The Summer House

Chapter 55

In his cell at the Ralston town jail, Staff Sergeant Caleb Jefferson makes a decision and then gets off his bunk. Funny, when the decision is made, then it’s done. You go out and do the job, and respond to emerging threats and situations, but there’s no second-guessing, not in the Rangers. You learn lessons at some point, but when you set off on a mission, there’s no looking back.

Ever.

At the other end of the block, one of the jail attendants with a meal cart is passing out an early supper — usually barely warm hot dogs in untoasted buns, a bag of chips, a mustard packet, a juice box. Jefferson raps the old metal bars with his hands and says, “Hey, you down there. I need to see the chief. Straightaway.”

The attendant is a chubby, surly young boy wearing a tan uniform and light-blue latex gloves. He says, “I’ll get to him, soon enough. I’m doing my job here.”

“And doing it so fine,” Jefferson says, and he goes back and sits down on his bunk. A couple of minutes later, the young boy comes back, drops a paper plate with the supper on it, and shoves it into Jefferson’s cell with a foot. Then he leaves, pushing the meal cart before him.

The Ranger picks up the two cold hot dogs, makes sure they’ve not been spit upon or tampered with, and in a few minutes, supper is finished.

Corporal Barnes calls out, “Everything okay, Sergeant?”

“It’s perfect,” he says, wiping his hands with two brown paper napkins.

Specialist Ruiz says, “You sure, Sergeant? I don’t remember this part coming up, you seeing the chief.”

Jefferson crumples up the napkins, steps up to the bars. Both Barnes and Ruiz are standing close to the bars of their respective cells, wearing the same dull orange jumpsuit as Jefferson. He tosses a crumpled napkin at each, and both go through the bars and strike their heads.

“No turning back now, gentlemen,” he says.

He hears a metallic clatter of a door opening, and a still-angry-looking Chief Kane strolls in. Jefferson has a funny thought that if the poor chief were to have a coronary and die right now, that angry look would probably stay on his face all the way through the funeral.

“What is it?” Kane asks.

Jefferson says, “Chief, we’ve been here a few days, and I’ve made a decision.”

The chief hitches a hand on his utility belt. “What decision is that?”

“I want to meet with that Army lawyer who’s been trying to see me and the rest of my team. As soon as can be arranged. I want to meet him, and I want the district attorney to be here at the same time.”

Kane looks suspicious. “Why the hell should I do that? You had your chance before. You turned it down. Why should I let you do it now?”

Jefferson drapes his big hands over one of the crossbars of his cell door. “Because having us around here is a royal pain in the ass, isn’t it, Chief? And wouldn’t you like to get rid of us as soon as possible? Stop all the phone calls, all the news media banging on your door at all hours of the day? Get me that Army lawyer and the district attorney, and I’ll make it happen.”

“How?” Kane asks, and in addition to the suspicion on his face, Jefferson sees something else in the man’s eyes: hope that this whole mess will go away.

Jefferson grins, steps back from the barred door. “Just you wait and see.”