witness stand. Piss off everyone in town with that attitude.”
I wanted to go after her but didn’t. I rationalized that it would be good to give her a little time to cool off. It was also true that I didn’t want to chase her down, apologizing, in front of Luke.
Instead I asked, “Did you hear how Strasburg got those bruises?”
Now he laughed. “Sounds like my old buddy Smit was angling for early release. He sure opened a can of whup-ass on Strasburg, all right. I didn’t think that big bastard would beat up anyone but his girlfriend—all we ever seem to get him on are piddling little DV charges, even though he’s the ringleader of half the tweakers in this county. But you’d better be watching your back when that boy gets out—he’ll probably try making another exception for you. I heard he had to get six stitches in his tongue after you zapped him.”
Then he turned serious. “By the way, I met with the sheriff about it before court this morning. He wasn’t too happy with you for stirring things up in his jail. He wants you to stay out of there, understand? Putting Strasburg in solitary will be a big drain on his resources, and if we piss the sheriff off too much he’s not going to endorse me when the campaigning starts.” He shook his head, remembering, and frowned at me. “No, he wasn’t happy at all.”
I said, “I wasn’t too happy that his deputies allowed our suspect to get the shit kicked out of him.”
“Come on, QuickDraw. What did you expect when you put him in that jail after he killed a local kid? In this town, there’s always going to be a little unofficial payback. Might even make him a little malleable, if you know what I mean, when it comes time to do a deal. After what I heard about you in Cheyenne, I’m surprised you’d be so squeamish about something like that.”
I decided to reason with him in a language he’d understand.
“Do you want him coming into court looking like a victim instead of a perp? Do you want him filing lawsuits against you, the sheriff, and the county for violating his civil rights?”
Luke considered it and scowled. “Yeah, I guess that’s right.” Then the scowl changed into a leer. “You know all about those kinds of lawsuits, don’t you, QuickDraw?”
I ignored the question and the old pain and anger that flared with the reference.
“I hear you’ve got some experience with other forms of retaliation, too,” Luke said. “Perpetrating it, I mean. I bet there’s some stuff nobody even knows about, right? Took you long enough to figure it out,
amigo
. But it’s the way the real world works.”
The pain and anger turned suddenly to fear. I found myself staring into his piggish eyes, feeling my own eyes growing hard and sharp until he looked down at his papers.
What did he know?
He was just a small-town prosecutor and former Wyoming cop—he couldn’t possibly know anything about a botched FBI operation, my brother’s “accident,” or my role in the disappearance of the Mexican drug lord who’d been responsible for it all. He couldn’t know. McGee just wouldn’t betray me like that. And no one else knew, or at least no one had any evidence.
But for a moment my world was thrown off-kilter, and I could see myself standing in a moonless Baja desert, a wounded man crawling at my feet, the boom and kick of the shotgun in my hands, and the splash of hot blood on my bare legs. I remembered feeling no pity, no remorse. And, sick as it was, I still felt none.
Luke was shuffling his papers a final time, this time organizing them into a neat pile and stuffing them in his briefcase. He stood and hefted the case.
“I want you to interview those kids today, okay?”
“Who?” I asked after a pause.
“The Manns. Wake up. And quit giving me those cold snake eyes.”
thirteen
H aving met the brothers and their dad once already, I wasn’t looking forward to meeting them a second time.
The desk sergeant at the sheriff’s office who gave
I wanted to go after her but didn’t. I rationalized that it would be good to give her a little time to cool off. It was also true that I didn’t want to chase her down, apologizing, in front of Luke.
Instead I asked, “Did you hear how Strasburg got those bruises?”
Now he laughed. “Sounds like my old buddy Smit was angling for early release. He sure opened a can of whup-ass on Strasburg, all right. I didn’t think that big bastard would beat up anyone but his girlfriend—all we ever seem to get him on are piddling little DV charges, even though he’s the ringleader of half the tweakers in this county. But you’d better be watching your back when that boy gets out—he’ll probably try making another exception for you. I heard he had to get six stitches in his tongue after you zapped him.”
Then he turned serious. “By the way, I met with the sheriff about it before court this morning. He wasn’t too happy with you for stirring things up in his jail. He wants you to stay out of there, understand? Putting Strasburg in solitary will be a big drain on his resources, and if we piss the sheriff off too much he’s not going to endorse me when the campaigning starts.” He shook his head, remembering, and frowned at me. “No, he wasn’t happy at all.”
I said, “I wasn’t too happy that his deputies allowed our suspect to get the shit kicked out of him.”
“Come on, QuickDraw. What did you expect when you put him in that jail after he killed a local kid? In this town, there’s always going to be a little unofficial payback. Might even make him a little malleable, if you know what I mean, when it comes time to do a deal. After what I heard about you in Cheyenne, I’m surprised you’d be so squeamish about something like that.”
I decided to reason with him in a language he’d understand.
“Do you want him coming into court looking like a victim instead of a perp? Do you want him filing lawsuits against you, the sheriff, and the county for violating his civil rights?”
Luke considered it and scowled. “Yeah, I guess that’s right.” Then the scowl changed into a leer. “You know all about those kinds of lawsuits, don’t you, QuickDraw?”
I ignored the question and the old pain and anger that flared with the reference.
“I hear you’ve got some experience with other forms of retaliation, too,” Luke said. “Perpetrating it, I mean. I bet there’s some stuff nobody even knows about, right? Took you long enough to figure it out,
amigo
. But it’s the way the real world works.”
The pain and anger turned suddenly to fear. I found myself staring into his piggish eyes, feeling my own eyes growing hard and sharp until he looked down at his papers.
What did he know?
He was just a small-town prosecutor and former Wyoming cop—he couldn’t possibly know anything about a botched FBI operation, my brother’s “accident,” or my role in the disappearance of the Mexican drug lord who’d been responsible for it all. He couldn’t know. McGee just wouldn’t betray me like that. And no one else knew, or at least no one had any evidence.
But for a moment my world was thrown off-kilter, and I could see myself standing in a moonless Baja desert, a wounded man crawling at my feet, the boom and kick of the shotgun in my hands, and the splash of hot blood on my bare legs. I remembered feeling no pity, no remorse. And, sick as it was, I still felt none.
Luke was shuffling his papers a final time, this time organizing them into a neat pile and stuffing them in his briefcase. He stood and hefted the case.
“I want you to interview those kids today, okay?”
“Who?” I asked after a pause.
“The Manns. Wake up. And quit giving me those cold snake eyes.”
thirteen
H aving met the brothers and their dad once already, I wasn’t looking forward to meeting them a second time.
The desk sergeant at the sheriff’s office who gave
Similar Books
