younger, just starting out. They didn’t know what it was like getting by in today’s world. Sometimes he thought about using his secret money to pay his bills, but he never would, because as soon as he started spending more than he made, sure as shit someone, like Jackson’s reporter girlfriend, would start asking the wrong kind of questions. That money was going to stay locked away until he was long gone from West Texas.
“ Still riding the river?” Loomis asked Jackson, taking Earl’s mind off the money and putting it on a subject he loved.
“ Every chance I get, but it’s not so easy getting Earl down there now that he’s putting in those extra hours,” Jackson said.
They started riding the rapids in the Guadeloupe River six months ago. They both loved it, but he had to work overtime to make the payments on the new car, he thought Jackson understood that. It had only been a few weeks, and with the money Maria was making on her new job they would get ahead of the payments and soon he’d be back at the river with Jackson on a regular basis.
“ You could do it solo, lots of guys do,” Loomis said.
“ I’m still a little raw, give me a couple more seasons.”
“ Some guys do it right away. One or two times and they’re off by themselves,” Loomis said.
“ Yeah, and some guys sit on their brains,” Earl said, getting into the conversation.
The sound of the plane was above them now and Earl saw Jackson look up, as if he could see through the ceiling. It was definitely landing at the strip. It was obvious that Jackson wanted to get in the car and charge down there, but they’d see the dust cloud coming long before they got close enough to do anything and the plane would be off. It would be better to wait. A Cessna 150 only held two, there were two in the car they were tailing, so even if there was only one in the plane, someone was coming back this way.
“ Think they spotted the car?” Jackson said.
“ Don’t make no difference,” Earl said.
“ Oh, yeah.” Jackson was used to riding in a patrol car. The Sheriff never rode in a black and white, and you never wore your uniform when you rode with the sheriff. The pilot above would see an unmarked Ford parked in front of the storage units. Nothing suspicious.
“ They’re down,” Loomis said.
Earl cocked his head, like an old hunting dog, “Sounds like it,” he said.
“ Get many planes like that out there?” Jackson asked.
“ Some,” Loomis said, as he made out the sheriff’s receipt. “That’s sixty dollars.” He looked up at Earl.
Earl laughed, “You know what you remind me of, Loomis?”
“ No, what?”
“ That skinny old cow over to the Shiller place. The one that’s always standing under that shade tree chewing its cud. I swear with your sad cow eyes and chewing that chaw, you could be that cow.”
Loomis’ eyes narrowed and his face closed in on itself, but it opened back up as soon as Earl counted out the three twenties. “And this is for you, so you don’t get charged twice.” Loomis handed the sheriff his receipt.
“ Nobody ever charges me twice,” Earl said, crumpling up the receipt. He tossed it over the counter, making a rim shot into Loomis’ rusty, tobacco stained waste basket.
“ They’re coming,” Loomis said.
“ That was fast,” Jackson said.
The sheriff started for the door when Loomis stopped him with, “That won’t be necessary, Earl. They’ll be coming here.”
“ Ah,” Earl said.
“ They’ll use the electric gate opener,” Loomis said.
“ Which unit?” The sheriff might be cheap, but he was quick.
“ Forty-seven, middle of the middle row,” Loomis said, then he turned and spit a glob of black tobacco into the waste basket.
“ Plane’s been here before, hasn’t it, Loomis?” Earl said.
“ Ain’t saying.”
“ I’m asking.”
“ Sheriff, you know me. I like to mind my own business. I said too much already.”
“ You didn’t say any more than I’ll find out in the next minute or so.”
“ And that was too much,” Loomis said.
The car was just outside now, going past the office. They didn’t even glance at the unmarked Ford. Earl heard the car slow and the rubber wheels of the gate roll across the blacktop as it opened. Then the car drove on through and it closed automatically after them.
“ We’ll give them a few minutes to get settled in, then we’ll drive on up like we’re going to a storage unit of our own. We’ll take ’em quick like, guns drawn, just like cops on TV. Ya with me, Jackson?”
“ Yes, sir,” Jackson said, and Earl saw that he was pumped. Earl was pumped, too. This was what being a cop was all about. It was the part he loved and craved, but it didn’t happen too often, the chance to take the bad guys off the streets, the chance to make a difference. He checked his thirty-eight as he followed Jackson out to the car. He felt the hot sun baking into him. He flicked a fly off his hand and headed toward the driver’s side.
“ Ya’ll can open the gate now,” Earl said to Loomis, and the gate started to slide open. Earl cranked the ignition, headed toward the middle row. He took his time as he motored along, whistling, like he was in no hurry. He was enjoying himself.
They came abreast of the Impala. Earl moved on by. The Impala blocked the rolled up door of storage unit 47, but it didn’t hide the fact that both men were inside, moving cardboard boxes around.
“ Lot of stuff in there,” Earl said.
“ Yes, sir, lot of stuff,” Jackson echoed, hand on the door handle.
“ Now,” Earl said, slamming on the brakes as Jackson was jumping out the door.
“ Freeze!” Jackson yelled. He threw his arms across the top of the old Chevy, elbows on the car, arms extended, holding the thirty-eight.
One of the men started to go for a gun.
“ Don’t!” Jackson screamed, but the man didn’t stop, didn’t give him a choice. Jackson saw the man’s right arm come out from inside his coat. Saw the forty-five in the man’s hand. “No!” Jackson screamed louder, but the man wasn’t listening and Jackson shot him before he could bring the gun up to fire.
The sound of Jackson’s gunshot ricocheted through Earl, tearing his insides up in a thousand places. It was louder than thunder, more violent than a summer storm, more intense than sex, stronger than passion. Jackson had never fired on a man before and Earl knew that he’d crossed a bridge and that he would never be the same.
The second man threw his hands in the air, grabbing as much sky as he could. “Don’t shoot,” he said.
“ I got him covered, Jackson,” Earl said.
Jackson turned away from the man he’d shot, holstered his weapon and tried to fight the rising bile. He bit hard into his lower lip, then inhaled a deep breath of the hot air. He clenched his fist, exhaled, took in a second breath, deep into his belly. With the palm of his right hand he wiped the sweat from the back of his neck, exhaled, then vomited.
“ Sorry,” he said wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand.
“ Happened to me the first time, too,” Earl said. “Nothing to be ashamed of. Ain’t a man in the world I wouldn’t rather have with me in a shooting situation than you.” It was amazing. Jackson could slap around a hooker, push around the high school punks, smack a drug dealer on the back of the head with his pistol, almost killing him, but he upchucks when he has to shoot a man with a weapon. Earl bent low and scooped the boy’s gun from the floor. A well used forty-five auto. He was scared, Earl thought, it wasn’t the killing that made him vomit, it was the gun pointed at him.
“ How would you know? I’ve never been in one before.”
“’ Cause you got guts, boy. The way you ran into that fire and brought out them little girls, no one else woulda done that, not me, not their own daddy. We were there, but it was you that charged into the flames.” But even as he said it, Earl wondered about the truth of it. It took one kind of guts to run into a fire, another kind to face down a loaded weapon. Still, Jackson took the right action, he didn’t flinch, but he was scared, he was shaking now.
“ One of them died,” Jackson said.
