Hunted Man

By Charles McRaven

Colin Barnes is a down-on-his-luck builder and things couldn't get any worse. But they're about to.

 Colin Barnes is a top contractor, doing high-end restorations for appreciative, well-heeled clients. Until something goes mysteriously and devastatingly wrong. He loses everything, and powerful forces are crushing him. It begins with harassment, then turns deadly as the body count rises. There's hope when he meets the right woman, but even that gets sabotaged. Who's after him? Who wants him shut down? Who wants him killed?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 16, 2024
• ISBN: 9781590886304

Book preview

Hunted Man

The gun was steadying on Colin’s heart. He could see the ends of the spiral grooves inside the barrel; it looked huge. He needed a real diversion. Now. The adrenaline was surging. Mann’s eyes had gone hard; they said ‘checkmate.’

"But you don't get the girl, Howard, Amelie spoke, almost desperately. Even if this insanity works, you’ll never have me."

You know, my dear, I’ve warned you about interrupting. The eyes had flickered. And having you is the least of the difficulties I’ll face...

Oh, God! What’s that? Colin gasped. His eyes had gone to the window beyond Mann as he went tense. Yeah, there could be a cop there...

The eyes shifted again, Mann half-turned, the gun wavered as Colin lunged sideways, reaching for the Estwing hatchet. As his fingers closed on the handle, he had already shifted his weight, was beginning the throw. Amelie clutched for the gun in that instant—not fast enough. The action slowed in Colin’s mind, her reaching; his own arm moving, too slowly; Mann’s eyes back on him, the gun swinging again. If it could all just come together right...

But then the world exploded in a thunder of shock and flaming light. The Estwing, off-course, ricocheted off the log wall.

And Colin Barnes felt himself falling into blackness.

Hunted Man

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Charles McRaven

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A Wings ePress, Inc.

Mystery/Mature Romance Novel

Wings ePress, Inc.

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Edited by: Jeanne Smith

Copy Edited by: Brian Hatfield

Executive Editor: Jeanne Smith

Cover Artist: Trisha FitzGerald-Jung

Pvpproductionns

Freeepik

Crosshairs: Pixabay

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All rights reserved

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

www.wingsepress.com

Copyright © 2023 by: Charles McRaven

ISBN 978-1-59088-073-9

Published In the United States Of America

Wings ePress, Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS 67114

Dedication

For my fellow builders and the challenges they face.

One

The sound was a loud smack as the bullet drilled his truck’s closed passenger-side window. Then instantly, the chopped thunder of the rifle itself, as bits of glass flew from the round hole, glinting in the sun. Colin dropped the stoneworking tools he’d been carrying and dived under the truck. The shot had come from the road, beyond some trees. He was out of sight behind the stone pile. And he was scared.

Hunter, wild shot, but that’ll getcha killed like any other ...Wait, no hunting now—end of April, season’s all over. What...?

A second shot targeted a bucket full of water near his wheelbarrow and exploded it in shards of white plastic and sheets of water geysering up.

Whoa! No accident that time. Somebody had him pinned down. Some crazy. Drunk? It was daylight, Friday, people around...

Beyond the trees, the rifleman moved quickly back to his vehicle, laid the gun on the back seat, covered it with his coat, got in and drove hurriedly away. He was certain none of the neighbors had seen him, distant as they were. He was tingling with adrenaline. To have held Colin Barnes’ life literally in his hands had been a powerful, heady sensation: completely his choice whether the builder lived or died.

Colin heard the engine start, and the car—truck?—race away on the road, tires screeching. It was gone before he could get a look through the trees. He lay long minutes more, his heart pumping.

I’ve been shot at. Some fool with a rifle took out my window. If I’d been in there... But no, he scored that bucket. Window, too. Not gunning for me or he’d have had me before, easy, up on that scaffold. Now, just whatthehell is going on? Some crazy warning? About what? Man, this is heavy stuff. Serious stuff.

The Virginia spring sunshine spangled the ground through the big trees that surrounded the site, lending a peaceful, wholly benign, air to it. So foreign to deadly rifle bullets, Colin thought, the harsh intrusion that so violated the scene.

He crawled out, staying behind the rocks, reached, got the truck door open, his cell phone off the seat. Punched 911. Told what had happened; gave the location.

Sir, are you being fired on now? the dispatcher asked.

No, I heard a car drive away, but I’m staying down for a while. Don’t know what this could be all about...

I’m radioing now. Officers will be there in minutes. Stay hidden if you can.

Yeah, stay hidden, betcher ass. Car leaving could be just a diversion. But just who in hell would take shots at him? Kate? She couldn’t hit that bucket, the window. No, this was somebody who could shoot, or he thought it was. But why? Why me? Who wants to warn me? I’m just an ordinary guy, down on his luck...

He racked his brain for enemies, but could come up with none who’d try to shoot him. Surely none of the carpenters he’d had to let go ...some were now his main competition. Sid Garner’s name came to mind, but no, he’d been gone for years. And yeah, Sid was a weasel, but surely... Hey, construction was competitive, but not to get shot over.

Or maybe it was just a couple wild shots, somebody shooting at cans out on the road. This was a little way out, but there were houses. And why the burning rubber to get out of there?

No answers. He let his mind tumble over the rotten way things had gone lately, waiting for the police. Losing the big Connally job, that timber frame, the whole months-long bottoming-out of his business. And now, getting shot at. It all had an unreal cast to it; surely to God he’d wake up from this.

The two county police officers checked out the shattered window and the remains of the bucket.

High velocity, the one named Amory theorized. Rifle slug had to be traveling fast to blow up that bucket of water. Low velocity would’ve put just a hole in it; water would’ve stopped it inside.

Good thing you weren’t in the truck, sir, the other cop said. Colin had already forgotten his name. You were just leaving?

Yeah. Just going to the truck. Been laying stone here today. Anybody’d wanted to hit me, he could’ve done it any time, I guess.

Most likely wild shots then. We’ll check out the roadside. Probably shooting at cans or something. You’re lucky, you know?

I guess. But this house can be seen through those trees. And there are others on down. Pretty dangerous, shooting a rifle here.

For sure. And the shooter probably looked, after the fact, saw what was here. Why he left in a hurry. We’ll see if any neighbors saw anything. Surely heard the shots. Well, we’ll get back to you if we find anything. They took his name and number, and headed out the drive.

After they’d left, Colin found himself agreeing that those had probably been just stray shots. But he still shivered at the memory. They’d hit 30 feet apart, though; If a shooter had been aiming at a beer can, say, seemed the bullets would’ve hit in a closer pattern. Ricochet, maybe. Well. Got me jumpy. Hmm. Maybe that was the idea...

By the time he left, Colin had decided not to mention the stray gunshots, if that’s what they’d been. No need to sound paranoid to Jean at the office, he guessed, and Kate would think he was crazy. Not that what Kate thought mattered that much anymore. But he drove around to where he figured the shots had come from. See the new house easy through the trees. If there’d been a target or something set up there, the cops had taken it. Well, just some crazy...

~ * ~

The worst of it had started that morning with the early call. Things had been bad, but they were about to get worse. A lot worse.

It wasn’t so much the words themselves, he realized later after he’d had a chance to reflect, "We’ve decided to go with a more ...professional company. Sorry"—was the way the hotshot young builder had put it. Like, whatever made you think I’d work with you? I’m the general on this plum job, and I’ll decide who does what. You’re just a damn sub, anyway...

You pup. I was contracting before you were born. You and your damn prep-school education. And I don’t sub to anybody, damn you ...Or not ordinarily.

But well, he’d needed that job. Needed it too much, so he’d finally responded, maybe the fourth time the old couple had called, this round. What’d it been, five damn years? They’d picked his brain about log cabins and timber frames and stonework—all his specialties—planning their retirement place here in Virginia way in advance.

Bugged hell out of him, they had. Till he’d sworn to turn this one down if they ever did get serious. Sorry, I won’t be able to get to it, after all. Better see who else is out there ...Lots of other work, when you’d spent twenty-five years specializing, building a reputation.

Only now there wasn’t any other work. He’d tried too hard for that big Connally job—it’d been so right, the dream contract—and let other projects he might have landed go by. Hell, it’d have been two years’ work, and close to home. And that slick Garner had slipped in under the door like an oily rag, and the job was gone.

Little Sid Garner. Couldn’t figure which end of the nail to hit when Colin had hired him as a helper. What’d he done all those years before construction? Couldn’t remember. Smooth-talked his way, to cover up what he’d never be able to do...

Ah, screw him, Colin thought. Damn Connallys probably won’t pay, anyway. Northern big-bucks. Let Garner sweat ’em. No, that’d be sour grapes, he guessed.

But this last turndown... it’d seemed the phone had exuded a sickening of the air around it, a corrupting smell almost, at the words. Didn’t matter to the boy-wonder Sykes that the old couple had wanted Colin to do at least the core timber frame. Wanted him from the start. But they’d turned the whole job over to Sykes, and that was Colin’s own fault, maybe.

Timing.

And it’d finally come to groveling, so dammit, he’d groveled. And Tom Sykes had put him down. The reason was still a mystery; the job should have been in the bag. Could have become a territorial thing, he guessed. Maybe an instant dislike: those things happened.

Didn’t like you either, preppy. Supercilious snot. But I sucked it up. Needed to do that timber frame. Bad. And now I gotta lay my guys off—no way around it.

At his end of the phone, young Tom Sykes had felt good. The owners had argued for Colin Barnes, and he’d really had no reason not to use him. Until that call he’d had. Maybe just a sore competitor, but the construction grapevine worked; you had to credit accusations. Where there was smoke, there had to be a little fire, and this job was too big to take any risks on. And Barnes must have a lot of other work, the way the old couple had praised him. Just not on his job...

Colin had always found work. Back when he was just another builder, there’d been jobs. Maybe some with rotten sills and disintegrating brick foundations, rusted pipes—all the nasty stuff, but it was better than starving.

And after he’d started the historic stuff, old plantation houses and cabins and even a covered bridge ...well, there hadn’t been much competition, then. Weren’t too many guys in this age of throwaway housing could use a broadaxe or adze, or who did mortise-and-tenon work. Or who were really good stonemasons.

So the business had grown. Kate had been able to hire office help. And get into all those clubs and civic things she did. And Colin’s pickup truck wasn’t always twenty years old and on its way to the junkyard. It’d been good, looking back on it now. Kids gone to camp, music lessons, stuff. Yeah, good.

And he’d finally built up just the right crew. That’d always been a problem. Had to train all the guys, no matter they knew sheetrock and plywood. You work with 200-year-old wood, you can’t screw it up and just grab another board. And if a carpenter couldn’t get that reverence for the wood, or a mason that respect for the stone, he was working for the wrong man, that was all.

And they’d come and gone, all those years. Hell, the competition now was all ex-employees. Garner was only one of dozens, damn them. Take what Colin had taught them, then steal his business. White, Carson ...Who else? Simmons ...

Ah, hell, couldn’t hold that against a man, wanting his own business. Anybody with drive wanted out on his own. Couple years, three, four, and they thought they were ready to burn up the world.

And some of them were good. Sloppy ones didn’t last, got weeded out. Except Garner...

But down to cases, that morning. It was Friday, and these last paychecks were coming out of the sale of Colin’s best truck. Last year it’d seemed the thing to do, buying the Ford F-450 diesel. Gave the boys a lift, having new wheels. Move four tons of stone, or the gooseneck trailer with a load of beams, or the tractor on it, the six speeds handling the weight like it wasn’t even there. He’d hated to let the truck go. Kind of prophetic, he thought, way things were going now.

Well, maybe this stone spec house would sell. Kate hadn’t wanted him to start that, with the other work they’d had last year.

When will you have time to work on it? With this Zander job, we’re booked ahead nearly a year. You’re spreading yourself too thin, Colin.

Maybe not. There’ll always be windows open up, postponements; you know that. And there’ll be Saturdays I can hit along on it. Any of the boys wants to make up a day, we can work there then. Or go to four ten-hour days, have Fridays. We can handle it.

Seemed like a good idea, anyway. The fact was, he’d really wanted to build the house. Stone, old beamwork, nice location. Nobody hanging over his shoulder, making changes, bitching about costs; that was the real reason.

Doing creative work was a joy; dealing with flaky customers wasn’t. Colin and the crew never got bored building stone arches or fitting tight mortise joints. Beat hell out of the plastic, pop-together houses most builders were doing. And lately, there’d been more appreciation for historic restoration and, finally, a willingness on the part of the yuppies to pay for it.

But now, what the hell was he gonna do about work? They’d finish what they could get to today on the spec house, maybe a couple feet more stone on that west wall, and then he’d have to lay the crew off. Best crew he’d ever had. Just what had shot down that timberframe job? He couldn’t guess, but it was gone, and there was something weird about that, like somebody was maybe after him or something. Nah, gettin’ paranoid...

Two

What I need is a combo thing, a way to hit Barnes hard and eliminate some more competition at the same time. So who else is in my way? The plotter went over other contractors doing the kind of specialty Colin did, and remembered Ted Simmons, who'd scored a sweet job with a low bid back in the winter. One-man low overhead outfit, but he'd been successful till he'd started hitting the bottle too much.

And who'd miss him, really? Wife left him, no kids. He's not a real enemy, but I believe there's a way I can tie Barnes to a little accident that might happen to Simmons. Or even a big one: not like I won't go all the way. Dial the pressure up on Barnes, no matter what it takes, and I'll be well on my way to my goal.

Yes, get onto planning this out...

~ * ~

The boys knew the score, but there was always that fatally unrealistic idea that there was a money tree somewhere (had to be, didn’t there? Since this was a company?), that didn’t ever stop shedding dollars. No such tree. No damn paychecks after today. Daddy’s run dry, go collect unemployment till something breaks, guys.

It was fifteen miles across town out to the spec house, and this might be the last time ...No, that’s crazy thinking. The half-ton pickup rattled some, had a couple dents. It was next in line to be replaced. Was. Well, he’d have to sell it now anyway, pay bills. And no new compound miter saw, either, guys. Hell, Colin didn’t even have this current month’s mortgage payment on his house/office/shop.

Cycles. Business always went in cycles, but this was crazy. Spring, and ordinarily the phone would be humming. Booked for a year ahead? I damn well wish, he thought.

And have to lay Jean off, too. Kate’d have to do the books, get back in the office. She’d bitch about that. Well, let her. Have to tighten up, but even that wasn’t going to do it. No crew, no work. Maybe he could snag a few days’ worth solo, cabin repair or a small stone job. If something good came soon, he could call the boys back. If not, they’d drift off. Couldn’t really blame them.

Damn foolish, betting it all on that Connally job. Shoulda known every bloodhound in this part of the state’d be after it. Wanted it too bad, he guessed. Never want something more’n the other guy wants to give it, get screwed every time.

He wouldn’t tell the crew till lunchtime. Hoped Jean would call on his cell phone to tell him something had come through.

Didn’t happen. Okay, he’d have to face it. Well, give it another hour or two...

What’s eatin’ you, Colin? big Rob MacInnis asked. He was top carpenter, been on board seven years.

No damn work yet, Rob. That timber frame just didn’t happen, don’t know why. Looks like we’ll be down for a few days. Might’s well go for unemployment, men, till we get a break. Hate to say it.

Cain’t we keep on here, boss? This from wiry Hancock Smith, the mason. Shorely you ain’t bone dry yet.

Wish I wasn’t, Han. These checks are the last of the diesel truck money, and I’m gonna hafta sell somethin’ else quick to pay some more bills.

Whattaya think’s happened? Rob puzzled. Any other year, we’d be takin’ on help.

Ups and downs. Guess this Middle East mess has got people freaked out. Somethin’ happens halfway around the world, people stop spendin’ money.

Well, I c’d use some time off, mused Tom, the other carpenter. Wife wants to redo th’ kitchen, an’ I guess we can do it with me workin’ on it free, her check an’ my unemployment. How long you figure we’ll be off, Colin?

Surely not over a couple weeks. Never been more’n that, and not that, last eight, ten years. But you all go on an’ register: could be longer. Hell, the last time I had to sell a truck was maybe fifteen years back, to pay the IRS.

"Oh, there’s some mean bastards, now, Hancock said. Take yer house and yer dog, you git behind." Nods all around.

Yeah, Rob agreed. If I was crazy enough to run for president, all I’d hafta do would be to promise to get rid of th’ IRS, and I’d be in, no matter what.

You couldn’t be president in a country only had one man in it, Rob, Les, the helper joked weakly. Les Jenkins wore a perpetually worried look. He had a flock of kids his wife was home-schooling up at their place in the mountains.

I can’t ’ford to be off, Colin. Lord, my kids eat up ever’thing I make. Can’t you get a loan?

Can’t any of us afford to be off, Les. An’ no, I got loans already due. That’s how I paid for the stuff we been workin’ with. He faced the men.

Like I said, oughta pick up soon. But to be fair, I’d say, good job comes up for you, y’oughta grab it. Hate it if nothin’ shows up, but you boys gotta look out for Number One. Colin stood, closed his lunch box, set it through the window in his pickup. Okay, four hours and he wouldn’t have a crew anymore. Well, do what they could here, then he’d go home, call some other people who might know somebody who needed something built. Or fixed. Anything.

But work slowed as the men clumped, talking in low tones. Twice Rob came over with suggestions.

How ’bout that lady wanted a cabin over in Louisa County, Colin? Hear she bought a piece of land...

Called her, but she says payin’ rent an’ land payments, she’ll hafta wait to start any buildin’.

Oh. Well, been rackin’ the old brain. He turned with a shrug and went back up the scaffolding, where he and Tom were fitting soffits.

Les cornered Colin a little later.

I just wish you’da told us sooner, boss. Not much warnin’. His eye was accusatory.

Kept hopin’, Les. I told you all when I had to sell that truck, things’d have to get better or we’d have to lay off.

Yeah, guess y’did tell us, all right. But unemployment check ain’t gonna cut it for me. Maybe these single boys c’n get by...

You can maybe pick something up, Les, to go with the check they’ll give you. Nothin’ says y’can’t do work for a neighbor or somebody while you’re off.

Maybe so. Wife could work, but leavin’ th’ kids...

Yeah. Well, let’s hope it’s not for long.

But work had slowed so much Colin saw he’d as well let the men go on home. Friday afternoons were bad anyway, and this one was a lot worse.

Go home, guys. We’re not gettin’ much done here. I’ll clean up, put stuff away. Then I’ll go dig for work some more. Call you all if I get somethin’.

Rob was the last to leave. He’d been on the crew for way longer than anybody else.

Damn shame, Colin. Know you been bustin’ ass lookin’, but I guess it just ain’t out there.

Doesn’t seem to be, buddy. Right now, I’d take on anything had nails in it. I have never seen it this slow. Back in the last recession, it got down to one man and me, but we had work.

Cycles, I guess. But th’ subdivision guys are buildin’. He closed the tailgate on his truck.

Are. But none of them wants stone or anything right now, or I’d sub to one of ’em, much as I hate to. Take a chimney or some veneer stone in a heartbeat.

You bet. Well, Colin, Anne’s been after me to take her to the beach, early as it is. She’s got a couple days off, so we’ll go. Anything turns up, I’ll be back, say Wednesday.

Sure, Rob. Give that girl a hug for me. Y’oughta marry her, y’know.

No, been there, done that. She’s okay with our setup. Or I guess she is.

Might surprise you there. Bet she’d jump at it if you asked her.

Yeah, maybe that’s what I’m afraid of.

After the carpenter had left, Colin laid some more stone, but his heart just wasn’t in it. Finally, he made a last tour of the jobsite. Always something left around, tools or a box of nails, or... He noticed the green Porta-john, punched up the office number.

Jeannie, call the company and have ’em pick up the crapper, okay? Anything happenin’?

Just Mrs. Judson. Says somebody backed into the drystone wall, knocked a couple rocks loose.

Damn. How long ago’d we do that job? She didn’t like for him to swear.

Looked it up. Almost two years.

Then it’s outta warranty. How bad?

She says just a stone or two. That could mean two minutes’ work or all day, couldn’t it?

Yeah. He glanced at his watch. Tell her I’ll check by before I go home. Be there soon. See what it’ll take.

Now, don’t do a thing free, Colin. You know how you are...

Yeah, well, hafta see. Listen, Jeannie, Kate talk to you?

About layoff? Yeah. That sucks.

Does. You think of anything else we can sell to pay your wages?

We got so many payables, any dollars you can get oughta go there. I can find a job somewhere.

Don’t wanta lose you. Can you make it on unemployment for a couple weeks? Till somethin’ shows?

May not be just a couple weeks, she pointed out. No reason for a slowdown now, and it could be a long one.

Don’t talk like that. You been here six years, and just as sure’s you start anywhere else...

Let’s hope. I’ll come in Monday anyway, show Kate just where we are. Pay me when you can.

Thanks, girl. You’re the best. I’d thought Kate’d been checking things out before today. We talked about it.

Well, didn’t happen. See if you can talk the Judsons into more work. See you.

Yeah, more work. Hard enough to get ’em to pay, last time. They’d added 50% to the original job, and couldn’t understand why it was higher. Thank God for written change orders.

It won’t cost more, will it? He mimicked the woman’s nasal voice now, putting tools away.

Bet your ass it’ll cost more, lady. You contracted for a two-foot wall; you changed it to a three-foot wall. Shoulda charged you even more; maybe keep Jeannie another week if I had. Well, that’s water over the damn dam now. See how bad you’ve bumped the rocks...

Then those rifle shots had come.

~ * ~

His nerves had settled by the time he drove up to the Judson house. Trying to put the stray gunfire out of his mind. Have to get another truck window from a junkyard: all he could afford. Keep it rolled down, nobody’d notice...

Hello, Colin. Missed you around here. Frank’s wanted us to have you do a patio and more walls, but you’re just too high-priced for us. Here’s where Mrs. Long backed into the wall.

Yeah, well, like you saw, stonework’s not fast. Good stonework, anyway. This’s not hurt bad. Got a crowbar in my truck; straighten this out in a minute.

It won’t cost...?

Don’t worry. Been over the year warranty, but you’ve been a great customer, Mrs. Judson. Here, just a little pry there, little bit here ...nice plantings. I told you it’d look better with the greenery in.

Oh, we love it, Colin. It’s just hard to see how some rocks could cost so much...

Well, this is fifty tons of stone here, all told, from two hundred miles over in the mountains. And you remember how much time it took. Adds up.

But forty percent more? Just for a little extra height?

Your landscape architect specified a two-foot wall, remember? This is three feet high. Now, these big, expensive capstones would have to be here anyway, so I didn’t charge you fifty percent more, for fifty percent more work. We went over that, remember? Yeah, over and over, we did.

But this is what I wanted all along. She still didn’t understand.

Not what the plans called for, though. Architect wasn’t seeing it the way you were, Mrs. Judson. I agree with you, he shoulda spec’d three feet to begin with.

Oh, but that would have cost so much more...

And I actually thought I might do some more work for that woman, Colin thought as he drove away. Well, there had been that other job for the neighbor who liked hers, but no telling how many others she’d convinced they charged too much.

Kate was probably right: if they set their prices higher, people would think they were getting more. Quality. People funny that way. Some of ’em apparently liked to brag about how much stuff cost. Problem was, though, the corner-cutters working out of pickup trucks were out there, ready to slip in the low bid. And not one in a hundred owners knew a good rock job from a bad one. Little Sid now, he could slick-tongue ’em into thinking his crew’s crap was the best, and cheaper, too.

Yeah, cheap. One thing Garner’d never be was a stonemason. Couldn’t train his men, either. Fast and loose, literally. Stones coming out of half his work...

He’d never have been able to handle that park restoration Colin’s crew did up in D.C. Damn tight work, that. So much so, the specs used a picture of their work when those next bids went out. But they didn’t get that follow-up. Penny-pinchers, and some cheap-ass out of Maryland got it. At least it wasn’t anybody he’d trained. That time.

Kate was out somewhere, and of course no note about dinner, or when she’d be back. Let’s see, Friday ...Colin reflected that it’d been a while since his wife had cooked, or there’d been any leftovers much in the fridge. She did bring home carry-outs, from all those meetings she went to. Yeah, high-priced way to eat.

He’d thought that would taper off, since both kids were in college, but it hadn’t. PTA stuff just got shifted to Chamber of Commerce, this and that community project. Time-eaters. Well, they'd had it out; with no work, she'd have to do the office when Jean had to go.

I don’t want to be in the damn office! Been there; done that. Jean’s got it all down, and it’d take me weeks to get back on top of it. We’ve gotta keep Jean, no matter what. End of discussion, that.

You figure how to pay her, we’ll keep her. You wanta get another job? We got this mortgage, you know, IRS, insurance, workman’s comp...

Then why the hell don’t you find us some work, Colin? Do I hafta do that, too, around here? There’s no recession on. What’s wrong?

And it’d gotten worse. Kate knew everybody in town, and not so long ago had been able to land jobs for them. Not anymore. He guessed her anger was frustration, mostly. Money coming in, the woman was okay. Spent it like water, but she was okay, all told. But now...

Colin found some pasta and beef Stroganoff in the second fridge. How old? Couldn’t remember. Smelled okay. He put a plateful in the microwave.

Kate hadn’t gotten herself another job. And it didn’t look like she’d do the office thing. So, okay, no crew, no work, they didn’t need a secretary. He’d do what he could, let the answering machine handle it. Handle what? The overdue accounts? At least Jean had kept them mostly off his neck, little payment here, one there, lot of promises. Every week she’d show him this aging sheet, with the loudest screamers highlighted.

But now they’d looted his IRA, sold the few stocks, the truck, sure business would revive.

Or that the spec house would sell. Realtor had complained, though.

Y’can’t sell a house till the buyer can walk through it, Colin. Wives do the decision-making, and they don’t give a happy damn whether the stone’s real or fake, or what the roof’s made of. They wanta feel the A/C, have the hot water turn on, and see whether the carpet matches their furniture. We’ll show it, but you’ve got to get further along for it to be saleable. Expensive house, and that narrows the percentage of prospects.

And on and on. Every few years they’d slipped in a spec house, when Colin could buy a good site. And he’d always been able to pay cash, avoid the interest. Right location, anything would sell. At his price, too. But yeah, he guessed the average supermom wouldn’t be impressed with catwalks and scaffolding and sawhorses around. Where the hell were the people with imagination, anyway? Taste?

Hiding. Buying McMansions with asphalt shingles and fake siding and plastic-mullioned windows. But with lotsa square feet, so they could resell to other upwardly-mobile families when the exec husband got transferred. Just before his heart attack, yeah.

What a business. He sat at his computer screen, the plate on a pile of papers and an opened beer close. Maybe somebody’s e-mailed me, wants a million-dollar house. Restoration, stonework—whatever. I’ll take it.

Three

And it got worse, even. Getting shot at, okay, maybe that wasn’t part of it. But there was plenty more.

Dad, Cindy’s e-mail note began, I’ve gotta have some money. Mom says we’re broke, and yeah, I’m going behind her back, ’cause you’ve always got some bucks somewhere. Year-end stuff is eating me up, Dad. My job’s only ten hours a week, you know, starvation wages. Just a couple hundred would do wonders.

Colin had realized, after his daughter had left for college, how little time he’d spent with her. Oh, when she was little, he’d done the daddy bit all right, but it was Kate who’d monopolized Cindy while he’d taken Kevin everywhere with him, just as soon as the boy was big enough. Never realized he was getting further from her, really. Guessed a father did that, when there was a son around. Not right, he knew, but...

Oh, and you need to call Kevin. I’ll let him tell you. Gotta run to class. Please, Dad? I’ll get a good summer job, promise. Love you. C.

Oboy. Child could never watch the pennies. Like her mother. At least the kids were both helping, had jobs. And Kevin, what was he into? Better call. No, he’d e-mail. Cheaper: they didn't have the free long-distance setup.

Cindy was a freshman at Tech, 150 miles away, not sure what her major would be, just yet. Kevin was finishing his junior year in computer science there. State school, thank God. But, even with student loans, the cost was up there.

Can’t stint on our children’s education, Colin, Kate’d said, too many times. The implication, of course, was that they’d end up like their father, doing manual labor, unless they got the magic degrees. Well, maybe. Kevin hadn’t known what he wanted to study either, at first. Colin believed a kid should have some goal before he went off to spend dollars at college. The boy could’ve stayed out a year, grown up some first. Okay, he had saved his money, all right. He’d done good work with the crew too, summers. Guys liked him. Boss’s son, but he’d busted ass right along with all of them.

He started the e-mail. Well, what’s happening, kid? Your sister’s being mysterious. How’s grades? Car still in one piece? Change majors? Remember, anything over four years is on you... What the hell do you write to your grown kid?

He finished off the food instead, emptied the beer can. Checked the time. Damn, missed the news. Well, more gloom and doom. Anything good happened, they’d never show it on TV. He’d noticed how the networks always trumpeted the fall of the Dow, but barely mentioned it when it was up. Hell, it was way over what they used to call the magic 10,000, not bad. But yeah, that didn’t mean so much, he’d heard. Sure didn’t mean work for him...

Sound of a motor. Hmm, Kate was never home this early. Maybe avoid a fight this time, have a couple drinks together, get mellow. Now, when was the last time they had sex? Damned if he remembered. Gettin’ old, both of them. Nah, she was 45, barely past menopause. Or not: could be part of why they fought. Well, be nice to her. Not easy, going from a hundred fifty grand income last year to this. Jean said they’d only done 51 thou gross since January, and 20% of that was only...

Door slammed. Kate never slammed the door. Strange, but no matter how pissed she got, she never slammed a door. Must be somethin’ serious...

That you, Kate?