Northern Lights

best Western ever made when everybody knows it's Red River."
    Nate said nothing for a long moment. "That's it?"
    "Well, Christ's sake! "
    "Just want to be clear. You and your brother whaled on each other because you disagreed about the relative merits of Stagecoach versus Red River in the John Wayne oeuvre."
    "In his what?"
    "You were fighting over John Wayne movies."
    Jim shifted on his seat. "Guess. We'll settle up with Charlene. Can I go now?"
    "You'll settle up with Charlene, and you'll pay a fine of a hundred dollars each for creating a public nuisance."
    "Oh hell now. You can't—"
    "I can." Nate leaned forward, and Jim got a good look at cool, quiet gray eyes that made him want to squirm in his seat. "Jim, listen to what I'm saying to you. I don't want you or Bill fighting in The Lodge. Anywhere else for that matter, but for just this minute, we'll pinpoint The Lodge. There's a young boy who spends most of his day there."
    "Well, hell, Rose always takes Jesse back in the kitchen if there's a ruckus. Me and Bill, we wouldn't do nothing to hurt that kid. We're just, you know, high-spirited."
    "You'll have to lower those spirits when you're in town."
    "A hundred dollars?"
    "You can pay Peach, within the next twenty-four hours. You don't, I'm going to double the fine for every day you're late meeting the terms. If you don't want to pay the fine, you can spend the next three days in our fine accommodations here."
    "We'll pay it." He muttered, shifted, sighed. "But Christ's sake. Stagecoach."
    "Personally, I like Rio Bravo."
    Jim opened his mouth, shut it again. Obviously he took a moment to consider the consequences. "It's a damn good movie," he said after a moment, "but it ain't no Red River."
     
     
    IF NUISANCE CALLS were to be the norm, Nate considered he might have made the right decision in coming to Lunacy. Sibling brawls were probably his top speed these days.
    He wasn't looking for challenges.
    The Mackie brothers hadn't posed one. His round with Bill had gone along the same lines as his round with Jim, though Bill had argued passionately, and with considerable articulation, regarding Stagecoach. He hadn't seemed nearly as upset at being punched in the face as he was about having his favorite movie dissed.
    Peter stuck his head in the door. "Chief ? Charlene says you should come over and have lunch on the house."
    "I appreciate that, but I've got to get ready for this meeting." And he hadn't missed the gleam in Charlene's eyes when he'd hauled off Jim Mackie. "I'd like you to follow this one through, Peter. Go on over there, get a list of damages and replacement costs from Charlene. See that the Mackie boys get it, and pay the freight within forty-eight hours."
    "Sure thing. You handled that real slick, chief."
    "Wasn't much to handle. I'm going to write the report. I'm going to want you to look it over, add anything you feel necessary."
    He looked around when he heard a window-rattling roar. "Earthquake? Volcano? Nuclear war?"
    "Beaver," Peter told him.
    "I don't care if it is Alaska, you don't have beavers big enough to sound like that."
    With an appreciative laugh, Peter gestured to the window. "Meg Galloway's plane. It's a Beaver. She's bringing in supplies."
    Swiveling around, Nate caught sight of the red plane, one that looked the size of a toy to him. Recalling he'd actually flown on one of about the same size, he felt the little pitch in the belly and turned away again.
    Grateful for the distraction, he pressed his intercom button when it buzzed. "Yes, Peach."
    "A couple of kids pitching ice balls at the school windows. Broke one before they ran off."
    "We got ID?"
    "Yes indeed. All three of them."
    He considered a moment, worked down the order of things. "See if Otto can take it."
    He looked back at Pete. "Question?"
    "No. No, sir." Then he grinned. "Just nice to be doing, that's all."
    "Yeah. Doing's good."
    He kept himself busy doing until it was time to leave for the meeting. They were primarily housekeeping and organizational chores, but it helped Nate feel as if he was making his place.
    For however long the place was his.
    He'd signed on for a year, but both he and the town council had a sixty-day grace period when either side could opt out.
    It steadied him to know he could leave tomorrow if he chose. Or next week. If he was here at the end of two months, he should know if he'd stick for the term of contract.
    He opted to walk to Town Hall. It seemed wimpy somehow to drive so short a