had fallen asleep in Mike’s recliner. There was a woven wool blanket that I had covered myself in. I was so exhausted physically and mentally I didn’t wake up once during the night. A half-empty bottle of tequila and a coffee cup on the table next to my chair were reminders of what induced my deep slumber. Winslow was lying by the front door.
My failure to load up Mike’s airtight and keep the fire going allowed the cold morning air to invade every inch of Mike’s house. I raised the recliner, got up, and with the blanket still around my shoulders, began the same ritual I had done the night before getting a fire going.
After the fire was lit, I sat back down and began to reflect on the events of the previous day. I picked up Mike’s letter from the end table and reread it. A little headache throbbed as I tried to focus on his words. My mind made a list as I read.
I needed to talk to Mike’s doctor. I hoped Rosa would know her name. I needed to talk to his lawyer, Reed, Mike called him. But most important, I needed to find out who Mike was getting his pain medications from. My way of thinking, those drugs had altered Mike’s mind and probably led to his suicidal thoughts. In my way of thinking, whoever was supplying Mike, those drugs contributed to his death.
In my way of thinking, that person or persons needed to be held accountable through the legal system or through the justice system I learned to employ in Alaska.
After breakfast, I walked out to the barn. A cup of coffee in hand, I found Mike’s Land Rover covered with a fitted car cover. I lifted the back half, looked at the plates, and as I expected, the stickers were current. I uncovered it and saw the keys in the ignition. I got in and started it. The tank was full. Even with all he had on his mind, I knew he did this for me. I shut the engine off and climbed out.
I scanned the rest of the interior of the barn. There was a small Mahindra tractor in one corner, a workbench that spanned two sides and a variety of tools and storage closets. Everything a person would need to maintain a small ranch like Mike’s.
I walked out into the center of the yard. The temperature had risen to forty-one degrees. There were clouds to the west, but the rest of the sky was clear and blue. I took a deep breath and just stood listening to a scattered array of birds, some close and others in the distance.
A peace came over me. I knew what I had to do. I would stay in Questa until all my questions were answered, and I avenged my good friend’s death. I looked for Winslow. He had probably taken off somewhere, chasing rabbits or squirrels.
At 0817 hours, my cell phone buzzed. Unknown Caller, the screen said.
I answered, “Hello.”
A female voice asked, “Mr. Jason.”
“Rosa?” I answered.
“Yes, this is Rosa.”
“How are you doing?” I asked her.
“Still scared, sad, maybe still nervous to.”
“That’s understandable. I’m sorry you had to go through all that yesterday.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jason, I can come out to the ranch today and help you clean up. Sheriff Alvarez said the county would pay me to clean Mr. Mike’s blood in the bathroom.”
“That would be good. I can help too. It would give us a chance to talk.”
“I can be there in thirty minutes. I just dropped my ‘Manual’ off at school. Can I bring you anything from town?”
“I’m okay, got everything I need for now, but thanks.”
“See you soon.” She hung up.
I continued to walk around the property, checking gates and fences. There were repairs that needed to be made. If I was to hold on to the place for a while, I’d need to find a caretaker.
I went over to the outbuilding where we had held our trainings about a year ago. The door was unlocked, and I went in. It looked the same as it did then: lots of easy chairs spread around, flat screen TV on the wall, pool table, and a refrigerator in the corner.
A shower had been added to the bathroom since my last trip. Mike told me he used part of the fifty grand I donated to him from Sarnev to make improvements to the vet center he ran here at the ranch.
If I remembered right, the weekly meetings were held every Monday. Today was Friday. I wondered if they held a meeting four days ago. If they did, I wanted to talk to the men and woman who were in attendance.
I looked around for anything that might be a roster or notes. I found a binder on a shelf. It had pages of notes from previous meetings. The last one held was back in early September. These meetings were important to Mike, along with the vets that attended. There had to be a good reason for them to stop. I flipped back through a lot of pages and found no week going back six months where no meeting was held.
This piqued my curiosity. I read through the names of the vets that attended. Most were the same over and over, a regular group. I studied it deeper. I found only one name that appeared only once. He attended the last meeting held. It only said Vargas. Someone I would really like to talk to.
I heard the sound of a motor down on the road. I walked out of the vets center and saw the dust trail following Rosa’s Nissan heading to the ranch. I walked over to the house so I could greet her there. She pulled in next to my vehicle and got out, carrying a canvas bag.
“Extra cleaning supplies,” she said as she walked up the steps, then added, “I never clean up something like this. I was told to wear mask and googles.”
“Good idea,” I told her. “Let’s get started.”
We went directly to the bathroom. I had avoided it since I had been there, relieving myself outside when I needed to.
Rosa hesitated at the door. “Just yesterday, I found him,” she said. “It still like a dream to me.”
“Yep, me too, a really bad one.”
We both put on rubber gloves. Rosa put on a mask and a cheap pair of safety googles. She filled the tub with hot water and poured in bleach. I grabbed a brush from her bag and began to scrub the back wall. The bleach soon overpowered the smell of dried blood and flesh that had splattered and stuck to the tile.
I tried not to envision Mike lying there as we went about the task. I felt bad for Rosa as she turned away often from the stains that streaked down walls. After about an hour, we were finished. The only sign of what had taken place there, a little over twenty-four hours earlier, was a one-inch hole and cracked and chipped tile that encircled it.
We went to the kitchen, took off our gloves, and threw them in a lined garbage pail by the backdoor. We both washed our hands in the sink, not speaking to each other while we did. When we were done, I offered to make us some coffee and asked her if she had time to tell me more about what she knew of Mike’s last days.
When the coffee was done, Rosa and I went out to the front porch. The strong smell of bleach was still lingering in the house. It had warmed to fifty-three degrees. We each had on our coats, and the warm coffee cup felt good on my hands. Rosa sat on the porch swing, and I sat on the wooden porch, resting my back against a post.
There were a lot of questions I had for her, but I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable
