Nick of Time by John Gilstrap Page B

sorry, Sheriff, but I thought that discretion might be the order of the day on this one.”
    Hines’s scowl transformed from a mask of curiosity to one of fury. He saw his son on the ground in the classic pose of a perp under arrest, and then shifted his white-hot eyes to his deputy. “Speak,” he said.
    â€œThey were doing drugs.” Darla said the words as quickly as possible, with the intent of knocking the sheriff off balance. “Smoking weed. That one over there started running his mouth, and here we are.”
    Sheriff Frank Hines worked his jaw muscles hard. His gaze shifted to Peter Banks, whose face showed only contempt. There was history here that Darla didn’t comprehend, but clearly the animosity ran deep between these two.
    Without a word, Sheriff Hines moved toward Peter. As he closed to within two feet, he unleashed a brutal kick to the boy’s thigh. Peter howled and rolled to his side, struggling, with his hands tethered behind him, to rise to his feet. A second kick had to break some ribs.
    â€œJesus, Sheriff!” Darla shouted. Jeremy winced at the sight and looked away.
    â€œStay outta this, Deputy,” Hines growled. Then, to Peter: “I thought I told you to stay the hell away from my boy.” A third kick was more like a shove with the sole of his shoe. Peter landed on his face, then curled up in a protective ball, sputtering and choking in search of a breath.
    The sheriff turned to his son. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
    Jeremy looked away.
    â€œTalk to me, boy, before I break every tooth in your head.”
    Darla stepped forward, tried to get between them. “Come on, Sheriff, let’s not—”
    Hines froze her in her tracks with a forefinger aimed at her nose. His thumb was up, forming what looked like a pretend gun. “You’ve done your job,” he said. “I can take it from here. This is a family affair.”
    Hines lifted his son by the hair, pulling him to his feet. Jeremy had to move quickly to keep his scalp from being torn from his skull.
    â€œI asked you a question, boy. What the hell were you thinking, doing drugs in my county?”
    â€œI wasn’t thinking at all, sir.” Jeremy’s answer had monotonous quality of a memorized rejoinder.
    Hines glared, as if trying to set the boy afire with his eyes. Then, his head turned, and he again focused on Peter. “Is this your doing, Peter?”
    Peter didn’t attempt to respond, struggling instead for his next breath.
    â€œI’m calling for an ambulance,” Darla said, reaching for her radio.
    â€œNo, you’re not,” the sheriff said.
    â€œBut he can’t breathe.”
    â€œHe’s okay,” the sheriff said. “He just had the wind knocked out of him.” He turned to Peter. “Ain’t that right, son?”
    Peter managed a nod.
    â€œSee? What did I tell you?”
    â€œYou can’t beat these boys, Sheriff,” Darla said, trying to keep the tone of her voice steady.
    Hines was trembling, his face red and hot. “Deputy Sweet, I want you to get in your cruiser and clear this scene immediately.”
    She stood her ground. “No, I don’t believe I’ll do that,” she said. “I believe I’ll stick around here as a witness.”
    The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t a request, Deputy. I’m ordering you to clear this scene.”
    â€œAnd I’m telling you, I’m not going anywhere as long as you’re this angry. If you want me to call the state police for backup, I can do that, too.”
    Sheriff Hines pivoted to face her full-on, his posture mimicking hers. “Are you disobeying a direct order, Deputy Sweet?”
    Behind the sheriff, Peter caught his breath and worked himself back up to his knees, where he could watch the exchange between the cops. Jeremy’s countenance had frozen itself into a giant O.
    â€œI look at