walk inside, no cars. Not a sound, not even a dog barking. And you could stand there and look in every direction and not see a sign of life nor a hint of movement, like even the breeze had died and gone to hell. That’s how it seemed now. Quiet and strange, the thunder of the gunshots and the roar of the motorcycle already fading from my ears. I could almost imagine it had all been a long, bad dream. Quiet.
It didn’t last long.
I heard the voices coming down the side street, two of them. They weren’t talking so loud, but the voices carried. It’s like that at night. Voices will carry a long way, echo off the buildings. I didn’t go for my guns. I knew the voices.
Roy and his pal Howard turned on to Main and ambled in my direction. They were having some kind of lazy conversation about fishing and the new resort over to Lake Skiatook and whether or not they’d be able to borrow a boat from somebody Howard knew. I’d heard about the new resort too, but I didn’t know anybody with a boat.
The conversation cut off suddenly as Roy passed his Peterbilt parked in front of the station. If I’d been one of those nasty kind of guys, a mean son of a bitch at heart, I’d have started laughing. The look on Roy’s face. Like his heart was breaking into little pieces. He stood in front of his battered truck, mouth hanging open, eyes growing bigger by the second. His face convulsed, like maybe he couldn’t decide to sob or scream.
“What. The. Hell.” Roy stepped forward, put a tentative hand on the hood. Almost like he was feeling for a pulse.
I stepped out of the shadow near the station door. “Sorry, Roy. We had some trouble earlier.”
“Some trouble? That’s my Goddamn rig! What the hell happened?”
“Settle down, Roy.”
He wasn’t so drunk anymore and gave me a look like he didn’t want some snotty kid with a badge getting all tough cop. I met his gaze, and he took it. He wasn’t happy, but he took it. I was the law. Whatever hardass thing he wanted to say, he kept it inside his mouth.
“Don’t worry about your rig. We’ll get it reported, and your insurance will handle it.” I didn’t know if that was true, and I sure as hell didn’t know what kind of insurance Roy had or if they’d pay a dime. But I said it all like I meant it. And Roy didn’t need to know quite yet I was the one behind the wheel of his truck when it plowed through the motel.
“Where you gents going?” I asked.
“We figure Wayne’ll open up for breakfast soon,” Roy said. “I need something on my stomach.” He looked at his truck again. “Jesus.”
“Biscuits and gravy.” Howard’s contribution to the conversation.
“You been home yet?” I didn’t figure I could push Roy too far. He might wonder what Molly was doing with my son in his house. I didn’t want to have to explain that.
“Not yet,” Roy said. “We wanted food first.”
“Do me a favor and go back to Howard’s after breakfast. I need to make sure Molly feels safe before you go home.”
Roy frowned. “It’s my house, Sawyer.” “Liability, Roy. I need to cover my ass.”
“I don’t take your meaning.”
“I need her to tell me she doesn’t feel threatened. It’s routine.” Sure.
He shrugged. “Fine. I just want some bacon.” He looked at the Peterbilt again. “I can’t believe it. I mean … Jesus Christ.”
“It’ll be okay, Roy.”
And I hoped it would be. It was hard to care about Roy’s rig with everything that had happened. I’d killed and almost been killed. My life was turning upside down in a single night. But Roy’s problems were big to Roy. Everybody’s own problems were the biggest.
I watched Roy and Howard waddle toward Skeeter’s. I was out of cigarettes.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I walked inside the station. It was dark except for the sad, yellow light of the desk lamp. Karl snored in his cell. “Cowboy,” the hellcat whispered. “Hey, cowboy.” “What is it?” I didn’t whisper back, but I kept my voice
low. “Your cop lady friend was looking for you. I think you pissed her off. Eh?”
“Well she can come back and arrest me if she wants to.” I flopped into the chair behind the desk. “I’ll be right here.” “You look like shit,” she said. “I mean even worse than before.” “Thanks. I like you too.” “What’s holding you together?” “Cigarettes and energy drinks.”
“Some job, eh? You get beat up, wreck your car. They pay you for this?”
“Not very much.”
She grabbed two of the cell bars, pulled her face right up against them. “Then get me out of here. Okay? Get me out, and I can get us money. Lots of money, cowboy. More than enough. It goes a long way in Mexico.”
“Knock it off.”
“Me and you in Cozumel, cowboy,” insisted the hellcat. “Don’t you know the possibilities? Can’t you taste it?”
“Your sales pitch comes off desperate.”
“Damn you to hell.” She spat at me. It landed way short.
“You wanted to shoot me in the belly an hour ago.”
“I don’t want to go to prison,” she said.
“That’s why it’s prison.”
“Fuck you!” She erupted in a string of Spanish cursing I was glad I didn’t understand.
I waited it out. She trailed off and went quiet again. She slid down into a sitting position, rested her head against the bars.
I sat at the desk. The hellcat pouted. Karl snored. It went on like that a few minutes.
Amanda came into the station house, walked straight for me, leaned in, slapping her hand on the desk. She put her nose an inch from mine. “Did you not understand when I said to stay here, you goddamn retard?”
“Take it easy, Amanda.” I met her gaze. Yesterday, I would have flinched. Not today. I’d been through too much. Or maybe I was just too tired.
“Don’t tell me to take it easy, kid. What did you think you were doing?”
“Somebody had to go look for the chief.”
“And did you find him?”
“No. But somebody burned down his house.”
That made her pause a second. “What the hell for?”
“Maybe to fry me. I was inside at the time.”
“Maybe they thought you were Krueger,” she said. “Where do you think he might be?”
I sighed. “Amanda, I think the chief is dead. He’d of checked in or radioed by now.”
She nibbled her lower lip, thinking about it. “Maybe.”
“And the Jordan brothers are out there right now, looking to do me some bad.”
“In that case we’ll both stay put this time,” she said. “The state police will be here soon, and we’ll mop up this mess from there. Jesus, it’s turning into a long night.”
“I’m making some coffee.” She headed for the back room where the Mr. Coffee perched on top of the safe.
I didn’t know if my stomach could stand any coffee. It was still burbling from the energy drinks. And the station house coffee was this bitter black acid that could melt the paint off the side of a barn. Maybe I needed some food. I wondered if Amanda would let me scoot down to Skeeter’s for pancakes and bacon with Roy and Howard. Probably not.
I heard the faucet come on in the back room, water splashing into the coffee pot.
