The Deputy

pal. No trouble here. He pointed at my cigarette, motioned with two fingers at his mouth.

I held the pack out to him, like I was trying to lure a squirrel with a crust of bread. He approached slowly, took one from the pack. He made a thumb flicking motion for a light, and I sparked him up with my Bic. I backed up to a big toolbox, used it as a bench and lit a new Winston for myself. My hands still shook, but not quite so bad.

My new pal squatted in front of me, puffed, looked around the firehouse. His gaze landed on dead Billy. He muttered Spanish, offered me a sheepish smile and a shrug as if to say Sometimes you just have to put an axe though a guy.

He finished the cigarette, stood, uselessly dusted off his pants. I took some more cigarettes from the pack and handed them to him. “For the road.”

“Muchas gracias.” He took the smokes and headed for the door.

I watched him shamble away with nothing but the clothes on his back, probably nothing in his pockets either. No I.D. maybe. Where would he go first? What would he do? How would he eat? The answers were all too likely.

“Hold on,” I called after him.

He paused, raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t do anything in town, okay? Take your show on the road.”

He looked blank.

“Don’t steal anything,” I said. “Don’t break into anyone’s house. At least wait until you get to the next town.”

His blank look got more blank.

I tapped the star on my chest. “Policia.” I put my hand on the pistol, looked him square in the eye. “I don’t want any trouble from you.” I thumbed the badge again. “Just move on someplace else.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he nodded vigorously. “Si, si.” He jogged away.

Good. Maybe he’d cause trouble somewhere else. Maybe he wouldn’t cause any at all. He probably didn’t have a nickel or a plan, but somehow I envied him, running off into the night with two cigarettes and a clean slate. I hoped he wouldn’t hurt anybody. I had bigger worries.

I stood, flicked away the cigarette butt, and closed the big garage door, made sure it was latched. I approached the back of the moving van, and was almost knocked over by the stink. I had the idea that maybe I’d get in there and have a looksee, find clues or whatever bullshit real cops do, but the combination of urine, crap and body odor was like some kind of impenetrable force-field. I shut the door, clapped the padlock back on.

I stood over Billy again, looked into his vacant eyes, knew I had to go get somebody about this. Fact is I did toy with the notion of hauling the body off and burying it, pretending like the whole thing never happened. What? Who? Billy? Shrug. Haven’t seen him. Why? Something wrong?

No, that shit never works out. Never. I’d seen enough CSI shows to know that, and anyway I was spattered pretty good with Billy’s blood. No, this was a big, fat mess which wasn’t going to go away or clean up easy.

I left the firehouse through the kitchen and walked the alley back to the police station. Inside, I tried the chief on the radio again and came up empty. I was starting to worry something bad had happened to him. Billy had tried to kill me. What else might he have been capable of?

I flipped open the Rolodex on the chief’s desk and dialed Amanda’s number. Her machine picked up after six rings. Her recording sounded very businesslike. I waited for the beep.

“Uh, Amanda, this is Toby. I think … uh … listen, we got a problem, and I need somebody to get down here to the station. I’ll try Karl next.” I hung up, wondering how much of a dork I sounded like. I hated talking to those things.

I sighed, thought about waiting five minutes then trying Amanda again. I did not want to call Karl, former Sooner linebacker, loud-mouth, muscle-head prick. He blew out his knee at University of Oklahoma, came back to Coyote Crossing and stayed. Putting on a badge made him feel like big man on campus again, I guess. He also volunteered as assistant football coach for the school’s JV team. He enjoyed shouting at people.

I suspected he basically looked at me like some guitar-playing pussy. I’d never gotten any warm vibes from him.

Anyway, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t deal with this shit myself, so I dialed Karl’s number.

After three rings I heard him pick up, some kind of rattle, a cough and a moan, Karl’s jock voice asking, “What the hell time is it?”

“It’s Toby, Karl. I need you to get down to the station. There’s been … trouble.”

“What the hell are you talking about, man?”

“Just get down here, okay? I can’t handle this, and I don’t want to explain it all on the phone.”

“Where’s Krueger?”

“I can’t find the chief. That’s why I’m calling you.”

A big sigh on his end, lips smacking. “Okay just … let me get dressed. Just stay there, right?”

“Okay.”

“Shit.” He hung up.

I wasn’t sure if I felt better or not, but at least it was out of my hands. Karl’s problem now. I wondered if he’d arrest me, what the procedure was. Then it occurred to me Karl and Billy were pretty tight pals. Maybe Karl wouldn’t arrest me at all.

Maybe he’d pull his gun and blow my brains out.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I put my feet up on the desk, sat back and lit another Winston. I was going through the pack pretty fast. I wasn’t really supposed to smoke inside the station, but if you kill a guy you get some slack. I was pretty sure that was a rule.

I exhaled, watched the smoke twist and drift, and replayed the conversation between Billy and the Mexican back at the firehouse. There was something I was supposed to pay attention to, something important, but I couldn’t get it straight in my head.

I patted my pockets. Three sets of keys. Mine, Roy’s and Luke Jordan’s.

Keys.

I picked up the phone and dialed. It rang, three times,

four, five. Come on, come on come on … Billy’s words came back to me all to clear. Go find the boy again and get the right keys this time.

Eight rings, nine, ten. Answer the damn phone, Doris!

I slammed the phone down. This time I didn’t rush off. I took the box of .38 ammunition, loaded my revolver, stuck the rest of the box in my pants pocket. I was out the front door in a flash, getting into the Nova and cranking the engine. I gunned it, squealed my tires making a U-turn on Main and hauled ass west of town, the gas pedal stomped flat.

It was all too easy to imagine. Her on the floor dead while they sacked the place looking for the keys. Or maybe they’d do worse than kill her. Who could say? Anything. And the boy. I edged forward in my seat, strained against the safety belt, willing the Nova to go faster. The engine screamed so loud I thought it would explode any minute.

I slowed as I approached the trailer park entrance and killed the lights. I parked half a block away then headed for my trailer with my revolver out. No lights in the windows. I tried to make my heartbeat slow, and I told myself a little story about how Doris probably just went back to bed and was too lazy to answer the phone. I scanned the driveway and both sides of the trailer but didn’t see the Mustang or any other cars.