by J. M. Hayes
Heather looked at her captain. “There’s more, something you’re not telling me.”
“I think he’s gone. I think your psycho is somewhere in Mexico by now. That’s what happened the first time you and he met. When the wheels came off and Arizona law enforcement was issuing BOLOs all over the state, he headed for the border. But he took two runs at you before he went. I can’t help but think he might have a backup plan for you. So I’ll see if I can turn around and get back up here soon, or get you some help interested in keeping you alive as well as catching him.”
“You won’t have time. You’re already shorthanded.”
“I know. So play this smart. Stay with your uncle. Let those sheriff’s deputies keep an eye on you. Spend a quiet evening with family. Help Mad Dog do some woo-woo magic stuff to foil this guy and get back to celebrating Christmas, okay?”
The captain’s comment about celebrating Christmas reminded Heather she was supposed to be in the Tucson foothills to meet Brad’s family in a couple of hours. Could she still do that? Would her traveling parade of sheriff’s detectives be enough to keep them safe? And how would she get there? She didn’t have a patrol unit anymore. Her car was down on the reservation.
The captain pulled into Mad Dog’s yard. A trail of dust indicated another car had been down the road a few minutes before. One of those sheriff’s units, probably. One of the cars that had followed them turned off at the corner before Mad Dog’s. When they passed the big Santa-Fe house, its grounds were packed with more law enforcement vehicles. Maybe he wouldn’t come for her here, Heather thought.
Mad Dog stepped onto his porch to greet them, Hailey at his heels. Mad Dog held a little ball of fur in his big hands. “It’s a boy,” Mad Dog said. “I’ve been considering names for him and I think I got the perfect one.”
Matus rolled his eyes. “Jesus!” he said.
Mad Dog looked disappointed. “How’d you guess?”
***
The foyer of the courthouse looked like a battle had been fought there. Which, the sheriff realized, wasn’t surprising since that’s exactly what had happened. Broken glass, shattered tile, bullet holes, and blood everywhere.
“Are you all right?” the sheriff asked Mrs. Kraus.
“Hurt myself more when I slipped than when that piece of shrapnel sliced open my forehead.”
“When she fainted, she means,” Doc said. “I really need to check her out more thoroughly, but….
The reason for his hesitation was clear. As the sheriff watched, Doc cut away clothing from the blood-soaked boot of a man whose clenched teeth and pale features made clear his pain.
“How many dead?”
“Two,” Mrs. Kraus said. “One from upstairs, and the peckerwood who shot at me. I meant to wing him but caught him right between the eyes. And then this guy,” she gestured at the man Doc was treating, “realized the other guy up there was dead and he came running down the stairs to see what Koestel intended to do about you. He tripped. Lost control of his weapon and blew some holes in his foot. Hardly any of this little army is unscathed. Just the two prisoners in the corner. I had to shoot Ned Evans in the knee. Koestel’s not been shot, but I wholloped him over the noggin pretty good. You might want to arrest him while you got the chance.”
Koestel looked up from the floor. Someone had stuffed a blanket under his head and he was unarmed. “Ah, sheriff, come to offer me your sword?”
Brave words, English decided, though less impressive since only one of Koestel’s eyes managed to track the sheriff as he kneeled beside the man.
“You have the right to remain silent,” the sheriff began. Then he looked around the room. So far, thanks to Doc’s labors, five of them remained alive. “That goes for all of you,” he said, before continuing to recite Miranda.
“You need handcuffs?” Mrs. Kraus asked.
“Please.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out a role of duct tape. “We got no more cuffs that work,” she said, “but this’ll hold him.
“Ambulance is on the way,” she continued. “I called when the guy Doc’s cutting on stumbled down the stairs. By that time, everybody down here had been disarmed. Highway Patrol is coming, too, because you don’t have the personnel or facilities to house so many criminals.”
The sheriff realized he could see his breath in the glow of the foyer’s neons. With all the windows that had been shot out, the courthouse’s inadequate heating wasn’t likely to keep it above freezing back in the jail. Not that most of these guys were fit enough to be kept back there, anyway.
“And, speaking of prisoners,” Mrs. Kraus said, “what happened to Don Crabtree? I thought you captured him after he shot up the Conrad place?”
It was the first the sheriff had thought about Crabtree since he and his posse started for the courthouse. Someone had been herding Crabtree in this direction. The sheriff remembered seeing him as the crowd neared the corner, just before the shooting started. But not since.
“You need my help, Doc?” the sheriff asked.
“Not unless you’ve acquired an advanced medical degree I don’t know about. Go get the son-of-a-bitch before he drums up more business for me.”
The sheriff turned toward the door.
“Here,” Mrs. Kraus said, handing English her keys. “Take my car. It’s out back. Otherwise that leg of yours is gonna give out on you.”
“Thanks,” the sheriff said. “And I guess I’ll take the duct tape, too, if you don’t mind. In case Don has gotten out of the cuffs I put on him.”
“Wouldn’t need more than a paper clip for that,” Mrs. Kraus said. It wasn’t an exaggeration.
“And, while you’re out there,” Mrs. Kraus said, “you should have some words with Eldridge Beaumont, Mrs. Walker’s attorney. He was in here in the middle of this mess, helping himself to her file. Like maybe he didn’t expect you to be around to deal with charging her after today.”
“Beaumont?” The sheriff remembered how Mrs. Walker had shot him with her finger as he left his house. “Say, isn’t Mrs. Walker some relation to Don Crabtree?”
“Rich aunt,” Mrs. Kraus said.
“My aunt, too,” Koestel muttered. “And a true patriot, since she alerted us to your collusion with federal agents and your plan to seize our guns today.”
That caught the sheriff by surprise. “Does he know what he’s saying, Doc?”
“Hell if I know. And I’m too busy to check.”
The sheriff looked at the other survivors. “Can any of you tell me about this?”
“Name, rank, and serial number, boys,” Koestel said.
“Ok, I’ll bite,” Mrs. Kraus said. “What are your serial numbers?”
***
While Heather watched her uncle play with the puppy she’d persuaded him would not be named Jesus, she tried to decide what to do next. Pam was home from work. Heather had been invited for supper—take-home holiday-special turkey chimichangas Pam had brought from the Sewa casino’s twenty-four hour buffet. Huge deep-fried burritos with enough calories to feed all those deputies Heather believed were still hanging around, too. But Heather knew, by staying, she put Mad Dog and Pam at further risk. Not that the psycho wasn’t capable of using them against her, even if she left. And there lay the problem. If she borrowed Mad Dog’s Mini Cooper and went home or to Brad’s or tried looking for the psycho on her own, the sheriff’s detectives would follow her. That would make it easier for the psycho to come here again. Though he’d still have to get through Hailey.
She’d listened to the messages on her cell phone. They were all from Brad. There were none from Benteen County. None from her sister at Texas Tech, either. She didn’t want to talk to her dad until she was sure the mess she’d been in all day was over. He fretted about her law enforcement career enough as it was, no matter how proud he felt
of her for taking it on. And what could her sister do but worry?
Brad’s first message had been a reminder she was expected for dinner. His next call suggested she get back to him before she came. That was followed by one in which Brad said they might want to reschedule Heather’s introduction to the senator. But he still wanted to see her. And so did his sister. Maybe they could pick Heather up and go out somewhere. Call him.
But she hadn’t called. Not yet. She was still trying to figure out how to avoid putting anyone at greater risk. The whole thing was a giant conundrum. No clear answer that she could ascertain.
Hailey curled up on a colorful Mexican rug near the Christmas tree. The pup snuggled into her belly and fed for a moment before falling asleep. Heather wondered where the gray wolf had gone. And the pack, for that matter.
“Just the one puppy,” Mad Dog said. He lay on the floor near Hailey and watched. “I looked. Usually, even wolves have litters. But this little guy is the only one.”
Mad Dog’s face glowed with the delight of a little boy who’d found the gift he hadn’t even known he wanted under his tree.
Pam set the table. Three places. It was growing dark out. Time and inaction, Heather realized, were making up her mind for her. Maybe that was for the best.
Her cell rang. Brad. He was special, someone she wanted to spend time with. Maybe her life. Pam and Mad Dog wouldn’t mind if she invited Brad to join them here. He could even bring his sister. With all those sheriff’s officers out there, wouldn’t they be safer here than anywhere else? She snapped the phone open. One way or another, she had to make up her mind about seeing Brad tonight.
“Heather, are you all right?”
“Sure,” she said, not certain it was true.
“You’ve had quite a day. I heard you found the governor this morning.”
“Yeah,” she wanted to tell him all about it, but not now. And not over the phone.
“Things are crazy here, too. Are you free right now? Can I see you tonight? And Niki…I want you two to meet.”
“My car’s at headquarters. I’m at Uncle Mad Dog’s.”
“We’ll come get you. I want to meet your uncle and his girl friend. We’ll be there as quick as we can. Okay?”
“Yes,” Heather said, and decided it would be okay. Then she folded her cell closed and found Hailey staring at her in a way that made her wonder if the wolf knew better.
***
Not only had it gotten dark during the sheriff’s adventures, it had begun to snow again. The perpetual Kansas wind made it seem to be snowing sideways. It took the sheriff a few moments to find the lights and the wipers and get the defroster going full bore. Then he had to rock Mrs. Kraus’ old Chevy before the wheels got traction and he could maneuver it through all the vehicles in the lot behind the courthouse.
He turned north, then east on Cherry. He stopped at the next corner, got out, and checked the spot where he’d last seen the Korean War Veteran. The man was no longer there. Someone must have come and helped him home. Or the old warrior had found a way back by himself. Paul Graber was gone, too. Aside from some broken windows, fresh chips in store fronts, and a bit of rusty colored snow, no evidence remained of the little battle that had been fought such a short time before.
In fact, the street looked relatively cheery, thanks to a few twinkling Christmas decorations. The next street over, however, glowed with Chernobyl-like intensity. The sheriff didn’t know whether Don Crabtree was home or not. But home seemed like a good bet, since someone had turned his display back on.
Mrs. Walker and her attorney needed the sheriff’s attention, but Crabtree had shot up his neighbor’s RV, threatened several members of the man’s family, and might well be armed again. The sheriff wasn’t sure what had happened to the Uzi. Someone had picked it up to carry it to the courthouse for him when he exchanged it for his shotgun. He couldn’t remember who. Crabtree’s light show seemed like the place to start.
English parked Mrs. Kraus’ car in the middle of Plum Street, engine running and headlights on high, pointing into Crabtree’s yard. But he didn’t go to Crabtree’s door first. The sheriff started with Conrad, instead.
“Evening, sheriff.” Conrad seemed a little taken aback at seeing the sheriff. Perhaps because he hadn’t managed to return to the fire fight. “You get things straightened out at the courthouse?”
“With all those bodies, I’m not sure straightened out is the right way to put it.”
“Oh.” Conrad didn’t ask whose bodies, and the sheriff wondered how many calls Mrs. Kraus must have taken by now from the local rumor mill. Conrad might have more up-to-date information on the militia’s losses than he did.
“In the midst of that mess at the corner of the park, I lost track of Don Crabtree and his Uzi. You know if he’s over there and whether he’s armed?”
“Yeah. He’s over there, I think. Pretty humiliated at the way this all worked out. I’ve got his Uzi. Took it as security against the damages to my property. And so he couldn’t change his mind and turn it on us again.”
The sheriff nodded. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take that as evidence. And because it’s an illegal weapon, being fully automatic like that.”
Conrad didn’t argue. “You need help getting it to your car?” The sheriff was still using his mother’s old shotgun as a cane, and limping more now. He’d used his legs in ways they were no longer accustomed to and they were complaining about it.
“No. I’ll manage.”
Conrad got the gun for him. “It’s loaded with a fresh clip, in case you need it. Don is blaming Matt Yoder for what happened to the crèche, so Don apologized to me and promised to pay double all my damages, like I said….”
Conrad was trying to tell him something else.
“Yes?”
“So I promised I wouldn’t press charges.”
“I see,” the sheriff said, though he didn’t. “Won’t matter, though. He’ll be facing federal weapons charges and I aim to go after him for everything I can think of for causing all this trouble.”
Conrad shrugged. “Just wanted you to know, in case it made a difference. You need help taking him into custody?”
“No, thanks. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your holiday any further.”
English stuck the Uzi under one arm, leaned on the shotgun with the other, and headed back to Mrs. Kraus’ Chevy. He locked the Uzi in the trunk and continued up the walk to Crabtree’s front door. Curtains moved in the living room window. Someone inside knew he was coming. But the sheriff’s outlook on the matter had gone from Gary Cooper’s Marshall Kane to George C. Scott’s General Patton. At this point, he damn well intended to crush any one who resisted. He pounded the butt of his shotgun against Crabtree’s door.
“Open up, Don Crabtree. You are still under arrest and I’ve come to take you into custody.”
The door swung in. A subdued Don Crabtree stood inside.
“Won’t you have a cup of coffee first?” Edna offered from over her husband’s shoulder. “I promise you he’s not dangerous anymore.”
“Roy Conrad’s got my Uzi,” Crabtree said. “And Edna went and dumped all the rest of my guns and ammunition in Calf Creek after I brought them back from the courthouse. Did it while I was off surveilling the Conrad place. I feel real terrible about what happened over, there since it was Matt Yoder all along.”
“Oh, Daddy. It’s not Matt’s fault,” Crabtree’s daughter said.
That brought a little of the fire back. “Not his fault? Then who pissed all over my lawn this morning? Look at it. Just look at it.” Crabtree marched past the sheriff and out to where the incriminating evidence was gradually being hidden beneath a fresh coat of snow.
“Don,” Edna said, following him, “are you telling me after all these years you still don’t recognize your own daughter’s handwr
iting?”
Crabtree froze as solid as the icicles on baby Jesus’ chains. His gaze slowly turned on his daughter, who was suddenly blushing brightly enough to compete with the lawn decorations.
“Are you telling me that you…? That he stood there and you aimed his…?”
“How old is your daughter?” the sheriff asked.
“She turned sixteen last month,” Edna said.
The sheriff was surprised. She looked younger. He’d been sure she couldn’t be more than fourteen. But the years flew by him these days. The kids were always older than he remembered.
“I can make an arrest in this matter if you want. But the questions of whose…uh, penmanship is represented and what writing instrument was involved will become public record. It’s up to you.”
“No harm done,” Don Crabtree said. “Just a prank.”
The sheriff thought about mentioning the day’s count of dead and wounded.
“Sheriff,” Crabtree said. “I think I’d like to go to jail now, if you don’t mind. Before I kill my only child with my bare hands.”
***
“Ready, Niki?” Brad called.
The day had stayed cool, though the clouds that kept the sun from warming Tucson and brightening the Coles’ family holiday provided a spectacular sunset. Most of the color had bled from the sky by the time Brad let his BMW creep away from the garage and his sister’s extended farewell with their father.
“Coming,” she called, though she turned back to the senator with a few soothing words, a big smile, and a quick kiss.
It was getting cold for top-down riding, but Niki had asked him to leave it down and Brad knew the heater could do a surprising job of keeping the interior bearable. At last, Niki came running, jumped in, and fastened her belt. “Away, James,” she said.
Brad put it in reverse and released the clutch. And damn near plowed into the grill of a monster SUV that had just entered their driveway. Niki’s head snapped back against her headrest.
“What…” she began. But she knew what, because blinding headlights peered over the BMW’s trunk.