Blanco County 03 - Flat Crazy by Ben Rehder Page B

us?”
    “Heck no!” Red elbowed his way through to the reporter, dragging Billy Don along. “Red O’Brien, ma’am. This here’s Billy Don Craddock.”
    “Nice to meet you both.”
    “Awwbllghf,” Billy Don said, apparently choking on his own tongue.
    Red couldn’t blame him. Up close, this Rudi Villarreal was one hot broad, and Billy Don wasn’t as comfortable talking to a classy piece of tail as Red was.
    Red said, “See, what happened was—”
    Rudi cut him off. “Give us just a minute, please, Mr. O’Brien.” She said a few things to the cameraman, using terms Red didn’t understand. “Here, stand a little closer to me, please.”
    “I’ll stand as close as you want, darlin’.” Red leered, giving her his best smile.
    She asked Billy Don to move to her other side, and then the interview began. “Tell us about your experience with the chupacabra,” Rudi said, holding the microphone in front of Red.
    “Well,” Red said. “What happened was, we was working on some masonry with this wetback and—”
    Rudi lowered the microphone and covered it with her hand.
    “What?” Red asked.
    “Mr. O’Brien,” she whispered, “I would thank you if you wouldn’t use that term.”
    “Masonry?”
    “No. Wetback. It’s very derogatory, you know.”
    Red couldn’t remember what derogatory meant, but he figured it wasn’t good. “What should I say instead?”
    “How about ‘day laborer’?”
    Red nodded. “That’ll work.”
    “Okay, let’s start over,” Rudi said, back to her normal tone of voice. “Tell us about your experience with the infamous chupacabra.”
    “Well,” Red said, “We was working on this masonry job with a, uh, day laborer when he ran into the woods to take a dump and—”
    Rudi lowered the microphone again. She whispered, “Mr. O’Brien, you have to remember that we’ll be broadcasting this during the family hour. Could you please be careful how you phrase things?”
    By now, the crowd was giggling. Red couldn’t imagine why anyone would have a problem with the word dump. It sure beat the alternatives. “I’ll do my best,” he said.
    Now the camera guy was saying something to Rudi. She glanced down at Red’s Wranglers. “Did you know you have a large stain on your pants?”
    “Yes, ma’am, it’s chocolate. Wanna taste?”

12
     
    DUKE PULLED THROUGH the entrance of the Macho Bueno at 10:30.
    He’d stopped by to see Gus, and everything was fine. Duke had made Gus promise again that he wouldn’t leave the house. Then, just for peace of mind, Duke had gone out to the box on the utility pole and unplugged Gus’s phone line. That would keep the retard from making any calls.
    Kyle’s driveway forked just before it reached the house, and the right path led to the garage on the north side. Duke stayed left, which led to a circular parking area in front. He parked and followed the pathway around the south side of the house. Kyle was usually in the hot tub by now—if he wasn’t taking a nap. It turned out he was doing both. Duke found Kyle snoozing soundly while the water bubbled around him.
    Duke sat in a patio chair and pulled out the revolver he’d brought with him—Oliver Searcy’s gun, which he still needed to ditch. He figured he’d just fire a round right into the tub. That would make Kyle wake up and come to Jesus, yessir. But then he thought of something even better.
    He stood and walked into the house.
    “Cheri! You here?”
    No answer.
    “Cheri! Get your skanky ass out here!”
    Seconds passed. All quiet. Good. He didn’t need that slut hanging around, whining.
    He went through the kitchen and out into the four-car garage, where he found a hundred-foot extension cord. Walking back through the house, he grabbed the toaster off the kitchen counter.
    He found an outlet on the side of the house—but instead of plugging the cord in, he laid it on the ground. Then he trailed the remainder of the cord over to the hot tub.
    Kyle was still sleeping like