Day 1: 2,680/100,000 words

CHAPTER 1

There was stiff breeze cutting through town when Nick Allen rolled up in front of the Sleepy Days Inn on Main Street in Arlee, Montana. It was a cool afternoon in late September, and the trees only just coming around to that rich cascade of golds and reds characteristic of that time of year.

Nick turned off his car. He hopped out and pulled out his suitcase, which was leather, well made, with fine steel clasps along the side. As he opened the door to the inn, the sharp tinkling of a bell sounded from somewhere. Stepping inside the relative warmth of the Sleepy Days Inn, Nick set down his suitcase and rang the bell on the desk. After a moment, with no response, Nick Allen rang the bell again. And again. He was not a patient man.

A somewhat seedy looking little man wandered out from his office in the back. From the surprised look on his face, Nick was probably the first customer the man had seen in days. He wrung his hands nervously, his upper lip twitching uncomfortably, made even more obvious by the thin caterpillar of a moustache he wore on his upper lip. Nick had no love of moustaches.

"Hello, welcome to The Sleep-Well Inn! I'm Boris Dunn, Hotel Manager."

"It says Sleepy Days Inn."

"Yes, well, it's a work in progress."

"I see. I'd like a room, please." Dunn shuffled hurriedly to the registry, opened a page and penned in the room number and stopped at the space designated for name. Excellent. No digital records. Excellent.

"Sure thing Mr. uhhhh..."

"Allen. Nick Allen."

"Pleasure having you with us, Mr. Allen." My Lord, this guy is reciting transcript. This place really is out of the way.

The room was on the third floor, which meant two flights of stairs. "Because the building is so old, and there is no practical place to add an elevator, Judge Mathison here in town ruled we didn't have to add one, which is good for me, because those things cost you! I just hope you don't mind the stairs too much." Nick replied, "Not at all. I could use the exercise." And these creaky stairs are as good as any alarm.

The door swung open seamlessly. The smallness of the room, especially the sloped ceilings and the musty odor that pervaded the space made Nick think of a tchotchky shop or some of those crappy gift shops in small museums. This will do just fine.

The hand wringing returned as soon as Boris Dunn had set the grip down on the bed for Nick. "Is there anything else I can get for you, Mr. Allen?" Nick shook his head, but Dunn didn't leave right away. "Are you sure? Coffee, tea? I have maps of the town downstairs. If you're interested, I also happen to know that Jesse from down the way gives tours, and he's such a funny guy-" Nick practically had to push Dunn out of the room, telling him simply, "Thanks, but no."

The clasps on the suitcase clicked crisply of finely made hardware as Nick Allen opened the suitcase. He pulled out his shirts, shoes, trousers, assorted underwear, a few documents and toiletries and set them aside. Furtively, he checked the lock on the door, and checked outside the door to make sure no one was peeking under the crack of the door. There was no one there.

Nick opened the suitcase again, now emptied of its contents. Ignoring this fact, he reached into the bottom and groped at the corner of the bottom of the suitcase. The false bottom came away, revealing the hidden compartment within. Inside was several hundred thousand dollars in cash, carefully laundered so it would be untraceable, and a Berreta PX4 snub nosed pistol. He eyed it with distaste. No, with fear. The very fact that he owned something like this was a good show of how messed up his life had become. With relief, he extracted a small amount of cash and closed the suitcase, leaving the pistol in its hiding place. 

As he left the hotel, Boris Dunn peppered him again, asking, gonna go see the town? Pick your sites, this place is just too big for one day." He chuckled to himself, but Nick turned, eyes narrowed, and said, "How big can it possibly be? It's a town of 600 people." Boris backpeddled defensively, instinctively, at Nick Allen's comment, "Hey mister, it was a joke, man, a joke. Was just being neighborly." Nick frowned, then turned and exited the building. Boris watched him go, wondering why he had reacted the way he did. What was it about the stranger that had made him defend himself? This place was small enough as it was. He had been here too long. He should have hopped that train when it was offered. He grinned at the irony of it saying, "But there haven't been any trains coming through here for a long time. A very long time... And we're 635, not 600."

The entirety of the town as it could be called was situated on Main Street, with small numbers of individually built houses on adjoining streets. Beyond the main street itself, there did not appear to be any businesses in the town. On the way into town, he had passed what appeared to be some old sawmills and factories on the way into town. There was also a train station that appeared to be condemned. Here in the town proper however, there were a few buildings, all in minor need of repair, and all centered on tourism and low level commerce. Not a single bank. No real industry of any kind. A disproportionate number of restaurants and giftshops. These were the kind of oddities and details that Nick Allen noted as he strode down Main Street.

He strode, not drove, principally because he had no real destination, but also because Arlee, Montana was so small that to walk from one end to the other would take a grand total of 15 minutes maximum. There were honestly not many things to see in this town. There was obviously some financial trouble, much like Nick had seen elsewhere, but no more than he had seen either. People here were just as bad off as everywhere else. Times were hard, and the economy was hurting people as much as it every had. Life just didn’t have the same glamour that it used to. He could see from the structure of the buildings and the manner in which they were laid out that this had once been a prosperous little town, probably based on heavy industry, but equally as probable was the tourist industry in a small town like this. People loved small towns, especially if they were clean and there was easy access to them. This town probably swelled whenever a van of little kids came into town, parents following reluctantly along, to buy popcorn and visit the theater (there was only one on Main Street). Or to see the waterfalls nearby. Or eat at the cafe. Yes, there were a thousand towns like this, near enough. If the other towns were anything to judge by, this town could be history in as little as three or four years.

Just as Nick was thinking There is absolutely nothing to see here. May as well head home, he spotted a diner bar called The Watering Hole that was serving lunch. He checked his watch, did a couple calculations in his head, then after a furtive check over his shoulder, he ducked inside.

The place was small, but quaint and almost painfully cute. The quiet life people of the town were present, coming and going as they ate, chatted and left. They seemed happy for the most part, though they were also pretty obviously defeated. There just wasn’t enough business to keep the town alive. Nick sat down at the counter.

A blonde waitress came over and, chewing gum in mouth, flipped open her pad and asked him, “You ready to order, honey?” Nick eyed the menu suspiciously. He had had pretty bad luck with diners so far. He folded the menu and asked, “What do you recommend?” He wasn’t being nice. It was safe. The best selling item was also going to be the freshest item, if history served him well.

It was when the waitress readjusted her hair while she considered that that Nick noticed her bracelet. He commented on it.

“Nice bangle.”

“What? Oh, thanks.”

“Mind if I ask a question...” he looked at her name tag, “Courtney?”

“Yeah, sure, sugar. What’s on your mind?”

“How do you afford an 18 karat gold bangle on a waitress’ salary. I mean that thing has got rubies and emeralds on it and everything. And they’re real.”

“What’s it to you, what are you a cop or something?”

Nick actually laughed. Me? A cop. That would be something.

“That’s so far from the truth, I can’t even begin.”

“It was my mother’s. I wear this every day.”

“Well I don’t doubt you wear it every day, but you didn’t get it until recently. I’d say within the last week.” She looked at him with eyes narrowed, but he caught her surprise.

“Good guess.” Guessing is for amateurs.

“No tan line.” She glanced down at her wrist. The skin below was just as dark as the rest of her skin from the summer glory. She had spent her time working the garden at her Grandma’s, part of the reason her hair was so blonde these days.

“It was a gift.” She’s lying. Wait, not lying, just withholding. Nick shook himself out of his reverie, turning his attention back to the menu. He frowned. “The brisket casserole is pretty good,” she told him. He handed the menu back to her, and she shuffled off. In the mirror behind the bar, Nick could see the whole of the place. It was bigger than he realized, with a back room. Probably a private dining room back there or something. Kind of a weird design. He took note of everyone in the room. There was a police officer that looked like he might be the sheriff of the town in the back corner, reading the paper and drinking a beer, with two donuts on a plate in front of him, and crumbs from a third. The guy is a living stereotype. There were some other assorted crowd, but they all looked like run of the mill, small town types. No one in dark suits, or carrying a badge of any kind, aside from the sheriff.

Courtney came back, hands empty. “Sorry, the cook just told me that we’re all out of the casserole, if you’d like to-”

“Well, well, well! Courtney, glad to see somebody’s wearing it!” The voice was loud and gruff, and it came from a man who was emerging from the back room. Nick turned to look behind him, as the angle of the mirror prevented him from seeing without doing so. The man standing in the doorway to the back room was broad shouldered, thin at the hip, wearing jeans smeared with dirt, black biker boots, and a tight white teeshirt on top, though this was only smeared in two places. His exposed arms were lined with tattoos from shoulder all the way down to his knuckles. From the tattoos peaking above the neckline of his shirt, he could tell this was only part of the picture.

He had his thumbs tucked behind his belt loops, drawing attention to his large belt buckle, which was an ornate skull with “Hound” etched in square letters below the top teeth. His hair was only a little too long, and heavily laden with product. Nick could smell it from his seat 20 feet from the man. It was putrid. The man didn’t pay Nick any mind. Never did his gaze wander from Courtney.

“Tina didn’t want it anymore.” Nick glanced back at Courtney, who had just spoken, but from the way she refused to break eye contact, she couldn’t convince herself that what she was saying was true. The man started forward, and Courtney jerked backward, trying to keep distance between them. He kept on. “Of course she wants it. You give it back to her, you let her wear it. You let her!” Courtney seemed to draw a breath then, and pick a side. She spoke then.

“You know your problem, Bo? You’re so full of yourself that you never even considered that maybe she’s just too good for you-” She never got farther than that, because Bo lunged at her then, fists swinging, knocking cutlery and dishes and glasses to the ground. Had Nick been looking at the attendance rather than at Bo and Courtney, Nick would have watched the onlookers quickly shuffle out or duck and hide behind their tables then. Unfortunately, Nick didn’t get the chance, because he was in the way, and he became an obstacle. Bo gruffly knocked him away and proceeded to climb over the bar. He grabbed Courtney, and slapped her roughly.

Nick wasn’t a martial artist. He had no conception of what he intended to do when he got up off the floor and climbed over the bar, and put a hand on Bo’s shoulder.

“Hey.” Bo turned, surprised that there was someone behind him. Who would dare face up against him?

“You dropped this.” Bo was whipped around as Nick pummeled him in the jaw, and then let out a faint howl as he felt the bones in his hand and give way to the much stronger bones of the man’s mandible. Still, for all the collateral damage, Bo was stunned. He stumbled backward, and, hand resting on his jaw, rapidly swelling, he fought to steady himself. Nick turned to Courtney, “Are you all right?” Courtney frowned at him and retorted, “I was fine. Leave me alone, stranger.” Two more men dressed similarly to Bo came in then from the back room, the same he had come from, finally roused by the commotion, and took in the scene before them. One of them pulled out a set of brass knuckles, and the other a rather evil looking knife.

From the kitchen then came a woman’s voice. It called, “Alright everybody calm down. I swear to God I’ll blow your brains out if you hurt my girl.” Following the voice came the long business end of a double barrel shotgun, followed by the person aiming it at the two men who had just entered the scene. They put away their weapons, and backed slowly out the front door. Bo was last to leave, nursing his bruised jaw, and probably his ego, thought Nick. Before he stepped outside, Bo stopped and looked directly at Nick. He just stared at him for a while, his face difficult to read. Great. I was just settling in.

Bo left, finally. Nick turned around and began walking out of the diner. He slowed, looking around at the people left in the diner. They were slowly getting back up again. The sheriff peeked his head out from behind the table. “Alright folks, they’re gone. Let’s all go back to what we were doing.” Incredibly people did just that. Tables were righted, people sat down, had what was left of their meal. Courtney began sweeping up the mess from Bo, her mother putting down the shotgun and grabbing a broom. She looked over at Nick, and said, “Thanks for stepping in there, mister. People don’t seem to be interested in getting involved these days. I’m Jen.” She offered her hand. “Nick.” They shook.

“Glad to have you Nick. Sorry your meal was interrupted. Can we get you something to eat? On the house, of course!” Courtney stared at her mother in disbelief, “Mom!” She stepped in, lowering her voice, though not quite low enough, “You know times are difficult enough as it is. You can’t be giving away free meals to strangers!” Her mother