Lover's Bridge Pt. 04

"This is delicious, Beverly," Smith said. "I can see why your husband has put on a couple of pounds," he added, prompting laughter from everyone except Azalea, who had a brief look of puzzlement.

"Before we married, all he ate was raw hot dogs and frozen microwave dinners," Beverly replied tartly. "Believe me, he was skinny as a rail. I told him he'd be better off eating the cardboard boxes those meals came in."

"And now, I'm fat, dumb, and very happy," Ryan joked.

"I hope everyone saved room for apple pie. I picked some up when I went to Piggly Wiggly today. Sorry I didn't get something a little fancier, but Saturday is usually our date night, and I didn't have anything thawed," Beverly told everyone.

"Why do they call it 'Piggly Wiggly?' What kind of a name is that for a store?" Azalea asked indignantly as if the universe should be offended at such an illogical name. Having cleaned her plate in record time, she had just... been sitting there, looking vaguely at the center of the table, like a robot waiting for the following command.

"I don't know," Ryan said responded mildly.

"It makes no sense," Azalea declared quietly as the others exchanged worried glances. "I thought it was maybe a cultural thing."

"No, that's just what it's always been called," Beverly said as she cut each of them a piece of pie which they ate in silence. Each glanced at Azalea, dreading to see if she would bury this in hot sauce, too.

But thankfully, she did not, though she ate it quickly and mechanically, finishing first and continuing to stare at the center of the table. She said nothing about the pie as if one social comment per meal was her upper limit. When they had all finished, Ryan sat back and sipped his coffee.

"Why don't we retire to the front room?" he asked. "We can talk there." Everyone thanked Beverly for the meal as they stood, and Ryan helped Beverly carry the dirty dishes into the kitchen.

"Is she... you know... all there?" Beverly asked Ryan quietly in the kitchen, where no one else could hear.

"That's just the way she is. Sorry," Ryan said.

"I know you said she was socially awkward, but I never expected... this," Beverly responded. "I almost feel sorry for her."

"Believe it or not, she has an exemplary record with the police in Quebec."

"I don't, but I'll take your word for it. Go on into the front room. I'll bring in the coffee," she said.

"Thanks, sweetheart," Ryan said, emphasizing his gratitude with a kiss. "And thank you for a wonderful meal."

"You can thank me later, cowboy," Beverly said, bumping his hip playfully. Ryan smiled at the thought, then went into the front room, where everyone waited.

"That hit the spot," Roland said with sincerity. "Thanks." Bill echoed Roland's statement.

"You're welcome," Ryan said before turning to Azalea. "I think you owe me an explanation, Azalea." She looked at Smith before responding.

"You are correct, Sheriff," she finally said. "In light of everything that has happened, I owe you an explanation." She glanced again at Smith, who only nodded his head. She looked at Roland and Bill, then turned back to Ryan as she considered her words.

"A little more than five years ago, I was placed on a task force investigating a string of murders tied to various other crimes. Drugs, human trafficking, guns... There was a lot of circumstantial evidence that suggested Worldwide Imports and Exports were involved, but nothing we could substantiate.

"We received a tip about a meth lab that supposedly included a cache of illegal weapons. We tracked it down and verified the lab was fully operational. We moved in to secure the facility, and that's when an IED took me down.

"Between surgeries and physical therapy, I spent months in the hospital. I was placed on temporary disability during that time. After I was released, my commander approached me with a proposition. As far as anyone outside the Surete was concerned, I would be a private security consultant.

"In reality, I was still with the Surete, as part of a multi-national task force investigating Worldwide and their ties to criminal activity, including drugs, human trafficking, and the illegal movement of weapons. I was simply placed on light duty."

"Light duty?" Ryan asked.

"Yes. Officers who make it past the probationary period are guaranteed a full salary for 25 years regardless of injury or health, provided they accept their assignment. It is part of a collective agreement between the Surete and the police officer's association.

"It is a system that has has been in place since the 1960s and it has gone a long way toward attracting applicants and maintaining morale.

"I may not be able to run, or do the type of field operations I used to, but I can still work. And this assignment was far more interesting than sitting in a cubicle in Montreal or Ottawa pushing paper from one bin to another."

"Interesting. Your husband worked for Worldwide, did he not?" Ryan asked.

"Yes, he did. I found no connection between him and the illegal activity, however. If I had, I would have turned him in. He was an account representative and nothing more."

"Are you sure of that?" Smith asked.

"Yes, Director. I am absolutely certain. Worldwide did a good job of covering its illegal activities, but there was no evidence to suggest Phillipe was involved. His biggest failing was his inability to remain faithful."

Ryan would have expected a bit more emotion at this statement, not the least because the admission was in front of strangers, maybe even embarrassment. He peered more closely. No, she might as well have been giving a deposition in a petty shoplifting case.

"So your job was primarily information-gathering. Is that right?" Ryan asked.

"Yes," Azalea said quietly.

"How did you go about that?"

"We can't get into that, Ryan," Smith said before Azalea could answer. "OpSec. You understand, I'm sure." Ryan noticed that Azalea's expression had not flickered at the question or the interjection.

"Yeah, I understand. So, did you speak of this with your husband at any time?" Ryan asked Azalea.

"No. I only discussed my work in generic terms. As far as he knew, I was doing online security audits, nothing more."

"Are you familiar with a Jean-Pierre Gagnon?" Ryan asked. Azalea's eyes grew wide at the mention of Jean-Pierre.

"Yes. He heads security for Worldwide Imports and Exports, North America. He frequently travels between offices in Canada and the United States," Azalea answered.

"Is he involved in these illegal activities?" Ryan asked.

"I believe so," she said. "I have not been able to corroborate that, however. At least, not to the satisfaction of those charged with prosecuting such crimes," she glared at Smith.

Smith shrugged off the glare. "Different countries have different standards of proof and different definitions of probable cause. I have to play the hand I have been dealt. And it's not my agency's job to prosecute." He returned the look. "Can you think of any reason - any reason at all - why you, personally, might be a target? Have you been compromised? Have you said something, perhaps without realizing it, which might attract someone's attention?"

"I... cannot think of anyone," Azalea replied, shaking her head. She suddenly stopped, and her brows went up. It was like watching a light bulb go on over her head. "Wait. It might not be anything, but there was an incident a couple of years before I lost my foot. It may not have anything to do with this, though."

"Tell us about it," Smith said, urging her on.

"It was an aggravated sexual assault. The perpetrator pulled a gun, so I pulled mine. I tried to get him to drop the weapon, but he refused. He had a hostage - a woman. He had the gun to her head, and I was concerned he might kill her. Suddenly, he let go of the woman and aimed his pistol at me. I fired twice, hitting him in the chest. He died instantly," she said. She might have been discussing her laundry list for all the emotion that showed through.

"According to his identification, his name was Emile... Gagnon. I was cleared in the shooting, and I thought that was the end of it. Gagnon is not an uncommon name in Quebec. Do you think there might be a connection between this Jean-Pierre and the man I shot?"

"It's quite possible," Bill stated. "According to Wikipedia, Gagnon was the second most popular surname in Quebec in 2006."

"You know this for a fact?" Ryan asked, surprised.

"Yeah. Research is part of what I do. I collect little bits and pieces of data and store it up here," Bill said, tapping his head with one finger. "Check it out yourself if you don't believe me."

"I'll believe you. Do you think there's a familial connection?" Ryan asked Smith.

"It's possible," Smith said with a shrug. "I'll check into it first thing Monday."

"Revenge is one of the best-known motivations for murder, Ryan," Roland added. "I'm sure you know all about that." Having personally dealt with the man ultimately responsible for destroying his first family, Ryan did. He exchanged a look with Roland, suspecting he knew all about that, but said nothing.

"Do you think this Jean-Pierre Gagnon is capable of murder?" Ryan asked Azalea.

"I am certain of it," she replied, so matter-of-factly that even the former mercenaries took note. "He spent time in the Canadian Special Operations Forces. Specifically, JTF2, which is patterned after the British SAS. International assassinations are part of what they do. As deniable as possible, of course."

"You think he'd be capable of cutting two people in pieces and staging a crime scene?" Ryan asked.

"Without question," Azalea answered. Ryan and Smith both blinked at this quick and casual statement. They would have thought there would be more emotion since her husband was one of the dismembered bodies, but she had been more emotional about asking for the hot sauce.

"Ryan, a copy of the French intelligence service's dossier on you was checked out," Smith began.

"Which means Gagnon probably has it," Ryan acknowledged. "Which means... oh, fuck! Beverly!" he called out suddenly.

"Yes, dear?" Beverly asked as she walked in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.

"You still have that.410 of yours handy?"

"Of course," she replied.

"Keep it close by," Ryan said grimly.

"Ryan, if this guy is what Azalea says he is, you, your department, and Beverly's.410 shotgun won't stand a chance against him. He'll be like some kinda criminal Rambo or something," Roland said.

"Except Rambo had the element of surprise. Gagnon doesn't. Not when we now know who and what he is," Ryan said. "Helluva time for you to not have your trench broom."

"Who says I don't?" Roland asked with a wry smile. "Bill brought it with him. Now that we are on the other side, I even have all the appropriate paperwork."

"And what if he recruits other hired guns to work for him?" Smith asked.

"Good luck with that," Bill said, cracking his knuckles. "I put the word out. If anything, Ryan may have volunteers coming to his aid."

"That's all we need. A shooting war between Gagnon's hired guns and yours, smack in the middle of heartland America," Smith sighed. Bill chuckled.

"You know what they say, Director. Old mercs like us never die. They just go to Hell to regroup," he quipped. Ryan, Roland, and Bill chuckled as Smith groaned, Beverly looked worried, and Azalea looked puzzled. "So, what'll it be, Ryan? You want me to send the 911?"

Ryan knew if Bill sent that out, Hard Rock would be filled with enough men and armaments to take over a small country. He wouldn't have thought twice about accepting such an offer a few years ago. While he felt grateful for the offer, things were much different now.

For starters, he was a well-liked and respected member of this community. The people here accepted him and looked up to him as their protector. On top of that, he had grown to love these people as an extended family. He could not put them in a deadly crossfire between two armed camps.

Moreover, he had taken an oath to uphold the law. There was a time - not that long ago - when he really didn't care much for the law. But now, he was the face of the law in this town. He looked at the faces of the others and knew they could see the conflict going on in his mind.

"No," Ryan said quietly. He took in Bill's stricken look and continued. "Maybe as a last resort. Otherwise, we do this by the book," he added. Smith and Azalea exhaled a sigh of relief. Ryan turned to Smith before continuing.

"Can you get protection for my daughter and her family?" Ryan asked.

"I'll get right on that," Smith said.

"Also, I'd appreciate it if you can get as many reinforcements here as you can, as quickly as you can," Ryan told him.

"Got it," Smith said.

"Until this is over, the three of you will stay here," Ryan told Azalea, Roland, and Bill. "There's plenty of room upstairs. Roland and Bill, you two will need to share a room. Beverly, I don't want you going anywhere alone. I know you don't have deliveries tomorrow, but you will on Monday. I want one or more of these three to accompany you when you do."

"Okay," Beverly said. "I have to feed the chickens tomorrow morning, though."

"I'll go with you," Ryan said. "I have to make a couple of calls, so why don't you three go get whatever you'll need to last for the next few days. Any questions?"

"No, we understand," Azalea said. "We'd better get going, then."

"Get back as fast as you can," Ryan told them. "I have a couple of calls to make myself."

"Who are you gonna call?" Smith asked.

"The governor, for starters. I'm also calling the office. Until this is resolved, it's all hands on deck."

"I agree," Smith said. As Smith pulled out his cell phone, Azalea, Roland, and Bill left the house. Ryan went into his home office and called the desk sergeant. When he finished that call, he dialed another number in his contacts. He was surprised when the man at the other end answered on the second ring.

"Good evening, Sheriff Caldwell. What can I do for you this evening?" the man asked.

"Good evening, Governor. I hope I'm not interrupting something important," Ryan replied.

"Just another fundraiser. You know how it is."

"Yes, sir, I do," Ryan said. He briefed the governor on his situation and his actions so far, then made his request.

"Thank you for reaching out to me, Sheriff," the governor said. "Of course, you have my full support. I'll make a couple of calls when we're done, and I'll personally see to it you have whatever you need. If it's okay, I'll pass on your number so my people can get in touch with you to coordinate things."

"Thank you, Governor. I appreciate that. Have a good evening, sir," Ryan said.

"I'll try. One can only handle so much rubber chicken," the governor joked. They ended the call, and Ryan made his next call to his daughter, Sarah, and her husband, Bob. They were shocked when he explained what was happening but felt better when he told them Smith was arranging protection.

"I hope these guys are better than the last two the FBI sent to watch over Sarah and little Ryan," Bob said.

"I'm sure they'll be just fine, son. I just don't want to take any chances," Ryan reassured him.

"Let us know how everything works out, okay?"

"I will, son. Just watch out for your family." They ended the call, and Ryan went upstairs to change back into his uniform.

Over the next twenty minutes, he fielded three calls and smiled when the last call ended. He went downstairs and saw his wife pouring another cup of coffee for Smith.

"Are you leaving again?" Smith asked.

"Yes, we both are after Azalea returns," Ryan said. "I called an all-hands meeting to brief everyone on the situation."

"I'll be okay for a few minutes," Beverly protested. "You two go on."

"No, sweetheart, I'm not leaving you alone for a second," Ryan told his wife. "Why don't you go on up and get the other two rooms ready for our guests?"

"All right, sweetheart," she said. Smith turned to Ryan after Beverly went upstairs.

"You spoke to the Governor?" Smith asked.

"Yes," Ryan said. "I also spoke to three of his subordinates. The local National Guard is being mobilized. We've got a small contingent of Rangers on the way, along with some extra DPS officers. How did it go with you?"

"I arranged to have agents stay with your daughter and her family," Smith said. "I also got agents and federal marshals on their way from El Paso and Dallas. They'll be here tonight or tomorrow."

"Good," Ryan said. "We'll head out as soon as our guests return."

"Ryan, I want you to know that I'm glad to see you give the system a chance. I was more than a little concerned that you might choose another... option," Smith said. "I remember what happened with Knight Petroleum, and I don't want to experience that again."

"For what it's worth, neither do I," Ryan told him. "But I'll do whatever is necessary to protect my family. And my community. I'm hoping the system won't let us down."

"I understand," Smith replied. They saw headlights out front and realized Azalea, Roland, and Bill had returned. Ryan opened the door and let them inside. He took note of their luggage and saw a canvas case strapped over Roland's back. He instinctively knew this was Roland's Thompson gun.

"Going somewhere?" Roland asked, seeing Ryan in his uniform.

"Yeah, Smith and I are going back to the Sheriff's Department for a while. You three go on up and get settled in. I don't know how long we'll be gone," Ryan told him. "Anyway, make yourselves at home. Mi casa es su casa."

"What?" Azalea asked, confused.

"It means, make yourselves at home," Ryan told her.

"You already said that," she shot back, her brows furrowed.

"Yes, I did. And I said it twice. Beverly will get you guys situated and show you around. We'll be back," Ryan said. Giving Beverly a kiss, Ryan left with Smith following. They climbed into Ryan's official truck and headed to town.

...

"What?" Jean-Pierre asked when Thierry walked into his hotel room.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I got a report from our PI in Hard Rock," Thierry replied. He saw Jean-Pierre's eyebrows go up and continued. "There's a lot of activity around the Sheriff's Department there, and every officer in town has gathered. He also reported seeing a military vehicle."

"That means nothing," Jean-Pierre said. "It could simply be a drill."

"But what if it's not?" Thierry asked.

"Do you honestly think a small town like that could present a challenge to us?" Jean-Pierre asked with a smirk. "What are they going to do? Hmm? Send out John Wayne with their cavalry? Heh. They are dumb colonials. No match for us."

"If you say so," Thierry said. "But Caldwell is no dumb colonial."

"He is an old, fat, one-eyed has-been living in the twilight of his life. HE is of no concern. Have you taken care of that list of names I gave you?"

"I have put them through the system and am waiting for the paperwork," Thierry said. "I was told there may be a delay.

"That is unacceptable. Corporate wants results. And they want them now. We will go alone if necessary. I will fuck this Caldwell woman in front of her husband. Then I will cut his dick off and feed it to her as he bleeds out on the ground before me. After that, I will fuck Azalea Dupont and slice her into pieces as I do. Are you with me, Thierry?"

"Oui, monsieur. You know I am with you. But this Caldwell is no dummy."

"Good answer, Thierry. I... understand your concern. Very well. We leave for Hard Rock now, just in case this Caldwell decides to set up check points. We will scout out the area, and strike on Monday. Now go, pack. I will settle our bill. We leave in ten minutes."

"As you wish," Thierry said, leaving the room as fast as he could. He had always respected Jean-Pierre, but he was concerned. His comrade had become increasingly unhinged, his drive for vengeance and bloodshed clouding his judgment. Ten minutes later, he met Jean-Pierre at his car, and they sped off into the night.