Side Story #1 - Colt - Page 56

Colt was surprised. Frankly, he thought the only reason Brick had bolted like that was because he'd needed to piss or shit after being stuck in the cabin the whole day. Colt had been satisfied enough at the prospect that he didn't have to clean up after the bastard, but now he was triumphantly bringing back food.

Brick walked right up to him and laid the bird down at Colt's feet. A quail, it looked like.

Hmm.

What was the appropriate response here? Petting him seemed to fit the bill, but this was Brick they were talking about.

Well. Alright.

Colt bent down a little, aiming to stroke the dog's neck. Slowly. Carefully. Watching for any indication that the furry bastard might try to bite him again.

Brick's eyes followed his hand as it got closer, and surprisingly, he just sat there.

Colt petted him.

For about five seconds.

And that was all Brick could put up with, apparently, because he moved back and then sat down again, just out of Colt's reach.

Well, it was progress, Colt supposed.

He grabbed the quail and began preparing it for dinner. Plucking, cleaning, roasting over an open flame. He made a quick trip deeper into forest to gather some fresh nuts and berries while the bird was cooking. He half-expected to return and see the damn dog ripping the bird off the spit roast, but he wanted to give Brick the benefit of the doubt, for now. Even if he was a furry bastard, he was a well-trained furry bastard.

What Colt saw, however, was something completely different.

A figure was standing there at the cabin's front door.

Immediately, Colt was alarmed and picked up his pace. Who the fuck was that and why were they here?

It was a man, he realized; and as Colt stomped closer through the forest's underbrush, the guy turned to face him.

"Whoa there, partner," came the voice of Malcolm Beaumont as he raised his hands defensively. "Sorry, did I startle you? Wasn't my intention."

Colt stared at him. Hard. "What are you doing here?"

Malcolm put his hands back down. "Oh, y'know..."

"I don't. Explain. Now."

Malcolm sucked air through his teeth. "Okay, look. I'll admit it. I followed you."

Fuck. How amateurish of him, Colt thought. He should've been paying more attention on his way back home.

"Saw you in town. Got a little curious. Couldn't help myself. You know how that goes, right?"

Colt's eyes narrowed. Hold on a minute here. This fucker was working with Phillip Richardson, wasn't he? Had Richardson called him and told him to follow him home?

Goddammit.

"What do you want?" said Colt.

"Nothin'," said Malcolm. "Just havin' a look. You really did just get me curious. Strange new guy in town. Wanted to get to know you better, is all."

"Mmhmm." Colt's gaze went to Brick, who was also staring at Malcolm.

Oh yeah. Brick supposedly belonged to the Beaumonts.

And now Malcolm was looking at the dog, too.

Well, shit. This was awkward. As much as Colt didn't really care for the damn dog's company, he'd kinda been hoping to use him more in the investigation--though he'd still been trying to figure out how, exactly. A trained K-9 could've proved very helpful. Eventually.

"Hey there, buddy," said Malcolm softly in Brick's direction. "I've been worried sick about you, you know that? We all have."

Brick, however, remained sitting, as still as a statue.

Hmm.

Malcolm turned back to Colt. "You were looking after him, I take it? I can't thank you enough. This big fella means a hell of a lot to my family. They'll be relieved to see him again."

Ah, fuck. There wasn't much Colt could do to stop Malcolm from taking his own dog back.

He did have some questions first, though, some of which were purely for appearance's sake. "This dog belongs to you?" said Colt. Playing a little dumb here was important so that Malcolm didn't think that he'd known who Brick belonged to all along.

"That, he does," said Malcolm. "Been with us since he was just a pup."

Colt looked to Brick again, who still had not moved. "...He doesn't seem too excited to see you."

Malcolm rubbed his neck. "Ah... yeah, well, he's never liked me all that much. But he loves my wife and daughter, that's for sure."

Considering all he'd seen of the furry bastard, Colt didn't have much trouble believing that. "Do you know how he ended up all the way out here?"

"'Fraid I don't," said Malcolm. "Do you?"

"He just showed up here out of the blue. He was injured." And Colt's gaze drifted to the cast on Malcolm's arm, the one that was mostly concealed by the man's long sleeves.

"Oh, is that right? He looks fine now, though. You nursed him back to health, too?"

"Guess you could say that." He didn't want to take credit for Alice's work, but he also didn't want to bring her into the conversation needlessly, either. Sure, this Malcolm motherfucker seemed mildly trustworthy, but there was no harm in being cautious, Colt figured.

"Well, then I have even more reason to be grateful to you! Now you really have to let me treat you, sometime. You said you weren't much of a drinker before, right? Let me buy you dinner, sometime. Or lunch, at least."

Ah, there was that overly eager friendliness from their first encounter. "Yeah, sure," said Colt. He still had plenty of other things he might like to ask this guy about, so he didn't see a reason to refuse.

Right now, though, he was wondering if he should just come right out and tell him that he knew he was working with Richardson. Maybe that would be revealing too much too soon, but on the other hand, this might be an opportunity to gain a like-minded partner in the investigation. He had a feeling that Malcolm already knew he'd been hired by Richardson and the others, anyway.