The Unearthed: Book One, The Eddie McCloskey Series (26 page)

Ove
r
the last year, Eddie had almost gotten used to the questions.

He waited for Kindler to start the interrogation, deciding he would be truthful up to a point. He was prepared for the usual bullshit:

Where do you come from?

Why are you here?

How long are you staying?

Ad nauseam.

The answers:

Eddie McCloskey.

From Jersey, South Jersey.

I don’t know how long I plan to stay.

I have a job.

Eddie had found this town on a map through a quick Google search. Small town. Hit hard by the devastating one-two combination of the economic recession and the impending closure of the Mill. Before arriving, he’d called around, gotten a few non-committal answers about employment, had landed on a conditional yes from a local grocer. The guy wasn’t old enough to be a real hippie, but he was trying hard. His name was Victor and he answered the phone by saying, “Think Global, Buy Local.” Victor had told Eddie that he could probably give him a job but he’d have to interview face-to-face first.

Victor had asked him one question. “You going to work hard for me?”

Eddie told him yes, which was true, and was grateful Victor hadn’t run a background check.

Eddie started working on his fresh beer while he eyeballed Kindler. He had a round, puffy face that looked shot up with collagen and unstylishly long hair. He had really bad breath. Really bad. He also had the unfortunate habit of leaning forward when he talked which compounded the breath thing.

Kindler leaned in close like they were a couple Greeks drinking ouzo.

Kindler said, “I really believe in a higher power. Somebody’s up there watching. Fate. Things happen for a reason. You’re here, I’m here, this bar was put here, George is the …” indler’s voice dropped off and he shook his head as if that would clear his jumbled thoughts.

“What I’m saying is, the timing is key. We’ve reached critical mass and here you are.”

Eddie said nothing.

Kindler started up again suddenly, like an old lawn mower. “The Mill is, unfortunately, going to close. Nothing we can do about it. That’s how it is. You know? And you’re here now. Just when things are heating up.”

Eddie took a long drink from the beer.

“Not to strike a discordant note, Kindler, but I’ve got no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Kindler gave Eddie the stiff one eye then shook it off. “I know who you are, Eddie McCloskey.”

This caught Eddie off-guard. He tensed and wondered if that explained Deputy Dog’s presence. He hadn’t done anything illegal.

Kindler leaned ever closer. His pupils were dilated. Guy was probably on something and the booze was amping up the effects.

Kindler killed his Canadian Club and chased it with the beer. “I know who you are and I could use your help.”

“I don’t know what you want but I promise I can’t help.”

Eddie tried to stand up. There wasn’t enough room in the booth, and the table butted against his thighs. Whitmore again didn’t move and his eyes went from neutral to hostile without stopping at interested.

“You’ll hear Mr. Kindler out,” Whitmore said. “Or there’ll be trouble. Just like us folks, I’m sure the good people of New Jersey take a dim view of parole violators.”

Kindler grabbed Eddie’s wrist. “Please. Just hear me out.”

Eddie broke Kindler’s hold of his wrist by executing an elbow flick he’d learned in tae kwon do as a kid.

“The hell are you talking about, parole violation?”

“Pot’s illegal in this state, McCloskey.”

“What’s that got to do with me?” Eddie said.

“We both know what I’m talking about.” Whitmore’s eyes narrowed to venetian blinds.

Eddie could see the meanness behind those eyes now. Whitmore was enjoying himself. He was waiting for Eddie to do something stupid. He would show the drifter who the man was. He was Hitler, without the charm.

Drifting was proving to be problematic. Third town this year, since he’d left the joint.

And he was starting to like this little town. Nice library, couple of passable bars, some willing women both single and married, though nowadays he shied away from the married ones. He’d been on the receiving end of one too many cuckolded fists. There was nothing as disconcerting as a wronged husband armed with an assault rifle.

Whitmore’s accusation surprised Eddie, but he knew the source of the problem. His co-worker, Ana, had thrown an impromptu get-together two weeks ago. He had no business hanging out with a bunch of twenty-year-olds, but he had nothing better to do and he liked Ana. Then someone broke out the ganga and passed around a community joint. It had been so long that Eddie was tempted. He looked at the joint for a moment, knowing that one drag was harmless, but all the same drugs had landed him in prison and he wasn’t going back.

He’d passed the joint along, not taking a hit.

“I haven’t smoked any pot, Lieutenant.”

“Let’s not get excited.” Kindler was trying to smooth things over. “We’re all reasonable men. Rational animals. Homo sapiens.”

Eddie ignored him. “Charge me. I know a good lawyer.”

“All the trouble you’ve been in, I’ll bet you do,” Whitmore said.

An iceberg slid down Eddie’s spine. These guys had done their homework. They knew about his past. They had him and everybody knew it. He was cornered. Fear and anger washed over him. He had to listen to this Kindler clown now and make like he was interested in what he had to say. First chance he got he’d be tail lights and find another little town, maybe head down south.

Eddie sat back down.

“There’s money in it, Eddie,” Kindler said. “A man should be paid for his work.”

With this, Whitmore rose and went to the bar, apparently disgusted that he wouldn’t be making an arrest.

Eddie knew what Kindler wanted from him. He had heard the rumors. Ana had mentioned to him that she and her friends were already investigating the strange goings-on.

“This town is haunted,” Kindler said.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

BELLULIS MEIS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Evan Ronan's stories don't always fit neatly into one genre. He reads widely and tries to write as widely. His paranormal thriller series,
The Unearthed
, features his favorite protagonist, Eddie McCloskey, a man who's constantly underestimated and always finds a way to beat the odds through a little hustle, a little brains, and a lot of hard work.
Evan also writes in the YA, historical fiction, sci-fi and mystery genres. He lives with his family in New Jersey, in the same town Eddie McCloskey grew up in.

For more information, visit his website:
www.ronaniswriting.blogspot.com
.

THE UNEARTHED SERIES

The Unearthed

The Lost

The Accused and the Damned

The Hysteria

The Traveler

The Dream Machine

The Possessed (in the works)

The Missing (in the works)

TOMAHAWK AND SABER SERIES WITH NATHANAEL GREEN

Language of the Bear

Through the Narrows

#3 (in the works)

SHORT STORIES

Morale Was Down

Effective Immediately

Not Safe For Work (coming soon)

In The Blood

In The Blood #2

In The Blood #3

In The Blood #4

Frontier Justice

Harm

OTHER BOOKS

OtherWorld (middle grade fantasy)

THE UNEARTHED.
Copyright 2014 by Evan Ronan. All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

Edition: September, 2014