Server Down

by J. M. Hayes

  Mad Dog followed her, as fast as his legs could carry him. It wouldn’t take long for the cop to call in back-up. Besides, there was probably a shotgun clamped to the cruiser’s dash.

  ***

  What’s a grenade launcher doing in Benteen County?” the fire chief muttered, but he couldn’t be any more surprised than the sheriff.

  His brother, Mad Dog, liked being the county’s oddball, the guy who took a contrary stance on every issue. But, here, the worst that usually got him was a sharp retort or a nasty rumor spread behind his back.

  “And who’d want to blow up Mad Dog’s house?” the chief asked.

  Who indeed, the sheriff wondered. Mad Dog had been especially annoying lately. Some out-of-state investors were partnering with the Benteen County Board of Supervisors to push for construction of an ethanol plant in Buffalo Springs. That could result in the biggest job hike in the county since the Gas–Food Mart decided to put on a night shift. And it wasn’t just that an ethanol plant would offer new jobs. It could make farming in the county profitable again.

  Mad Dog, of course, was against it. He’d been to every local meeting to argue that ethanol production wasn’t really environmentally friendly. Sure, it replaced some petroleum in the marketplace, and with a renewable source, but it meant food wasn’t being produced. And it took a lot of petroleum products to grow corn. Corn was the most profitable crop to turn into ethanol, so every acre involved in its production would have to be irrigated. Benteen County didn’t get enough rainfall to grow it without help. The section of the Ogallala Aquifer under the county had receded from twenty to fifty feet in the last half century. Nobody knew how much farther it might drop. Or whether it might even run out all together. Except Mad Dog, of course, who was certain the ethanol plant would assure the aquifer dried up, after being further polluted by the fertilizers and pesticides that would be used on every acre.

  As a result, some folks had been saying pretty nasty things about Mad Dog. Calling him the usual stuff, like pagan, and half-breed. Nutcase had been making the rounds, too. Sheriff English knew a couple of tough old farmers who’d like to duke it out with his brother. But he hadn’t heard so much as a whisper about someone throwing a hissyfit and threatening his brother with serious bodily harm. And yet an old grenade launcher had been used on Mad Dog’s house, most likely, with the expectation Mad Dog would be home at the time.

  Sheriff English tried Mad Dog’s cell phone again. Again, it immediately took him to Mad Dog’s message box. That meant his brother was either somewhere without service or, as usual, had turned the thing off. Unless it had been somewhere in the ruined house….

  The sheriff’s daughters might know. One of them was in Tucson. She’d been planning this trip to attend Sandra Day O’Connor’s lectures for months. The other, his would-be anthropologist, had called to tell him she was stuck in Lubbock this weekend. He checked his phone and discovered it was almost 2:30. Too late to call Lubbock, and half an hour into Saturday morning in Tucson. He didn’t think he should call there, either.

  And then he didn’t have to, because his cell started chiming in his hand and he could see that Heather was calling him.

  “Sheriff. I was afraid I’d wake you.” It wasn’t Heather’s voice.

  “Ms. Jardine?” Who else would call from his daughter’s phone? “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Not yet, anyway. You picked up before the second ring.”

  “My job is keeping me up late tonight,” the sheriff said. Then, “What do you mean not yet?”

  “Heather thought you should know. We might end up being held by Tucson or Sewa Tribal Police tonight.”

  The sheriff almost dropped the phone. “What?”

  “There was a murder at the Yaqui Easter ceremonies. An officer got stabbed with a switchblade. It had a name on it, and then there are witnesses who say the killer was a big man with a shaved head who drove off with his huge dog in a Mini Cooper.

  “Say,” she interrupted herself. “What’s going on in Benteen County at this time of night that requires your attention? Where are you?”

  The sheriff looked down at the gravel in the driveway beside what had been his brother’s house. It glowed. Hunks of smoldering debris turned it golden.

  “Looks like I’m at the other end of the yellow brick road Mad Dog drove today,” he said. “And I bet you don’t have to tell me whose name was on that switchblade.”

  ***

  The street Mad Dog ran down was lined with industrial buildings and chain-link fence. It offered no place to hide, which made him wonder how Hailey had managed to vanish again. At the first intersection, he zigged north, so he wouldn’t be so directly visible from the street where he’d left the sex shop and the disarmed cop. That officer was going to be pissed. He’d get himself another gun and some back-up and come looking for Mad Dog all too soon.

  This block proved no more conducive to hiding than the last. Mad Dog zagged at the next intersection, heading west, away from the street with the lights and farther into a dilapidated industrial zone.

  Finally, midway down the block, he came on what had once been a house. Its front yard was paved for parking, now, but there were at least some shadowy spots against its cracked plaster walls where scraggly oleanders offered partial concealment. He ducked behind one with a few pale blossoms. He could see through the bush, which wasn’t reassuring, but he needed a moment to consider where to go, and how, and what he might do when he got there.

  It seemed likely that he would soon be going to jail. Or, accompanying someone from the coroner’s office if they decided to shoot first, next time, before the wonder wolf could disarm them again and give him another chance to flee.

  One block to the south, a car drove slowly west. Not just any car, judging from the bright spotlights it used to peer into lots filled with dirt and weeds and junked machinery behind razor-wire topped chain link. He could hear tires coming along this street, too. Reinforcements? If not now, soon.

  He reached into his bag of merchandise, found the body paint, and swabbed his head, face, and hands with licorice. Rolled his sleeves down, too, though there wasn’t much he could do about the plaid shirt he wore. Like camouflage, it contained a variety of colors and patterns. Unfortunately, none of them remotely resembled anything found in nature.

  He ducked as the second car arrived. Spotlights turned his hiding place as bright as the surface of the sun. Mad Dog tried to make himself as undetectable as Hailey had become. The bright red patches of his shirt seemed to glow, reflecting the luminosity of that police spotlight.

  The police car slowed. Stopped. The light pinned him against the wall.

  Invisible, invisible, invisible, Mad Dog told himself. The blinding light moved on. The police car moved with it. And Hailey stood on the other side of the oleanders, whining with impatience and the clear desire that he follow her.

  Well, hell. If she’d just succeeded in making them both undetectable to those cops, he’d follow her anywhere she wanted.

  ***

  Water boarding.” The detective laughed. “Not likely from Captain Matus, here. The Sewa live on a desert reservation. They know water is too rare to waste torturing prisoners. I figure he’s more likely to peel off your fingernails and, if that doesn’t work, skin you alive.”

  From the way Matus glared at Heather, she wasn’t sure the man was kidding. “Either way,” she said, “I’ve got nothing to confess. Not for myself or on behalf of my uncle. And what’s Matus’ authority here? Why Sewa tribal police instead of Yaqui?”

  “Yaquis have a real small force they use mostly at their casino,” the detective said. “Guess they farmed this out.”

  “Enough of this bull,” Matus interrupted. “That was my officer who took a knife in the chest. Our cousins, the Yaqui Nation, hired us to provide security for this ceremony and I’ve got a right to question these witnesses.”

  The detective shook his head. “You got no legal jurisdiction here, Matus. This isn’t your Re
z. This may be a Yaqui community, but it’s inside the City of Tucson.”

  The second detective held his hands up, palms open, like he was using sign language to indicate peaceful intent. “I don’t see why Captain Matus can’t join us for any questioning to be done.”

  Matus smirked in Heather’s direction, like maybe he was getting more than he’d expected. “I can live with that,” he said.

  “So can I,” Heather said, after glancing Ms. Jardine’s way and getting a nod that indicated her dad was in the loop. “I don’t mean any insult to the Captain or his police force, but he was coming on pretty strong. I didn’t want to take a chance that we might disappear into some legal limbo. With the Tucson Police Department involved, and with the Sheriff of Benteen County, Kansas having been informed, that’s no longer a concern for me.”

  Matus pounced on that. “That’s your father she has on the phone? Let me talk to him.”

  Heather couldn’t think of why not. She waved Ms. Jardine over and the woman gave the captain Heather’s cell.

  “This is Captain Matus of the Sewa Tribal Police. Who’re you?”

  He paused while Englishman answered.

  “I assume you’re aware of what’s happened here tonight. Have you been told about the description witnesses gave of the killer? Is your brother in Kansas, Sheriff English?”

  “Is he?” Heather asked. Jardine shook her head.

  “His house, you say? Tonight? That’s remarkable. So, if I call your office they can confirm all this?”

  “What about Mad Dog’s house?” Heather whispered.

  “Someone blew it up.”

  Matus nearly blew up, too. “You’re kidding me. You’re telling me your office isn’t staffed? All right, I’ll give you fifteen minutes to get there. Then expect an official call on the number listed for your agency. And expect us to call some other Kansas agencies to find out if you’re for real. And why your office isn’t open twenty-four hours a day. Until we can confirm who you are, Ms. English and Ms. Jardine will remain in custody.”

  “Ours,” the Tucson detective said. “Not his. And just so we can ask you a few more questions. We need help from you ladies to get us up to speed on this.”

  The women nodded.

  “I see,” Matus concluded. He folded the phone shut and turned to the Tucson detectives. “I’d like to introduce you gentlemen to Deputy Heather English. She works for her daddy. As, I suspect, all of her brothers do, if she has any, and they’re probably all named Daryll.”

  Heather blushed. Matus had hit too close with his insult. Her adopted sister was also named Heather. That had caused lots of confusion and a few laughs over the years. Tonight, it didn’t seem even faintly amusing.

  ***

  As far as Mad Dog could tell, the search hadn’t spread to the east side of Oracle Road yet. So far, following Hailey had kept him out of custody, if not out of trouble. Not that the stabbing had been her fault.

  They were in a little motor court on a dark street a couple of blocks northeast of the sex shop. Or what had been a motor court half a century ago. Now it was just a cluster of concrete block apartments with rusty evaporative coolers in the windows. The yard down the middle of the complex didn’t grow grass anymore, just sand, dirt, weeds, and the occasional rock. The whole place was badly in need of fix-up and fresh paint, except where taggers had recently marked it with graffiti. Mad Dog couldn’t figure out why Hailey had brought him to these apartments, even if he needed a place to hole up and the sign out front said they had units for rent. Then he noticed a pay phone at the rear of the complex on a wall beside a door labeled LAUNDRY/STORAGE. With his cell phone still in the Mini Cooper, the pay phone would come in handy. He turned to look at Hailey and shake his head in wonder. Once again, she was gone. He shook his head anyway, and didn’t worry about her. She’d come back when she was ready.

  As he headed for the phone, someone backed out of the laundry room. It was a tall, bulked up man with thick shoulders and long hair and tattoos crawling out from under ragged shirt sleeves. Not someone Mad Dog wanted to meet in a dark alley. Or here, even if the guy was toting a basket of clean clothes. The man turned and noticed Mad Dog and his eyes got wide. He dropped his laundry and sprinted to the third apartment down, frantically grabbing for keys. He ducked inside and slammed the door behind him. Mad Dog heard him throw the bolt. Apparently, one resident of the apartment complex didn’t want to meet someone slathered in licorice body paint in the dark either.

  The guy didn’t re-emerge with a gun or start calling for help, so Mad Dog went to the phone and dug some change out of his pocket. As usual, there was nothing but a handful of pennies. Damn, he thought, and then noticed the shiny spots atop the big guy’s spilled laundry. He bent and checked and, sure enough, they were quarters. Mad Dog collected all of them he could find. He picked up the laundry and put it back in the basket, too, though after contacting bare earth, it would need to be washed again. He placed a twenty dollar bill on top of the stack and weighted it down with a convenient rock.

  There wasn’t much doubt about who he should call. What could either of the Heathers do for him? What could anyone do for him? Except….

  “Sheriff English,” his brother answered, surprisingly alert for this godforsaken hour.

  “Hey, bro,” Mad Dog said. “You’ll never guess what’s happened to me tonight.”

  “Wanna bet? My daughter and Ms. Jardine are being held as witnesses right now, and I’m on my way to the courthouse to be there to answer a call from a very angry policeman so I can prove I’m the sheriff. All because you’re supposed to have stabbed another policeman to death less than an hour ago.”

  “Oh,” Mad Dog said. Since his brother already knew, it would save a lot of time. Still, he felt a little let down that he couldn’t be the first to pass along the news. “Well, I didn’t do it.”

  “Never thought you did,” Englishman said. “But why’d you run? My advice is to give yourself up. Right now!”

  “I know I should do that, Englishman, but it doesn’t feel real safe. And I wouldn’t have run in the first place if Hailey wasn’t leading the way.”

  That caused Englishman to pause. Mad Dog knew his brother didn’t buy into the whole Cheyenne Shamanism thing the way Mad Dog had, even if they shared the same bloodline. But Englishman didn’t completely discount it, either, and no one who knew her doubted Hailey had an amazing knack for being in the right place at the right time. Back in Benteen County, even folks who were scared she might kill their sheep and calves tended to call her the Wonder Wolf.

  “Can I get back to you at this number?” Englishman asked. “I know somebody in Tucson who might help, but I’m going to have to do some searching to find a phone number. And, I’ll be talking to law enforcement down there. Maybe I can arrange a safe way for you to surrender.”

  “I’ll feel a lot better about doing that after they’ve got the real killer. I know who that is, by the way.”

  “You do? Why didn’t you say so?”

  “He’s going to be real easy to find,” Mad Dog continued. “Just go to my house and….”

  “You don’t have a house anymore, Mad Dog,” Englishman interrupted. “Somebody put a rocket-propelled grenade through your window tonight. There’s not much left.”

  Mad Dog’s jaw dropped. His house? Their mother’s mementos, his books, irreplaceable letters, his Cheyenne paraphernalia—all gone?

  “But your buffalo herd is all right. And the outbuildings are still there, though some are a little singed.”

  “Damn!” Mad Dog said. “Then maybe he’s won.”

  “Who? The killer? Who are you talking about?”

  “Yeah, the killer—Fig Zit.”

  “Who?”

  “Fig, like the fruit. And Zit like a pimple,” Mad Dog said.

  “That’s a stupid name,” Englishman said.

  Mad Dog found that a bit unkind, considering his own name. “It’s not stupid,” he said, “not if you’re a level sevent
y Coalition vampire wizard.”

  ***

  A level thirty-one Coalition bloodknight warrior was killing Mrs. Kraus for the fourth time in a row when the phone rang. If that damn Coalition bastard had let her finish even one quest in the last half hour, she might not have answered it. She wasn’t supposed to be in the office. Her shift didn’t start until eight and the current board of supervisors didn’t want her putting in any overtime. She glanced at the clock. It was getting toward three in the morning. She couldn’t imagine who might call at this time.

  It was those damn night sweats, again. And the fact that she didn’t seem to need hardly any sleep anymore. She was always tired, but the only time she felt sleepy these days was when it wasn’t bed time. So, she’d gotten up and gone to the bathroom and debated going back to bed and lying there and willing herself to sleep. But that never worked. She turned on the TV and couldn’t find anything remotely interesting. And that settled it. She’d raised her League human warrior to level twenty-three last night, playing War of Worldcraft on the office computer after the courthouse cleared out. So, here she was, being chased around Drylands by the bloodknight who was probably just some pubescent computer geek who lived in a time zone like Alaska or Hawaii.

  “Well damn,” she said, as the bloodknight stole all but the last of her health with a sweep of his double-bladed ax. She felt like pulling out her Glock and blowing up both bloodknight and the computer monitor, but she grabbed the phone instead, just before its fourth ring. It could be a real emergency.

  “Benteen County Sheriff’s Office,” she said.

  “I didn’t think this office was supposed to be open,” a male voice said.

  “Then why’d you call?” Mrs. Kraus had one of those voices that had gone beyond whiskey and cigarettes to pure white lightning and locoweed. Her tones were about as mellow as barbed wire scraped across a blackboard.