That tricky bastard! He had probably conned his nephew into trapping me. He hadn’t planned to be here tomorrow morning. He wanted me here tonight.
I took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped into the garage. I turned on the flashlight—and there he was, standing next to the far ramp, a sawed-off shotgun in his hands.
I turned off the flashlight as he lifted the gun and pointed it at me. I crouched low.
Then, from the direction of the office, a voice called out, “Don’t pull that trigger, you gringo bastard!”
I saw the blast of the shotgun and heard the pellets ricochet off the wall above the office door.
I turned the flashlight on and put three bullets into Turbo, one in the stomach, two in the chest.
From the office, the voice called, “Good work, amigo!”
I swung the flashlight toward the office doorway. Too late. I heard the outside door that had been locked open and slam shut.
I could tell from where I stood that Turbo was dead. There was blood splattered all over the cement floor. Nausea stirred in me. I got out of there in a hurry.
Jan and Mrs. Casey were still upstairs. I phoned Sheriff McClune at his home and told him everything except for the assist of my unknown aide and the call from young Glen.
“You could have phoned us first,” he said.
“After all the dead ends we’ve both run into? I was trying to save the taxpayers some money.”
“I’ll send an ambulance down there,” he said, “and a couple of deputies. I’ll be right over.”
I went out and told the guards they could go home. They didn’t ask me why. Maybe they knew.
Jan and Mrs. Casey must have heard them leave. They came down a few minutes later.
“What happened?” Jan asked.
“The threat is over,” I told her. “Sheriff McClune is on his way here now to give me the story.”
“Thank God!” Mrs. Casey said. “I’m going upstairs. I don’t want to hear it.”
Jan stared at me, sighed, and asked; “Should I stay?”
“If you want to.”
She was sitting on the couch when McClune came. He said to me, “We’ll go into your den.” He looked at Jan. “Unless you have a strong stomach, I don’t believe you’ll want to hear what I’m going to tell Brock.”
“I haven’t had a strong stomach since all of this started,” she said. “I’m almost glad the man is dead.”
In the den, McClune asked, “Did Turbo shoot first?”
I nodded. “And missed. Could I call it a citizen’s arrest?”
“You won’t need to. I deputized you this morning. Who was your informer?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t recognize her voice. That’s why I didn’t phone you.”
He smiled. “Gad, I wish you were working with us.”
“Haven’t I always? And for free? That should help your budget.”
“You have. I consider you a good citizen, Brock. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” I said.
I went to the door with him and went back to sit with Jan in the living room.
“Peace at last!” she said.
I nodded. And the thought came to me that it isn’t hard to be a good citizen if you have vigilante friends.
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copyright © 1988 by William Campbell Gault
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