Divine Evil

kindly with him. He'd bloated and sagged, and the part in his dingy brown hair had widened as sadly as his waistline. He pushed a chaw in the side of his mouth and rose.
    “Cam. Didn't think you were coming by.” He focusedon Clare and managed what passed for a smile. There was tobacco juice on his teeth. “Heard you were back.”
    “Hi, Mr. Morgan.” She tried not to remember that he had been the first on the scene after her father's death. Or to blame him for being the one who had pried her away from the body.
    “Guess you're rich and famous now.” There was a crash and a curse from the back. Morgan cocked a brow, then spit expertly into the brass bucket in the corner. “Old Biff's been causing a ruckus most of the day. Got one god-awful hangover.”
    “I'll deal with it.” Cam glanced toward the back as a new wave of obscenities erupted. “Bud, why don't you run Clare home?”
    She started to bow out graciously, then noticed the tension in Cam's face, his neck, his arms. “I'm fine.” With a casual shrug, she began to study the papers stuck to the bulletin board. “I'll just hang around. Take your time.”
    Morgan patted the belly over his belt. “Since you're here, Cam, I'll take my dinner break.”
    With a curt nod, Cam strode over to the heavy door separating the cells from the office. The cursing went on after he shut the door behind him.
    “Tough on him,” Morgan said and spit again. “Come on, Bud, buy you a cup of coffee down to Martha's.”
    “Ah…see you, Clare.”
    “Sure, Bud.”
    When they left, she wandered to the window to look out at the town. It was quiet as a portrait on a Sunday. A few kids were riding bikes down the Main Street slope. A couple of teenagers were sitting on the hood of an old Buick and flirting. Inside the houses, she imagined, people were sitting down to Sunday suppers of pot roast or baked ham.
    From the room behind her, she could hear the vicious-temperedshouts of Biff, bullying and threatening his stepson. She couldn't hear Cam at all and wondered if he spoke or merely listened.
    He spoke-in a low, controlled voice that held more power than all of Biff's ragings. Through the bars that separated them, he studied the man who had made his life hell for almost as long as he could remember. Doc Cramp-ton had bandaged Biff up, but one eye was swollen closed, and his nose was a bruised mess against the white adhesive.
    And he was old, Cam realized all at once. The man was old, used up, and pathetic.
    “You'll stay in until bail's set tomorrow,” Cam told him.
    “You let me out of here now, or when I get out, I'll come for you. You understand me, boy?”
    Cam looked at the battered face, realizing he'd done that with his own hands. Yet he couldn't remember it clearly. Every blow had been rammed through a blinding haze of hate. “I understand you. Stay out of my town, old man.”
    “Your town?” Biff's thick fingers wrapped around the bars and shook. “You're nothing but a pissant punk in this town, and you'll never be any different. Pin a fucking badge on your shirt and think you're big time. You're worthless, just like your old man was worthless.”
    Cam's hand snaked through the bars so quickly, Biff had no chance to evade. There was the sound of material ripping where Cam gripped Biff's shirt. “Just who do you think would give a shit if I found you dead in this cell?” He pulled, hard, and had Biff's face rapping into the bars. “Think about that, you bastard, and stay clear of me. And if I find out you went home and took out your little frustrations on my mother, I'll kill you. You understand me?”
    “You ain't got the guts. You never did.” Biff yanked himself away and swiped a hand under his freshly bleeding nose. “You think you know all there is to know, but you don't know shit. You don't run this town. You're going to pay for putting me in here. I know people who can make you pay.”
    Disgusted, Cam moved to the door. “You want to eat, then you watch your mouth. I'm leaving orders for Mick to hold back your dinner until you quiet down.”
    “I'll see you in hell, boy,” Biff shouted through the bars, bashing them with his fists when Cam shut the door again. “If it's the last thing I do, I'll see you in hell.”
    Alone in the cell, he mopped at his face. And began to chant.
    Clare waited until she heard the door close before she turned. One look at Cam's face had her heart going out to him, but she offered a casual smile