Cutthroat County
A Short Story
Adam Nicholls
Copyright © 2017 by Adam Nicholls
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
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For Charlotte.
Always.
Contents
Cutthroat County
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Also by
About the Author
Cutthroat County
Chapter One
It was Jack who’d made the drive as dawn dispensed bright rays of sun over the place locally known as Cutthroat County. He’d watched the good people of the town begin their days. The mailman started out on his rounds and the butcher was just opening up his shop.
But Jack and the Rambo brothers were loading their weapons.
Of course, their names weren’t really Rambo. The press had branded them as such due to their reputation throughout Washington and Texas, where their string of armed robberies had now taken them. Their habit of bursting into action was becoming recognizable, but they weren’t quite so well-mannered as the Stallone character. Some questioned whether they were actually brothers, too, but nobody ever found out for sure.
Jack, the oldest of the three and their so-called leader, held a pump-action shotgun across the back of the van and stared at Clive with wide, accusing eyes.
“What?” Clive took the gun and began loading it with shells.
“I don’t want any trouble out of you today.”
“Just what are you trying to say?”
“Exactly that,” Jack told him, knowing damn well that this was going to head south. “This is a smooth in-and-out. Don’t try any of that terrorism bullshit like you did at the bank in Dallas.”
Clive laughed.
“I mean it.”
“Whatever.”
Clive patted Charlie, who was perched on the wheel arch, on the back. Charlie’s head was down, constantly rechecking the ammunition in his pistol.
“You ready?” Clive asked.
Charlie nodded.
“Then let’s go.”
They put on their balaclavas and climbed out of the van. Itching under the hot fabric, Jack led them to the doors of the closed casino. Unless the information had been wrong, the owner of the establishment and the staff would be inside, but they wouldn’t be opening their doors to the public for another couple of hours.
Jack smashed the glass with the butt of his gun, leaned in and unlocked the door. Clive took it and held it open, shoving Charlie inside and forcing him to take action. As always, he was challenging him, forcing him to become the brute that his two brothers were.
“Cover our exit,” Clive said to Charlie as he stormed after Jack.
Inside, it was bright and eccentric. Lights flashed everywhere and music played loudly through the overhead speakers. That was, until Jack fired a round into them, deafening everyone in the room.
“Nobody move!” Jack stormed around the room, herding the staff into a corner while Clive threatened innocent people with his shotgun. This was the kind of thrill he lived for. “All we want is your boss. If anybody tries to be a hero, they end up dead. If everybody does exactly what we say, nobody gets hurt. Is that understood?”
Nobody answered, but nobody protested either. They continued to huddle together while Clive went into the back office and returned with a small, balding man who stood quivering in front of the shotgun.
“Bring him here,” said Jack, turning to face him.
Clive brought the man forward.
“You the manager?”
The man nodded his head, perspiring.
“You know what we want?”
The casino manager trembled and looked around nervously. “M-Money?”
“Good. Now, are you gonna open that safe for us, or does somebody have to die?”
“I’ll…” For a moment, it looked as though he wanted to try running. His foot even came off the ground for a second, but then he seemed to think better of it. “I’ll open it.”
Jack followed him into the back office and watched as he cracked open the safe and proceeded to stuff stacks of cash into a duffel bag. It couldn’t come fast enough. “That’s it. Good man.” He wondered how Charlie was coping by the front door and whether or not he’d stumbled into any trouble. He usually did, but that was okay. He was only twenty-one and hadn’t been in the game for very long.
When the safe was empty and the bag was full, he escorted the boss back to the entrance, where everybody was lying neatly in a line with their faces pressed to the ground.
“We got it,” Jack said. “Let’s hit the road.”
“Not yet.” Clive produced a hand grenade and grinned at it.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? I said no messing around.”
“Shut up. I’m only having a bit of fun.”
Jack’s heart was racing, urging him to get the hell out of there while they still had the chance. “We’ve got what we wanted, now let’s go.”
Clive ignored him and stepped toward the manager, grabbing him by the shirt. “This won’t take long. Just hold still.”
Chapter Two
Sheriff Moody lay back in his chair with his hands behind his head and his boots on the desk. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was more than he could have asked for in this shithole of an office.
“You’re only proving my point,” Deputy Reynolds told him, sitting at his own desk and harassing him from across the room. He was a young man, inquisitive by nature and always looking for action. Somebody should have told him he was in the wrong part of Texas for that. “People already think you’re lazy. If somebody walked in here right now and saw you sitting like that, whaddya think they’d say?”
“They’d say nothing to my face, but I’m sure they’d hurry back to their homes and spread whatever gossip they want to. It doesn’t matter what you do; if people want to talk, they’ll talk. If you don’t give ’em an excuse, they’ll make one.”
Reynolds stood, went to the window and slid his thumbs into his belt. “Nah, Sheriff. You’re just getting too lax in your old age.”
“Could be.”
“Could be what?”
“That I’m just getting too old. My brain ain’t ticking like it used to. It once used to be that if a cat needed help getting down from a tree, I’d help it. But the older I get, the less I want to waste time on petty crap like that. Show me a cold-blooded killer, and I’ll perk up.” Moody knew it was true. He cared about his town, but the more he let that show, the more work he created for himself. Now, he just had to prove he wasn’t entirely useless.
Reynolds snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“Believe what?”
“That you’ll pull your finger out when something happen
s around here.”
The sheriff slid his feet off the desk and leaned forward. “Let me tell you something, son. My old man was a train operator for thirty years. In all that time, all day long, people would board the train, hand over their fares and thank the ticket man. Sure, there were delays, but things generally worked.”
“What’s your point?”
“Point is, do you think a single one of them went to my daddy’s carriage and thanked him for his service?” Sheriff Moody shook his head and slumped back. “Nah, they just saw the train and figured it worked by itself. Same thing here, kid. As long as the town ain’t in chaos, people won’t look twice. But if you do waste time saving cats from trees, ain’t no one gonna thank you either.”
Reynolds snickered at him. “Probably. But still. It don’t hurt to put in a little effort. Let people know they’re safe, eh?”
“People know they’re safe. Now how about making us a strong coffee and a… Hey, son?” Moody saw his deputy’s concerned stare out the window and hurried to his side. He took a look for himself and saw four people running toward the office, one of whom was covered in something silver that glistened under the hot summer sun.
“An accident, you reckon?” Deputy Reynolds asked, going for the door.
“Could be, sure.” Sheriff Moody put on his hat and joined his deputy outside.
Chapter Three
A young woman stood out of a small crowd in the street, her hand placed on the shoulder of a trembling man. The man had duct tape over his hands, enough to make them look like one huge silver ball. “Sheriff. Deputy. You have to help us.”
Sheriff Moody poked his hat up with an index finger as he stepped out onto the street. “Well now, what seems to be the problem?”
“The casino…” Her head hung down as if with shame. “It was robbed. Three men in masks, they came and… We need your help.”
Moody stepped closer to them, studying the taped-up man. “Is that Tricky Ricky?” Ricky Sanders, the owner of the local casino, had built a name for himself by having his finger in every pie. If a scam was to be made, it would be his doing.
“Sheriff, they put something in his hands. I think it was a grenade. We would have called, but we didn’t want to sit on our thumbs, so we came right here.”
“Should I call for help?” Deputy Reynolds asked, already moving back toward the office door.
Sheriff Moody paused for thought, then said, “No. No. Just get them all inside.” He looked up at the woman, who stared at him with pleading eyes. “Miss, would you like to follow Deputy Reynolds into the office?”
The woman froze, a tear appearing at her eye.
“Will Ricky be okay?”
“Just go with the deputy and stay calm. I’ll deal with Ricky.”
They were left alone in the parking lot, just the sheriff and the man with a live grenade.
“Do you think you can stop it from… you know?” Ricky Sanders was trembling and sweating. Moody thought that he probably would be, too, if he’d been forced to hold an explosive.
“Well now, let’s just see what we can do. Squeeze it tight. Whatever you do, don’t let go.” He peeled at the end of the tape and slowly began to unwind it. There wasn’t that much of it really, but it was enough to dissuade anybody from wanting to tamper with it.
“Please, take it away,” Ricky begged.
“It’s not that simple, son. See what you’re holding there? That’s the lever. If you let go of that, you won’t live to see another day. So, I want you to hand it over to me—slowly—and then remove your boot.”
“O-Okay.”
The exchange was slow and timid. Even the sheriff began to sweat as he took the grenade into his own palm and held down on the lever. “Your boot. Give it to me.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Slowly, Ricky removed his boot and handed it over. There was an expression of utter bewilderment on his face as he did so. “Can I go now? Please?”
“No. Just take a few steps back. No point in us both dying.” Sheriff Moody dug the hand grenade into the boot, forcing the lever to stay pinned down. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it was long enough to do what he needed to do. “Lucky you have small feet. Now get back.”
Tricky Ricky watched with terrified intrigue as the sheriff placed the boot on the ground and walked to the back of the parking lot. “We can’t just leave it there, can we?”
“No.”
They were a good distance away—forty feet. Out of Death’s reach. Sheriff Moody drew his sidearm, a Smith & Wesson, and aimed at the grenade. “Cover your ears,” he said, then squeezed the trigger.
The boot exploded into a hundred chunks of leather and rubber. The gunshot was loud enough, but the explosion was deafening. Thankfully, the grenade had been blown and was no longer a threat.
“Ricky,” said the sheriff, sliding the pistol back into its holster. “I reckon you got some explaining to do.”
Ricky wasn’t sure where to look. “Okay, I’ll explain on the way. But we gotta move fast.”
“Why?”
“Because the men who did this…” He nodded at the charred remains of his boot. “They took one of my employees.”
Chapter Four
Jack tapped nervously on the steering wheel, occasionally glancing over at the bag of money. They had stopped so Clive could take a leak, but he had turned that into something more. “Hurry up, will you?”
“Relax, brother. The cops aren’t after us just yet.”
“I’d like to keep it that way.” Jack stole a glance at the police scanner. It was tuned to pick up the sheriff’s frequency, but nothing had been transmitted as yet. Jack found himself wondering what kind of town has no law communication. Maybe, just maybe, they would be lucky enough to avoid pursuit altogether. “How you doing back there?”
“Peachy,” said Charlie, looking across at the woman. It had been a last-minute decision to take her from the casino—mere collateral in case they should be followed. But that wouldn’t necessarily protect her from Clive.
The woman said nothing. Her nametag had “BRENDA” printed across it.
She looks like a Brenda, Jack thought as he studied her beautiful dark skin through the rear-view mirror. Her hair was black, her lips full, and her eyes white as snow. “You’ll be all right. We won’t hurt you,” he said. He meant it, too.
Clive climbed back into the van. With one arm hanging out the open window, he banged on the door and they were on the move again. It was a long, dusty track with barely any scenery other than the bright blue sky. Occasionally, they passed a building or two, but nothing worth their attention.
“Did you count it yet?” Jack asked, nodding at the duffel bag of money.
“Yep.” Clive smirked. “Two hundred grand to Little John, and five left for each of us.”
“You want to risk taking some of the dough?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Jack shook his head. “Not for a minute. If he finds out, we’re all dead. Besides, he usually throws us a percentage. Maybe if we’re loyal, he’ll actually give us five grand, and we’ll have nothing to worry about.”
“Except I don’t like those odds.” Clive turned around and looked at Brenda. “Don’t you be giving us any trouble, lady. We ain’t no rapists, but we sure is killers, so behave yourself, ya hear?”
Brenda nodded, stifling a sob.
“Don’t worry,” Charlie whispered. “You’ll be okay if you do as he says.”
An hour passed in the back of that hot van. It had never been the best idea to take something so slow and clunky, but at least they had a vehicle. If all went well, they could fuel up and switch cars as they moved out of Cutthroat County’s jurisdiction.
“Hey, Clive,” Jack said without taking his eyes off the road.
“What?”
“Why’d you have to go and do that, man? With the grenade?”
“He would have called the cops.”
“I think he still wil
l.”
“Yeah, but not as quickly.”
Jack took a deep breath. “Well, I’m calling the shots here, so from now on you do what I say. We’re lucky the police ain’t right behind us.”
“Well, I don’t hear no sirens. Pull in here.” Clive pointed to the gas station up ahead. For all they knew, this could be their last stop for a long while. If they refueled and grabbed something to snack on, they could be in and out without drawing any attention to themselves.
After all, they were in enough trouble.
Chapter Five
Tricky Ricky showed them into the surveillance room, where a wooden desk lined a long wall, and a series of monitors were spread out above it. There was some activity on some of the screens, but nothing that stood out.
“What is it we’re looking for?” Deputy Reynolds asked the sheriff, only glancing at the screens. “If you’re looking to identify them, they already told you they was wearing balaclavas, ain’t that right?”
Ricky nodded.
“Make your mind up, son,” said Sheriff Moody, taking off his hat and easing into the desk chair. “One minute I ain’t doing enough, the next I’m wasting time.” He could feel eyes rolling behind him but shrugged it off.
“So, you slide this to choose which screen,” Ricky demonstrated at the controls, “and then use this here dial to wind back and forth. If you need anything, you let me know. I’ll just be in the other room.”
The deputy thanked him and closed the door after seeing him out, then joined the sheriff at the desk. He took a look at the screen and saw three masked gunmen burst into the casino’s lobby, which they themselves had walked through only minutes ago.
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