Chapter 5: Marty Haskell

Four Years Ago

Everest, Montana

Travis Scott parked in front of the Rusty Nail on Route 91 and looked around curiously. Across the street was Gallagher’s Fine Used Cars, but a number of the cars were blackened wrecks and a stench of burned-out vehicles lingered. It was a mixture of burned tires and gasoline, and it made Travis want to gag. Mel Barstow, the owner of the Rusty Nail, one of the better barbecue joints in the Everest area, couldn’t be too happy about that, he thought.

Also out in front of the Rusty Nail were four motorcycles, with one rider in gang colors leaning against the door to the restaurant and barring entry. The other three must be inside, Travis figured, but why leave the fourth outside? If they wanted takeout, why ride a motorcycle? A car would be more convenient. Something just didn’t seem right to Travis. He walked up to the door to go in, but the biker didn’t budge.

“Excuse me,” said Travis.

“Get lost,” said the biker.

Travis’ eyes widened at that. “I’d like to go inside, please.”

“And I said to fuck off!” was the loud reply.

“And I said I wanted to go inside. Please.”

“What are you? Stupid? Fuck off! The place is closed!” The biker shifted, standing upright from leaning against the doorframe. “Now, get lost before you get hurt.”

Travis didn’t get lost, or even back away. He wandered over to one of the windows and looked inside, causing the biker to look pissed. Inside the other three bikers were gesticulating wildly in front of Mel and throwing things off the counter. Travis could also see a few people in the restaurant area being moved away from the front by a pair of waitresses, in the direction that Travis knew was a side entrance.

The biker moved over to Travis. “That’s it, asshole! You were told to get lost!” He grabbed for Travis’ shoulder with his left hand as his right hand he balled up into a fist.

Only Travis wasn’t there to grab. He had shifted away before the biker even realized it, and the biker was grabbing for air and his fist missed Travis completely. Instead, Travis had moved to the side and extended his left leg, even as his right hand shot forward and grabbed the biker’s left shoulder. The biker spun around and tripped over Travis’ leg, and Travis pushed forward from behind, hard, slamming the biker’s throat into one of the decorative posts along the front of the restaurant’s walkway. Before he even knew what was happening, the biker collapsed to the ground, clutching at his throat. He lay on the ground gasping for air, barely noticing as Travis pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in 9-1-1. He reported that there was a disturbance at the Rusty Nail and that several ambulances were needed. Then he pocketed the phone and stepped around the collapsed biker, now beginning to turn blue, and opened the door.

Everybody turned and looked, Mel in sheer terror, and the three other bikers in supreme annoyance. “Hey, fellows, your buddy just collapsed. I already called an ambulance for him,” said Travis. He was smiling helpfully but kept his eyes on the three bikers and held the door open for them politely.

The one who had been talking to Mel, answered, “What the fuck?” He turned back to Mel, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him forward. He punched Mel in the face and said, “We’ll be back in a moment, and you’d better have the money!” He shoved Mel back against the wall behind the counter and turned back to Travis. “Your turn, asshole!” He made a gesture and the other two bikers moved towards the door.

Travis simply smiled and shrugged, stepping away from the door. It was better that what would happen next happen outside of the restaurant than inside. There’d be less chance one of the idiots might hurt somebody other than himself. That didn’t prove to be an issue. The three bikers, each of them larger than Travis, bulled their way out of the door and looked down at their counterpart gasping and twitching on the concrete walkway. Then they turned back to Travis and moved forward, murder in their eyes.

It was over in under a minute. Travis didn’t hit any of them a single time but managed to sidestep each of them and push or shove them into something hard. One managed to trip over his feet and did a high-speed face plant into the walkway, breaking his nose, shattering his jaw, and knocking him out. The one who roughed up Mel and seemed to be the leader tripped over the motorcycles, breaking both his arms when one of the heavy Harleys fell on him and trapped him. The third slipped and the back of his head crashed into the side of the building, and he received a concussion for his troubles.

Travis stepped around the human debris and opened the door to the Rusty Nail. Mel was rubbing a black eye, but Travis didn’t say anything about it. “Can I order some takeout?” he asked.

Mel stared at him, his eye swelling. “I just called the cops!” he replied, ignoring the request for takeout.

“Oh. Uh, takeout?” Mel kept staring and didn’t respond. Travis sighed. “Okay, maybe a table would be best. Sit anywhere?” he asked, looking into the dining area. It was mostly empty, with abandoned plates and jackets, and a few people in the back looking forward fearfully. Travis waved and smiled at a young waitress and pointed at a table that nobody had been sitting at. He motioned her forward and sat down at the table.

The young girl, still in her teens thought Travis, slowly crept forward. Travis smiled at her and asked, “Can I get the rib plate, and some iced tea, please?”

She swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Travis smiled again. “Thank you.” He glanced back towards the doorway, where several people were staring out at the four bikers on the ground. “It looks like you had some excitement earlier. I hope everybody’s okay. They seemed very clumsy to me.”

The waitress simply nodded and took the order back to the kitchen. Mel came from the front and came over to Travis’ table. “Thank you.”

Travis smiled. “Don’t thank me. I think those fellows are pretty clumsy. I called for an ambulance already.”

“Clumsy? Yeah, sure! The Sheriff’s department is on the way!”

Travis nodded at that, unsurprised. “Well, I’m not going anywhere. I just ordered some iced tea and the rib dinner.”

Mel just stared at him for a moment and then went back up front. By the time he got there, the first ambulance had arrived. It was followed a minute later by a Sheriff’s deputy. He looked around and came into the Rusty Nail, and Mel pointed him towards Travis.

The deputy came up to Travis. “You mind telling me what happened here?” he asked.

Travis smiled. “I really don’t know, Officer. The fellows outside, they’re pretty clumsy. They all tripped and fell. I never came inside until afterwards, so I just don’t know what they were doing in here. Maybe you should ask Mel. He’s normally at the front counter.”

“Mel says you beat them up.”

Travis smiled and shrugged. “No idea why he said that. I mean, do I look like somebody who’s been in a fight? I’m a very peaceful man, Officer.”

“I’m a Deputy Sheriff!” replied the deputy, whose name tag read Randall. For some reason, Deputy Randall thought he had lost control of the conversation, and it didn’t sit well with him.

“Sorry. I’m a very peaceful man, Deputy.” He looked around and caught the eye of the young waitress and waved her closer. “Care for some coffee, Deputy, or some iced tea?” he asked.

Deputy Randall just stared. This was the coolest customer he had ever run across! “No! No coffee or iced tea! Maybe I just take you in! Maybe you’ll talk downtown!”

“Deputy Randall, I am trying to be cooperative, really, I am. What do you think I’ve done? Is Mel charging me with something?”

“What have you done? I’ve got four men going to the hospital and you’re the one who put them there! Come on, stand up! You’re going in!”

Travis sighed. While it would be child’s play to send the deputy to the hospital with the others, that probably wasn’t a good long-term strategy if he wanted to continue living in the Everest area. “Deputy, have you examined the surveillance footage? If I didn’t hit those men, then why am I going to jail?”

“Enough of your shit!” Deputy Randall grabbed Travis by the shoulder and tugged him up and out of his seat.

Travis seriously began to reconsider his desire to remain a peaceful citizen. Fortunately for him, another deputy entered the Rusty Nail at that moment and looked around. He spoke to Mel for a moment and came over to the table. Randall was still in the process of handcuffing Travis when the other Deputy came over. “Bob, I’ll take over.”

“Lieutenant, this guy is going down to the house.”

“Bob, cut him loose and I’ll take over.”

“Lieutenant!” protested Deputy Randall. The new deputy simply looked at Randall without smiling, and Randall cut Travis loose, and then stomped outside.

The new deputy, a lean man with a tough demeanor, stood in front of Travis and asked, “What’s your name?”

Travis looked at the new deputy’s name plate and the bars on his collar. “Travis Scott, Lieutenant Haskell.”

“Mel says you didn’t hit any of those guys.”

“No, sir, I just tried to keep out of their way. They seemed very clumsy and kept tripping over their own feet.”

“Uh, huh.”

The waitress came back out and asked, “Uh, are you still going to be having the rib plate?”

Travis gazed curiously at Lieutenant Haskell, who simply shrugged and sat down at the table. Travis turned back to the young girl and nodded, saying, “Please. Oh, and get the lieutenant some coffee or tea, please, on me.” He sat back down across from Haskell.

“Sir?”

“Coffee is fine. Thanks.”

Haskell looked back at Travis. “Thank you. Now, who is Travis Scott? Where are you from, Mister Scott?”

“Oh, all over, I guess you could say, but originally I’m from Idaho.”

“And you live where? I think I know most of the local folks.”

“Just east of here. I have a place off 91 about five miles east of here. I just moved here from back east. Is there a problem, sir?” asked Travis.

The waitress brought out Travis’ lunch and Lieutenant Haskell’s coffee. They thanked her and Marty continued quizzing Travis, mildly frustrated by the generally vague responses he was getting. “Is there a problem, Lieutenant?”

“Well, we don’t really like to see public brawling here, though from what Mel said it wasn’t a brawl. He said you took them apart like wet cardboard in a woodchipper.”