Max and Renee went inside the home to say hello. The Carpenter parents still looked heartbroken but seemed to be on the mend. They were somewhat confused that Max had returned a week after the funeral. But they accepted that he was here to speak to Trent without asking further questions. Tina, the new widow, was also present. Her five-year-old son, Josh Junior, sat beside her, watching cartoons on her iPhone.
After Max and Renee made the rounds, they walked out to the backyard. The ranch home sat on a hill, with the rear of the property extending into a pine forest. To the south, they had a magnificent view of the Susquehanna River as it flowed through town. The surrounding mountains were dark shadows, hidden by a thick summer haze. The anvil shape of a giant thunderhead loomed in the distance.
Trent Carpenter was sitting on a lawn chair, whittling a small piece of wood with a bowie knife. He had the knotted calves and muscular arms of a football player, with close-cropped hair and manly facial features straight out of a John Wayne western.
Like his now-deceased brother, Trent was a former soldier. But while Josh had been with conventional Army units, Trent had spent two decades in Special Forces. Max didn’t know him as well as he’d known Josh. But he knew enough. Every time Josh or the parents used to speak of Trent, it was with reverence and pride.
Trent stood up when he saw Max and Renee approach, wiping sawdust from his hand and sticking it out in greeting.
Max shook his hand, and Renee went in for the hug.
“Hi, Trent. Good to see you again.” Renee’s voice had that perfect female touch of empathy and sadness.
Trent had the look of hard-earned life experience and the wisdom that came with it. His were the eyes of a man who knew true loss but had hardened himself against it. His brother, Josh, had died from a heroin overdose, leaving a wife and son behind. Max knew how devastated he had been at the news. But Trent also looked strong. Healthy. Resolute. He would be alright, Max knew.
Renee said, “Your family doing okay? Tina?”
“We’re all doing a little better this week, I think.”
Max had been shocked to learn the details of Josh’s death. Josh had been off active duty for a few years, medically discharged after a bad back injury. The rest was a sad but familiar story. Josh started getting treatment at the VA hospital for chronic back pain. The VA had initially given him a bunch of very strong opioid-type pain meds. Then, as the opioid epidemic had started blowing up, the VA had changed their policies. Tina had told Max that the doctors at the VA wanted him to go cold turkey. To go get acupuncture instead. Josh had tried, but apparently, it hadn’t been that easy.
Max looked over at the screen porch. Tina was running her hand through her five-year-old son’s hair. A rumble of thunder reverberated in the distance.
Trent said, “Sounds like rain.”
“Yup.”
“So you said you want to talk. How’s about we get out of here? Talk over lunch?”
“Sure thing,” Max said.
Trent drove them about thirty minutes away, past Lake Winola, to another small town on the outskirts of Scranton. There was a quaint little main street that looked like it hadn’t changed much since the 1960s. Max had seen many streets like this across the heartland of America. Old-fashioned storefronts with big glass windows. Rounded overhangs covering wide sidewalks. A small movie theater at the center of town, with only a few showings per day. A dilapidated family drugstore. And the insurgent hipster restaurant, with its neon chalk menu out front.
Trent parked his Ford pickup in an angled spot on the main street, and they walked into a busy bar-restaurant.
“You guys like burgers? They make the best ones here.”
Trent waved to the bartender, who greeted him by name. Max surveyed the place. It wasn’t bad. Hardwood floors and finished oak tables. An empty stage on one end of the diner where a local band was setting up.
Trent scanned the crowd like a pro, his eyes capturing every face, exit, threat, friend, and abnormality in view. Max followed Trent’s gaze to see a few rough-looking men playing pool in a back room. A girl that couldn’t have been more than twenty watched Trent with interest from a stool in the corner, playing with her tongue ring.
“Well, well…,” Trent said.
“What is it?”
“I’ll be right back.” Trent stood and headed towards the back room.
Renee shot a curious look at Max. “Where’s he going?”
Max nodded over to the billiards table. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
He couldn’t hear what Trent was saying, but he could read the body language of the others in the room. Trent held the posture of an alpha male. One of the pool players — a big man with a beard, his cheeks flushed from too many pilsners — stood ominously close to Trent. The bearded man held a pool cue with both hands, his jaw clenched. The guy must have been six feet six, and three bills.
“What are they saying?” Renee asked.
Max shook his head and shrugged. “Not sure.”
Then Trent walked to an exit door at the far end of the billiards room and gestured for the big man to follow. Trent’s face was steady and unafraid.
Renee said, “Is he going to fight that guy?”
The big man yelled something at Trent, spittle flying out of his mouth. Heads in the restaurant part of the establishment shot over in their direction. Trent, the big man, and everyone in the poolroom headed out the door. Max got up, and Renee began to follow.
“You should stay here.”
Renee rolled her eyes and kept walking. “Please stop saying that.”
Max opened the rear door and saw that a small circle had formed around the two men. Trent stood still in the middle, rotating to keep his body facing the large bearded man, who was now circling him like a boxer in the ring. The big guy was cracking his knuckles and stretching his neck. Trent kept turning, looking loose and ready, his opponent in view.
“Kick his ass, Danny!” said the girl with the tongue ring. “Wasn’t your fault his brother couldn’t handle—”
The man with the beard took a swing at Trent. Trent sidestepped and brought up his knee into the man’s stomach. Then he came down hard with his fist, knocking the large man to the pavement. His face made contact with the ground hard enough that Max winced.
Max felt a tickle on his forehead as rain began to fall. A long rumble of thunder came from the darkening clouds overhead.
Trent stood over the big man on the ground, his large chest heaving, a trickle of blood leaking out one of his nostrils. He didn’t look very tough anymore. He looked scared. So did his groupies, who each took a few steps back.
“Did you sell to my brother?”
The bearded man nodded, looking away. Max recognized the type. Max had dealt with scum like this while working for the DIA. The big guy on the ground was a bottom-feeder, a low-level drug dealer. Preying on the weak, because he himself was weak of mind and morality. The big man wasn’t averting his gaze because he was ashamed, but because he was afraid to finally face judgment. Life was easier that way, and men like him always took the path of least resistance.
Max glanced at Renee standing next to him. Her hair was now covered by thick droplets of rainwater. The outer rim of the storm. Renee’s arms were crossed, her pretty eyes looking at Max. She was concerned about what Trent might do. Max held out his hand. His instincts told him not to interfere.