Death of a Hero
S.W. Blayde
DEATH of a HERO
a novella
© 2019 by S.W. Blayde
All Rights Reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
BOOKS by S.W. Blayde
Sexual Awakening
erotic romance murder-mystery
Steele Justice
erotic thriller (Lincoln Steele book 1)
High School Massacre
erotic thriller/mystery (Lincoln Steele book 2)
Death of a Hero
erotic thriller (Lincoln Steele book 3)
The Breeder
erotic western/romance
Conflicted Nun
erotic romance
Last Kiss
romance mystery
CHAPTER 1
Lincoln Steele wore a black suit and open-collared, white shirt in the thick Mississippi humidity. Black clouds loomed over the men and women huddled together as they watched the coffin sink into the freshly dug hole. Four uniformed men maneuvered two ropes with military precision, hand over hand, guiding Sergeant First Class Buck Miller to his final resting place. Steele tried to stand tall, but his shoulders slumped with a heavy heart.
Drizzle began to fall. Umbrellas popped open all around Steele, but the ex-Army Ranger stood steadfast. His many Special Ops missions had conditioned him to ignore the elements. Even when Mother Nature added her tears to the women's and a few men's by pelting the umbrellas with large raindrops.
When the slack ropes were dragged out of the hole and discarded on the ground, the four soldiers snapped to attention. A lieutenant colonel Steele didn't know barked some orders and three of the soldiers retrieved their M16 rifles fitted with blank-firing adapters. They lined up on the opposite side of the grave from the mourners, with their backs to them, and pointed their rifles on the same trajectory toward the clouds.
"Fire!" the lieutenant colonel said.
Three concurrent, thunderous bangs caused the mourners to flinch, except for Steele and Captain Wilks standing at his side. They stood stock-still at attention. The lieutenant colonel repeated the order twice more with two more volleys being fired. After commanding the honor guard to lower their weapons and do an about face, he marched up to Sgt. Miller's widow carrying the American flag that had been draped over the coffin. Now folded into a tight triangle with only the stars showing, the flag was held chest high, sandwiched between one palm underneath and one on top, elbows out. He stopped in front of her and extended his arms.
Mrs. Miller stared at the flag through the veil hanging from the tip of her large black hat. The wetness on her caramel-colored cheeks had nothing to do with the rain. Buck Miller, known to his Army comrades as Coal because his skin was as black as coal, used to tease his wife that she must have had white ancestors. He had said, "If all the women in your family tree were as pretty as you, I can't blame those white slave owners for climbing between their legs."
A friend stood behind Mrs. Miller holding an open umbrella, protecting both from the pelting rain, but the lieutenant colonel stood in the open. He ignored the water running off the shiny brim of his Army dress hat. But he did hold the flag away from his body so the water didn't pour onto it.
"Mrs. Miller," the lieutenant colonel said, "your country appreciates the service Sergeant First Class Miller gave to his country and the sacrifices you both endured. Please accept this flag as a symbol of that gratitude and a remembrance of a brave and honorable man."
Sally Miller's arms rose—slowly—held back by the weight of her loss. Accepting the flag would make it real. Her arms dropped back down. The lieutenant colonel stood tall with the flag held out in both hands. Steele took a step toward her but stopped when Captain Wilks placed a hand on his shoulder. Steele turned to his old war buddy. Except for his thinning hair and potbelly, he resembled the soldier Steele had served with. As usual, Wilks was right. It was something Sally Miller needed to do herself. To be strong. To achieve closure.
As if Buck Miller's spirit was already looking over his wife, the rain abruptly stopped. A ray of sunlight poked a hole through the thick clouds and spotlighted the flag. The white stars glowed in the otherwise dull light, drawing Mrs. Miller's hands to it. She lifted her arms, accepting the flag and clutching it as she pressed it to her bosom.
Her knees buckled.
Steele bolted to her side, catching both her collapsing body with one arm and the flag slipping through her fingers with his free hand. No one else had moved. Lincoln Steele's reflexes and speed had always served him well. He scooped her up in his powerful arms, her body looking like a child next to his six-foot-three muscular frame.
"Sally, are you okay?" Steele asked.
Mrs. Miller looked at Steele's face. A half smile formed. "I didn't know you came. Buck would have been glad. Please take me away from here."
"Where's your car?"
"Someone drove me. Did you rent a car?"
Wilks strolled up to Steele.
"You remember Captain Wilks," Steele said.
"Major Wilks?"
"No longer Major," Wilks said. "Like Linc, I'm a civilian now. A police captain. We flew in last night. Actually, got in this morning. Flight was delayed. Some kind of mechanical problem. Sorry, but we got to the church after services started and snuck in the back."
"Thank you for coming."
Steele looked around. "Where's Annamae?"
"She's not here."
"She missed her father's funeral?"
Fresh tears formed in Sally Miller's eyes. "Please take me away from here."
"Your place?"
"No. People will be there. I can't handle that right now."
The two men glanced at each other. Wilks nodded. They were always able to read each other's mind. Steele carried Mrs. Miller to the white Chevy sedan they had rented. Wilks marched beside him, taking quick steps to keep up with Steele's long strides. Steele helped Sally into the back seat and then the two men took the front with Wilks behind the steering wheel.
They drove to the next town in silence, other than the occasional sniffle coming from the rear of the car. When they arrived at the Holiday Inn where Sally Miller had told them to stay, Steele opened the motel room door. Both beds had an open suitcase on them. Clothing and other articles were strewn on the beds and floor.
Steele rushed to the bed on the right and started piling clothing into the open suitcase. "Sorry for the mess, but we were in a hurry. Only had time to clean up and change."
"You haven't slept?" Sally asked.
"Not yet."
"I should leave then."
"Nonsense."
Captain Wilks was still stuffing clothing into his suitcase when Steele flipped the lid of his thicker suitcase over the clothing that stuck out the sides. He pointed to a chair. Mrs. Miller sat down, hugging the soaked, folded flag to her chest.
Steele took his suit jacket off, shook it out, and spread it on top of his suitcase with the wet side up. He sat on the side of the bed. "Sally, why wasn't Annamae at the funeral?"
Mrs. Miller's bottom lip quivered. "We don't know where she is."
Wilks and Steele looked at each other before Steele asked, "What do you mean?"
"She disappeared."
"Did you fill out a missing person report?" Captain Wilks asked.
"Buck tried. The police chief said she must have run away and is not missing. Since she's not a minor, she's nineteen, the police chief said there's nothing he can do about it."
Wilks scratched his wet, thinning hair. "That's not true. I wonder why he said that."
"Sally," Steele asked, "what happened to Coal, um, Buck?"
A smile made an attempt to form on Mrs. Miller's face. "That's okay. You can call him Coal. We know it's out of love, not like the people in my shitty town. He went looking for Annamae. And now he's dead."
"Foul play?" Captain Wilks asked.
Tears flowed down Mrs. Miller's cheeks. She searched through her pocketbook and took out a handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes and face.
"The police chief said it was suicide," Sally said. "That he hung himself. But Buck wouldn't do that."
Captain Wilks hmphed. "I think I'll pay the police chief a visit." He turned to Steele. "Want to come along?"
Steele rubbed his chin. "Something's not right. I think I'll stay out of sight. Snoop around without people knowing I knew Buck."
Captain Wilks snickered. "I guess that's the difference between being a cop and a private investigator. I do my snooping out in the open. But first I need some sleep."
Sally jumped up from the chair. "Oh, I'm sorry. Y'all are tired." She turned to Steele. "Will you take me home?"
"Are you sure? We can get a cup of coffee and—"
"No! Y'all flew in from the other side of the country and need sleep. I'll be fine."
Wilks clapped his hands. "That's settled then. Try not to wake me when you get back."
During the drive to Sally's house, little was said. Steele wanted to ask about Buck's death and Annamae's disappearance, but kept it to small talk. They had just buried Buck and he didn't want to upset Sally any more by talking about her daughter. Not yet.
In Sally's town, they passed the white-trash trailer park before entering the colored section. This small Mississippi town was living a hundred years in the past. The houses were smaller and shabbier than in the white part of town. They had driven past a baseball field in the white neighborhood earlier. It had pristine grass and lights for night games, and a fence all the way around with advertisements plastered on it. The baseball field in the colored section was all dirt, and the pebbles and weeds in the infield made for tricky ground balls. The wooden benches needed painting and more than one person left with a splinter. The chain link fence begged for repairs. Not that there was much of it. The only fence was behind home plate where the few benches were. And spectators needed to be alert at all times. More than one foul tip sailed through the gaping hole. Next to the baseball field was a small area with two basketball hoops. One rim was bent downward. Weeds popped up through the cracked cement floor. It was obvious where the tax dollars went, and where they didn't.
They arrived at Sally's house. It was small but well kept with a fresh coat of blue paint. On the front porch, Steele stared at Sally. "Will you be all right?"
"I don't know. It's going to feel so strange knowing that Buck—" Her chin hit her chest.
"Would you like me to come in?"
Her head shot up. "Please. I feel so alone."
When they entered the house, Sally said, "Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"I better not. I need to get a few hours shut-eye and the caffeine—"
"Omigod! You need to sleep. You can sleep in Annamae's room."
"I'll just go back to the Holiday Inn."
"And fall asleep at the wheel? Or wake Major Wilks up? You can sleep here. Then I won't feel so alone."
Steele placed a hand on Sally's shoulder. "Buck used to leave you alone a lot. It came with the job."
Sally's bottom lip quivered and her eyes got shiny. "But I knew he was coming home. No matter how dangerous the mission, I knew he'd make it. I had that. But now…" Her eyes dropped. "I never felt this alone."
Steele pulled her to him, holding her against his body. She trembled in his arms. And sobbed.
Steele whispered, "Don't forget, it's Captain Wilks now. Keep calling him Major and it will go to his head. It's hard enough living with him as it is."
The trembling stopped. So did the crying. They stood still, and then Sally tilted her head back. She smiled and then laughed. So hard her body shook.
"Where did that come from?" she said. "It's just what I needed. You always make me laugh." She wrenched free and wiped her cheeks on her shoulders. "Come on, I'll take you to Annamae's room."
Her daughter's bedroom was typical for a nineteen-year-old girl. Posters on the walls of predominantly male bands. Stuffed animals on the queen size bed and the chair in the corner. A laptop on the desk. Steele waited for Sally to leave and then had a quick look around. The closet was filled with dresses, skirts, and pants squished tightly together. The dresser drawers were full of underwear, shirts, and all kinds of stuff teenage girls had. No way she ran away.
Steele stripped and climbed under the bedcover. As soon as his head hit the pillow, the lack of sleep caught up to him. Even with the flimsy curtains letting in the midday light now that the rain had stopped.
CHAPTER 2
Click.
Steele sprang up in bed. Ears alert. Muscles tense. Ready for…
Sally's hand was still on the doorknob. Standing just inside her daughter's bedroom, she wore an ankle-length, pink cotton nightgown with a white lace collar. The clingy material hugged her body, accentuating what lay beneath. Her round breasts, thick nipples, wide hips, little paunch at her belly, and the crinkly tuft of hair below that.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Sally said. "I forgot how light you guys sleep."
"It's habit. Being in the field makes us jumpy. Is everything all right? Do you need something?"
"I feel so alone. I was wondering if I could lie with you. I was just sort of going to get in bed with you. Just so I won't be alone."
"Sally, I sleep in the nude."
"Oh." She looked down and then back up. "So did Buck."
"It's not the same."
"Look, I'm a big girl. I just can't be alone right now."
Her eyes lowered. Despondent eyes. But she didn't leave. Her hand remained on the doorknob. She looked so lost. Almost like a child who had a nightmare and came to her parents' bedroom.
Steele shifted to the side of the bed and held up the other end of the bedcover with an extended arm. Sally dashed to the bed and climbed under the cover. Her elbow bumped him and then her hip. When she settled into the queen size bed, the two lay side by side, both on their backs staring up at the ceiling with their shoulders touching.
"Can I ask another favor?" Sally asked.
"Anything."
"Please hold me. I've never felt this alone."
Steele snaked an arm under Sally's shoulders. She rose up a little to allow it to slide under, but didn't lie back down. She rolled onto her side with her cheek on his chest. Steele tightened his hold, pulling her against him. The warmth of her body emanated through the thin nightgown.
"Thank you," Sally said. Her breath was warm on his skin.
Steele's eyes closed. Sally's soft breathing was tranquil and he soon returned to sleep.
When Steele dreamed, it was usually a restless one reliving one of his many Special Ops missions. He had learned to live with what he had done while awake, but his subconscious mind sometimes wasn't as forgiving. This dream wasn't one of those. A warm hand held his cock, the fingers opening and closing around it.
Steele's eyes popped open.
He was awake! But the hand was still on his cock.
Sally lay on her side with his arm still around her and the side of her face on his chest. She hadn't moved. Except her hand. Her breaths were deep, the exhales long. Like drawn-out sighs. Was she dreaming? Dreaming of Buck? Her dead husband. Steele's friend. Steele lay stiff, once again staring at the ceiling. The hand stopped moving. Only for a moment. Then the fingers opened and closed. Now a thumb rubbed the ridge where the cock-head met the shaft. Steele's dick was as stiff as his body.
Sally had to be sleeping.
Steele slid his free arm under the blanket and covered her hand with his. Her fingers stopped moving. Steele tugged her hand. Her fingers tightened around his dick. He released her hand. The fingers loosened and then opened and closed, now sliding up and down.
Steele slid his arm out from under Sally as gently as he could so as not to wake her and rolled onto his side, turning away from her. Her fingers tightened around his dick as she rolled with him, her arm now draped over his hip, her breasts pressed into his back. This was wrong. He needed to do something. And quickly.
Steele snatched Sally's wrist and wrenched her hand off his cock. As soon as his dick was free, he rolled onto his stomach and held his breath.
Sally sighed. "You don't find me attractive."
Steele spun onto his side to face Sally. "You're awake?"
"Of course."
"What are you doing?"
"I need you. I told you, I feel lonelier than I ever felt."
"But we just buried Buck."
"That's why I feel so alone."
"He was my friend. He had my trust."
Sally's eyes lowered. Her long eyelashes fluttered. "Me and Buck, we had an understanding. An arrangement. He was gone a lot and he knew how lonely I got. It was all right with him if I was with someone while he was away. And I told him he could too. Don't tell me he wasn't with other women."
"You knew?"
"We had an arrangement. It might not work for everyone, but it worked for us. Not often, but sometimes the loneliness was unbearable. And now is one of those times. The worst it's ever been. I can't explain it. I just wanted to lie with you. That's all. Please believe me. Because I felt so alone. But feeling you next to me, knowing you're naked, knowing I'll never make love to Buck ever again, it was too much. I feel so empty. I need something to fill that emptiness. Just today. To get through today."
"I can't do that to a friend."
"You'll be doing it for a friend. I know Buck better than you. He would want you to."
Sally grabbed Steele's hand under the cover and pulled it between her legs as she rolled onto her back. The bottom of her long nightgown was bunched at her waist. His hand rested on a patch of kinky pubic hair. Damp hair. One of Sally's knees pushed against his thigh as she spread her legs and pressed his hand down.
"Don't reject me," Sally said. "I'm so alone. Buck would want you to do this. He loved me that much."
With her hand on top of Steele's, Sally pressed his middle finger down. Its length sank into her slit between her meaty labia. She held it there. Ground her pussy against it. Humped it. A soft moan escaped from deep within her throat. Steele wiggled the tip of that finger, brushing her hole with his fingertip. Sally snapped her legs together, trapping his hand between them and rolling partway onto her hip, holding his hand between her legs. Humping it. With each hump, his fingertip sank in and popped out of her hole. Just the fingertip. Her frantic movements kicked the blanket downward. Soon her upper body was uncovered.
Steele laid his free hand flat on her breast. On top of the nightgown. His fingers stretched out, covering most of it. She sighed and pressed on the hand between her legs, crushing it against her, humping it. Steele's fingers curled around her breast and squeezed. Sally raised her knee, squeezed her thighs together, and thrust her leg straight again. Each time she did it, it shoved the blanket down more until Steele could see her caramel-colored thighs and her hand on top of his between them. He kicked the blanket the rest of the way, bunching it at the foot of the bed.
Steele yanked his hand from between her legs. Sally let out a groan like a wounded animal. She grabbed his forearm with both hands and pulled. It didn't budge. She stared at his face with pleading eyes.
Steele placed his other hand on her cheek. She shrugged it off with a flick of her neck.
"Sally, if we're going to do this we should do it right."
She released his forearm and gawked. He cupped both of her cheeks and guided his mouth to hers, kissing her lips softly before shoving his tongue between them. Sally rolled partway onto Steele as she thrust her tongue past his into his mouth. He sucked it. The soft moans from deep within her throat returned.
Steele stroked her back, trailing lower until he passed the cotton nightgown onto her bare buttock. He cupped it. She flung a leg over his hip and ground her pussy on his thigh, coating his skin with her wetness. With both hands now on her ass, Steele's fingers sank into the soft flesh as he squeezed and fondled it. All the while she ground her moist pussy on the thigh sandwiched between her legs.
Steele's hands moved upward, grabbing the bottom of the nightgown gathered at her waist. He tugged it. Sally pushed up on her arms when it got snagged between her and the bed. It made it to her armpits. She raised her arms. He pulled it off and threw it aside.
Now skin on skin, her big, round breasts flattened against his chest. Hard nipples poked him like pebbles. Her tongue wormed inside his mouth, flapping against his, swirling, finding the inside of his cheeks, the back of his teeth, and that little flap under his tongue. Spittle drooled down both sides of his mouth, over his cheeks, along the sides of his neck. Some his. Most hers.
Steele rolled Sally onto her back. "How could you think I didn't find you attractive?"
"I'm not so young."
"You're beautiful. Everything a man would want in a woman."
"You're just saying that."
"I mean it."
Steele sat up. His eyes roamed up and down Sally's nude body. Her hands flew to cover her breasts and groin. Her face turned a shade darker.
"Take your hands away," Steele said. "Let me see you."
Her arms fell to her sides. "Sorry, but the way you were looking at me…" She lowered her eyes.
"That's because you're beautiful. Just beautiful."
Steele leaned over and kissed her lips. Sally's mouth opened, but her tongue found nothing but air. His mouth was already on her breast, sucking as much of it into his mouth as he could. When he sucked the nipple and flicked it with his tongue, she filled her lungs and let the air out in a long sigh.
Lying on his side facing Sally, hovering over her, Steele stroked her cheek. She gazed into his eyes. He brushed her thick lips. His fingers trailed down, over her jaw, along her neck. Sally closed her eyes. Steele kissed one eyelid. Then the other. He pecked her lips. Her eyes opened. Glazed.
Steele stared into her eyes as his fingertip trailed over the roundness of her breast. She opened her mouth to say something. His hand flew to it. Cupped it. Smothering her words.
"Shh," he said.
His hand returned to her breast, sliding two fingertips around the circumference like a merry-go-round. His hand continued downward. All the while their eyes were locked. When hers was open, that is. They kept drooping closed with each sigh. Sometimes her eyelashes fluttered. She chewed her lower lip.
His fingertip trailed down her belly, dipped into the bellybutton, and popped out the other side, nestling in kinky pubic hair. He twirled it, brushed it, and then cupped her pussy. Sally's eyes snapped shut, her mouth opened, and her thighs clamped together.
Steele leaned over her ear and whispered, "Spread your legs."
Her legs parted.
Steele climbed between them and inserted the tip of his hard dick into her. Only the cock-head. No more. He waited. Sally humped, but he didn't move. Not until her eyes opened. With her watching him, he slid the entire length into her. Sally's eyeballs rolled up showing only white. Steele pressed his lips to her parted ones. Her warm breaths were humid on his lips. He flicked her lips with the tip of his tongue. Sally's eyes slowly opened, and then she grabbed the back of his head and crushed his mouth to hers. Her tongue flew into his mouth, flapping like a flag in a hurricane.
Sally's pussy squeezed Steele's dick. Exactly what he had been waiting for. He drew his hips back and rammed his cock into her. Her fingers snagged the hair on the back of his head. Her tongue swirled inside his mouth like a tornado. The moans inside her throat were continuous. Her heels dug into the mattress and her knees pointed outward as she humped up to meet his thrusts. Their pubic bones collided again and again. Her wet pussy made squishing sounds around his plunging cock.
Sally stiffened. Her tongue went slack. Steele pulled his head back and stared at her face. Her eyes were clamped shut. She bit her lower lip. Her caramel-colored skin darkened.
"Don't stop!" she screamed.
Steele rammed into her, again and again and again. Hard. Fast. Like a turbocharged piston. He grunted with each thrust. Sally's hands flew to his shoulders. Her nails dug into the skin. Her face scrunched. She shivered. Her orgasm overwhelmed her, causing her pussy to spasm around his dick, massage it, coax the sperm out of his balls, up his shaft, and into her depths.
With the urgency abated, Steele slid his cock out of Sally's warm, clinging hole as he rolled onto his back. Next to him, Sally's chest rose and fell with deep breaths. As did his. He stared up at the ceiling.
Sally placed a hand on his arm. "Don't feel guilty."
Steele didn't say anything. His eyes never wavered from the ceiling.
"You didn't do anything wrong," Sally said. "I needed someone. You were that someone. I didn't lie. Buck would have wanted you to do it."
Steele turned his head to face Sally. She was staring at him. She squeezed his forearm.
"Let's take a nap," she said. "Let me lie with you. I don't feel alone when I'm next to you."
Steele closed his eyes. Soon he heard soft snoring next to him. It took him a while to fall asleep.
CHAPTER 3
Sally stirred in her sleep and flung a soft arm onto Steele's chest. His eyes popped opened and he held his breath, letting the air out quietly when he saw her lying peacefully on her side next to him. All the stress was gone from her face. Maybe she had been right. Maybe being with him was what she had needed. He glanced at the clock on the end table. Only about two hours sleep. He stifled the yawn.
Steele lifted Sally's limp arm with the fingertips of his thumb and index finger and slid out from under it, laying it gently back down on the mattress as he rolled off the bed. It was time to get dressed and leave. He was pulling up his briefs when Sally's eyes fluttered open. She stared at him for a moment, confusion in her eyes, and then her eyes widened. Sally looked down at her nude body and then frantically searched for the blanket, saw it at the foot of the bed, and lunged for it. She yanked it up to her chin as she lay back down. That worried Steele.
Sally smiled. "Thank you."
Steele released the air caught in his throat. "For what?"
"For being there for me. You were great."
"You were pretty good yourself."
Sally blushed and lowered her eyes. She looked back up. "The sex was terrific, but that's not what I meant. I felt so empty. So alone. I never felt like that before. Like I was stuck in the bottom of a well and couldn't get out. You got me out. You were there for me. I'll never forget that."
"So you're not having second thoughts about what we did?"
"No. Why do you think I am?"
"Well, the way you went for the blanket."
Sally blushed even more than before. "Oh, I, um… I guess I'm not ready to be naked in front of you."
"So you do regret it?"
"No. Don't ever think that. At the time, it was right. But now…" Sally lowered her eyes.
Steele leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I know. It was a one-time thing. To get you out of the well. Look, I need to get back to the motel. Wilks is probably up and worrying. Too bad there's not a motel in this town."
"There is."
Steele was bent over with one leg in his pants, a foot hung in the air. He turned to face Sally. "There is? You told me to stay in the Holiday Inn in—"
"There's only one motel in this town. The Old South Inn. It's owned by the police chief's brother. They're not very nice to people like me so I told you to stay in the Holiday Inn. It wasn't that far."
"People like you meaning black?"
"Sally nodded.
"I think I'll check out the Old South Inn," Steele said. "If I'm going to snoop around, I need to blend in. Sounds just like the right place. Where is it?"
"Southern Road and Robert E Lee Street."
"You're shitting me!" Steele buckled his belt and put on his shirt. While tucking it in, he said, "If you see me in town, you can't let on that you know me. I'm a stranger to you. Understand?"
Sally nodded. "What are you going to do?"
"What I do best."
Steele sat on the side of the bed and took Sally's hands in his. "Will you be okay?"
"Yes. Don't worry about me. I was in a scary place, but I'm fine now."
Steele leaned over, kissed her forehead, and left. He drove back to the Holiday Inn in the neighboring town and entered the room he and Wilks shared.
Wilks crossed his arms. "I thought I had two missing persons."
"Got some shut-eye at Sally's. Didn't want to leave her alone."
"How's she doing?"
"Better. I need to buy a pickup."
"What! Why?"
"I need to blend in. And I'm changing motels so we'll need two cars. There is one in Sally's town after all. We need to be apart. Can't be seen together."
The two visited three used car lots before finding a five-year-old black Ford pickup. The sales manager balked at a personal check so Steele had his bank wire the money along with some extra.
Steele drove to the Old South Inn in his new pickup. In the lobby, a large Confederate flag was nailed to the wall behind the counter. A smaller Mississippi flag hung below it. The man behind the counter sat with his chair tilted back, his legs straight out, and the heels of his cowboy boots planted on the counter. His blond hair was short-cropped. The man looked away from the television on the counter when Steele entered. He eyeballed Steele.
"Can I help you?" the man asked.
"Looking for a room."
"You ain't from around here."
"That's why I need a room."
"How long?"
"Depends?"
"On what?"
"If I like it here. Looking for the right place."
"And what would that be?"
Steele stared at the man with a poker face. "A place people don't ask many questions."
The man tsked. "On the run?"
"Law's not looking for me. Look, can I get a room?"
The man's feet dropped to the floor. "Can't quite make out your accent. Sounds like you've spent time in the South, but you ain't a Southern boy."
"I've traveled around in the military. A lot of it in the South. A lot in North Carolina and Georgia."
"Airborne, huh? I've been to Bragg. New some good-old boys stationed there. Georgia? Must be Ft. Benning. That's Special Ops shit, right? So you're a badass mother-fucker, but you ain't a Southerner."
"Who is? The niggers took over—" Steele glanced over his shoulder and back at the man. "Look, I don't want no trouble. Just a room."
The man jumped to his feet and held his hand out. "No trouble from me. Name's Bufford. Friends call me Buff."
"What should I call you?"
He smiled. One front tooth was missing. "Buff."
Steele shook his hand. "I'm Linc."
"We're gonna get along real good. We take all credit cards."
"I'll pay cash."
Bufford raised an eyebrow. "Sure you ain't on the run? Because if you are, my brother can help. We take care of our own."
"I'm okay with the law. I just don't see eye to eye with credit card companies."
"Then cash it is. You can have Room 15. It's on the end. More privacy."
Steele looked around the lobby. Mounted animal heads adorned the walls. He pointed to a black bear.
"You shoot him?" Steele asked.
Bufford pumped his chest out. "You bet I did. Took several shots to kill the mother-fucker. Kept coming at me. I just kept shooting."
Steele pointed to the mounted head of a wild hog. "That's an ugly fucker. I wouldn't want to look at that all day."
Bufford chuckled. "See those tusks?"
"Yeah."
Bufford rolled up his pants leg and swung his heel onto the counter, showing a scar above the top of his boot. "They're razor sharp. Stuck me right here. Hurt like hell. Good thing it didn't bite my leg off. Strong jaws. They can bite right through bone. They usually are chicken-shit and run, but I surprised it and it charged. Huge mother-fucker. Like three hundred pounds. Good thing my brother was with me. He killed it before it finished me off. It's up on the wall because it's dead and I'm not."
"Room 15, right?" Steele said.
"Yeah, the one at the end."
Steele waved goodbye and went to his room. When he entered, his suitcase slipped from his fingers. It was like a scene from Gone with the Wind. A big four post bed. Furniture that looked like it was from the 1800s. Hurricane lamps on both end tables, although fake like the rest of the furniture. They were electric. The decor matched the inn's name. At least it had indoor plumbing. Steele half expected an outhouse.
The television looked out of place in the room. He turned it on to make sure it worked. A man's face filled the screen. A mean-looking man with a swastika tattoo on the side of his neck and the top of a large tattoo showing above the collar of his tee-shirt. It looked like the tips of a bird's spread wings. The camera shifted to a young man in an open collared shirt holding a microphone under his chin.
"His name's Bubba Lamont," the newsman said. "Six foot two, two hundred sixty-five pounds. The Mississippi native escaped from death row and is considered extremely dangerous by the authorities. They said he must have had accomplices on the outside to escape from the maximum security prison. And maybe the inside, too."
The newsman glanced at the notes on his iPhone and looked back up. "Lamont was to be executed for the brutal kidnapping, torture, rape, and murder of an eleven-year-old girl. She was walking home from the grocery store—"
Steele turned off the television and shook his head. What was the country coming to? Terrorism. Mass shootings in schools and other places. Murder rampant. Rape. Some would say he had done awful things on his Special Ops missions, but they were done for the love of his country. To protect the people even if they didn't know they needed protection. And he did it without them ever knowing he had. It was never for the glory. It was the right thing to do.