Side Story #1 - Colt - Page 33

<<Page 32 || Side Story Table of Contents || Page 34>>

Colt craned his neck to get a look at the front of the line.

"Yeah. Thanks, Fred." The husky voice belonged to a man who was almost wider than he was tall. He wasn't fat, exactly, just very short and broad. And he was wearing a coat, but Colt could see something bulky beneath the left sleeve. A cast? Or maybe just bandages. Either way, it meant he'd sustained some kind of injury.

Much like Brick.

And supposedly, this man was Brick's true owner. Colt doubted the coincidence. Had they both been injured at the same time? By the same thing? Brick seemed like the protective sort, so it would make sense if he got hurt defending his master.

But if that were the case, why wasn't he still with his master? Had they somehow gotten separated during whatever happened? Hmm, that seemed unlikely, too. Brick, despite being an asshole, struck Colt as a pretty intelligent animal. If he'd gotten separated from his master, he probably would've been able to find him again easily enough, either by scent or just by returning to their home.

Unless...

Colt's eyebrow twitched as the thought occurred to him.

Did they both have injuries because they fought each other? Had Brick been attacked by his owner?

Colt supposed the opposite could also technically be the case. Maybe Brick was the one who attacked his master. But given the way the dog had been acting around the kids and around Alice, Colt didn't want to believe that. True, the bastard did seem to have a real attitude problem with him specifically--and perhaps men in general--but if Mr. Beaumont really had raised and trained Brick, then that shouldn't have mattered.

It was extremely rare for dogs, especially well-trained ones, to go against their masters. For any reason. In fact, it was so rare that Colt was beginning to think that this guy might not actually be Brick's master, after all.

'Boh, I think I found Janet's father,' said Colt. 'I need you here.'

'Where are you?'

'Orden. Largest store in town. It's called Anything.'

'Okay, I've seen the place. I'll be there shortly.'

'Hurry. I'm not sure he'll be here much longer.'

Indeed, the man was already on his way out of the store. Colt tried not to stare, but he must not have succeeded, because Mr. Beaumont stopped as he was passing and looked straight at him.

The man rubbed his own cheek with his free hand. "Do I have something on my face?"

"Oh, ah, no," said Colt. "Sorry. Thought you were someone else."

"That right?" Mr. Beaumont smiled. "Who, if you don't mind my asking?"

Colt did mind, as it so happened. "Doesn't matter. Why you askin'?"

"Heh. Curiosity. Y'know, it's pretty normal to recognize people in this town. And yet you, I don't. What's your name, friend?"

Really? This guy was one those people? Colt wouldn't have guessed just by looking at him that he was some kind of social butterfly. Somehow, that made him seem like less of a suspect in Rex's murder, but Colt wasn't about to rule it out, either. Charismatic killers certainly existed, too. "Colton Thompson," he said. "But you can just call me Colt. You?"

"Malcolm Beaumont. Good to meet you, Colt. You new around here?"

"I am."

"Adorable little kids you've got there."

"Thanks. You got any of your own?"

"Sure do. Just one, but she's a handful alright. She's already twenty-three now, but most days, I don't feel it. I don't look old enough to have a daughter in her twenties, do I? Be honest."

He actually didn't, Colt thought. Barely had a gray hair on his head, even if he did have one of those impossible-to-age faces. "Nope," he said.

Malcolm's smile only widened. "That's what I like to hear. You're a good man, Colt. Telling the truth like that."

Colt supposed that had been a joke, so he tried to return a small laugh. He expected the conversation to die there and for Malcolm to move on, but for whatever reason, the man just continued standing there in the middle of the store. Sure, they were at the back of the line, so they weren't getting in anyone's way, but it was still awkward as fuck.

Impulsively, Colt wanted to ask him what the hell he was doing, but this was actually ideal for the investigation. He was buying time for Boh to arrive and memorize Malcolm's soul signature. This was a lot better than following the guy out of the store and around the town.

Soon enough, though, Malcolm found a new subject. "Hey, you like beer?"

Colt almost wanted to lie but decided against it. "Not particularly. Why?"

"Oh. Uh. Was just wondering if you wanted to share a couple." He held up his lone shopping bag, which harbored a six-pack, some hot dogs, and a few other things that Colt couldn't quite make out. "If you don't drink, though, I understand."

Colt couldn't hold his tongue anymore. "You're awfully friendly, y'know that?"

Malcolm gave a curt laugh. "Nice way of putting it. Desperate to make a friend might be another."

"That so? You made it sound like you already knew everyone in town."

"Fair point. Lookin' for a certain kind of friend, though, if you know what I'm saying."

Colt didn't, really.

Wait a minute.

Oh shit. Was this guy coming onto him?

"What's with that look?" said Malcolm. "I say something weird?"

Colt, despite himself, tried to be delicate. "I think you might be barkin' up the wrong tree here, pal."

Malcolm seemed confused for a moment, until a surge of realization washed over his face. "Oh! No, no, no. Not like that." He snorted a laugh. "Holy cow, not like that at all. I'm looking for a drinking buddy, okay? Nothing beyond, er... that."

Frankly, Colt didn't believe him. But the goddamned reaper still wasn't here yet. "You ain't got anyone to drink with?" he asked.

"Not no one," said Malcolm. "I got a few. But I could use another, know what I'm saying? I'm a man of many varied tastes and interests. Helps to have different folks to shoot the sh--the stuff with."

Well, if nothing else, Colt appreciated the man's ability to censor himself in front of the twins.

What a fuckin' weirdo, though.

<<Page 32 || Side Story Table of Contents || Page 34>>