About the time Gunnar and I finished up our preliminary investigation of the UCLA incident and started to head back to Berkeley, Jack and Camilla, as agreed, borrowed Laurel's Impala and headed to NOLA to do the necessary ground work in advance, contacting Brigitte's last known living relative, and buying supplies in anticipation of Brigitte's impending wake/funeral. I would be riding along with Gunnar, Laurel, and Nate as we drove Brigitte's earthly remains cross country in a refrigerated container, bound for New Orleans.
But first there was the matter of young Gair's adoption paperwork to finish back in Berkeley, something I wanted personally to see completed before we headed out. I knew in the back of my mind that Laurel might also find herself bound by a geas that would be bestowed on her by Manannán mac Lir...I suspected it might be the obligation to see that no children come to harm in her presence...Manannán mac Lir would of course be essentially thereby ensuring the safety of his offspring despite Laurel's hailing from a competing pantheon. Laurel is such a kind and caring soul, I can't see her not agreeing to be bound by such a geas, as she is living the essence of it already since we knocked over the compound of The Order.
Not long after our arrival back at Laurel's place in Berkley, we all received a burst of photo and video texts from Jack and Camilla somewhere outside Shreveport, Louisiana, from the scene of what at first seemed like an ordinary hum drum road accident, but then the still image of a rather large...footprint? of something...caught my interest, definitely, but neither Gunnar nor I could make heads or tails of it. Maybe we'd have time to look at it face to face...it was clear that the natural light of the scene was fading...it must have been at dusk...and the image resolution wasn't the best. Camilla and Jack seemed to be in a hurry.
The last text we got from Jack was terse and to the point.
"Prbly Gonna fight, BRB"
It wasn't until several hours later that Jack notified us they were inside NOLA city limits. They had a hotel and would be making contact with Odette the next morning.
When asked about the "fight", Jack said "Can't talk about it over the phone. Pass me to Gunnar."
I handed the wireless landline to Gunnar.
"Gunnar here, what's up, Jack?"
"Hey, dude. No need to tell Laurel or anything, but her Impala's gonna be in the shop for a little while. No biggie. Just some road spikes. Keep it on the D.L., k?"
My eyebrows shot up (I could hear Jack's voice from the receiver), but Gunnar's face remained impassive.
"It's cool, bro. We'll see you in a few days."
After the adoption papers were signed, we let young Brendan Gair know we had to honor our promise to Brigitte, and that meant an unavoidable road trip to New Orleans. I told him he was doing well in Berkeley's local schools and to keep up the good work.
Being from Ireland, it still staggers my mind at times just how big the United States is, just how long it takes to traverse the country. I don't think I'll ever gripe again about a trip from Dublin to Galway ever again.
I did my fair share of the driving. During the times when I was not driving, I'd let Aisling out of her flask to move about freely in the interior of Nate's police SUV, as long as she promised not to distract the driver. We chatted amicably. She would usually start in Irish, but I would encourage her to speak English so everyone else could understand. I let Aisling sit on my shoulder a lot, sometimes she would nap there.
We first had to return to Las Vegas; Nate's extended loss of time in Death Valley's corner of Terra Incognita had basically cost him his job. He had to turn in his badge, his service pistol, and this police SUV. We'd be picking up Nate's civilian SUV at his residence in the Las Vegas suburbs. He also said he had some business of a personal nature to attend to. Laurel told me it was something to do with his on-again, off again girlfriend who held a civilian job within the police agency where Nate (used to) work. Nate's unexplained absences, his secrets, etc, had all taken their toll on the relationship, I gathered. I certainly didn't want to pry. And I really didn't know what to say. I'd suggested a career change, maybe the FBI or U.S. Marshall's service, and I had noticed Nate had downloaded some of the application paperwork for these agencies and had partly filled them out, but his heart just didn't seem in it.
Nate dropped us off at his place, and Laurel agreed to drive his civilian SUV behind Nate, then give him a ride back after he'd formally resigned as a local law enforcement officer. I glanced at some photos Nate had around his place with a pretty girl I took to be Alli, Nate's significant other.
Nate and Laurel came back about an hour later.
"Easier than I thought it'd be." said Nate, heading into his bedroom. He emerged with a different Stetson hat, more stylish and notably, with no badge of any kind upon it. If anything, Nate looked even more like a rugged Cowboy than he had wearing his deputy's uniform. "Let's roll." he said simply.
Gunnar and I hitched the refrigerated trailer to Nate's civilian SUV. We piled in and Nate gunned the engine and got us back on the road, bound for New Orleans.
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