Triple Double. James Lewis

      Jack wished Abron a speedy recover. He and Grace departed to the waiting room. Abron’s mind was much sharper than the week before. He smiled and asked, “Would it be too bold of me to ask if I can call you Izzy?”

      “Since you obviously can’t do me any harm in your condition and I enjoy talking to you, I think cop jargon would be ‘That’s an affirmative.’”

      Finally, Abron thought, first base. Who would have thought it would take nearly two months to arrive here?

      Isabel then asked, “How are you feeling today?”

      With Abron, talking to young ladies was not his greatest attribute. “Much better, thank you. I was able to stand and walk on my own earlier. The doc assigned a rehab specialist for my recovery. I start this afternoon with all muscles below my shoulders.”

      Izzy chimed, “I thought most of a policeman’s muscles were located above the shoulders next to the doughnut storage.”

      Now he laughed out loud and quipped, “Izzy, sheriff’s department employees are deputies, not policemen.” Changing the subject, he said, “How about yourself? Can you still bartend? Do you have to go into rehab? And are you free for dinner the day I get this contraption off my head and neck?” He caught her off guard.

      “I don’t know where to start, Abron. Good, yes, yes, and I’ll look forward to dinner. I do bartend seven nights a week. My doctor had a walking cast fitted. Behind the bar, I’m now hell on wheels.” Then she added, “Both jobs owe me some time off. Seriously, if you’re asking me for a date, yes, I would love to.”

      Abron was smitten. To himself, he thought, What a beautiful woman.

      Izzy quickly changed the subject and asked, “Can you remember anything about the day you were attacked?”

      “Izzy, I think there were two of them because I’m sure I heard a gun go off as I was going into unconsciousness. I think the culprits were there searching for something. I noticed a lot of dirt had been shoveled, raked, and generally moved around where they clobbered me. But, Izzy, I’d rather talk about you.”

      “Ask away,” she replied.

      “How young are you?”

      “Twenty-two and old enough to know better than to give my real age.” She smirked. Then she asked, “How old are you?”

      “Fair enough, I’ll be twenty-seven in two months.”

      “Officer, I mean, Deputy, you’re twenty-six and not giving me a straight answer. It wasn’t a trick question,” she said.

      Abron said, “I’m a very young twenty-six in all ways except thinking. Education forces me to act older in keeping up with the career.”

      To which Izzy replied, “Well, act your age, and don’t ever ask a woman hers.” Isabel then queried him about a next-day visit. Kelsey smiled and nodded assent. Isabel departed to join her parents, who were waiting down the hallway.

      Riding the elevator down to the main lobby, Isabel spouted an abrupt “Damn, I forgot to give him the book.” She stayed on the elevator and headed back up without her parents. As the door opened, a loud bang went off. The officer guarding Kelsey’s room fell off the chair, hitting the ground while grabbing his midsection. A moment later, as nurses, patients, and visitors were panicking and running away from the shot fired, an armed security guard, weapon drawn, started yelling orders as he ran toward the scene. “Get back, clear the area!” he yelled as he slammed through the confused workers and visitors.

      “Freeze,” he shouted. “Hands where I can see them.” Isabel, in shock, raised her hands. Izzy was positioned on her knees next to the two bodies. The floor was turning a crimson red when the guard backed Isabel away. She was trying to talk, trying to explain, but her words weren’t making much sense. The guard was the first to see the movement. He grabbed the gun lying next to the bodies. Slowly the patient, wearing a neck brace, began to push the shooter off him. With a sorrowful pain-induced voice, Abron spoke. “Don’t hurt her. She’s my friend.” Isabel began to sob.

      *****

      Later that day, sheriff’s deputies Rice and Monroe were filling there captain in on the shooting of both wounded lawmen and the deceased. “No identification on the perp. The officer is going to survive. He took a bullet to the midsection. Policeman Waltz was seriously lucky. The surgeon’s report said the bullet missed his spine and caused no life-threatening injuries to his stomach and intestines. When we interviewed Abron, he acted like the event was all in a day’s work. Kelsey also took a bullet that went through his hand, changing the path of the bullet away from him toward the wall. The hand has a hole in it but, miraculously, missed bone. Fortunately for Isabel and two nurses, they all had just departed his room before the shooting started.

      “Apparently, Abron was stepping out of the bathroom when the first shot gave warning, sending him into attack mode. He was crouched behind the door, partially hidden. Kelsey said the gun hand came through the door first. That’s when he grabbed it, as the weapon was discharging. What happened next is almost superhuman. Abron crushed the attacker’s skull with a heavy metal-based IV stand. The follow-through sent both to the ground as Isabel Davis entered the room.”

      “Abron’s jolt, when he hit the floor, opened the wounds on his head where the cage is attached. The blood from his hand wound added to the mess he made of the attacker. We stayed until Abron was patched up and the results of his MRI became available. Dr. Marsh said Abron was lucky. Again. No new damage to his vertebra. He should still have the same range of motion after the soreness abates. Time will tell with his total healing.”

      Captain Saunders replied, “I never saw this coming. Apparently, the Rose Lake killings are hiding something much larger than anyone thought. Isabel, is she okay?”

      Deputy Monroe answered, “In shock. Her parents were downstairs and took her home. We thought it best to get her away from there. Pat and I set up a meeting with her tomorrow morning. We posted a deputy at the door and added a second Spokane police officer by the elevator door on his level. The deceased attacker will take time to identify. No ID found. His face is all but gone.”

      *****

      In 1889, a halfway house with a bar, rooms to rent, an eatery, and a horse stable opened in Idaho territory. It was located a couple of miles from where the south and the north fork of the Coeur d’Alene River met. The way station was called the Saddle Inn. Over the years and a few generations later, it came to be known as the Silver Saddle. People would stop there while headed east or west along what is now Interstate 90. In the late nineteenth century, the territory was showing the first signs of development leading to statehood. It was a wild land that was growing in population thanks to the mining and logging industries in the region. The railroad came through around the turn of century, and commerce took off. Many of the early miners struck it big with the silver and gold unearthed from their claims. Fortunes also were made by selling earlier staked claims. Late arrivals made money opening stores and presenting services the workers and families needed. The first owner of the Saddle Inn was a hard foul-mouthed woman named Molly. She believed in shaking loose every penny possible from her customers. Molly was blessed with a devilish smile and thin anatomy. Born in Ireland, Molly was one of the best-known early pioneers of the region.

      In the late spring of her first year in business, a couple of tough-looking cowboys checked into a room, paying for three days in advance. The unsmiling cowboys were riding two Appaloosa ponies and leading six empty pack mules. They boarded with Molly’s workers. All eight animals were in good condition, just needing hay and rest. These cowboys liked their steak rare, whiskey to drink, and loud bawdy talk. The two paid for everything with silver coins. Molly and her hired men couldn’t come up with any answers concerning the empty pack mules. Molly understood the wagon trail from Montana into Idaho was in good condition. For so many pack mules, one cargo hauler would have been the better choice. It piqued her interest.

      On the first night of the boys’ stay, while they