by Bill Crider
“Where’s Fowler’s pickup?” he asked.
“It was parked by his shop the last time I drove by,” Duke said.
“Go back and stop,” Rhodes said.
Pearson turned the car around as soon as he could and drove back to the house. Rhodes got out of the car, went to the door, and knocked.
Bennie Fowler answered the knock. She was a short woman, not more than five feet tall. She wore a faded blue robe and blue bunny slippers. Rhodes hadn’t seen any bunny slippers in years.
“Sheriff Rhodes,” she said. “What brings you out here?”
“I’m looking for Arvid. Is he home?”
“No, he got an emergency call. Somebody in Milsby’s heating system went out, and they needed it fixed. Had to have it done right now, they said. It’s supposed to get cold tonight, and they didn’t want to be without heat. Arvid told them it would cost them double if he made a trip at night, but they said they’d pay.”
“Who’s this they?”
“I can’t remember the name. Arvid took the call, and he might not have mentioned the name to me. It’s the second house on the left on County Road 265, though. I remember Arvid saying that.”
“I’ll look for him there,” Rhodes said.
“Your wife called about your trip,” Bennie said. “I didn’t know you ever took a vacation.”
“We’re going to try,” Rhodes said.
He thanked her for her help and jogged back to the car. He had a feeling that Arvid was in for a surprise when he got to the house.
“That’s Wex Mallory’s house,” Duke said when Rhodes told him the story. “Wex’s in the hospital in Dallas with heart trouble, and his wife’s staying up there till he can come home. She let me know so I could take a look at the house now and then. There’s nobody there.”
“It’s a setup for sure,” Rhodes said. “You go on ahead. I’ll follow you there.”
“Siren?”
“No siren. We need to be quiet and careful. Stop about a hundred yards from the house.”
Rhodes went back to his own car and followed Duke’s taillights down the road. They made a couple of turns and passed a house where lights showed in the windows. Mallory’s house wasn’t much farther down the road.
The pale moon was past the full now. It hung big in the sky, giving enough light to throw shadows on the ground. Duke pulled over to the side of the road, and Rhodes did the same. Both men got out of their cars. Rhodes had his shotgun.
“Better get yours,” Rhodes said. “If Rapper’s there, you might need it.”
Pearson got the shotgun, and the two of them jogged toward the house. When they got closer, Rhodes saw Fowler’s pickup in the dirt driveway. There were no lights anywhere.
Motorcycle engines roared to life and echoed off the back wall of the house. Rhodes began to run. Pearson tried to keep up but fell behind as Rhodes turned into the driveway.
When Rhodes was almost to the pickup, Rapper and Nellie came booming around the corner of the house. They weren’t wearing helmets tonight. They probably hadn’t thought they’d meet up with the sheriff.
When they saw Rhodes, Rapper yelled something to Nellie. Rhodes couldn’t hear what it was, but Nellie must have. The motorcycles swerved, and both of them headed straight for Rhodes. He jumped aside, pressing himself against the door of the pickup and wishing that he hadn’t eaten so much barbecue. Rapper went by him before he could make any defensive moves, but as Nellie passed, Rhodes made a quick jab with the shotgun. He hit Nellie in the upper arm.
Nellie wasn’t knocked off his motorcycle, but he was knocked off balance. The bike tipped and swerved wildly, first to the right and then to the left as Nellie tried to get control.
Rapper made a wide, curving turn, nearly running over Duke in the process. The deputy dived to the ground and rolled over as Rapper headed back toward Rhodes.
Rhodes opened the pickup door and jumped inside, aiming the shotgun out the window.
Rapper turned again, moving across the front yard. Nellie had his bike back under control, and both he and Rapper rode straight across the yard, parallel to the county road.
Duke was back on his feet, but there was nothing he could do other than try to shoot them or watch them ride away. He let them ride.
Rhodes got out of the pickup, and Duke walked up the driveway to meet him as Rapper and Nellie came to a fence and cut back toward the road. The front yard wasn’t fenced, so they got to the road easily. They zipped along it, turned at the corner, and disappeared from sight.
“Those two are real pieces of work,” Duke said. “Are we going after them?”
“We’d never catch them,” Rhodes said. “Let’s see if we can find Fowler.”
The electrician wasn’t hard to find. He lay not far from the pickup near the entrance to a detached garage that held an old Massey Ferguson tractor of faded red instead of a car.
Rhodes knelt down and felt for a pulse in Fowler’s neck. He found it beating steadily and strong. Duke turned on his flashlight and put the beam on Fowler’s face. There was a bruise under his left eye and a deep scratch on his cheek.
“They didn’t give him much of a chance, did they?” Duke asked.
“Probably slugged him a couple of times as soon as he got out of the pickup,” Rhodes said. “He’s lucky we got here when we did.”
Rhodes stood up, wondering if he should call the EMTs yet again. While he was considering it, Fowler groaned and moved around.
“Careful there,” Duke said.
The deputy bent down and helped Fowler sit up. Fowler put a hand to his head and said, “What the hell happened to me?”
“You got hit,” Rhodes said. “You don’t remember?”
“I remember getting out of the truck. Some guy came up to me, and I thought he was gonna tell me about the heater problem. That’s about it.”
“He must’ve hit you right about then,” Duke said.
“If he did, I don’t remember it. My head hurts like hell, though.”
Rhodes told Duke to go get his cruiser. When he was on his way, Rhodes turned to Fowler.
“Duke will take you to the ER so you can get checked out. He’ll drop you off, and you can have your wife pick you up. Better lock up your truck.”
Fowler didn’t argue. “Who hit me?”
“A guy who thinks you might’ve killed his brother. You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Fowler held up a hand to Rhodes. “I want to stand up.”
Rhodes wasn’t so sure that was a good idea, but he helped Fowler to his feet. Then he helped him walk the three steps to his pickup so he could brace himself against the hood.
“Who does the son of a bitch who hit me think I killed?” Fowler asked.
“Hoss Rapinski.”
“The bounty hunter? Why would I kill him? I didn’t even know him.”
“He was looking for somebody involved in some bank robberies up in Arkansas,” Rhodes said. “You ever take a vacation in Arkansas?”
“Bennie and I went one fall. Looked at the leaves.”
“That’s it?”
“You think I’m a bank robber? Lord a’mighty, Sheriff. I make enough money fixing heaters and air conditioners and such. I don’t need to rob banks.”
Ivy would agree, Rhodes thought.
The headlights from Duke’s cruiser threw long shadows as he turned into the driveway.
“I think I can manage for myself,” Fowler said.
“Best you don’t try,” Rhodes said, and Fowler didn’t argue.
Duke stopped the county car, and Rhodes got Fowler into the front seat. He seemed to be feeling okay, but it wouldn’t hurt him to get checked out. Rhodes got in the back, and Duke drove him to his own car.
“How does it feel in the perp seat?” Duke asked.
“Almost like home,” Rhodes said.
* * *
On his way back to town, Rhodes wondered about Rapper. Would he be satisfied
now, or would he hang around and see what other damage he could do? It was hard to say. Rapper was never predictable.
Rhodes also wondered how badly Rapper’s leg had been hurt when he fell from the motorcycle the night before. If it was the same leg Rhodes had sunk the hay hook in, it had to be mighty sore.
One thing Rhodes had to say for Rapper, the guy could take punishment. He might be finished with his business in Blacklin County for the time being, but he’d be back. Rhodes wasn’t looking forward to that.
Chapter 23
Rhodes thought he’d stop by the jail on his way home and see if Ruth had left any notes about Fowler and Winston for him. He’d have asked her at Max’s Place, but he knew Ivy was right about talking business with one of his deputies who was having dinner with a friend, even if the friend was Seepy Benton, who thought that the Eccles cousins had a spiritual side.
Hack and Lawton were glad to see Rhodes come in. They must have been bored, and it perked them up to know that they’d have Rhodes to pick on for a few minutes.
“Duke called in,” Hack said. “He took Arvid Fowler to the ER. Told us all about what happened tonight, too.”
The implication was that since Hack and Lawton already knew what had happened with Fowler, Rhodes couldn’t torment them by holding back information. A further implication was that the two of them knew something that Rhodes should be told but that Rhodes would have to drag it out of them.
He didn’t really feel like playing around, but he knew it was best to humor them. So he said, “Did anything happen tonight? Anything I need to hear about, I mean.”
“Could be,” Lawton said.
He might have said more, but Hack silenced him with a look.
“Wasn’t anything that happened,” Hack said. “Just got a phone call, that’s all.”
“A phone call,” Rhodes said.
“Yep.” Hack looked at Lawton. “Phone call.”
“Somebody need help?” Rhodes asked.
“In a manner of speakin’,” Lawton said.
“No such thing,” Hack said. “Friendly call, that’s what it was.”
“Who called?” Rhodes asked, hoping to cut things short.
“Sheriff McDade.”
McDade was sheriff of the neighboring county. Rhodes wondered what he’d be calling about. He also wondered how long it would take him to get the answer from Hack and Lawton.
“Look,” Rhodes said, “it’s late, and I want to go home. Why don’t you just tell me what McDade called about.”
“Steak,” Lawton said.
Rhodes thought about the stolen rib eyes. “Did our steak thief get out and get to his county?”
“Not those steaks,” Hack said, and then Rhodes remembered something else.
A couple of weeks ago, one of McDade’s deputies had arrested a burglary suspect, and in the course of the interrogation that followed, the deputy had discovered that the man had also committed a series of similar burglaries in Blacklin County. Rhodes had remarked at the time that he ought to buy the deputy a steak dinner, and Hack had relayed the information to McDade. It had been a joke, and Rhodes had thought that would be the end of it. Maybe he’d been wrong.
“Did McDade say his deputy was coming here so I could buy him a steak?” Rhodes asked. “I guess I could take him to the Round-Up.”
The Round-Up was a specialty restaurant, but not in the way that Max’s Place was. The Round-Up served nothing but beef. If you insisted, you could get vegetables, potatoes being the most popular, but you didn’t dare ask for chicken.
“Him?” Lawton asked, and Hack wheeled his chair around.
Lawton looked up at the ceiling and whistled something that might have been a tune. If it was, Rhodes didn’t recognize it.
“That was sexist of me,” Rhodes said. “I apologize.”
“Sex ain’t got nothin’ to do with it,” Hack said.
“What does, then?”
“Numbers,” Hack said.
Rhodes thought of Seepy Benton. Numbers were his life. Rhodes, on the other hand, would rather not do any calculating he wasn’t required to do.
“What numbers?” he asked.
“Eight,” Hack said.
Rhodes was lost now. He had no idea how they’d arrived at the number eight. He felt as if he’d stumbled into some bizarre episode of Sesame Street.
“Eight,” Rhodes said.
“Eight,” Hack said. “Or maybe nine. McDade’s not a hundred percent sure.”
“Of what?”
“Of whether it’s eight or nine.”
Rhodes was convinced that if he fired both Hack and Lawton at that very instant, nobody would blame him. No arbitration board would ask him to reinstate them, no jury in the world would side with them if they took the matter to court.
Rhodes, however, chose forbearance. It wasn’t an easy choice, but he made it.
“Eight or nine what?” Rhodes asked.
“Steaks,” Lawton said, earning himself a hard look from Hack.
“Nobody can eat that many steaks,” Rhodes said.
“It’s not one person,” Hack said, relenting. “It’s eight.”
“Or nine,” Lawton said.
“Or nine,” Hack said.
Rhodes thought he was catching on at last. “McDade says I owe him eight or nine steaks.”
“Not him,” Hack said. “See, it wasn’t him that cracked that burglary case.”
“I know that,” Rhodes said.
“He’s gettin’ testy,” Lawton said. “I told you when he didn’t find out who killed those fellas in the woods he’d get testy.”
“I’m the one who told you that,” Hack said.
Lawton looked stubborn. “I don’t think so.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Hack said. “I can’t remember.”
“It was me. You said—”
“Never mind who said what,” Rhodes said, “and I’m not testy. I just want to know what’s going on here.”
“You’re gettin’ testy,” Lawton said. “That’s what’s goin’ on.”
Rhodes looked from Hack to Lawton and then back at Hack.
“Tell me about the eight steaks,” he said. “Or nine,” he added before Hack could get it out.
Hack grinned. “That’s what I been tryin’ to do. The thing is that it wasn’t just one person that broke that burglary case. It was eight or nine of ’em workin’ together. So McDade figures you need to treat all of ’em to a big steak dinner. Seems like the fair thing.”
“Fair to McDade, maybe,” Rhodes said. “Not to my pocketbook. If he calls back, you can tell him I changed my mind, but I’ll give everybody involved a stick of gum.”
“You sure you can afford it?”
“Not on what the county pays me,” Rhodes said. “I’ll dig into my savings for it.”
With that, he sat down at his desk and checked to see what kind of information Ruth had left for him. It wasn’t much. Arvid Fowler had no criminal record of any kind, unless you counted his overcharge on the repair of Rhodes’s air conditioner, but Ruth didn’t mention that. Winston, as far as Ruth could determine, had lived all his life within a twenty-mile radius of Clearview and had never been out of the state. He hardly ever left the county, and while he’d gotten a couple of speeding tickets, that was the extent of his criminal past.
Some of Rhodes’s suspects had been eliminated but not all of them. He had a few ideas, but he’d have to do some more digging to find out if he was on the right track. He preferred to let Ruth do the computer research, but since she wasn’t there, he’d give it a try.
He turned to the computer, but before he could get logged on, the phone rang. Hack answered, talked into the receiver for a minute, than turned to Rhodes.
“You want to pick up line one?” he asked. “It’s Commissioner Burns.”
Rhodes was tempted to say that no, he didn’t want to pick up line one, but Lawton would just have said he was being testy. So he picked up.
“Sheriff,” Burn
s said, “I called you at home, but your wife said you were working. I suppose that’s commendable.”
“I’d have to agree,” Rhodes said.
“I’m sure you would. Anyway, I’m glad I caught you. I’m not calling to check on your work habits, though. I wanted to let you know that I’ll be a guest tomorrow on Milton Munday’s program.”
It wasn’t a good sign that Burns thought Rhodes needed a warning.
“You didn’t have to tell me that,” Rhodes said.
“I know I didn’t, but I thought you might want to hear what I have to say.”
Rhodes wasn’t enthusiastic. “I’ll try to remember to tune in.”
“We’ll be talking about the hog problem.”
“I see,” Rhodes said, though he didn’t see at all.
“And my solutions to it.”
Rhodes began to catch on. “Bow hunters.”
“That’s right. I think it’s something that would work.”
So they were back to that again. “Did you ask the Chandlers what they thought about it?”
“No. I checked. They’re not registered to vote.”
Nobody could say that Burns wasn’t a practical man.
“Did you talk to anybody else? Any of the other commissioners?”
“I did, and I talked to the county judge, too.”
The county judge presided over the commissioners’ meetings. Rhodes had been friends with the previous judge, but he’d retired and been replaced in the last election by Gene Brent, a retired attorney who’d specialized in wills and financial planning. Rhodes hadn’t worked with him enough to know him very well yet.
“Did you happen to mention that you thought my deputies would make good hunting guides?”
“I told you already,” Burns said. “It just makes sense to use them. Gives the whole thing the air of authority. Lets the farmers and ranchers know the county government cares about them and the losses those hogs are causing.”
What Burns cared about was the votes, but it wouldn’t be a good idea to say so.