that’s a long shot.”
I decided just touching the ball was a better move defensively. I gave the cue ball a gentle tap and it slid between the five ball and the eight ball, just barely tapping the two and leaving Rusty with the cue ball, eight ball and two ball in a nice, neat row. They were all lined up in front of the corner pocket except for the lousy eight ball in the way. My luck was holding out.
“I’m Bill,” his dad said giving me a firm handshake.
“I’m Cassidy,” I replied, “it’s good to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Rusty was forced to make a bank shot to hit the two ball. He studied the angles.
“You’re right, it does force you to think. Instead of choosing the easiest shot on the table you’re stuck with the toughest one.”
“Not always. It’s good practice. Once you play Nine Ball for a while you will think Eight Ball is too easy and too cluttered.”
He tried a bank shot but missed. I lined up on the two ball.
“I missed,” he admitted, “it’s ball in hand.”
“Are you sure you want me to do that? I usually just keep shooting unless the cue ball goes in.”
“Go ahead, it’s your rule. It’s my miss. It’s ball in hand.”
“Okay,” I said, “you asked for it.”
I picked up the cue ball, placed it on the table with the two ball and nine ball neatly lined up on the corner pocket and sunk the nine ball on an easy combo shot.
“It was your own fault,” I said, “if you’d have just let me shoot you probably would have won.”
“Do the games always go that fast?”
“No, usually you end up sinking the balls in order until you finally get to the nine ball. Combo shots that make the nine ball sinkable are hard to spot. So the games are usually longer.”
“Bill?” Rusty’s mom shouted up the stairs, “Find out what people want to drink with dinner. I’m putting it on the table now.”
“Got beer?” Rusty asked.
“Just ice water for me,” I added.
“Got it,” said Bill and headed for the stairs.
The table for six nearly filled the small dining room behind the stairs. Beyond it was a small kitchen painted in a cheery blue with white trim.
“I’m sorry to drop in on you for dinner.” I apologized, “I know you weren’t expecting us.”
Cody laughed.
“Nonsense,” Rusty’s mom answered, “I never know how many to expect for dinner. If it wasn’t you it would probably be a group of people Cody brought home from work. You are still working, aren’t you?”
“Barely,” answered Cody.
His mom shook her head.
Rusty passed the roast and I took a small piece. “Take another one,” he said. “Cassidy never eats right when she goes out on a call. She ends up eating backpacker food and giving most of it to kids who go do damn fool things like exploring abandoned mines.”
“Well, you have to admit the boy did look remarkably well for being trapped in a mine for three days,” Rusty’s mom countered.
“Trevor did great. I told him to let me know when he was hungry. There was no way to tell time so I didn’t know if he was eating only once or three times a day. I had only two days worth of food in my pack but cooked a meal whenever he was hungry. I can’t believe a ten year old boy only went through four backpacker meals in three days.”
“And what did you eat?” Rusty asked.
“I finished off whatever he left behind,” I admitted.
“So,” Rusty said, “take another slice, there’s plenty.”
I humored him by taking a second slice but then skipped the potatoes. My appetite worked the other way around. I hadn’t eaten much for days so I needed to build back up slowly.
The doorbell rang. Rusty’s mom gave Cody a glare.
“Set another place,” she said in a firm tone and then got up to answer the door. She opened it and I heard footsteps on the hardwood floor as someone followed her through the living room. They turned the corner around the stairs and there stood Chase Downing, my tracking teacher from reserve academy. He was definitely in a more informal setting now because his wavy hair was dark salt and pepper and fell over his collar in disarray. He wore a holey t-shirt, baggy shorts, and flip-flops.
“Well, well, well, look who’s here,” he said to Rusty. “And with the only student I’ve had some respect for, too. Callahan, how have you been?”
“Busy,” I answered. “Will it ever let up?”
“It’s got its ups and downs,” he said.
“It’s had a lot of downs lately. But it’s still busy. You haven’t talk to Strict lately, have you?”
“I stay to myself down here. I don’t take just any case. They know when to call me. I used to take a few calls up in the desert but I haven’t gotten any lately. Maybe I have you to thank for that.” He took the last chair and Cody handed him a plate, fork and knife. Cody went to the refrigerator, pulled out a can of Bud Lite and handed it to Chase. He popped the top with one hand. “So, what have you done that’s interesting, lately?”
“How much of the news have you seen?”
“None. I try to pretend the news doesn’t exist.”
“Well, that wasn’t the most interesting thing I’ve done lately anyway. I was sent on an afternoon’s search that turned into a three day track. We had two rainstorms that nearly wiped the trail. It was slow reading and tough terrain.”
“You find your man?”
“It was a fourteen year old girl but yeah, I finally found her. Last news we had of her she was doing well.”
“That’s good, I guess. I’ve developed a cynical attitude towards these searches. Sometimes I think stupid people should pay the consequences.”
“What kind of cases do you take then?”
“I like to do clean up work. Rid society of people who plague it.”
“They should have called you on this latest raid then. I tracked two guys up out of a canyon, well, one of them left the canyon. When I got up top there was only one trail. The other guy was down in the canyon. The guy that made it to the top was tracked down and the apprehension was made.”
“And the guy in the canyon?” Chase asked.
I looked at Rusty.
