Buckley sat back in the dim light cast by the fading lamp. It was clich\u00e9, all of it. Another missing kid, another Amber Alert, another mobilization of resources looking for a boogeyman that didn\u2019t exist\u2014at least not in the form imagined by the good-hearted souls beating the bush to find this kid. But Buckley had to admit that there was precious little else to suggest anything besides stranger-danger as the cause. ***<\/p>\n The photograph of the boy did not show up in Gina Fucking Florentine\u2019s newspaper the next day. But it did show up in a social media post for at least an hour before it was taken down. Just enough time for Florentine to write a story about it, describing the photo without naming the boy. ***<\/p>\n Gina Fucking Florentine was not at the newspaper office. The receptionist there dismissed him by answering the phone and loudly talking to her mother. He needed to think. ***<\/p>\n Waves broke over Brant Rock, a jagged outcropping pointing an accusatory finger eastward into the Atlantic Ocean, as if this town full of Irish immigrants and their descendants were taking aim at jolly old England for her transgressions. Though it was still technically summer, Buckley huddled in his car, holding his fingers in front of the heater. The parking lot was empty and it was gray and dingy outside. His passenger door opened and Chantelle Laramie slid in beside him. ***<\/p>\n It was just after lunch when he got the text. There was no name attached to the sender, so it didn\u2019t come from his contacts list. And there was no sending phone number. Just a randomized 5-digit number.<\/p>\n 239 Bay Ave<\/strong><\/p>\n When he got to the address, the front screen door was flapping back and forth in the wet breeze that persisted. Buckley looked around. Everything was dead quiet. Green Harbor in the off season: cloudy, drizzly, cold. Though all the houses on Bay Ave had been winterized and were either rented out or occupied full-time, there was no beating geography and climate. Yellowfin Tuna Charters<\/strong> There was a phone number on the back. He looked at the page it marked. Clarke\u2019s Island in Duxbury Bay. Accessible only by boat, and reputedly the place where Truman Capote wrote In Cold Blood<\/i>. Buckley pocketed the card and replaced the book, carefully wiping away his prints and retreating outside. ***<\/p>\n Finding a skiff at the marina on a cold and rainy September day took some time. The marina was only open part-time, and the girl at the front desk was more interested in her phone than service. Finally he was able to speak with the manager by phone, who walked the girl through the rental procedure. She looked pissed throughout the five-minute process. ***<\/p>\n Chantelle stared at him from her pillow, her head resting horizontally, her brown eyes stacked vertically. Buckley was aware of her gaze, but his eyes were fixed on the ceiling. He couldn\u2019t get the boy out of his head. \u00a0<\/p>\n [Image Credit : Photo by Melina Kiefer<\/a> on Unsplash<\/a>]<\/p>\n Shawn Kerivan is a writer and journalist. He has published short fiction in dozens of literary magazines, and nonfiction writing in magazines such as Backpacker and Ocean Navigator. His journalism has appeared in VTDigger, a nonprofit news organization. He has written several books, including the short story collection Name the Boy<\/i> (2007), Creative Writing in the Real World<\/i> (2011), and A Brief History of Innkeeping in the 21st Century<\/i> (2015). He created a popular blog called Innkeeping Innsights, which ran from 2004 to 2017, and was featured on National Public Radio\u2019s “A Way With Words” program. He is a professor of writing at the Savannah College of Art and Design in Savannah, Georgia.<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n
+++++<\/span>There was one photo of the kid, from third grade, which\u2014in this age of digital over-documentation\u2014seemed odd. More than odd. It was a flag. A big, red flag scrawled across his thinking. Nobody has one photo taken in five years. But this kid\u2019s mother could provide only one picture of her son from the past five years. Flag, flag, flag.
+++++<\/span>The mother, Carine Shea, hired him, begging that the police were starting to lose interest in her boy\u2019s disappearance, now that it had been three days. They were on to the next shiny button. So she called Buckley, a referral of a friend of a friend. Buckley knew that it was probably one of the miserable detectives who had tossed her his name.
+++++<\/span>For Buckley, the consult was free. An hour of his time to determine if he was taking the case. The hour was almost up, and he was on the fence. Not a good sign. It didn\u2019t mean that there wasn\u2019t any interest; there just wasn\u2019t compelling interest. In the case of this definition, compelling meant monetary. But it also meant that there was something there\u2014some interesting stirring.
+++++<\/span>He decided to make one phone call before he would take the case. His thumb flashed over the screen of his mobile, names and numbers whirring vertically like spinning numbers on a slot machine reel. He tapped the number. The line rang.
+++++<\/span>\u201cMetro South Police,\u201d the voice droned.
+++++<\/span>\u201cHey, Starsky, how\u2019re you doing?\u201d he said.
+++++<\/span>\u201cFuck you, Buckley. What do you want?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cOh, I\u2019m sorry. I meant to address you as Hutch, the potty-mouthed one. Where\u2019s your LT? I dialed her number. Why are you answering?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cBecause she\u2019s in a meeting with the captain and the deputy, Buckley. Not that it\u2019s any of your business. Go to hell.\u201d The line went dead.
+++++<\/span>Buckley looked at his phone. Maybe he had been too abrupt with Detective Harris\u2014Hutch. He and his partner, Detective Murphy, had continually made Buckley\u2019s life difficult. Buckley could appreciate the dim view police detectives took of private investigators. To cops, they were one step up from journalists, but still considered boils that needed lancing.
+++++<\/span>Over the past two years the Metro South Police had botched three high-profile murders, and it had been Buckley, working with the South Shore Gazette\u2019s Gina Florentine, who had been able to find the murderers and get them arrested. Two of the three botchings came from Harris and Murphy\u2019s handling of the cases. Florentine\u2019s reporting of the crimes and subsequent investigations had led to the withering monikers of Starsky & Hutch, though sometimes those had been riffed in both social and regular media to include Turner & Hooch, Mulder & Scully, and even Bambi & Thumper. To say that they were not available to Buckley was an understatement.
+++++<\/span>Buckley thought for a moment. He wanted to speak to Lt. Chantelle Laramie through official channels first, but clearly that wasn\u2019t going to happen. Either Detective Harris had been bullshitting him, or something serious was going down at Lt. Laramie\u2019s precinct. Something beyond the hazing she regularly suffered for not being white and not being Irish. Deputy chiefs and captains never traveled down to precincts; shit flowed the opposite way in the halls of justice.
+++++<\/span>He tapped Laramie\u2019s personal cell number on his screen. She picked up on the second ring.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat\u2019s on fire?\u201d came the voice. Though modulated and stepped on by half a dozen compression technologies, the voice of Chantelle Laramie that was reassembled in the tiny speaker of Buckley\u2019s iPhone was rich, an octave lower than most women\u2019s voices. And though she spoke only three words, there was enough intonation to tell him that Harris had been lying to him. There was also enough in the way she spoke those three words that he knew which direction and how far he could go with his opening. Something stirred.
+++++<\/span>\u201cIf I tell you that, you might face charges from the dirty thought police.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMmmm, okay. What do you want Buckley?\u201d The tone was still playful, engaging. He had been right. Somewhere in the back of his head, his mind made a mental note use Harris\u2019s lie against him at the right moment.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhere are you? It sounds echo-y.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cLadies room. Does that help your little fantasy?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI just got off the phone with Turner. Or was it Hooch? I can\u2019t tell them apart. Anyway, he said you were in a meeting with the captain and DC, and that\u2019s why he was answering your phone.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThat jerk,\u201d she said. \u201cHe\u2019s intercepting some of my calls. Second time I\u2019ve caught him. I\u2019ll put that in my back pocket for now. What\u2019s going on?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cCarine Shea hired me this morning. She wants more action on her son\u2019s disappearance.\u201d Now that he said it, it must be true.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou know what we have on it.\u201d The tone changed; it was now shiny and sharp. Buckley could picture the skin of her face tightening. It didn\u2019t matter. She looked the way she looked no matter what, and he couldn\u2019t help but devote time to that analysis.
+++++<\/span>\u201cBesides,\u201d she continued, \u201cwe\u2019re 99% certain that it\u2019s the father, and he\u2019ll turn up in Maine in a couple of days.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhy Maine?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cHe\u2019s a seasonal fisherman, and we have reason to believe he\u2019s looking to catch on with a dragger for the winter. If you want more, talk to the dicks.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI could make the same request of you.\u201d He let that sit there between them for a beat.
+++++<\/span>She said, \u201cWhat do you need?\u201d Shiny and sharp were gone.
+++++<\/span>\u201cJust a photograph. And not the one from third grade that was released to the public. I\u2019m pretty sure you have a more recent picture.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cIf we did, why wouldn\u2019t we use it?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cBecause it would show the bruises on the boy\u2019s face. The ones his mother left there after she smacked him around.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cAnd if you are working for her, why can\u2019t she give them to you?\u201d
+++++<\/span>He let silence be the answer.
+++++<\/span>\u201cI see,\u201d she said after a beat. \u201cIf I send this to you, I\u2019m going to need some assurances that the photo won\u2019t end up on the front page of Gina Fucking Florentine\u2019s newspaper.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMy philosophy is the same as yours here when it comes to the news: the less, the better. As for assurances, I think I can figure out an anagram for that.\u201d
+++++<\/span>This time she let the silence speak.
+++++<\/span>\u201cOkay. But, of course, you understand the implications of this arrangement.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI do, and I look forward to those implications.\u201d
+++++<\/span>She cut the call.<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>Buckley was on his way over to see her to get an explanation. The photo was not supposed to show up anywhere. It was supposed to be for investigative purposes only.
+++++<\/span>\u201cDo we have an agreement?\u201d Buckley asked the night before, after he had called Florentine to discuss the case.
+++++<\/span>\u201cThat depends,\u201d she said. Her voice was higher than Chantelle\u2019s. It was edgier. It was always \u201con.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThere can\u2019t be any depending. I told you\u2014in confidence for now\u2014about my suspicions regarding Carine Shea. She\u2019s an unreliable narrator.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cHow literary of you.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cShe\u2019s also got a drug habit and a booze habit.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat kind of drugs?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m not sure. Opioids, probably. But that can lead to poor outcomes.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cTell me again why she would hire you to investigate her son\u2019s abuser if it was her?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cShe\u2019s sandbagging me.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201c\u2019Sandbagging\u2019? Are you Mickey Spillane?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cGaslighting, if that helps your wee brain.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI thought it was my wee brain you were attracted to last summer.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cActually, it was your tits. How are they? It\u2019s been a while.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThey could be talked into a reunion.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cAs nice as that sounds, we\u2019re going to need to keep this professional.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cBuy me dinner and I\u2019ll write you a receipt.\u201d
+++++<\/span>There was a beat of silence on the line before she continued.
+++++<\/span>\u201cBesides, what\u2019s in it for Carine Shea? You\u2019re the creative writer. What\u2019s your theory.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMoney, as usual. I think the boy\u2019s dead, and she is using me as a way to frame it away from her.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cSo what\u2019s the angle? She involves you and then somehow makes it look like you\u2019re complicit? Nice story, but it doesn\u2019t have legs.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cLegs are your specialty. But I have proof.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThat\u2019s why I have the photo. I can share it with you, but only if you use it in the story confidentially to smoke out Carine and whoever she is working with.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou said money before. How does money fit into this?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThis is all completely off the record. You need to say it.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cOff the record.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cGood. When Carine hired me, she hinted that the boy\u2019s father\u2014her ex\u2014came into some money recently. Some uncle left him a house somewhere, maybe a nice cottage, and he\u2019s got some cash. Naturally, Carine wants some. She\u2019s got some vices to feed. So she hires me to investigate the ex, who she claims beat up the boy. She does that, she can get full custody and control over child support, which ramps up drastically now that the ex has money. Bing, bang, boom, and Bob\u2019s your uncle.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cIs she that stupid? Doesn\u2019t she know anyone with half a brain could figure that out?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYour aspersions directed at the police department notwithstanding, Carine\u2019s not fully present.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Silence.
+++++<\/span>\u201cOkay, I\u2019ve got enough for a story here. But I\u2019m going to need to see that photo.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThat is something I cannot do. My access is trust-derived.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThen I can\u2019t make any promises.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI understand. But this is a good story, one that doesn\u2019t come along all the time.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWe\u2019ll see about that.\u201d
+++++<\/span>And that was the extent of Buckley\u2019s conversation with Florentine the night before. Now, as he drove to the newspaper to confront the reporter, his phone buzzed. Shit: Chantelle Laramie. Actually, it was her office number: Lt. Chantelle Laramie.
+++++<\/span>\u201cI didn\u2019t leak the photo,\u201d Buckley said by way of answering the phone.
+++++<\/span>\u201cDo you know how much trouble I might be in?\u201d she rejoined.
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m on my way over to the paper right now. She was given only background info, off the record. I didn\u2019t even show her the photo.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMy ass is in a sling right now.\u201d
+++++<\/span>He thought about that for a moment.
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019ll fix this,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll figure it out.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou better.\u201d
+++++<\/span>The line went dead.<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>There was a Mary Lou\u2019s Coffee next to the marina, and he drove down there. Inside, he was so focused on getting a large black coffee that he didn\u2019t notice two of the patrons sitting at a small table to the right of the pastry display. One was short, stocky and square, with a thick, 70s-looking mustache that gave him the look of a second-tier porn actor, the guy that only got into group scenes. The other was long and lean and patrician, a younger version of the farmer in Grant Wood\u2019s American Gothic<\/i>. Buckley knew their names, but that\u2019s how he preferred to think of them, like wooden characters, or television cop duos.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWell, well,\u201d said one of the two men sitting there. \u201cIf it isn\u2019t the LT\u2019s boy toy. Nice job fucking up this investigation, dickhead.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cTurner! Hooch! How\u2019s the ball licking? You two sharing the duties?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou know, you got a real mouth on you.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWell it\u2019s better than the mangled mugs that pass for pie holes on you dipshit dicks.\u201d The two detectives froze, open-mouthed. \u201cIt\u2019s alliteration. Try to keep up.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Porn-Actor stood, achieving his full five-foot-seven-inch height without really trying. \u201cYou\u2019re about two seconds away from handcuffs, so be very careful about what you say next.\u201d A few people in Mary Lou\u2019s looked up from their devices, but then returned to them.
+++++<\/span>Grant Wood stood, rising up to over six feet, mismatching the two detectives Scene at the coffee shop: \u201cListen up, bright boy.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cBright boy? Somebody\u2019s been reading Hemingway. Or Tobias Wolff. Either way, it doesn\u2019t end well for that attribution.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cIt is so hard having a conversation with you two. Don\u2019t you read? Never mind, Columbo. What do you want?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat we want,\u201d said Porn-Actor, \u201cis for you to back off, or else you are going to find yourself in handcuffs.\u201d
+++++<\/span>A BDSM comment rose to Buckley\u2019s lips, but he pushed it down.
+++++<\/span>\u201cAnd that goes for the LT, too,\u201d said Grant Wood. \u201cYou two bum-buddies can do whatever you want behind closed doors, but you are screwing up our investigation of this kid\u2019s disappearance, and we\u2019re not going to let that happen anymore. We\u2019re happy to keep jerking you and the LT and that reporter into a circular firing squad. Capiche?\u201d
+++++<\/span>And that was their mistake. By admitting that they were actively manipulating Laramie and Florentine and himself, Cagney & Lacey not only overplayed their hand, they showed Buckley their cards. He held up his hands in mock surrender.
+++++<\/span>\u201cOkay, message received,\u201d he said. \u201cYou cats can run with this thing. I\u2019ve got about six more jobs lined up anyway. I\u2019ll go cash those checks.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou do that,\u201d said Porn-Actor, \u201cand stay clear of this investigation.\u201d
+++++<\/span>The two cops looked at each other as if they were trying to remember what else to say, and Buckley bit down hard on his tongue. After a long, awkward moment of staring into each other\u2019s eyes they walked out of the coffee shop. None of the patrons seemed to notice.<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>He quickly slipped his newly warmed right hand behind her neck and pulled her mouth into his, feeling her electric heat spread into his body, through his veins and vessels, dilating and engorging them.
+++++<\/span>They pulled apart and her huge brown eyes found his. They were at once steely and vulnerable. \u201cDid you bring me coffee?\u201d she asked.
+++++<\/span>\u201cRight here,\u201d he said, pointing to the Styrofoam cup of Mary Lou\u2019s cradled in his crotch.
+++++<\/span>\u201cOh, stop it,\u201d she said, smiling, completing the effect. She retreated into her seat a little. \u201cDo you know how much trouble I could get into if someone sees me with you?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cDon\u2019t worry. Simon & Simon aren\u2019t around, and quite frankly, besides them and Gina Fucking Florentine, nobody in this town cares if some writer-turned-PI is boning you.\u201d
+++++<\/span>She darkened at the mention of the reporter\u2019s name.
+++++<\/span>\u201cThe writer-turned-PI is still boning you, isn\u2019t he?\u201d
+++++<\/span>She smiled a little. \u201cNot lately. Where\u2019ve you been?\u201d Then she leaned in for another kiss. Her hands drifted down to his belt buckle, where her fingers lingered for a moment, before completing their journey to the coffee cup. She took it from him, leaned back, and sipped. Everything about her was fluid and purposeful, and it drove him mad.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhere are we with this thing? The captain is breathing down my neck.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Buckley raised an eyebrow. \u201cIs this competition from another suitor?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYes. The PR suitor. The department is under a lot of pressure to wrap this up. Your other girlfriend isn\u2019t helping.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cNeither are Mulder & Scully. I think you were right. They\u2019re the ones who leaked the photo to my other girlfriend, and they\u2019re the ones who are actively torpedoing you. Plus, Carine Shea called and fired me this morning.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Chantelle took another sip of the coffee. \u201cThat\u2019s not good. What were her reasons?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMoney. She only paid me my initial retainer. I\u2019m pretty sure she is working with someone else, though. She doesn\u2019t have enough of her shit together to think clearly.\u201d A thought drifts through his mind. It passes.
+++++<\/span>\u201cAny ideas?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMy other girlfriend. She\u2019s playing this so that she gets the story exclusively before the cops. And if she can cut me out of the loop, so much the better. I think she called Carine after the photo was leaked and threw us all under the bus. I think she\u2019s close to a story here.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Chantelle looked at him. Her mocha skin was soft and warm in the gray light of early morning. \u201cThen I think you need to go visit her right away and find out something so that we can make an arrest and find this kid.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou\u2019re not jealous about me spending time with my other girlfriend?\u201d
+++++<\/span>She leaned in and kissed him again, her fingers once more finding his belt buckle.
+++++<\/span>This time there was no coffee cup to distract their progress.<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>Buckley knew the address as soon as it flashed on his phone screen. It was Carine Shea\u2019s. His stomach tightened as he knocked on the door. He waited. After a long 30 seconds, he tried the door. Unlocked, it swung open.
+++++<\/span>Inside he found a dark, simple former cottage that had been minimally updated, which was how someone like Carine Shea could afford it. It was also how she could not afford it, which was probably what led her to dealing the meth was using.
+++++<\/span>How the place didn\u2019t burn down was a mystery that Buckley would leave to the cops. But judging from the position of Carine Shea\u2019s body on the kitchen floor and the burning of her upper torso, her efforts at YouTubing a mini meth lab resulted in an explosion. Only the recent renovations in the small house\u2019s kitchen prevented spread of the fire.
+++++<\/span>He carefully checked out the rest of the house, if only to confirm that the boy was not there. He was about to retreat back to his car when something caught his eye. Tucked into book was a yellow business card, serving as a bookmark. The book was a coffee table photo deal featuring the marshes south of Boston. The yellow business card was as simple as the text he received.<\/p>\n
Mark Russell<\/strong><\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>On his way to Duxbury Beach he passed the two detectives, who looked to be on their way to the Bay Ave house. Behind them was his other girlfriend. How convenient.<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat do you want to go out in this crap weather for?\u201d she said.
+++++<\/span>\u201cA little marine research. Thanks.\u201d
+++++<\/span>He found the skiff tied up near the foot of the companionway to the floating dock. The 5-hp Yamaha started on the second pull, and in another minute he was puttering across the bay, light rain forming a rime on his face.
+++++<\/span>The yellow boat was visible when he rounded the small outcropping on the southern end of the island. After he tied off the skiff, he noticed that the only view from the small dock was far across the marshes to the wooded Marshfield side of the bay. In other words, someone would have to be looking with powered optics in order to observe activity on the island. Which, he supposed, held part of its allure. Maybe that\u2019s why Capote ended up here with his typewriter.
+++++<\/span>The cottage was set back from the shore, just as Buckley had read it would be. Why the police couldn\u2019t find this place only underscored their lack of creativity. He found the boy sitting next to a small fire ring. A couple of gnarly beach pines smoldered while he poked them with a stick.
+++++<\/span>\u201cHow\u2019re you doing, kiddo?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cFine,\u201d the boy said, not looking up. His face looked pale and blank, as if he knew.
+++++<\/span>\u201cIs your dad around?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cBehind the house.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Mark Russell was hunched over a wire lobster trap. The house blocked the fine mist that still twisted out of the flat gray sky.
+++++<\/span>\u201cNo tuna this time of year?\u201d Buckley said.
+++++<\/span>\u201cGotta do something to make a living. Winter fishing is tough. But you know that, right Buckley?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cRight.\u201d He looked around. \u201cYou fellas okay here? Need anything?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cA little peace.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cPlenty of that around here.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Russell turned around from his work to face Buckley. \u201cNot really. Probably not ever. Not as long as she\u2019s still out there. But that\u2019s over now. I don\u2019t care where we have to go to get away from her, that\u2019s over. That boy deserves better, and I may not be able to give him much, but it\u2019s something. It\u2019s a way of life better than he\u2019s used to.\u201d His eyes searched past Buckley, out to the marshes. They were vacant and narrow. His eyes, too.
+++++<\/span>Buckley nodded. \u201cWell, you don\u2019t have to worry about that anymore.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cIs that why you\u2019re here?\u201d
+++++<\/span>Buckley nodded again. \u201cYou\u2019ll probably have more visitors, but not because I told them. They\u2019ll figure it out though.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThey\u2019ll try and take him.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMaybe. But you look set up good here. You got enough money?\u201d
+++++<\/span>Russell seemed to slump a little. He turned back to his traps. \u201cPlenty. My uncle. Had a good season. Plus the winter fishing is good.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cSchool\u2019s going to be the point.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI can drop him off in the morning on my way out. Still plenty of folks living on these islands.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cSounds like a plan.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMore than that boy has ever had.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Buckley turned to walk back to the dock, but stopped. He pulled the yellow business card from his pocket.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou want this back?\u201d he asked Russell.
+++++<\/span>\u201cNah. You keep it. In case you want to go chase a tuna.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Buckley nodded and left him.
+++++<\/span>The fine mist drifting on the breeze shut itself off and the cloud ceiling lifted as he rode the skiff back to the marina.<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>\u201cIt\u2019s just never over for kids like that,\u201d he said. His tone was vacant.
+++++<\/span>\u201cHis father has income and a home, that\u2019s in his favor.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cHis father is his father, and that\u2019s no favor.\u201d
+++++<\/span>She rolled up next to him. \u201cIt\u2019s life, right?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cIt\u2019s life and his mother is dead.\u201d
+++++<\/span>She kissed him, lightly on the cheek. He seemed to soften.
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he said. \u201cThese things\u2026they\u2019re just shitty.\u201d He rolled onto his side and faced her, their noses nearly touching. \u201cThanks for being there. Thanks for keeping the Hardy Boys at bay.\u201d
+++++<\/span>She smiled. \u201cRosencrantz and Guildenstern. They\u2019re like robots. Clich\u00e9 robots who grew up watching bad cop shows.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThey\u2019re not really going over your head, are they?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWho knows? Mostly, they\u2019re just obtuse.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI don\u2019t want our relationship to jeopardize your job.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cSilly man,\u201d she said, moving closer to kiss him. \u201cIt already has.\u201d<\/p>\n![\"Facebook\"](\"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-content\/plugins\/social-media-feather\/synved-social\/image\/social\/regular\/48x48\/facebook.png\"\/ "\\"Share")
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