arrest an idiot."
Richard grinned. "An idiot, huh? This should be interesting. I haven't seen one of those around here yet."
Dorie's scowl turned to a look of mild appreciation. "Good one, Dick. You're coming right along on this cynicism thing. Maybe one day you can give the real professionals, like me, a run for their money."
The conversation stopped short as Dorie turned off the paved road and onto an old logging trail that hadn't been used in some time. The jeep bounced through the holes and gaps in the broken planks that made up the low-lying parts of the trail. Dorie glanced over at Richard, who braced himself with the door and the roll bar of the jeep, and smiled.
She bet this wasn't what he'd expected when he came looking for his bad guy. Richard Starke was getting a grade-A lesson in rednecks and good ole boys. He thought only the big city had issues. She smiled. A city boy like Richard wouldn't survive a weekend here alone.
Dorie finally ended the agony by cutting left, directly into the marsh. She stopped the jeep in front of a dilapidated old cabin where three men sat outside in lawn chairs in front of a huge grill, the remnants of a massive beer-drinking party surrounding them. Richard took one look at the grill and turned to Dorie in surprise. There was no mistaking the twelve-foot shape rotating on the massive spit. He noticed her flushed face and was sure it wasn't with excitement. No, Dorie Berenger was mad, with a capital M.
She got out of the jeep, slammed the door, and stomped toward the three men in front of the grill, who at least had the good common sense to look a little afraid. "Clint Boudreaux, how many times have we been through this?" she said to the man sitting closest to the grill. "I told you I had given you my last warning. This time you are going to pay, and you are going to pay dearly."
Clint raised his hands in protest. "Now, Dorie, you know I would never kill a gator out of season unless it was in self-defense."
She gave him a skeptical look. "Uh-huh, and what exactly were you doing that required defending yourself from an alligator?"
Clint tried the wide-eyed innocent look. He didn't quite make it. "I was just watching TV. Honest. And she came busting right through the door. See?" He pointed to a mass of splintered wood and netting next to the cabin. "I'm gonna have to get a new screen door. I'm the victim here, I swear."
Richard stared at the man and frowned. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on here, but he was positive Clint Boudreaux was no more a victim than any other repeat offender. He glanced at Dorie to gauge her reaction and didn't like what he saw. Her face was tense with anger, lips drawn tightly across her teeth. Her eyes were narrow and her hand hovered over her holster. For just a moment, Richard was pretty sure she would shoot the man.
"Where are they?" she finally asked, the words coming through clenched teeth, one short syllable at a time.
Clint held up both his hands in a surrender pose. "Now, Dorie, you know I wouldn't do anything like that-"
Before he could finish his sentence, Dorie swore and strode off toward the dilapidated cabin, then barged through the front door and went inside. Richard looked at the group of men around the grill and considered his options. He could stay out here with three probable criminals or help Dorie with her breaking-and-entering job. Not that it was exactly breaking and entering. More like just entering.
Finally, curiosity won out and Richard followed Dorie into the shack. He met her in the front room on her way back outside, carrying an ice chest and wearing an expression on her face he'd once seen on a serial killer. He hustled out of the way and let her pass, not even offering to carry the ice chest. Talking was probably at a premium at the moment, and Richard was pretty sure his talking wouldn't be advisable at all.
He followed Dorie out of the shack and back
Richard grinned. "An idiot, huh? This should be interesting. I haven't seen one of those around here yet."
Dorie's scowl turned to a look of mild appreciation. "Good one, Dick. You're coming right along on this cynicism thing. Maybe one day you can give the real professionals, like me, a run for their money."
The conversation stopped short as Dorie turned off the paved road and onto an old logging trail that hadn't been used in some time. The jeep bounced through the holes and gaps in the broken planks that made up the low-lying parts of the trail. Dorie glanced over at Richard, who braced himself with the door and the roll bar of the jeep, and smiled.
She bet this wasn't what he'd expected when he came looking for his bad guy. Richard Starke was getting a grade-A lesson in rednecks and good ole boys. He thought only the big city had issues. She smiled. A city boy like Richard wouldn't survive a weekend here alone.
Dorie finally ended the agony by cutting left, directly into the marsh. She stopped the jeep in front of a dilapidated old cabin where three men sat outside in lawn chairs in front of a huge grill, the remnants of a massive beer-drinking party surrounding them. Richard took one look at the grill and turned to Dorie in surprise. There was no mistaking the twelve-foot shape rotating on the massive spit. He noticed her flushed face and was sure it wasn't with excitement. No, Dorie Berenger was mad, with a capital M.
She got out of the jeep, slammed the door, and stomped toward the three men in front of the grill, who at least had the good common sense to look a little afraid. "Clint Boudreaux, how many times have we been through this?" she said to the man sitting closest to the grill. "I told you I had given you my last warning. This time you are going to pay, and you are going to pay dearly."
Clint raised his hands in protest. "Now, Dorie, you know I would never kill a gator out of season unless it was in self-defense."
She gave him a skeptical look. "Uh-huh, and what exactly were you doing that required defending yourself from an alligator?"
Clint tried the wide-eyed innocent look. He didn't quite make it. "I was just watching TV. Honest. And she came busting right through the door. See?" He pointed to a mass of splintered wood and netting next to the cabin. "I'm gonna have to get a new screen door. I'm the victim here, I swear."
Richard stared at the man and frowned. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on here, but he was positive Clint Boudreaux was no more a victim than any other repeat offender. He glanced at Dorie to gauge her reaction and didn't like what he saw. Her face was tense with anger, lips drawn tightly across her teeth. Her eyes were narrow and her hand hovered over her holster. For just a moment, Richard was pretty sure she would shoot the man.
"Where are they?" she finally asked, the words coming through clenched teeth, one short syllable at a time.
Clint held up both his hands in a surrender pose. "Now, Dorie, you know I wouldn't do anything like that-"
Before he could finish his sentence, Dorie swore and strode off toward the dilapidated cabin, then barged through the front door and went inside. Richard looked at the group of men around the grill and considered his options. He could stay out here with three probable criminals or help Dorie with her breaking-and-entering job. Not that it was exactly breaking and entering. More like just entering.
Finally, curiosity won out and Richard followed Dorie into the shack. He met her in the front room on her way back outside, carrying an ice chest and wearing an expression on her face he'd once seen on a serial killer. He hustled out of the way and let her pass, not even offering to carry the ice chest. Talking was probably at a premium at the moment, and Richard was pretty sure his talking wouldn't be advisable at all.
He followed Dorie out of the shack and back
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