drinking his beer is a vastly superior option instead.
“You done with your crap?” Tommy sips his beer. Now he’s staring out, soaking up the big, starry sky.
The trees to the left of them start to sway.
Danny gets up on his elbows. “Maybe.”
The wind picks up. The temperature drops dramatically.
Tommy rubs his bare shoulders.
“Damn,” Danny says, shivering, teeth chattering. “Got real damn cold, real damn quick.”
A white-hot light rips down from the sky, as if a streak mixed with bright reds and yellows has been thrown by the Gods down from the heavens. Stops dead in front of the trailer at the feet of Tommy and Danny.
The speed is jaw-dropping. Blink of an eye.
The light from above hovers. Pauses as if thinking, studying, then rips away toward the tree line to the left of the trailer. Gone as quickly as it arrived.
Danny and Tommy look to one another.
The trees rustle, then stop. A hard moment of silence.
“Really need to cut back on that shit.” Danny thumbs back toward the meth cooking inside the trailer. “Eating our minds right out of our skulls, brutha.”
Tommy downs his beer, nodding.
There’s movement in the trees. Something is out there.
Danny and Tommy jump, standing straight up.
A loud, metallic crunch sounds from beyond the trees.
Danny and Tommy wrap their arms around each other.
A moment of stillness.
Tommy could swear he heard the sound of giggling children.
The brothers hold on tighter. Their breathing is heavy. Deep. Hard. Their eyes dance as their heads whip back and forth, as if they were dolls with their plastic heads being jerked around by an aggressive child. They scan the area. Jazz plays from inside the trailer. This is the first time Danny actually agrees with his brother that the music is kinda soothing. If you give it a chance.
They let go of one another. Slowly, but they do release.
"You okay?" Tommy asks his brother, eyes still full.
“Yeah.” Danny nods. “Might need some new pants, ya know?”
Tommy nods, still scanning the tree line.
“Because I shit in mine,” Danny clarifies.
“I got it.”
A light blasts out from behind the trees. Shafts of light cut through the branches, creating odd patterns across the land and trailer. Tommy and Danny shield their eyes. There’s a rumbling sound of heavy thumping. Something is stampeding their way, coming from beyond the blinding light. Danny reaches out for his brother. His fingers fumble at Tommy, fingertips almost grasping the fabric.
Tommy is ripped away. Gone in a snap. Erased from where he was standing. All Danny can hear is a garble of his screams, as if Tommy’s tongue had swelled up twenty sizes too big.
“Tommy!” Danny screams.
The light from the trees shuts off.
Danny can only see spots sprinkled along the night. Only jazz can be heard. Danny trembles alone in the dark. He holds his own shoulders. A slight breeze blows. His multiple chins quiver. The shaking of his hands can’t be controlled. The jarring calm after the sudden panic is terrifying.
“Hello?�
� he gets out, barely above a whisper.
A series of clicks sound behind him. More giggling.
Danny whips around. In the dark, he can only make out an outline of something. Something big. Something slick and black under the moonlight. Two more of the same move in quick next to it. Bloodred eyes open, piercing the dark. Looking right at him.
Something lands in the dirt at Danny’s feet. Tommy's Denver Broncos cap. Looks like it's been chewed up by a rabid beaver.
Danny swallows hard.
The creatures’ heads cock, birdlike. Red eyes blazing
Danny uses his shaking hands to ask for a time-out.
The creatures release a primal roar.
Danny could use some new pants now, no question.
Chapter Two
One eyelid cracks open.
Then shuts.
His body shakes. Both lids open wide to find Kate standing above him as he lies in her bed. She’s dressed in an oversized Joan Jett concert T-shirt sipping a cup of coffee. The sun is only starting to make its morning rise for the day. Behind Kate, a faint hint of morning light glows, seeping from under the blinds. Gives her an even more heavenly appearance. She sets her coffee down on the bedside table and circles her finger in the air. Universal signal that he needs to get up and get this day rolling.
Jimmy Dibs’s eyes close again and he pushes out a primal grunt.
“Come on, big boy. Get up,” she says, giving him a playful nudge.
He snores.
She shoves harder.
He smacks his lips.
She pulls back, slapping him on the ass as hard as she can.
“What?” Jimmy fires upright in bed. “Jesus.”
“What, what?” She smiles, pulling back her hand again to give him another. “You got to go.”
“No.” Jimmy lies back down and rolls over, planting a pillow over his head. “Not going.”
Kate laughs. She doesn't want him to leave either, but that's not how this thing works. She looks to the clock, hating it, but he needs to go. Like now.
“These are the rules. You know this. You’re not new anymore.” She places both hands on his big shoulders and begins bouncing him up and down on the bed like a pogo stick. “This was the agreed-upon arrangement, lover boy.”
Jimmy's eyes pop open wide. His world is moving at a rapid pace. Up and down. Down then up. The bed springs squeak. He thinks how similar this sensation is to last night, only under much different circumstances. He smiles to himself, capturing a pleasant memory from the night before. Thinks of making an ill-timed sex joke, but stops himself. Not sure it will help his cause. He knows he needs to get out of bed.
She’s right. An arrangement was agreed upon. He hates it, but gets it.
A respected teacher/cheerleading coach at Stagstone High can't be seen in a tawdry relationship with Police Chief Jimmy Dibs. The optics are bad to some of the more morally superior folks of this small, quiet town nestled near the Tetons. This is a relatively new arrangement, despite what Kate said. Going on a month now. They’ve been seeing each other for about four, but this staying over at her place has only been for the last few weeks, and Jimmy is still getting used to getting up at this ungodly hour to beat the neighbors and avoid judgmental douchebags.
Not to mention, some of her students live on this street.
Jimmy shuffles his ass out of the bed as Kate pushes him, trying to get him upright. Not working. He enjoys her touch even if it is slightly hostile.
He stretches. His back twitches, bones crack, joints ache. But he doesn't bitch about it, no matter how much he'd like to. Being as big as a midsized bear has been helpful through most of his life, but as the years pile up, the morning, noon and night pains and throbs are growing at a rate he'd rather not think about. The poundings he took as a linebacker in high school are catching up to him. The knee he almost lost while playing at Texas Tech that ended his college career way too early. The knife he took between the ribs as a rookie cop in New York City during a domestic disturbance call gone wrong. Then, finally, the two bullets he took as a detective in that same NYPD. Two rounds that almost took his life and ultimately landed him here in Stagstone, Wyoming.
Ultimately landed him here in Kate’s bed.
She slaps his ass again. This time he likes it.
He laughs. “Nothing says, stay, Jimmy, stay, like a morning ass spanking.”
Kate gives him a final shove then pulls him upright by the arm. As he gets to his feet, she hands him a cup of coffee.
“You get three sips, one kiss”—she cracks a smile—“and a get the hell out.”
Police Chief Jimmy Dibs clinks his coffee mug with Coach Kate’s.
The morning air is crisp.
Feels pretty damn wonderful.
Jimmy’s borderline ancient police Blazer is parked a few blocks away from Kate’s house. It's chilly, but not too cold. Dibs knows cold. Walking the streets of New York City, you learn quick what cold is. The real cold will come, and he knows this arrangement with Kate will need some refining. A bit of tweaking. He's no daisy, but an early morning stroll in ten below might test his need to get freaky. It's a deep need, mind you, but still—cold is cold. Right now, however, he's enjoying the way things are going with Kate. They get along. Don't fight. No drama. Fun at a steady pace. If he's being honest, she’s the best thing he's got going in his questionable existence. Misses her when she's not there. Hopes she feels the same.
There’ve been a couple of poorly thought-out flings since he got to Stagstone. The waitress his first night here. That lasted less than twenty-four hours and almost ended with her trying to run him over with a tractor. Then the wife of the mayor. He didn't know who she was, he swears it. She came on to him hard and fast at a bar one night, then left him just as quickly, covered in sweat and regret in that cheap motel just outside of town. Yes, this arrangement with Kate is far superior. She’s kind, smart and great to be with. Hard to argue with that combo.
He’s been parking behind an abandoned video store that never got replaced by anything. He knows teenagers go there to get down each other’s pants. He’s found the beer cans and condoms. Some break into the store, so parking his cruiser there keeps them away. Two birds.
The Stagstone PD 1991 K5 Chevy Blazer sits waiting for its master. Dibs bitches about the ride, but he loves the old girl. Chipped paint. The windows still have to be cranked by hand. The sunroof works, but you have to muscle it a bit. He had a new sound system put in on his own dime, his indulgence to himself. Other than that, it’s an original. Somewhat of a monument around here. The old chief passed away from a massive heart attack in the backseat while getting a hand job from the local hooker, so the legend goes. Came and went at the same time, they say. The hooker retired shortly after that. To Florida, Dibs heard. Sounded reasonable. Some thought the new Chief Dibs should get rid of the Blazer because it served as a reminder of the town's shameful Rub and Tug Incident, but Dibs decided that would be disrespectful.
Dibs’s thoughts on the matter: It happened. Own it.
Dibs cranks the key, the engine fires up with a cough then a roar, and Led Zeppelin fills the air of the filthy-as-hell cabin. He closes his eyes, trying to get his mind straight. It's at these moments when he's alone with his broken brain that he starts to feel what he's come to call the heavies. When the regrets, the fears creep in. They circle and swirl then cling to the sides of his brain like parasites. The questions about what happened in New York. Items he's not sure he has answers to.
Did I make the right decision to come here? Did I leave things undone in New York? Did I give up? Worse, am I a goddam coward? Let him win?
He closes his eyes even tighter. His mind dances. He knows he made the right choice coming here. Dibs likes it here. He's alive. He's not being hunted like an animal. The stress is about a zero in comparison, and yes, he likes what he's got going on with Kate. He balls his fists as the last question echoes inside his head.
Did I let Louis Cody beat me?
<
br /> The radio crackles, jolting him from his tangled thoughts. It's station dispatch—Carol. Dibs shudders at the sound of her. It's borderline unbearable. Her clawing, angry, grandmotherly voice cuts through Zeppelin's perfect melody like a chainsaw through butter.
“Excuse me, Chief.” She coughs her smoker’s hack. “Excuse me, Chief. You there for Christ’s sake?”
Dibs shakes his head in defeat, jamming his tongue inside his cheek.
“Will the great Chief Jimmy Dibs be joining us today?”
Jimmy picks up the handset. “Yes, dammit, I’m on my way.”
“Bullshit,” she says with that hacking cough. “Believe it when I see it. Not on East Coast time no more, jackass.”
Dibs feels his blood pressure spike. Sure, she's a pain in the ass, but it's more than her math on the time zones that is wrong.
Popping the Blazer in reverse, he lets the handset drop and dangle by the steering column. Carol is still railing on and on. He cranks Zeppelin, drowning out her ancient, cranky, seconds-from-a-cancer-ward voice. Turning the wheel, he straightens out the tank-like Blazer as he cuts up Sycamore Avenue.
The Tetons poke up over the horizon like huge puppies looking for a treat. Hints of purple intertwined with orange and red are something Jimmy still can't get over. He'd never seen a sunrise like this in the city. Never in his life had he witnessed the world framed the way it is here. A tiny town surrounded, swallowed, by relentless natural beauty. The town itself has seen better days. It's not a complete disaster, but there are signs of things edging toward a severe needs improvement status.