Striking Out In The Mountains (Greene Mountain Boys)

“Ha!” Henry says, bent over laughing in our squad car. “I gotta watch that again.”

I lean back in my seat and stare out at the dark quiet street as Henry rewinds the video on his phone. The overweight cat on the screen leaps off the table again, trying to get to the top of the refrigerator, but he misses completely and takes all the pictures and magnets down with him.

Henry chuckles as he watches it a few more times. I’m just staring out the window, wondering what Mr. Hot Fire Chief is up to at this moment. I can’t believe I have a date with him. I can’t believe he’s into me.

Where is he going to take me? What am I going to wear?

It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date. I don’t even remember the protocols. Do I meet him there? Does he pick me up? Who pays? Do we split the check? The more I think about it, the more I’m starting to freak out.

And this slow-ass night isn’t helping. I have nothing to do but watch cat videos on Henry’s phone and let my mind race.

I stretch out my legs as I look around the dark town. It’s two in the morning, and I haven’t seen anyone in hours. I swear this whole town has a ten PM bedtime.

It’s so different from Chicago. The nights out there would fly by. Sometimes I wouldn’t even have time to go to the bathroom. I’d blink and my shift was over.

We’d be racing around town, constantly dealing with one emergency after another. A car crash, a robbery, a fight, a mugging—sometimes all within the same hour. It was non-stop.

I never had to fire my gun in the seven years I was on the force over there, but I did get physical many times. No criminal I’ve ever met wants to be put into handcuffs and they make you work for it.

“Check this one out,” Henry says, chuckling as he shows me a close-up video of a cat smacking its owner’s head.

I sigh as I glance at the clock. Four hours to go. This is brutal. I wanted something a little quieter than Chicago, but not this dead. I did enjoy the occasional adrenaline rush from time to time.

“Can we put the phone away?” I ask with a sigh.

This man has an insatiable appetite for cat videos. It’s a little much.

“Sure,” he says, turning his phone off. “Want to play word association?”

“Not really,” I say as I look out the window. All I’m thinking about is Graham. Henry can say any word he wants and I’ll associate it back to the hot fire chief.

Drink. Graham’s rippling six pack.

Donkey. Graham’s muscular ass.

Banana. Graham’s big thick cock.

“How’s the pool installation going?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from anything sexual.

It doesn’t work. Now I’m thinking of a shirtless Graham stepping out of a pool in slow motion, water droplets sliding down his muscular chest.

“These guys are so incompetent,” Henry says, shaking his head. “They did a shit job of leveling the soil and now…”

He goes on, but I tune him out. My mind goes right back to Graham and our date. What can I wear?

I never know what to wear on dates. I don’t really look good in dresses. My frame is too broad and blocky. I always feel so uncomfortable in them. They make my shoulders and arms look massive. My aunt says I should stop lifting such heavy weights, but when your job (and your life) can depend on it, it’s hard not to. Plus, I love lifting heavy.

“Are you even listening?” Henry says, stopping his story.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding enthusiastically.

“What did I just say?”

“You were talking about the pool.”noveldrama

“What about the pool?”

I stare at him with my eyebrows up. I got nothing.

“I’m watching my cat videos again,” he says, looking annoyed as he turns on his phone.

“No,” I say, unable to take it anymore. It’s been three hours of cat videos. A woman can only take so much. “Sorry, I’m just a little distracted.”

“About what?”

I take a deep breath. “Nothing really.”

“Yeah, right,” he says with a chuckle. “Is it about Chief West?”

I whip my head around and look at him in shock. “How did you know?”

“The whole town knows,” he says with a laugh. “You guys were practically making out on the pitcher’s mound.”

“We were not!” I say as my cheeks start burning.

“What’s going on between you two?”

“Nothing,” I say, way too fast.

Henry frowns at me. “Come on, Cara.”

“What?”

“We’ve been sitting here for eight hours a night for three weeks talking about our favorite Golden Girls episodes and arguing about the best kind of potato chip and now you finally got something good to say and you’re holding out on me? No way. Give me the tea.”

“The tea?”

“The tea.”

I take a deep breath and exhale long and hard. “Fine. We’re going out tomorrow.”

“On a date?”

“Yeah. Do you know him?”

“Everyone knows Graham,” he says with a shrug. “He’s never been married, but lots of women have tried. We all kind of wondered what his type was.”

“You never found out?”

He looks me up and down in my uniform and smiles. “I guess we found out today.”

The radio crackles on and the dispatcher’s voice fills the car.

“Hey, Henry, I got Marv on the line. He’s got a few bikers acting up at The Cracked Barrel. I’ll patch him in.”

“Hey, Marv,” Henry says as he starts the car and throws it into drive. “What’s going on?”

“These fucking maniacs are causing all sorts of shit,” he shouts. It sounds like a rodeo is happening behind him. “Better bring Emmanuel.”

“He’s sleeping.”

“Then wake him up! These boys are rowdy.”

Something breaks in the background and Marv curses. “Hey!” he shouts to someone in the bar. “You touch that again and you’ll be picking your teeth up off the floor!”

The line goes dead as he hangs up.

“Damn,” Henry mutters as he pulls out his phone while racing down the empty street. “Biggest brawl of the year and my knee is throbbing from softball.”

He thumbs through the phone and hands it to me.

“What’s this?” I say as I look at it. “Oh, hell no!”

He’s calling Emmanuel at two in the morning. That brute is grumpy as hell in the afternoon. I don’t want to be the one waking him up in the middle of the night.

I drop the phone on Henry’s lap like it’s a hot potato. He grabs it and shoves it back into my hands while it rings.

“I’m not talking to him!” I say in a panic. “He already hates me.”

“He does not.”

“He’s a grumpy beast!”

“Exactly,” Henry says. “A grumpy beast who’s an all-star at kicking bikers’ asses. He lives near the bar. He’ll probably be there before us.”

“Oh shit,” I mutter as I put the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” he grunts in a deep hoarse voice.

“Hi, Emmanuel,” I say, my voice coming out extra chipper. “It’s me. Cara.”

Another grunt.

“There’s a big brawl at The Cracked Barrel Saloon,” I say. “Some bikers are causing trouble.”

“Bikers?” he grunts, his voice a little more perky. “I’ll meet you there.”

There’s a click and then the dial tone.

“He’s coming,” I say as I turn off Henry’s phone and put it in the drink holder between us.

“I hope three is enough,” Henry says as he turns the lights on and speeds onto the highway.

We arrive a few seconds later, pulling into the parking lot of the seediest bar for miles.

“Holy shit,” I whisper when I see the chaotic scene unraveling before us. There are dozens of huge bikers battling it out with fists, beer bottles, and clubs.

This is bad even for Chicago. And we’re vastly outnumbered.

Our car skids to a stop in the parking lot, our headlights illuminating the worst brawl I’ve ever seen.

“Welcome to the seedy side of the Greene Mountains,” Henry says with a grin. “Time to earn that meager paycheck.”