Page 76 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
Ben lifts a hand to stop me. “Understandable. I’m sure Ms. Payne will recognize the hereditary land rights of the original settlers. I only need to see your tribal ID card.”
The man scowls. “I don’t meanthatkind of settler.”
“You aren’t local? That’s fine. Ms. Payne will recognize any tribal card, and happily allow you to camp—”
“Stop your bullshit. You know exactly what I was saying. I have the right to be here, and I do not recognize the authority of any rich little girl whose great-great-great-granddaddy bought this land.”
Ben frowns. “And yet you assert your own right based on some equally distant relative?” He shakes his head. “Never mind. The answer is no. Pack your shit and get on your rusty steed, cowboy.”
“My bike isn’t rusty.”
I bite my cheek at the guy’s obvious indignation, but I stop smiling when he stalks toward Ben. I jump between them. I don’t think about what I’m doing—just that I need to defuse the situation. Ben barelygets out a sound of warning before the guy slams his hand into my shoulder so hard I fall on my ass.
“What the hell?” Ben says, lunging forward.
“Oh come on,” the guy says. “That was a pratfall. I barely touched her.”
As the wind whispers around us, Ben helps me up and then turns on the man. “You knocked her down. For trying to stop you from taking a swing at her employee. Pack your stuff. Now.”
“Or what? You’ll pack it for me? Lay one finger on my gear, and you’ll regret it. I’m a lawyer.”
Ben stares and then he starts to laugh. “Of course you are.”
“I am.”
“That wasn’t sarcasm, asshole. I believe it. I’m also pretty sure that if I ask for your ABA card, you’re as likely to pull that out as a tribal ID card.”
The man’s jaw sets.
“Good guess, huh? A lawyer, but not the practicing sort, or you’d be too embarrassed to even try that sovereign-right shit. Now if you’ve humiliated yourself enough for one day, it’s time to go.”
The man steps toward Ben, who doesn’t even tense.
“You want to hit me, too?” Ben says. “Go ahead. I won’t even hit back.”
The guy’s eyes narrow.
“Have you wondered how I knew you were here?” Ben waves at the forest. “Smile, you’re on camera. It’s a really good one, too. Rich people, huh? Always protecting their private property with high-tech toys. Right now, it has footage of you striking Ms. Payne, unprovoked. The angle is…” Ben squints that way. “Exactly right. Excellent. It’ll be up to her whether she wants to press charges or not. But if you hit me, I will definitely press them. I need all the money I can get. You might not be a practicing lawyer, but you know what an easy case that will be. Guy trespasses on private property. Is politely asked to leave. Knocks down the young woman who owns it and then hits her employee, who doesn’t even strike back. Maybe you can try out your sovereign-right defense.”
The man steps right up to Ben, who lifts his hands.
“Note for the camera that I am unarmed and in a position of surrender, making no attempt to defend myself against this trespasser on my employer’s property.”
The man stomps his foot an inch from Ben, as if to startle him. When Ben arches an eyebrow, the man’s scowl is truly worthy of a toddler throwing a tantrum.
“Fucking piece of shit land anyway,” the man says. “Can’t even see the lake from here.”
“Most of the lakefront land around here is privately owned,” Ben says, “but if you drive about twenty minutes west, there’s a state park with some very nice lakeside sites. Decently priced for small tents, too.”
“Fuck off,” the man spits.
“Have a nice evening!” Ben calls, waving for me to start walking and falling in behind me. “If you aren’t gone in twenty minutes, I’ll be calling the sheriff, who is a close personal friend of mine. Drinking buddy, in fact.”
There are no cameras on the property. That’s what Ben had said earlier, and I know that hasn’t changed, considering Ben had been watching for the guy to return to his campsite. Ben confirms the bluff as he shows me to a spot where he can watch the field without being seen. The cyclist fumes for a few minutes and then stomps off to look for the nonexistent camera. He’s obviously watching the time, though, and twenty-three minutes later, he’s packed and gone. He certainly wasn’t giving in to “the man” by leavingwithintwenty minutes, but neither was he sticking around to talk to the cops.
“You do know a bit about the law,” I say as I follow Ben back to the cottages. “Like you told Ms. Jimenez.”
He snorts. “Doesn’t take a law degree to recognize guys like that.”
