John spent a few minutes in Mike's car, trying to steel his resolve and prepare for what he might have to do. The Cadillac was parked outside Pickett First Methodist, right down the block from Sheriff Parker’s house. It was ten till one and the rains of earlier started back up just as Mike parked the car. A light drizzle peppered the windshield with drips of water. He took a deep breath and began to climb out the car. "Let me go in with you," said Mike. "I do not trust this son of a bitch. Never have." "I ain't going in alone," John said, patting the gun hidden under his jacket. "Just give me a holler, okay? I'll pull up closer so I can hear better. I hear yelling or a gunshot and I'm busting in." John nodded and got out the car. Parker’s house was a two-story home just off what people in town called the Mill Hill, the slope above where the empty Simpson Mill sits. The entire hill was filled with the old homes the company provided to workers. The second floor in Parker’s home was an add-on and looked like it. The more modern style and fresh paint clashed with the humble architecture of the blue collar worker bottom. Parker’s silver unmarked car the county provided him with sat in the front yard. His wife passed a few years ago from breast cancer and his only son lived outside the county was his own family so he lived alone. He went around back and inspected the door. It was locked but not deadbolted. It only took John a few minutes to pick it with the old credit card routine. With the door unlocked, he slowly opened the back door and ventured inside. He passed through the back porch that had old clothes and a washer and a dryer in it. The next room through that was the kitchen. He put one foot into the tile floor of the kitchen when the light snapped on. Standing in a white tank-top and striped boxers was Parker. The bored looked on his face made it look like he was waiting on a bus instead of a burglar. Down by his side was his service pistol. It was aimed square at John's chest. His gun was still in his pocket. “Have a seat,” he said, walking towards the kitchen table beside the sink. John stared while he sat down and laid the gun down on the table. “Shut the back door, please. House can be kinda drafty in this weather.” Not knowing what else to do, he complied and sat down at the table facing the sheriff. Parker’s fingers were laced together and resting in front of him on the table. A supposed gesture of good faith, John guessed. Still, the gun was well within reach. There would be no way in hell he could beat Parker in either going for his gun or reaching to get the pistol in his pocket. He started. “A few days ago, someone in the woods found a body. This led to a few of my deputies finding the body of Howard Beggs. Four bullets went through his body, mostly his head. The only reason we made him as Beggs was because the license in his back pocket.” John stayed silent while Parker’s gray-blue eyes kept him transfixed where he sat. He stared at John for a few seconds that felt like they took forever to pass before he kept talking. “Scott Andrews, my chief deputy, said you were asking all over town about Beggs recently. Scott also asked to run a background check on you. He said he remembered you having a gun. Last I talked to him, he was bucking for a search warrant on your trailer.” John kept silent while Parker kept staring. “Well.” Parker shook his head and let out a short bark of a laugh. “Boy, they fucked you over but good. Only way you’d look better is if they found you over Beggs’ body.” “You bastard,” John finally said. “You goddamn bastard. You set me up for this from the get go.” “Me?” Parker asked, pointing to himself. “No. I was just following orders.” John leaned forward and showed his teeth as he spoke. “Bullshit. You know where this was going to lead me. I know you went to see George Silvers the day before you hired me. He told me he spilled everything to you.” Parker sighed and scratched the back of his head. “He did. And now you know the truth.” “And I still don’t believe it.” Parker raised a hand and showed John he was going to pick up the gun. “I’m armed as well,” said John. “So, you try anything you’re going down with me.” Parker picked the gun up and motioned for John to follow him through the house. He stayed close behind Parker while the sheriff led him into a bedroom that had been converted into a study with a desk and a few file cabinets. There was a leather chair facing the desk. John sat down gingerly, slipping a hand into his pocket to grab his gun, while Parker rifled through the desk. Finally, he pulled out a folder and slid it across the surface of the desk to him. “Read it and weep,” he said. John opened the folder and saw that George’s bullshit was all true. The photo was a mugshot of Howard Beggs. The date beside the shot said it was taken six years earlier. He was eighty pounds heavier, his blonde hair in a buzzcut and a thick mustache over his lip. Beside the photo was a file that was completely different than what he had read about him. Howard Beggs was, in reality, Jerry Miller. Instead of being forty years old and from Darlington County, he was instead born in Moncks Corner. And he was a detective sergeant with the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division. “So,” he said, looking up at Parker. “That’s why they set me up for this?” “Yep,” Parker said. “It’s one thing to make a tweaker like Howard Beggs disappear, nobody gives a shit. But do the same to Sergeant Jerry Miller? Not so easy.” An undercover SLED agent? He leaned back in the chair and had to fight the urge to puke all over the file and Parker’s desk. When it had passed, he shook his head and looked at Parker. “So that’s how he got off without having to pay bail?” John asked. “Yep. Soon as Sherry brought him in, he was on the phone to someone in Columbia. They got him off right fast and in a hurry by putting pressure on me. After that I asked around to some of my friends with the state police, and that was when I found out. He was sent in to Pickett six months ago to look at all of us, Billy and the sheriff’s department.” “That arrest report you had was fake?” “Yep. Everything up until his last arrest. Turns out, the state police were just as interested in finding him as Billy. He’d gone off the reservation, so to speak.” “Meth does that to people." He passed the folder back to Parker. “Billy knew a week before you did. George said Beggs got fucked up one night and bragged to him that their little plan to expand behind Billy’s back would work. That was when he told George the truth. George ran and told Billy to save his own skin. Also explains why Scott Andrews pulled him over for no real reason.” “Yeah,” Parker said. “If not for Sherry showing up, Beggs probably wouldn’t have made it off that roadside alive.” John agreed. “Easiest thing in the world for Andrews to shoot him while he’s stopped and drive off like nothing happened. Sherry shows up and Andrews can’t kill him, so they bring him in. He gets free and then rabbits. He comes to George for help, George sells him out and the set up is on for me. Only thing I can’t figure is your part in this, sheriff. You roped me into this. You were in on the fix, but why if Andrews is playing for the other side? I didn’t think Billy had everybody in his pocket.” “Like I said, just following orders.” John pulled his gun from his jacket and leveled it at the sheriff's chest. “Not good enough, Gene.” He glanced at the gun by his side. It would be close, but it may end up as a draw. They both knew a draw would end with both of us shot. Instead of getting feisty, Parker hunched over his chair and leaned forward. His face screwed up and John could tell he was fighting back tears. “Billy’s had my ass under the eight ball for nearly twenty damn years. I don’t work for him, I’m his slave. He’s got blackmail that would ruin me, John. I’m talking about more than getting me thrown out of office, I mean criminal charges.” “What, exactly?” “No,” he said with the shake of his head. “I’m not telling, I don’t care if you shoot me full of holes. The point is, John, Billy’s owned me for nearly my whole time in office. I went looking for Beggs on my own after Mark and Danny failed to find him. I came across George and he sung when I threatened him with jail. The snake that he is, he told Billy and Billy came up with the plan. We’d use you as the fall guy. You're a Norman, for god's sake. Everybody’s been waiting on you to snap. No way in hell nobody would believe you getting framed.” John's anger started to rise. Parker was joining the cast of characters that made up the revenge fantasies in his head. Smashing his face into the desk over and over again until his blood stained the wood was starting to look like a good possibility. He kept going. “So, I was to force you into finding Beggs and let you ask your questions around town. Then Jed would grab you, plant his gun on you, and he’d leave you by his body where Scott would find you and arrest you, or shoot you down and pretend you drew the gun on him. Scott would get the glory that that would launch him to running for sheriff.” “Replacing you?” John asked. “Yeah,” Parker said with a look of disdain. “Apparently, I’m too old and it’s time to put me out to pasture. Billy wants Scott as sheriff now, a man he doesn’t have to threaten to work for him.” It was laid out in front of him, the whole damn thing. An undercover state police officer addicted to meth and gone rogue with some half-assed plan to make meth and money, but his greed got him killed and, more importantly, majorly fucked John's life up. He looked down at his gun and then up at Parker. “I don’t want to go to jail, so if you let me leave now I won’t have to hurt you.” “I have no intention of arresting you, none at all.” “Then what?” John skeptically asked. “You want this to go away?” Parker leaned forward to look him square in the eyes. “You do exactly as I say and I can make this go away, or at least buy you enough time to leave.” “What do I have to do?” He smiled and John felt his arms break out in goose bumps at the cold and callous thing on Parker's face that was supposed to be warm and friendly. “They want to push me out, I think you should push them out.” “Who?” “Billy, Scott, Jed, even crazy ass Jim Brown. I want you to kill them all and find the blackmail Billy has on me. You do that, I’ll pin the murder on one of them and get you off scot free.” “Are you serious?” John asked with an arched eyebrow. “As a heart attack, son. Hell, you pull this off right and I’ll give you my blessing to run Billy’s rackets.” “Never say the law here in Pickett County don’t look out for the wellbeing of its citizens...” “Billy’s had a good run, but it’s over,” Parker said with a shrug. “Besides, you’re a Norman. If anybody can do it right, it’s you.” John knew that was sucking up bullshit. He didn’t want to do all the things Mike had done. Dealing drugs, breaking legs, and pimping wasn’t John's style. But he had a chance to get revenge without any impunity. And it was an offer Parker was too quick to throw out. “How long have you had this card in your back pocket?” John asked. Another look of innocence from Parker. “What do you mean?” “Getting me out of trouble with Carol and her folks, cutting through all that red tape and greasing palms get me free, knowing that Bill may employ me, knowing about my little weed farm for years. How long you been waiting to cash those all those favors in?” “Ah.” He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “You see, John, lot of men collect things. Cars, fishing rods, baseball cards, things like that. Me? I collect favors. You think you’re the only one in this county, or hell, the only one in this state I’ve went the extra mile for? I got friends all over Pickett, you’re just one of many. And now I’m asking for one more favor. You got it in you to step up to the plate and do what needs to be done?” John stood up and tucked the gun into his jacket. “Of course. I’m a Norman, ain’t I?” Parker smiled, a genuine one this time. “You most certainly are. Now, go do your ancestors proud and go out there and kill as many sumbitches as you can.” --- Gene Parker stood at the window and watched Mike Norman's Cadillac disappear down the street. He let out a long breath and sighed. His knees nearly buckled and his hands were shaking fiercely. When he saw John Norman in his kitchen, he was certain he was going to die right then and there. But he talked his way out of it. It was mostly truth, but there was bullshit in there to. Enough to spin the Norman boy's anger away from himself and towards more deserving parties. He turned from the window and shuffled back towards his holster. He slid the service pistol into place and picked his cell phone up off the coffee table. Gene took a deep breath and dialed a number. "It's Gene Parker," he said after a few long moments of silence. "We need to have us a talk." --- Mike couldn't believe what John had just told him. They drove out of town and parked amidst all the rotten old buildings in Saloon City. Mike just listened as John recapped his conversation with Parker. This entire mess was a clusterfuck. Just trying to make sense of it hurt his head. This game Billy was playing was a bunch of bullshit in his estimate. Back when Mike ran things, he just walked up and killed someone. End of story. All these layers and lies just tangled things up. "Still want to stay?" He asked his grandson. "Parker made it clear I either get the blackmail Billy has on him, or I get a murder charge on me." Mike sighed and ran his hands through his thinning hair. "If Billy has anything on the sheriff, we both know where it'd be." John nodded slowly. "Ray's. That big ass safe in the backroom." Mike popped the trunk and started to open the door of his car. He motioned for John to follow him. They went to the back of the Cadillac where Mike raised the trunk. Laying there was a twelve gauge pump shotgun with a box of shells. "You take the shotgun and I'll take the pistol in your jacket," said Mike. "I don't--" "I ain't asking," he said curtly. He looked at John through the dark. "This ain't just about you, boy. It's about us. What Billy Brown took from us. Not just my business, but my son. Your daddy. You grew up without a father because of that son of a bitch, and now he keeps fucking with us long after the war is over. This is about clearing your name [i]and[/i] bringing our name back. People in this county used to fear the last name Norman. They need to learn to again." Mike watched as John picked up the shotgun pumped a shell into the breech. "Let's go."