The Erie Incident

By Timothy Williams

In this sequel to "Favor For a Favor," John Smith finds out first-hand what it means to work for Reflex Engineering.

Back at his home in Flagstaff, Arizona, John receives his first assignment. Under the assumed identity of Jerrod Maloney, he has to find out who is manufacturing and selling Krokodil, a dangerous street drug, in a small town in northern Ohio. Sent in alone, with no formal training, he has to rely on his wit and instinct to complete his objective.

Meanwhile, his personal life has had a major development. For the first time since his mid-twenties, John has a serious girlfriend. London-born and New Zealand-raised, university professor Nicola St. Vincent is every bit as independent and bull-headed as John is. Their relationship is still new to both of them, adding to the challenge of holding it together while John is away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Timothy Williams
• Release date: Jul 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463882696

Timothy Williams

Tim Williams was born in Sandusky, Ohio, and lives in Falkland, North Carolina, with his six cats: Diane, Abby, Lily (Bug), Maggie, Buddy, and Sophie. In his spare time, he enjoys trips to the Outer Banks and wrenching on old 4x4 trucks.

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Chapter 1

The morning clouds had mostly cleared as we swung our rucksacks onto our backs from the bed of my truck, parked on the edge of the Greasy Spoon trail. I had come down to Sedona with Nicola, a friend of mine who was a geology professor at Northern Arizona University. We were celebrating her thirty-fifth birthday, which had come the previous week. The goal was to get ourselves as far away from other people as possible, and thus far we had done a good job of it. Nicola wanted to study rock formations that had seen as little human contact as possible. I, on the other hand, was just along for the ride.

It was a few minutes before eleven in the morning, and the temperature was starting to climb. The forecast was for sunny skies and a high around ninety. I didn't mind the heat in Arizona, because it was dry. The air felt light, and the breeze was cool against my face. I had recently spent a couple of weeks in Eastern North Carolina, where the humidity made the air feel like breathing through a wet towel.

How many miles can I get out of you today, love? Nicola asked as she buckled her waist strap.

I had to remind myself that she called everyone she knew 'love.'

How many can you handle? I asked.

Well, aren’t you precious, then? she mused, taking the last sip of water from the bottle in her hand and tossing it into the bed of the truck. Don't be having a cardiac episode on me, pretty boy.

Talking trash was in her nature. I had met Nicola a month and a half earlier, standing behind her in line at the bank. We hit it off; the attraction was almost magnetic, but neither of us had time for a relationship. We were both drifters. She would take off for a couple weeks at a time and come back with pictures and stories from her travels. I did plenty of my own traveling, when the mood hit me.

She was born in England and had been raised in New Zealand. Her mother was from Bangladesh and her father was Irish. They were fairly affluent people, but she had insisted on paying for her own school and travel. Nicola had the dark hair and skin from her mother's side of the family; her Irish blood mainly showed through her temper, other than her crystal blue eyes.

Aside from the college, she volunteered at an animal rescue organization, as well as taking the occasional modeling gig. It was rare that she had a full day with no prior commitments, so I was prepared to squeeze as much time with her out of the day as I could.

We hiked up a scrubby hillside to the top of a ridge, where we could see the evidence of past geologic activity, according to Nicola. She was taking pictures and videos, giving me an impromptu lecture on tectonics and erosion, how to tell whether it was wind or water that shaped a particular rock formation, and so on.

I understood most of what she was saying, but I wasn't one to geek out on that sort of thing. Mechanical engineering was more my style. I liked to solve problems, rather than to simply answer questions. I was mostly enjoying her company and trying to come up with intelligent replies to what she was saying.

Probably the biggest point of friction between us was that she had made academics her life, and I had never attended even a day of school beyond getting my high school diploma. I had been to a couple of trade schools and taken certification courses, but my G.I. Bill sat unused, mostly because I didn't feel like dealing with the government to use it. I thought the importance society put on a college degree undermined the usefulness of having one. Too many people were going into serious debt to get a degree that didn't make them any more valuable to an employer than they were before.

Other than the academic disagreement, we got along great. We had both spent time in Japan, although she was in Tokyo and I was assigned to Marine Corps Air Station Iwakuni. I was nineteen when I went, and she was almost thirty. We both listened to classic rock and a little bit of country, although her little bit of country was different from mine. We had similar taste in vehicles. I drove a decade-old four-wheel drive Nissan, and she had an even older FJ62 model Toyota Land Cruiser. She had let me drive it a few times, and it was an absolute beast. My truck had the edge in fuel economy, though, so we had driven it to Sedona.

I paused at the top of a rise to let her catch up with me. Sweat was beading on her forehead and she was rubbing a cramp in her side as she reached the top of the rise.

How many miles can I get out of you today, love? I asked her with a crooked grin.

Oh, fuck off, John, she said. I'm fine. I've just spent too much of the summer break drinking wine and streaming those stupid-ass action movies you turned me onto. And how the hell are you wearing blue jeans and doing this?

I took a drink from my water bottle. I could tell that I was already beginning to get dehydrated, but I had brought enough water for the day. I just needed to get better about actually drinking it.

My jeans are protecting my legs from the scratches you're collecting, I said, pointing to the red scratch marks she had above her boots. Besides, wearing my boots with shorts would make me look like one of those emo kids in your classes with the long bangs and the eyeliner.

Well, I suppose I'll be seeing them again soon enough, she said, grabbing my water bottle and taking a drink. Fall semester is right around the corner, after all. Next week is August, already.

You did bring your own water, didn't you? I asked.

Of course I did, she said, handing it back to me. I've gone hiking before. But it was easier to steal yours than to dig for mine. Now, come along, pokey.

She set off along the top of the rise a little way before she turned and headed northwest. I followed a few steps behind her, wondering how it was that no one had put a ring on her finger yet. It occurred to me that maybe she didn't want to be tied down like that, any more than I did.

We came over the top of another rise and looked down into the valley below us. I could just barely see Greasy Spoon Tank in the distance. We could have taken the truck a lot closer, but Nicola had said it was more about the journey than the destination. The tanks in the desert were reservoirs dug by ranchers over a hundred years ago to collect drinking water for their cattle. Why that would ever be a point of interest was beyond me.

As we descended into the valley, I was looking ahead, trying to find the best line to get us there. I didn't realize Nicola had stopped until I nearly ran into her. She was frozen in place, staring straight ahead. I matched her posture to see what had caught her eye.

About twenty yards in front of us, I could see a large, tan, furry body with paws the size of my hands. It was a mountain lion, stretched out in the sun. I knew they were around, but I had never been that close to one. I had heard plenty of stories about how lethal these big cats could be, but I was awestruck by how beautiful this one was. She was stretched out on her back, with her front legs drawn up, occasionally pawing at the air. I couldn't help but think she looked like a giant housecat. She suddenly sensed our presence and snapped over into a crouching position. When she saw us, her ears flattened out to the sides of her head as she snarled at us.

Oh, fuck, Nicola said, barely above a whisper.

On the wilderness survival shows I had seen on TV, they said to open your coat and yell a lot to appear as big and threatening as possible to scare a mountain lion away. The problem with that was, it was assuming I had a coat. In late July in the Arizona desert, I did not. I was gonna need another plan.

Oh, hi, kee-cat, I said, as non-threateningly as possible. You're fine, go back to sleep, we're not gonna bother you.

'Kee-cat?' Nicola said. John, that's a fucking cougar!

You got a lot of room to talk, I said, trying to calm her down. Thirty-five year-old single lady.

Oh, eat my box, she said.

I had never heard her say anything so openly vulgar before. She was usually better at passive aggressive, backhanded compliments.

Keep that attitude, and you're gonna get more than that eaten, I said.

Just tell me how we're going to get out of this, she said, as the big cat snarled and hissed, moving forward ever so slightly.

Get behind me, I told Nicola, putting my right arm in front of her. She stepped left, moving directly behind me.

The mountain lion continued to snarl, moving the remains of what appeared to have once been a javelina behind her and swiping the air with her paw.

Open the middle pouch on my pack and get my gun out, I said.

I felt her tugging at the buckle and I stuck my left hand back for her to hand me the gun. I had brought my .45 caliber Model 1911 handgun along in case we encountered a rattlesnake or a pissed-off javelina. It would provide plenty of stopping power.

Now get out of here, I said, once I felt the familiar weight of the gun in my hand. And watch your damn step. Retrace our path back to the truck and wait for me. If I'm not there twenty minutes after you get there, go find help. There's a spare key in the toolbox.

You're not going to kill her, are you? she asked me.

Not unless she makes me, I said, not taking my eyes off of the mountain lion. I'm gonna hold her attention until you're safe, then I'm gonna back away slowly and hope for the best. Now hurry up and go.

I listened as Nicola's footsteps faded away. The big cat paced back and forth in front of one particular area, which I finally realized was a den. She was protecting cubs. I knew she wouldn't try to follow Nicola as long as I stayed put, but I suddenly liked my own odds a little less.

I shifted the gun to my right hand, cocked the hammer, and glanced around for a big rock to lean against. My pack was starting to feel heavy. I found a suitable rock about six feet to my right and slowly moved over in front of it. The mountain lion watched my every move, snarling and grunting, pacing in front of her den.

I leaned back against the rock and bent forward at the waist to center the weight of my pack over my feet.

Are you a good kee-mom? I asked in a singsong voice, similar to what my friend Jason used when he was talking to his two cats. You love your babies?

She stopped snarling and her grunting became less pronounced. She kept pacing, but her circles grew wider and she would lift her nose and sniff as she passed the point closest to me.

After a few passes, she put her ears back upright, although she would lay them back to occasionally hiss at me again.

Oh, good kee-cat, I would say every time she got closer. Good kee-cat.

She got bold, sauntering right up to me and sniffing my legs from my boots to my knees. She turned around and walked back over to the den, then came back toward me. Rearing up on her hind legs and using her tail for balance, she sniffed the air three feet from my face. I was doing everything I could to control my adrenaline. She lost her balance and caught herself by putting her paw out and bracing against my leg. I could feel the weight and warmth of her paw, and the irregular trembling of each toe as she made sure my leg was a stable enough surface. I tried not to tremble as she continued to sniff me over. I mimicked the sniffing action, trying to convey that I was as curious about her as she was about me. Her face was so close to mine that I could see her pupils dilate as she shifted her gaze around.

With a final huff, she pushed off from my leg and returned to the entrance to her den and sat down, still watching me. I started slowly making my way to the trail and out of the clearing. With each step I took, my breathing began to return to normal.

I had taken a bullet to the back of my shoulder two months earlier, and I hadn't been as scared for my life as I had been just then. As I walked further away from the mountain lion's den, a euphoric feeling came over me, like I was glad to be alive. I picked up my pace and caught up with Nicola, still half a mile away from the truck. She was muttering something to herself as she walked.

Hey, I said. Wait up.

Oh, hi, psychopath, she said, turning around. Do you feel better now, big, bad lion tamer? Are you going to tell all of your friends how you stared down the savage beast, whilst I shat my pants and ran for my life?

You know I don’t have a whole lot of friends to tell, I said.

Even one would be too many, in this case, she said.

I saved your life, I said. She was protecting cubs. We're lucky to be alive.

I could have just dropped my pack and ran, she said. She would have killed you. So, in fact, I saved you.

She poked me in the chest with her finger. I thought about it, and she had a good point. I tried not to smile, in case she really was upset with me, but it was no use. I cracked up and she punched me on the left arm.

What is the matter with you, John? she asked, her voice breaking. Doesn't your life matter to you? You stayed back there, in the face of a horrible death, to make sure I got out? What makes my life worth any more than yours?

Her eyes were wet with tears. I hadn't known her that long, but long enough to know she was more likely to cry out of frustration than sadness. Still, I was sure I had made the right call.

Would you rather I had flipped a fucking coin? I asked. I had a gun, and less exposed flesh than you. It wasn't because you're a woman, or that I don't care whether I live or die. I made a decision.

Well, you don't have to be such a knight in shining fucking armor, she said, giving up and putting her arms around my waist and resting her head on my chest.

Her pack was in the way of me putting my arms around her shoulders, so not knowing what else to do, I rested my hands on her head and neck. She took a deep breath and blew it out.

OK, well, it's a little warm out for all of this, then, she said as she pushed away from me. What do you suppose happened to that cactus over there?

I looked in the direction she was pointing. A prickly pear cactus was green and lively on one side, while the other side was almost black and mostly lying on the ground. We walked over to it. There were no signs of the ground being disturbed around it. After a closer look, I found what looked like a scorch mark on the green side.

Lightning strike, from the look of it, I said, pointing out the scorched spot.

Tragic, yet beautiful, Nicola said. Will you take my picture next to it? I want it for my portfolio.

I'm not really a good photographer, I said, dropping my pack. But I think I can give it a shot.

For fuck’s sake, John, you find your target in the viewfinder and push the damn button, she said, wriggling out of her pack and digging her camera out.

It was an older 35mm film camera, and I tried to remember the last time I had used a camera that wasn't part of a cell phone, much less one that wasn't digital. She handed it to me and guided me into a position she said provided the proper light and depth. I went along with whatever she told me. She walked back over by the cactus and stretched her arms out above her head.

Now, whenever I hold a pose, you take a picture, got it? she said.

OK, I said, pushing the shutter button.

There was a click and a whir, as the shutter snapped and the frame advanced. She moved around the cactus, striking different poses. Most of them looked to me like they were either ballet or yoga poses, but I was basing that on my knowledge of both subjects, which was nearly nonexistent.

She pulled her hair out of the bun it had been in and let it fall. I had never realized it was so long, nearly waist-length. As beautiful as it was, my first thought was about what a pain in the ass it must have been to maintain. She proceeded to repeat most of the poses with her hair down. Like she had instructed me, I clicked another photo each time she stopped moving.

She turned her back to me and pulled her shirt off, followed by her bra. She turned to me and posed twice, then divided her hair into each hand and pulled it down the center of her chest. I didn't realize I was staring so hard. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before, but seeing her exposed in the middle of the desert like that somehow felt more intimate than it had in my own bedroom.

Take the damn picture, John, she said. I don't want some random arsehole to come by and see me out here topless.

Shit, a month ago I was a random arsehole, I said, clicking away.

She picked up her cast-off clothing and walked toward me. I didn't know if I should still be taking pictures or not, but I snapped a few off just to be safe. She got directly in front of me and took the camera out of my hand. Holding the camera in one hand and her shirt and bra in the other, she threw her arms around my neck and looked up at me.

Well, now, you're a very particular arsehole, she said, pulling my face down to her level and kissing my lips. As in, mine.

Not that I'm complaining, but I thought we weren't doing the relationship thing, I said.

And whom, exactly, did either of us think we were bullshitting? she asked, kissing me again.

She dropped her clothes and camera to the sand at our feet. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her as she ran her fingers through my hair, then down my back, then around to my belt buckle.

Wait, I said, taking hold of her by the shoulders. Really? Here? Now?

What would you prefer? she asked, giving me a doe-eyed look as she trailed her fingers up my chest and down my arms.

Make me work for it, I said, touching her face. Give me a chance to earn this, to deserve you.

Honestly, John, you saved me from a fucking puma, she said. The bloke I lost my virginity to paid for dinner and let me wear his jacket, when it wasn't even cold outside.

She picked up her shirt and pulled it back on, then picked up her bra and handed it to me.

Hold onto this until you feel like you've 'earned this,' like you 'deserve me,' she said, swinging her pack back onto her shoulders and walking away, toward the truck.

I picked up my pack and followed her, unlocking the truck as she dumped her pack over the tailgate. She got inside as I was placing my pack beside hers. After I climbed behind the wheel and put my seatbelt on, I started the engine to get the air conditioner going. She finally looked back at me.

What? she asked, sounding irritated.

Listen to me, I said. I don't know if your personal success came so easily to you that you take it for granted or what, but you're an amazing woman. Hearing you talk about the places you've been, or, hell, even the passion you put into your geology lectures, I feel way out of my league when I'm with you. Like everything I've ever done in my life has only afforded me the opportunity to be around you. When you strip off and throw yourself at me, I don't feel like I've done anything to deserve that yet. I feel like I'm taking advantage of you. You should never let anyone, especially me, take advantage of you.

Her eyes welled up with tears. You need to take me down off of this goddamn pedestal, John, she said. If you really knew me, you wouldn't hold me in such high regard. Do you know I was a stripper in Australia for a year? I'm not proud of my past. I can do good things now, but we all have skeletons in our closets.

I know,