front of his Windbreaker announced, SECURITY —
Range of My Heart
.
“You can’t park here,” he squeaked into my window like Barney Fife. He had on a hunting cap that was two sizes too big, with fleece-lined earflaps that stuck out like bedroom slippers on either side of his head, and cheap wraparound, mirrored sunglasses I’m sure he thought were intimidating, and might have been, if the frames hadn’t been iridescent turquoise.
I pulled out my U.S. Marshal’s badge. “This is my office.”
“I never heard of you, and Mr. Redford has rented the whole town, and you can’t park in here.” He was a jabbery, chirpy monkey, and he was making me mad.
“This is my office,” I said again, as calmly as I could.
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. You can’t park here.” With that he crossed his arms over his narrow chest and frowned. “You’ll have to park over in the big lot with everyone else and go through security over there.”
I took a deep breath and considered him for a moment, then opened the console between the seats in my Jeep, removed the Glock .44 that was as big as a small cannon, and pointed it at his stomach. “Get out of my way.”
I guess I didn’t feel as good as I thought I did.
He dove under the nearest stretch limo, and I blocked three of them when I parked. I slammed my car door as hard as I could and stomped up the stairs.
“This is so exciting,” Linda said. She was in my office watching all the goings-on from the window. There must have been a thousand miles of cords and cables down there and a hundred people bumping into each other. “I saw Robert Redford a few minutes ago. He was drinking a cup of coffee. And look, they gave me this.” She held up a dusty-rose
Range of My Heart
T-shirt. “Isn’t it neat?” Her eyes sparkled.
“Very. Anything big happening in our little corner of the world?”
“No.” She flipped through the messages. “Just the normal stuff. Your mother called twice. Your father called and said he’ll be in his office and doesn’t have any meetings scheduled until noon, so if you have any more questions, call him back whenever you want. Elias said not to leave until he got here. Wade Gilhooly called just to check in …”
We heard footsteps on the stairs. When the door opened, the form of an Old West lawman—cowboy hat tilted way down, holstered six-shooters riding low on slim hips, wide shoulders, long legs—paused for effect, silhouetted in the backlight. Then he stepped inside,kicked the door closed, and ambled toward us, thumbs hooked in a wide gunbelt.
“Morning, Dwight,” I said. “Looks like you’ve hired on as an extra.”
“Yup.” He smiled, a matchstick stuck in the corner of his mouth. “How do you like it?” He held out his hands and twirled slowly on his heels. The string tie and leather vest rose in the air. “I’m playing a deputy marshal.”
“You are a deputy marshal.”
“You’re right about that, Marshal Lilly.” He looked me in the eye and rolled the match between his lips. “I’m
your
deputy marshal. Your wish is my command.” He drummed his ringers on his belt buckle and rocked slowly onto his toes. Dwight was a wild thing if ever I’d seen one.
Linda swallowed loudly, and I wondered what I would do if he decided to expose and handle himself across my desktop like the man on the evening news. I think I might lock the door and tell Linda to hold my calls. I sure as hell wouldn’t call a psychiatrist.
“Dwight,” I said, my mouth a little dry. “How is our prisoner this morning?”
“Who? Kennedy?”
“You mean Mr. McGee?”
“Yeah. I mean, yes. I mean, yes, ma’am. Mr. McGee is fine. Paul Decker came out to see him yesterday afternoon and said he’d have him out on bail first thing this morning. I think Paul might be over there now.”
Linda offered a fax from her stack of papers. “The release order came in five minutes ago.”
“Let’s go have a visit.” I put on my dark glasses as
Range of My Heart
.
“You can’t park here,” he squeaked into my window like Barney Fife. He had on a hunting cap that was two sizes too big, with fleece-lined earflaps that stuck out like bedroom slippers on either side of his head, and cheap wraparound, mirrored sunglasses I’m sure he thought were intimidating, and might have been, if the frames hadn’t been iridescent turquoise.
I pulled out my U.S. Marshal’s badge. “This is my office.”
“I never heard of you, and Mr. Redford has rented the whole town, and you can’t park in here.” He was a jabbery, chirpy monkey, and he was making me mad.
“This is my office,” I said again, as calmly as I could.
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. You can’t park here.” With that he crossed his arms over his narrow chest and frowned. “You’ll have to park over in the big lot with everyone else and go through security over there.”
I took a deep breath and considered him for a moment, then opened the console between the seats in my Jeep, removed the Glock .44 that was as big as a small cannon, and pointed it at his stomach. “Get out of my way.”
I guess I didn’t feel as good as I thought I did.
He dove under the nearest stretch limo, and I blocked three of them when I parked. I slammed my car door as hard as I could and stomped up the stairs.
“This is so exciting,” Linda said. She was in my office watching all the goings-on from the window. There must have been a thousand miles of cords and cables down there and a hundred people bumping into each other. “I saw Robert Redford a few minutes ago. He was drinking a cup of coffee. And look, they gave me this.” She held up a dusty-rose
Range of My Heart
T-shirt. “Isn’t it neat?” Her eyes sparkled.
“Very. Anything big happening in our little corner of the world?”
“No.” She flipped through the messages. “Just the normal stuff. Your mother called twice. Your father called and said he’ll be in his office and doesn’t have any meetings scheduled until noon, so if you have any more questions, call him back whenever you want. Elias said not to leave until he got here. Wade Gilhooly called just to check in …”
We heard footsteps on the stairs. When the door opened, the form of an Old West lawman—cowboy hat tilted way down, holstered six-shooters riding low on slim hips, wide shoulders, long legs—paused for effect, silhouetted in the backlight. Then he stepped inside,kicked the door closed, and ambled toward us, thumbs hooked in a wide gunbelt.
“Morning, Dwight,” I said. “Looks like you’ve hired on as an extra.”
“Yup.” He smiled, a matchstick stuck in the corner of his mouth. “How do you like it?” He held out his hands and twirled slowly on his heels. The string tie and leather vest rose in the air. “I’m playing a deputy marshal.”
“You are a deputy marshal.”
“You’re right about that, Marshal Lilly.” He looked me in the eye and rolled the match between his lips. “I’m
your
deputy marshal. Your wish is my command.” He drummed his ringers on his belt buckle and rocked slowly onto his toes. Dwight was a wild thing if ever I’d seen one.
Linda swallowed loudly, and I wondered what I would do if he decided to expose and handle himself across my desktop like the man on the evening news. I think I might lock the door and tell Linda to hold my calls. I sure as hell wouldn’t call a psychiatrist.
“Dwight,” I said, my mouth a little dry. “How is our prisoner this morning?”
“Who? Kennedy?”
“You mean Mr. McGee?”
“Yeah. I mean, yes. I mean, yes, ma’am. Mr. McGee is fine. Paul Decker came out to see him yesterday afternoon and said he’d have him out on bail first thing this morning. I think Paul might be over there now.”
Linda offered a fax from her stack of papers. “The release order came in five minutes ago.”
“Let’s go have a visit.” I put on my dark glasses as
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