by E A Lake
“Art,” I said as we rode in the morning’s humidity. For October, it sure felt hot. My deputy had already wondered if it wasn’t going to hit 90 that day.
“Art, I need you do to a couple things for me, if you would,” I requested.
“Anything you ask, Sheriff,” he answered in his usual easy way.
Yeah, that title needed to be the first thing gone. “First off, just call me Quinn from now on.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but I raised a hand to cut him off. “I know that we’ve been friends ever since I came to Pimento,” I added. “And you’ve been a good friend to me. And I appreciate that. So, I’d like us to act a little less formal from here on in.”
He wasn’t happy about it, but he did finally nod. “Okay. What else?”
I turned and faced him with a serious expression. “The second one is really important. I need you to quit referring to Morgan as the missus. Her name is Morgan and she likes to be called that. We aren’t married, not yet.” He grinned when I said “yet”. “And even once we are, you should just keep calling her Morgan, okay?”
He nodded again. “Can do, Sher–…I mean Quinn. Anything else?”
Yeah, there was one other thing. Something I’d noticed the day I armed him and Petri and Cooley. Something that rubbed me the wrong way.
“The last thing is quite simple, Art,” I continued. “I need you to start putting bullets in that damned gun of yours. An empty gun won’t do either of us any good if we get caught in an ambush.”
He looked offended. The old man actually looked as though my words had hurt his feelings.
“Maybe I already got bullets in my gun,” he said sarcastically. “I mean, maybe I don’t load or check it every single day like you do. But maybe I’m more armed than you think.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head at him.
“Well,” he sassed, “the way you shoot, there never’s been a need for me to lock and load, as some people call it. With Quinn Reynolds by your side, a person is as safe as can be.”
“Just, please,” I begged. “Just in case we ever need you to join in a gunfight.”
He shrugged as we rode on and turned left on a road I knew we needed to take. He was going to do it; he wasn’t going to like it, but Deputy Arthur Pegasus Snappingchat would from that point on be properly armed.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SIX
“You’re the dumbest man alive,” he said. I wasn’t sure how my friend Coy was going to react to my request, but that probably wasn’t the phrase I had in mind. “Only a fool takes on a man like Shaklin, Quinn. Use what’s inside that thick skull of yours. Leave it be. You going down there and taking five of his women was bad enough. There ain’t no way in hell he’ll let you grab the rest. Not after what you already pulled.”
Coy was tall, thin, tanned and as bald as a man could be. He made Art look like he had a full head of hair. And my friend was brutally honest, just as he had always been.
“Come on, Coy,” I said, grinning at him. “You can get the word out for me. I bet in a week, no, less than a week, you could have 300 men and women ready to march on Shaklin’s place.”
Coy shook his head and glared at Art. “Just as stupid and bullheaded as he’s always been, I see.” He turned back to me, pissed off about something. “Yeah, I could put the word out and see what happens. I could also shove a stick of dynamite up my ass and see if I can find someone to light it for me. Same result, way I see it.”
I laughed; Coy didn’t. Art had broken into a nervous chuckle. My friend just needed a little more convincing.
“And before you get all mushy on me and beg for something that’s just gonna get us both killed,” he continued, “let me fill you in on what I’ve been hearing from travelers the last few weeks since you stirred that pot of Shaklin shit.”
I crossed my arms and nodded for him to continue.
“You really pissed the old boy off, I’m told.” That wasn’t news; he was going to have to do better than that. “Now, as I understand it, there isn’t a contract out on your hide—”
“Well that’s good,” I interrupted, looking at Art.
“Don’t go cutting me off like that,” Coy continued sternly. “There isn’t a contract out on you yet. It’s only a matter of time though, Quinn. The way I hear it, Shaklin is gonna let the judge do his job. And you’ll ignore him, of course. That’s when the judge will tell your old pal Tony that he’s free to take care of this however he wants.
“Judge Lampler will wash his hands of the whole mess and then the shit will hit the fan. You know Tony Shaklin doesn’t give up very easily.” Coy paused as though he expected to me answer him, so I nodded once. “He’s used to having things the way he wants them. So, you’re going to be the number one asshole at the very top of his shit list.”
“What do you expect me to do?” I asked. “Give in and send the women back? You know me better than that, Coy.”
He nodded, then shrugged. “You’re gonna be as stubborn as you’ve always been. Shaklin ain’t got the corner on that market. But let me ask you this: just how much heat are you willing to take? There’s gonna be a long line of folks coming after you and them. That cemetery on the east side of town is gonna get mighty full. You’ll be an old man before Shaklin gives up. Have you considered that?”
I wasn’t getting what I wanted from Coy. Plus, I wasn’t getting any useable suggestions from him either.
“So, what would you recommend?” I asked. “If you were in my shoes, how would you handle this?”
“Glad you asked,” he replied, pulling me aside. “If I were you — and I’m mighty thankful I’m not — I’d go pay your old pal down in Hymera a visit. See what you can work out with him and those wives of his. Maybe even be nice to that bitch you used to be married to.
“If that don’t work, the judge will be around to see you soon. You could always try being nice to him and send word to Shaklin that you’d be open for some kind of deal. Make it right. Maybe agree to help find replacements for what you stole.”
“I didn’t steal anything,” I shot back.
He slowed me down with a pat on my shoulders. “I know, I know. But be a little open-minded here, Quinn. Use some of that creative thinking you’re so famous for.”
I’d come to Center Point for help or advice. All Coy had given me was lip service that sounded like it came either from a man in Tony Shaklin’s back pocket or one who wasn’t interested in getting caught up in something that might get him killed.
Art and I left after shaking hands and promising Coy that I’d think about what he said.
We rode quietly for the first hour. Art seemed too nervous to start a conversation. I was too pissed to care. Finally, we’d been quiet for too long for my deputy.
“You’re not thinking of taking any of that horse crap advice Coy was shuffling out, are you?” he asked.
I shook my head, refusing to look at the kind old man.
“Hell no,” I replied angrily. “Hell, no!”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SEVEN
We arrived back in Pimento about dinnertime. Since I hadn’t eaten much all day, I was ready for some food and a stiff drink. Since I didn’t drink, a meal would have to do.
Ronnie met us just down the block from his house with a rifle across his arm. He wore the same easy expression as usual, his ball cap partially covering his eyes.
“Glad you’re back, Quinn,” he drawled. “Hope you had a better day than the rest of us.”
Great, what was wrong? I did a quick scan of the area but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“We didn’t get anywhere over in Center Point,” Art barked. “May as well not bothered going.” He must have noticed my scowl. “At least that’s the way I see it.”
Ronnie nodded, wiping his mouth with a dirty hand. “Well, sorry about that.”
“What’s going on here?” I asked. I probably sounded pissy to him. I guess I was.
“Well, first of,” Ronnie b
egan. “That guy you sent to Terre Haute to get some information got back.”
I dismounted my horse and looked at him, perplexed. “Who?”
“Brett Harvey,” Art replied, taking my horses reins. “You mentioned you wanted someone to go up and check on Sara and Sasha’s husbands and Livy’s mom. So, I asked Brett to do that for you.”
“Yeah, so Brett got back late this morning,” Ronnie said, shaking his head. “Seems Sara’s husband really is dead and Sasha’s took up with his ex about five years ago. No one seems to know where they are anymore. Needless to say, neither of them were happy, though they probably knew the truth already.
“Livy’s mom ain’t nowhere to be found either. From what Brett said…” He paused and nodded as a young woman walked by. “She lived in her home until about two years ago. Then she took off for her sister’s place. Problem is, she’s got two sisters; one lives in Indy and the other over in St. Louis.”
I rubbed my beard and squeezed my temples. “Well, that’s not a lot of help.”
“Yeah,” Ronnie moaned, stretching his back. “Sasha got over her grief pretty quickly and has been peeking out the window all day. Every person she sees is someone coming to grab them and drag them back into Shaklin’s lair, so she claims. That hasn’t been much fun.”
Okay, that was normal. Not a great thing to live with, but normal.
“Charolette’s been a pill all day,” Ronnie added. “She was shaking, her anxiety got so bad. And when it gets bad…”
“She cleans,” I answered automatically.
“My wife is so pissed off, Quinn,” he said, staring me in the eyes. “Our place is pretty clean most of the time. But that damned Charolette found dirt and cobwebs in places that don’t need cleaning. I had to have Petri guard her while she scrubbed the front porch. Twice. She kept asking my wife to help her. That didn’t go over real well.”
I raised my open hands to slow him down. “I’m sorry. Morgan says she gets like that whenever I’m not around. I’ll talk to her and maybe get her to apologize to—”
“Oh, the wife’s fine now,” Ronnie said, chuckling. “Her and Livy teamed up to make a huge pile of raspberry muffins. I guess it was Livy’s grandma’s recipe. Damn good muffins, though we got enough to feed the town for a while. And of course, Charolette did all the dishes right away and scrubbed the kitchen floor afterwards.”
Wow, it sounded as if Ronnie’s day was actually worse than mine.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Ronnie continued. I could hardly wait to find out what else had come unglued in my absence. “We got word that Judge Lampler will be here bright and early tomorrow morning. Sounds like, from what I’ve heard, he’s pretty pissed off about the Shaklin situation.”
Of course he was. I was sure his daughter had whined about it for hours. Harry had always been a decent person for the most part. But when Carla got moody, his temper ran short. Just what I needed tomorrow. I had no army to fight Shaklin with and now a grumpy judge was going to chew my ass off. Just perfect.
“I suppose I’ll deal with that when he shows up,” I replied, heading towards my home. “No sense in—”
A gun shot cut through the late afternoon air, drawing our attention towards my office.
“What the—” Ronnie added until he too was cut off by another gunshot.
Instinctively, I dashed towards the sound of the shooting with Ronnie and Art right behind me.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-EIGHT
We found the problem some 80 yards into town, actually right in front of my office in the middle of the road. Two men stood waving their weapons at anyone who dared approach. One man had a rifle, the other held a pistol in one hand while his opposite arm was wrapped around a hostage.
“Hold it right there!” the man with the rifle shouted. “Don’t come any closer, otherwise we’ll shoot. Those first two were warning shots just in case anyone thought they needed to be a hero. The next one meets skin.”
I stepped away from Art and Ronnie, circling the men so I could get a better look at their hostage. I could tell she was a female with long hair and a feminine form; however, I couldn’t see who it was.
“Why don’t you let the girl go?” I said calmly. “I’m sure you’re not here for her.”
“And who might you be?” the rifle man asked snidely.
“That there is Sheriff Reynolds, you moron,” Art replied. “You two are in a world of hurt now.”
I noticed both men grin when my deputy mentioned my name. I needed to have a word with Art about answering every question thrown our way with such vigor.
“Just the man we’re looking for,” the one with the hostage said. “We hear you got something that don’t belong to you. We’re here to retrieve it and bring it back to its rightful owner.”
I shook my head, glancing at Art, hoping he’d pick up on my meaning. For once, he remained silent.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” I replied, taking a small step towards the men. “Now, if you’d just let the girl go, maybe we can talk about this.”
He spun the girl, grabbing a fistful of her hair to keep her close. Damn it. It was Lucy Quiram, the minister’s young teen daughter.
“Everything’s fine, Lucy,” I said as calmly as I could. “We’re gonna get this figured out and they’re—”
“Bring us the five women and you can have this one,” the pistol man barked. Just to prove he meant business, he pulled her back close and licked her neck. That made me squirm a little at first, until I felt my heart kick into high gear.
I dared another step and they both raised their weapons. “One more step and we’re gonna turn the famous Quinn Reynolds into Swiss cheese,” the guy with the rifle said. “After we kill you, we’re gonna find those five and take them back to Mr. Shaklin. I think maybe Jess is kinda fond of that little girl in his arms. Maybe we’ll take her along to keep for ourselves.”
I flexed the fingers on my right hand, readying them for action. Glaring at the man with his arm now around Lucy’s chest, I dared another step to the side. “If you don’t let her go this minute, I’m going to put a bullet in your head.”
I glanced at the sneering one with the rifle. “After I kill your friend, I’m going to put a bullet in your head as well.” That wiped the rank expression from his face.
Neither moved, so I turned halfway towards Art. “Cover me, Art. While I move around them for a better shot, shoot either one that moves.”
Art gave me a funny look. He knew his pistol had no bullets, as did I. But our tormentors didn’t know that.
“Draw your damn gun, Art,” I whispered as I passed him. “Just point it at them.”
Once I had done a quarter circle around the pair, making sure no buildings or innocent bystanders were in the line of fire, I stopped and placed my right hand on the butt of my pistol. They looked less sure of themselves at that point. Good.
“Last chance, fellows,” I said quietly. “Let the girl go, lay down your guns, and we can talk about you two not getting hung over this mistake.”
No one moved, not even Lucy. They stared at me as though I were the only person in town. I watched their faces and hands alternately for the slightest hint of action. But both remained statue-like, seemingly unsure of their next move.
“Shoot ‘em, Quinn,” someone shouted from my left. I knew the voice, but they both looked to see who’d spoken. It was Morgan; I recognized her tone and voice. That gave me the opening I needed to finish the standoff.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-NINE
The man with the rifle needed to go first. I saw him slightly raise the weapon when Morgan called out to me. The guy holding Lucy’s hair still had his gun by his side. He was the secondary threat, though I worried he might turn and put Lucy between us if I shot the other fellow first.
As if from simple muscle memory, I drew my pistol and began to take aim on the man I deemed to be the greatest threat. However, things changed quickly, even before I could level the .40.
The man with Lucy in his grasp looked my way and began to slowly turn, trying to get her between himself and me. His gun was coming up, aimed in my direction. When I quickly checked the other man, he was staring at Morgan, as if he recognized her or something.
My gun came up and I pulled the trigger. Someone screamed something from the small crowd that had gathered, but I couldn’t make it out. The pistoled man tumbled backward, pulling Lucy with him as he fell to the ground. I knew he was dead because of the hole in the center of his forehead. I knew Lucy was alive because she started kicking and screaming the minute she hit the ground.
I turned my attention to the second man and leveled the gun, lining up his forehead in my sights. He was trying; I had to give him that. The rifle was coming up and he was struggling to pull the trigger without taking aim. Nerves were his problem. That, and the fact that the barrel was pointed a couple of feet left of my knees and that the gun was at his waist.
His first shot rang out, ending up where I expected it to go, which was nowhere near me. He didn’t get a chance at a second. I squeezed the trigger on my gun and the rifle fell to the ground. He staggered forward an inch or two before falling to his knees. Finally, after what seemed like an hour of teetering on the brink of dying, he fell face first into the dirt.
By the time I holstered my weapon, Lucy’s mother, Cyndi, was helping her daughter from the ground. I noticed a little blood on the teen’s shoulder. Maybe more than a little.
“You could have killed my daughter, you fool!” Cyndi shrieked. “If he had moved another inch or two—”
“I would have adjusted my aim and still shot him in the same spot,” I interrupted, placing my arm around the shaking teen’s shoulders. “Now why don’t you take Lucy home and get her all cleaned up and maybe give her some water or something stronger if you have it to calm her nerves.”