She needed to calm down, but images of Rick Hammes flashing through her mind were making it tough, with that big, muscular body, satanic tattoos crawling all over his skin, and his long hair always pulled into twin braids, like he was trying to look like a horned animal.
Wolf had said he was sending Chavez over there. She remembered meeting that deputy yesterday, all the while wondering why they’d hired him and not her. The kid was no more than twenty years old and had the eyes of a trapped deer. She just hoped the kid had gotten the same orders as she did and was keeping his distance.
Rick Hammes picked up the longest of the already smoked cigarette butts from his ashtray and lit it, sucking on it until he hit the filter. His lungs burned, but he kept it in as long as he could, savoring the slight nicotine buzz. He picked through the tray, looking for more signs of tobacco, but found nothing.
Dex whined, cowering onto his cushion in the front room.
“What are you complaining about?”
Dex put his chin down and looked up at him.
He should have stopped and got some smokes on the way back this morning, but he thought he had at least a couple more packs in his stash. One of the reasons he bought cigarettes in bulk was so he wouldn’t run out. Damn it. The trips north had screwed up his schedule.
His body ached from the early drive and he was ravenously hungry. At least he wasn’t hung over. He’d been smart last night to cap it at three beers.
Waiting for the pan to warm up so he could make his six-egg omelet, he took off his shirt and stretched his arms overhead, feeling his muscles stretch and his joints pop. He bent over at the waist with straight legs, placing both hands on the carpet with ease.
“You seeing this, Dex? Both hands flat.”
Dex yawned.
Hammes straightened and looked himself in the full-length mirror. The Sigil of Baphomet tattooed on his chest was a bit asymmetrical now since his pecs had grown a few inches in all directions. That was one good thing prison had given him—another thirty pounds of pure muscle. He was a veritable god now.
The squeaking of brakes drew his attention to the front of the house.
Dex got up, growling and whining at the window.
"What is it, Dex?"
Hammes looked outside and saw nothing. Probably Larson driving in or something.
But he hadn’t heard that old bastard’s loud as shit truck, so who was it? Hammes pulled up the blinds all the way and leaned into the window, looking both directions.
“What the hell?” A vehicle was parked across the street, way down the road to the left, just where the bend came into view. Even though the truck was in shadow he could see the light bar mounted on the roof and a round logo on the side. “What’s a pig doing up there, Dex?”
Dex whined in response.
He couldn’t see inside through the glare on the vehicle’s windshield.
“What’s going on around here?”
Dex whined again.
He’d heard from Mary about her boyfriend getting killed up at the mine. In fact, she’d even had the audacity to ask if he’d done it.
Hell no. Like he was itching to get back in prison or something.
The strange thing was, when he’d rolled through town this morning, he’d swung by Mary’s house but hadn’t stopped, because there was a cop parked out front and an X of crime scene tape stretched across her front door.
So what the hell was going on? She wasn’t answering her phone this morning either. Or any of his texts.
Staring at this cop, some things clicked into place. Come to think of it, that was the same cop car he’d seen outside her house. Same logo. Same model SUV. Same cop.
Did they think he had something to do with that asshole’s murder up at the mine? Mary must have been feeding the pigs information. And the reason her house was sealed up? Maybe she was giving them DNA evidence or something. One of his used condoms from last week or something. Damn, he’d left a toothbrush over there.
“What’s going on?” he asked Dex again.
Mary had spoken about how much of an asshole Oakley was. She’d even requested Rick rough him up to teach him a lesson. Maybe Mary had decided to teach Oakley a lesson herself, killing him. And then what? Now she was telling the cops he did it?
Was that it?
It was outrageous, but a surge of certainty flowed through him. “She’s playin’ me to the cops, Dex.”
Dex lowered his head and made another gagging noise. “Get back outside with that.”
He opened the front door and pushed Dex out and watched him retch again onto the front lawn. At least it wasn’t coming out of his backside anymore. It was going to take a while for the rain to clean the front yard after what that dog had done.
He stepped outside and picked up the steak bone lying in the dirt. And then that old bastard feeding his dog this shit?
He dropped the bone in the metal bowl sitting by to the door. Everyone was out to get him.
Up the road another vehicle pulled up. He didn’t see it, but he heard the crackle of tires, another squeal of brakes, and a car door thumping shut. He backed inside, shut the door, and looked out the window again.
It was that hot chick with the badge that he’d seen around town walking across the road, looking toward his house.
“What the fuck.” He started pacing furiously. The walls pressed in on him. The ceiling seemed to shrink a few feet. His skin prickled with sweat. That helpless, trapped feeling set his heart racing. It was like that first year in jail all over again. It was happening. They were gonna put him back in.
“The hell they are,” he
