shed nailed to a dirt parking lot on the side of Highway 19—a straight shot across from the Swiss processing plant. It had a reputation for the biggest cheeseburgers in a hundred miles. Burgers so monstrous they were served on kaiser buns and held together by wooden spears. They came with a steak knife to saw through the meat. The two had been eating there for years.
While they waited for the food, they chatted with the regulars who crowded their table to hear from Olen Brandt. Seemed the whole county knew what those tweakers done to his dog, and they were angry.
Olen told what he remembered. The death of Tom Cuddy. A wild turkey. A Chevy made of rust. He didn’t tell anyone he’d seen his family, or how badly he’d wanted to join them.
A short, round man with two chins who was stuffed into a pair of bib overalls said, “What color was that truck?”
Olen cocked his head and squinted. “It was”—he paused—“it was yella ’n’ white, I think. With a dark bed, I think. I know it didn’t have no gate on the tail end.”
The fat man shook his head. “I think I know that truck.”
Banks winced.
“Yeah, that’s that Skaggs boy from out yonder at Helmig Ferry.”
Suddenly, the room was filled with deep breaths being taken and hushed conversations. But no one was surprised.
“What’re y’all doin’ ’bout that, Dale?” someone asked.
Banks set his coffee cup down on the counter. Said they were looking into it.
“Well, we can’t be havin’ farmers out there gettin’ carjacked,” said the fat man.
The others agreed.
Banks nodded his head. Said that was true. “I’m pretty sure we’ll catch these turds. Just give us a few days to work the case.”
“What’s to work?” asked the fat man. “That Skaggs boy’s lower than a copperhead’s peter.” He nodded to the two ladies present. “Pardon my French, ladies—but you know what I mean, Dale. That Jerry Dean’s the same one shot that bald eagle a few years back.”
That got everyone talking and sounds of great disgust radiated from the crowd.
Banks knew it was true. Jerry Dean damn near outran Sheriff Feeler one night back when Herb had been a deputy. It was the first year he’d run for office. They were on a straight stretch outside Morrison. Jerry Dean was weaving back and forth across the white line when Herb ran up on him.
Herb followed. Gave him plenty of room. When the swerving got erratic, he lit him up. But Jerry Dean had other plans. He made a run for it, and did a fine job of running until he swerved to miss a ten-point buck and slid his truck into a wheat field.
The cruiser Herb was driving was the one and only car with a video camera so the episode already had the making of a country legend.
The chase ended as Jerry Dean stumbled drunkenly from his truck into the path of Herb’s cruiser and got hit by the bumper and thrown on the hood, his drunken face up close against the windshield.
When Herb searched the truck, he found a dead bald eagle riding shotgun with a wing blown off. Jerry Dean swore he’d found it on the road. Said he planned to glue it back on and turn him loose.
The arrest made big news. Because Herb arrested Jerry Dean with a bald eagle and because he hit him with his car. In an election year, that was gold. Herb Feeler was in like Flynn. He traded his cruiser for the sheriff’s truck. Then he strutted into office in a Stetson with a Fu Manchu and took the first of many steps he hoped would lead to the governor’s mansion.
They rode in silence to the Brandt farm. When they pulled in Olen’s driveway, Banks said he’d fed the livestock and tended the chickens.
“I set a dozen or so eggs on the porch. Inside that sun hat on your readin’ chair.”
Olen thanked him. “You didn’t have to do that, Dale. I don’t know how to repay you.”
“Aw, horseshit, Olen. Now, you don’t owe me a dang thing, and you know it. I’ve spent my life out here. Givin’ a friend a hand in return’s the
While they waited for the food, they chatted with the regulars who crowded their table to hear from Olen Brandt. Seemed the whole county knew what those tweakers done to his dog, and they were angry.
Olen told what he remembered. The death of Tom Cuddy. A wild turkey. A Chevy made of rust. He didn’t tell anyone he’d seen his family, or how badly he’d wanted to join them.
A short, round man with two chins who was stuffed into a pair of bib overalls said, “What color was that truck?”
Olen cocked his head and squinted. “It was”—he paused—“it was yella ’n’ white, I think. With a dark bed, I think. I know it didn’t have no gate on the tail end.”
The fat man shook his head. “I think I know that truck.”
Banks winced.
“Yeah, that’s that Skaggs boy from out yonder at Helmig Ferry.”
Suddenly, the room was filled with deep breaths being taken and hushed conversations. But no one was surprised.
“What’re y’all doin’ ’bout that, Dale?” someone asked.
Banks set his coffee cup down on the counter. Said they were looking into it.
“Well, we can’t be havin’ farmers out there gettin’ carjacked,” said the fat man.
The others agreed.
Banks nodded his head. Said that was true. “I’m pretty sure we’ll catch these turds. Just give us a few days to work the case.”
“What’s to work?” asked the fat man. “That Skaggs boy’s lower than a copperhead’s peter.” He nodded to the two ladies present. “Pardon my French, ladies—but you know what I mean, Dale. That Jerry Dean’s the same one shot that bald eagle a few years back.”
That got everyone talking and sounds of great disgust radiated from the crowd.
Banks knew it was true. Jerry Dean damn near outran Sheriff Feeler one night back when Herb had been a deputy. It was the first year he’d run for office. They were on a straight stretch outside Morrison. Jerry Dean was weaving back and forth across the white line when Herb ran up on him.
Herb followed. Gave him plenty of room. When the swerving got erratic, he lit him up. But Jerry Dean had other plans. He made a run for it, and did a fine job of running until he swerved to miss a ten-point buck and slid his truck into a wheat field.
The cruiser Herb was driving was the one and only car with a video camera so the episode already had the making of a country legend.
The chase ended as Jerry Dean stumbled drunkenly from his truck into the path of Herb’s cruiser and got hit by the bumper and thrown on the hood, his drunken face up close against the windshield.
When Herb searched the truck, he found a dead bald eagle riding shotgun with a wing blown off. Jerry Dean swore he’d found it on the road. Said he planned to glue it back on and turn him loose.
The arrest made big news. Because Herb arrested Jerry Dean with a bald eagle and because he hit him with his car. In an election year, that was gold. Herb Feeler was in like Flynn. He traded his cruiser for the sheriff’s truck. Then he strutted into office in a Stetson with a Fu Manchu and took the first of many steps he hoped would lead to the governor’s mansion.
They rode in silence to the Brandt farm. When they pulled in Olen’s driveway, Banks said he’d fed the livestock and tended the chickens.
“I set a dozen or so eggs on the porch. Inside that sun hat on your readin’ chair.”
Olen thanked him. “You didn’t have to do that, Dale. I don’t know how to repay you.”
“Aw, horseshit, Olen. Now, you don’t owe me a dang thing, and you know it. I’ve spent my life out here. Givin’ a friend a hand in return’s the