Sheriff Damon Ortega lived clear across town from Jubal’s mother, which wasn’t actually that great a distance in a town the size of Serenity. But Jubal took Lone Peak Road instead of Main Street. Lone Peak was a dirt road which ran parallel to the town on its east side; Jubal admitted to himself that he was taking it so he wouldn’t have to drive through the middle of town again. He was avoiding the business district although he knew it was his job to patrol up and down the main thoroughfare, but all those near-empty sidewalks made him nervous. Besides, Lone Peak would take him out to Damon’s a lot quicker.
The conditioned air in the car felt good, and out here, amid the wide-open sun-drenched desert beyond the town’s edge, he could almost imagine that things were just?ne.
Jubal turned up the radio and pressed down on the accelerator.
In a short while, the deputy pulled up in front of a silver-paneled house built into the side of a small hill. Parked in the dirt yard in front of the house was a shiny, black Dodge Beamrider truck: Damon’s pride and joy. Hell, the solar-powered vehicle, which Damon washed every day religiously, probably cost more than the solar-powered house the sheriff was so proud of.
Jubal turned off the radio with some reluctance; he did not want to face the silence. Usually he didn’t mind the quiet; in fact he cherished his quiet times. But today, he felt down and lonesome and he knew the silence would only intensify these feelings.
A mourning dove cooed its particular song as Jubal rang the doorbell.
No one answered, so he jammed his thumb against the button again.
The door swung open.
“Okay, okay,” said the large shadowy shape inside the door’s frame. “Don’t break the damn thing. C’mon in.”
Jubal removed his sunglasses and entered the house.
“Man, it’s dark in here. You’d think a fancy all-solar house would be lit up like…the sun,” Jubal said.
“I need it dark in here. Me and the sun aren’t getting along too well just now; it aggravates my symptoms.” As if on cue, Damon barked a lung-rattling cough.
Jubal winced. “That sure doesn’t sound good, Damon.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
The old guy sounded weary and rundown.
“So, what did you bring me?” Damon said.
Jubal’s eyes adjusted to the dim light. He could now see the sheriff dressed in a red and white striped bathrobe. His unkempt graying hair was a nimbus around his square head and dark bags hung beneath his watery eyes.
“This is something Patty made for you, Damon. I think if you eat it, it will make you feel better.”
“If it’s Wednesday, it must be roast beef.”
“Damn, that’s pretty good, chief; Ma did the same thing. I can never remember what food they’re having on which day at Conchita’s.”
“Well, you should try to remember. How are you going to become sheriff someday if you can’t remember details?”
Jubal nodded sheepishly.
“Now let’s sit down in the living room before I fall over and you have to pick my fat ass up off the carpet.”
Damon dropped onto the wide sofa. The coffee table in front of him was covered with Kleenex boxes and used tissues.
Jubal set the carton on the table in front of Damon. “I’m going to get you a fork, chief.”
“Nah. Not right now; I can do that later. Sit. Sit.”
Jubal sank into the indicated leather chair; it was very comfortable. Damon sure had some nice things. Not bad for a small town sheriff. He must certainly know how to invest his money.
“Don’t tell me you came all this way just because I had the snif?es? You and the other boys have a town to patrol.”
The other “boys” called in sick too. But Jubal wasn’t ready to tell Damon that yet.
“I brought my ma some lunch, so I thought I’d swing by and drop some off for you too.”
“Thanks, son. How is your mother by the way?” Damon said.
“Same as you. Really down with some bug. Did the doc make it out here yet?”
Damon shook his head and whooped out a cough that made Jubal cringe. The older man grabbed a handful of tissues and rubbed them against his forehead.
“I don’t need a doctor; I’ve had worse than this,” Damon said. “God, is it hot in here?”
“Do you want me to turn up the air conditioner?”
Damon sat still and didn’t respond for a while, then: “I hope Rafe and Denny aren’t out delivering meals on wheels too. Crap, who’s watching the town?”
“Well…”
“C’mon. What is it?”
“Rafe and Denny called in sick this morning too.”
“What the-? Nora?” Nora was the dispatcher-slash-receptionist.
Jubal shook his head, staring down at his hands, where they wrung in his lap.
“First, my kids. Now this.”
Jubal’s head came up. “What’s wrong with your kids, chief?”
“Oh, nothing I know of, but I can’t call them for some reason. The satphones seem to be down, and my old cell phone doesn’t work worth shit.”
Jubal noted the despondent tone creeping into his boss’s voice. And like the fear he’d seen in Pops’s eyes earlier, it worried him. The sheriff, his greatest hero after his own father, should not sound like this. Jubal sat up straighter in his chair.
“Listen, chief. I have everything under control. I feel?t and so do Fiona and Patty down at Conchita’s. And I saw Pops Perez at lunch, and he looks strong as ever. There’s no beating that old guy, is there?”
Damon said nothing, his head hung low, and Jubal began to think he had fallen asleep. Then the sheriff coughed again.
“Jubal, I think I need to rest a little. If you see Doc Mitchell, be sure he takes care of everyone in town before he comes out here. You hear me?”
“Sure, but Serenity needs you on your feet…”
“Shit, boy. You know that little sweetheart of a town pretty much runs itself. Everything will be?ne; don’t worry.”
“Sure it will, chief. I’ll take care of everything.”
Damon was silent again.
“Chief?”
The sheriff began snoring.
Jubal stood and watched the man for a moment. He had a lot of love for Damon. The man had been his father’s best friend and one of his most loyal deputies. When Sam Heironimous had robbed that bank in El Paso, he thought Serenity would be a nice, safe place to hide out. He hadn’t counted on a small town having real law enforcement. But Sheriff Danny Slate had been following the news and recognized Heironimous’s truck the instant it turned down the lake road. Jubal’s father had been heading down there with Damon to drown a few worms. When he spotted the truck, the sheriff had pulled his old. 45 from the console and asked old Damon to call it in.
If Heironimous, that dumbass, recidivist lowlife, had just kept the scattergun inside the car, he would still be alive.
And so would Jubal’s dad.
Sometimes it was hard for Jubal to look at Damon without remembering the big man coming to the house to deliver the bad news. He’d always had a big, round baby face and that morning it was so contorted with grief that Jubal and his mother immediately knew what he was going to say.
In the ten years since, Damon Ortega had done everything he could to be there for Jubal and his mom. While Damon could never replace his father-at home or on the job-Jubal appreciated the effort and he knew most of Serenity did too.
Jubal quietly closed the door. It seemed he’d spent most of his day trying not to wake people.
He started the cruiser, cranked the AC and turned the radio down. He satphoned the NMSP District Three Post in Roswell, and he recognized the dispatcher who answered.
“Dooley? Jubal. How you doing?”
“It’s hotter than the ass end of a bitch in heat, son. Other than that, I’m tolerable. You?”
“I’m okay. ’Bout the only one in town, though.”
“Y’all got the bug, too, huh?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell me it’s spread to Roswell?”
“Hell, Jubal, half the post is out. They’re so desperate they’re talkin’ about givin’ me a gun.”