Chapter 16

Late evening
County Safety Building
Harborton, Washington

Ben mentally kicked himself as he rode with the Sheriff back to the county lockup. He continued kicking himself as they processed him for about 40 charges (including littering and abusing a fire hydrant). And he was still kicking himself when they attempted to question him.

He never said a word though, except to repeat that he was from the US Marshals service and that his work was confidential. He also gave out the phone number of his ‘supervisor’ for them to talk to for confirmation. For some reason, this wasn’t sufficient to get him out, but at least the Sheriff hadn’t yet attempted to stage an ‘escape’ attempt for him or a jail cell suicide. Ben was relying on the Sheriff’s greed and uncanny sense of self-preservation to protect him until Lizzie and Lanie could bust him out.

None of this would have been necessary if he’d just taken the threat of this miniature thug seriously when he first became aware of the issue. They had all decided that the best way to operate the Nexus was to stay below the radar wherever possible and just slowly integrate into the community. Influencing county politics and dealing with local corruption was not in their wheelhouse. Luckily the local Harborton police were all straight shooters.The Sheriff’s department on the other hand was crookeder than a barrel of snakes.

Ben realized that he had made a potentially disastrous mistake with his thinking. Like it or not they were a major part of the community where they lived and they had a necessity, if not a moral obligation to make it a better place. His negligence was biting them right in the ass and at the worst possible moment. What made this bitter pill even more difficult to swallow was the catastrophic potential of the threat that the semi-trailer represented and his current inability to help.

In any case, he was now stuck in this institutionally tiled purgatory that smelled like disinfected piss and disappointment and there was fuck-all he could do about it. At least the company was rapidly improving.

“Hey Shorty, how’ve you been?” said Ben to the cell’s other occupant as the jailer shoved him rudely through the wire mesh door.

“Not bad Cap’n, fancy seeing you here. Those purty women of yourn finally get tired of your ugly mug and throw you out?” replied Shorty with a warm smile.

Shorty was something of a fixture around town. He was a fifty-something disabled vet of the first Gulf War and originally from somewhere in the hill country of West Virginia.

“Well that might be, but I’m actually here because the vertically challenged Hitler wannabe in charge here thinks he can squeeze money out of me somehow,”

“Ah yeah, I ken see that,” replied Shorty sagely scratching his 5-day-old, growth of salt and pepper beard.

“How ‘bout you hoss? Are they fitting you for a harmonica and a noose yet?”

“Not as of this tellin’, no, but it won’t be long I think. The boss fella’s getting tired of picking me up I reckon. Last thing I remember was scrounging up a bottle of Thunderbird and settin’ on the curb in front of the 7-11,” Shorty replied.

Ben had no idea how Shorty ended up in Harborton or even how he ended up with the moniker ‘Shorty’. On the rare occasion when Ben had seen him stand up straight he had to be at least Six foot six.

“You know you are always welcome out at the ranch, Shorty. The girls and I would be glad to have you,”

“Thank you once again Cap’n, and thank your kind lady folk for me, but I don’t do well in one place and I can’t accept charity of any sort, even from you sir.”

Ben had tried for months to get the old soldier help, to no avail. As far as Ben knew he usually slept out under one of the overpasses or sometimes along the river, subsisting on a meager disability check. Ben had tried to gently ask about family, but all he got was a stony silence from the normally mellow giant.

“Well it wouldn’t be charity, there’s lots I could use help with, and you know I always prefer to work with vets,” replied Ben.

“Yes sir, I will consider ... Holyeee Shiiit where did you come from?” shouted Shorty.

Ben spun around ready to fight only to be greeted by a giggle and a five-foot-eight-inch stack of busty, armored Valkyrie- complete with spear.

“Um, ah, Hi?” stuttered Ben.

“Greetings Lord Ben. I am Brunheil. I’m sure you don’t remember me but I helped fly you home after the Battle of the Bridge,” she said, shaking his hand.

“I think I remember you now- from the wedding!” said Ben, “and please I’m just ‘Ben.”

“Yes, I was there as well. I didn’t think you’d remember!” Brunheil’s pale skin blushed prettily.

“I don’t think anyone will ever forget your dance number!” laughed Ben. “And thank you for your assistance, I wouldn’t be here without it.”

“It was an honor L ... uh Ben,” replied Brunheil with a dimpled smile.

“Um who ... how did ... Cap’n am I really seeing this?” interrupted Shorty.

“Oh sorry, yes Shorty she’s really here. Shorty, meet Brunheil, she’s a Valkyrie and a friend.”

“Whew, I was afraid that Thunderbird was kicking in agin. Pleasetameetcha Miss Brunheil, pardon me for starin’, I ain’t never met a Valk-Ree,” said Shorty.

Brunheil was pretty worth staring at Valkyrie or not, thought Ben. Her armor could in no way disguise her sumptuous curves. Her open-faced helmet didn’t conceal her shoulder-length brunette curls or her dark blue eyes under arched brows either. She was a real handful, or two.

“Ah, Mr. Shorty, no pardon necessary. It is indeed a pleasure and an honor to meet you as well, but I’ve seen you before,” replied Brunheil enigmatically.

“How is that possible Miss? Pretty sure I’d remember you,” replied Shorty.

“I and my companions were at the crossroads that day in Iraq, although you couldn’t see us,” said Brunheil.

Shorty visibly blanched, backed shakily towards the steel bench bolted to the wall, and sat down, his head in his hands, taken by memory, he began rocking back and forth slightly.

“Sorry Mr. Shorty, I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories,” said Brunheil, laying a kind hand on his shoulder.

A nod was the only response. Ben could tell that Shorty had retreated into a land of remembrance that no one else could travel. He’d done the same himself many times. Brunheil shared a compassionate look with Ben. Ben would bet that Brunheil and her kind were some of the few noncombatants who could know the toll war extracted from the men and women that waged it. Ben had seen Shorty in this state before and there wasn’t much to be done about it except give him some space.