No Ordinary Sheriff

“He’s family, that has to count for something.”

“Will you attend his funeral?”

“I’ll have to think about it, Cash, but probably not.”

“Okay.” Even if she didn’t have enough respect for Frank to attend, Cash hoped she would be there to support him.

He hung up.

On his own again.

Cash swiveled in his old desk chair to face the office again, ignoring his numb behind.

Austin sat on the edge of the cot, his hair flattened on one side of his head.

“What do you think?” Cash asked. “You learned your lesson?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Austin croaked, his voice sounding groggy.

“Tell me what you learned.”

Austin shrugged. “I shouldn’t smoke weed?” He really didn’t get it.

“Listen, I’ve been where you are. I spent a lot of years taking care of my mom when she couldn’t take care of herself, when my dad wasn’t around.”

Austin wouldn’t look Cash in the eye.

“What would happen to your mom if you got into serious trouble, serious enough to end up in jail? You think she has any idea how to take care of herself?”

“No,” Austin mumbled.

He gestured to the cell. “If you’re not careful, one of these days this will be real.”

Austin’s eyes lit with fear.

“If I wanted to, I could cart you off to a social worker who might decide you’re better off in foster care.”

Yeah, that was fear in his eyes, all right.

“Next time I catch you with drugs, I’m going to have to charge you. What life dished out to you isn’t fair,” Cash continued, “but you have to keep moving forward. Don’t be tempted by this shit, Austin. By the easy way out. When you don’t feel strong enough to face it on your own, you call me. Got it?”

Austin finally looked up and Cash was humbled by the gratitude on his face. “Yeah, I got it.”

“You want out?”

“I wanna go home.”

Cash nodded. “Okay.”

He unlocked the cell door and Austin walked past him.

“Give me your jacket,” Cash said.

Austin recoiled. “You’re gonna make me walk home without my coat?”

He frowned. “’Course not. I bought you a new one.”

“Why?”

“Because the one you’re wearing is falling apart. Besides, it’s not a winter jacket.” Looking at Austin, Cash realized he’d misinterpreted the question. As far as he could tell, Austin had meant either “what do I have to do for it?” or “why do you care?”

“Because,” he said as he handed Austin the new one, “I’m your Big Brother. It’s my responsibility to watch out for you.”

Austin took off his old jacket and handled the new one with reverence. He should. It had set Cash back a bit.

Austin’s reaction was off. He should have been excited, kid-happy about getting new stuff, but instead he remained subdued and wary as though he expected Cash to take it away. Or as though he couldn’t believe he deserved it.

“Those are yours, too.” Cash nodded toward a hat and gloves.

“I slipped some granola bars into the pocket of the jacket. There’s a twenty for lunch. Don’t lose it.”

Austin put on the hat and gloves. He cleared his throat and said, “Thanks,” with a small smile. Cash thought he detected a sheen in the boy’s eyes before he turned away toward the door.

Cash stopped him. “Does your mom go through your pockets?”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“Best go spend that money at the diner now, maybe buy something for dinner, too, then hide it when you get home.”

It didn’t feel right warning a boy against his mother, but this was real life, not Leave it to Beaver. Austin had to look out for himself.

“I got a place in our shed where I keep things. Mom doesn’t know about it.”

“Good. Don’t think I’m going soft on you just because I’m giving you stuff. Next time I’ll have to charge you. Got it?” His stern “cop” voice seemed to make an impression on Austin.

“Yeah, I got it.” Cash could tell he did. Finally.

“I’ll see you later tonight.”

“’Kay,” Austin mumbled and left, the tips of his long hair sticking out from under his new hat.

Cash picked up the old jacket and searched the pockets for contraband. Nothing. Not a single thing, not even an empty gum wrapper.

Man, he hated distrusting Austin.

He didn’t believe that marijuana led to heavier drug use, but Austin must feel the heavy burden of his life. Any escape from the situation would appeal, no matter the source.

Cash had to find that source. Where had Austin picked up the marijuana?

Just out of curiosity, he emptied his own pockets. Keys. A wallet with enough bills in it to make him feel secure. Change. The remainder of a bag of cinnamon hearts he’d bought the other day.

Austin had so little. Pitiful. Just plain pitiful.

He threw on his jacket and ran out of the office after Austin.

“Hey,” he called, and Austin stopped and waited for him.

“Let’s go to Sweet Talk. I feel like candy. How about you?”

Austin perked up. “I like candy.”

In Janey Wilson’s candy store he ordered chocolates and whichever candies Austin indicated he might like. With a mom on welfare, Austin didn’t get a lot of treats in his hard life.

By the time they were ready to leave Cash had a replacement bag of cinnamon hearts for himself and Austin’s pockets were full to bursting. Now Cash felt good, as though he’d completed the job.

They strode to the door, Austin with the slightest of smiles. Man, it would feel amazing to see Austin really smile, or grin, or laugh.

The bell above the door tinkled and Cash looked up. He stopped. So did Austin.

Shannon Wilson entered the shop and, for a minute, Cash couldn’t breathe.

Her eyes took in every corner of the shop and everyone in it before she relaxed and concentrated on Cash.

Once out of cop mode, she looked as radiant as the sun rising on a May morning. She wore a short ski jacket and blue jeans tucked into slouchy boots, and that pretty blond hair in a ponytail again. She wasn’t a cop now. She was just a woman. All woman.

“Hey,” she said, and slid her hands into her jacket pockets. “Do you have a sweet tooth?”

For you. Stop that! “Yeah.” He put his hand on Austin’s shoulder. “So does my Little Brother. This is Austin.”

Shannon smiled and Cash could feel Austin hunch his shoulders. “Hey, Austin.”

Austin stood on his toes and whispered in Cash’s ear, “Can she come tonight?”

No, no, no. Cash didn’t want that, but Austin did.

“You want to invite her? Really?”

Austin nodded.

“Okay.” If that was what Austin wanted, he’d take the chance and ask. “Friday nights I take Austin to the movie theater over in Monroe. You want to come with us?”

He held his breath. Don’t disappoint the boy.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Cash glanced at Austin. He’d put on what Cash called his shuttered look.

She must have noticed it, too, because she said, “Can I take a rain check? I’m probably still going to be here next Friday. I could come then?”

Austin nodded, fast and hard.

When they left the shop, Austin was smiling, first time Cash had seen that in a long, long time.

CHAPTER FOUR

MARY LOU MCCLOSKEY ran her errands about ninety miles west of Ordinary where people didn’t know her.

Last week, she’d gone shopping one hundred miles east instead.

She picked up a couple of packages of a cold medication containing ephedrine at the local drugstore, showing a fake ID to make the purchase. She’d bought the ID from a biker. Since she was making meth for them to sell, they’d been accommodating.

Before heading home today she’d pick up more cold medication in a town ten miles west, also. She shopped different towns every week, miles and miles apart so no one could ever connect the dots.

That, along with what she ordered through her husband’s pharmacy and what she’d ordered online to be delivered to her parents’ old farmhouse, put her in good shape.

* * *

WHEN SHE FINISHED with her purchases, she didn’t head straight home. Instead, she drove to her parents’ farm. They were dead now, killed in a car accident two years ago.

They’d left the property to Brad in the will. Why? This wasn’t the 1900s. They should have trusted her to take care of this place just fine on her own. But no, they’d left it to her husband as though she were too dim-witted, too gently-bred, too female to be of much use. She would have loved having a piece of land in her own name.

She was the one with the brains. She was the one who’d excelled in school, who’d adored math, science, everything. But she was the one who stayed home to care for the children while Brad had a career, while the town looked up to him, while he made money and she went to him every week for handouts.

They’d raised her to be sweet, to be demure and supportive of her husband, but she was smarter than Brad.

Her parents had never seen that.

She stepped into the RV parked a dozen yards away from the house and turned on a light. A sense of satisfaction ran through her. She was a businesswoman. A clever one.

In the small narrow space, she’d made the sweetest little chemistry lab.

She’d seen photos of meth labs, had done a lot of research before building her own. In every photo the labs had been a mess. Not hers. Hers was clean and tidy and perfect, everything lined up exactly as it should be. Three large plastic jars with lids sat beside an eyedropper, coffee filters, glass dish and funnel.

Her ingredients were precisely lined up in a row along one wall. Iodine. Red phosphorous. Ether. Hydrochloric Acid. Sodium Hydroxide. Methanol. On hooks in the wall, she stored her clean tubing.

She placed her purchases on the end of the table and opened the windows. She dressed in protective clothing and secured a mask around her mouth and nose before starting on her next batch of meth.

First she washed her cold medication tablets in ether to get rid of the red dye covering them and to break the pills down to pure ephedrine.

Then she crushed them into powder and put it into a jar with methanol. Before she started shaking the jar, she checked her watch.

Too bad so many parts of this process were slow and tedious.

She wouldn’t have time to clean up after herself today. Her days were a bit longer on Fridays because the boys stayed after school for sports, and she picked up fried chicken and chips for dinner, so no cooking. Even so, she was cutting it real close today.

She’d have to come back on Sunday to clean up. Time to start coming up with an excuse for not attending church services.

* * *

SHANNON PULLED ON a red leather skirt that showed too much leg and too little modesty. Ditto for the black tank top that displayed too much cleavage. She covered it with a fake fur jacket and checked herself in Janey’s full-length mirror.

Her legs looked long and sleek thanks to her six-inch stilettos.

Ruby lipstick made her lips look full.

Dressed and ready for the biker bar in Monroe, she still had to press her hand to her stomach to settle the butterflies roiling there.

She knew men. She knew bars. She knew alcohol. The three could be a deadly combination. She’d had plenty of experience dealing with all three in her career. That experience, and her training, would get her through tonight.

Sheriff Kavenagh wanted her to leave this alone, to let him take care of it, but that wasn’t in her nature. Tom was her brother. She was going to Monroe.

Not ideal going alone.

It is what it is, she told herself.

She’d been in—and handled—tough situations before and had survived.

Not without backup.

True, so she had to be smart. She stuffed her gun into her purse before heading to the bar.

Meth wasn’t called Biker’s Coffee by accident. It made sense for her to look at the biker gang first, but she couldn’t exactly walk out to the farm where they crashed and ask to see where they were cooking the stuff.

She drove to the bar in the next county wishing she’d rented something sexier to drive than the Fiesta she owned. It didn’t make a ballsy statement, wasn’t really in character with the clothes.

She cruised a long square of rural roads around the bar to check out escape routes.

A couple of cop cars were parked off the small highway on a side road just yards away from a flashing neon sign. No doubt waiting for Friday night trouble at the biker bar. Perfect. Backup was close.

When she arrived at the bar, the first thing she noticed was the neon sign flashing red and yellow beside the highway—sASSy’s. Great. A strip joint. Not her cup of tea, but so what? She was here to work.

The lot was full to the gills with hogs and pickup trucks. The only available spot was a dark corner around back, which she didn’t care for. Nothing about this evening thrilled her except the possibility of catching a lead.

She patted the purse she’d slung across her chest messenger style and drew confidence from the bulge of her Glock as she walked around the building to the front door.

Cops advised women not to carry guns in their purses. A purse could be taken away from a woman too easily and the gun used against her. But Shannon was no amateur. She knew what she was doing.

A group of bikers wreathed in smoke and wearing enough black leather to keep the ranchers of Montana in business for years blocked the entrance.

She struggled with her nerves. She didn’t want just the dealer, she reminded herself. She had no choice, she needed to do this if she wanted to nab the creep who was making the stuff.

When she stepped forward and got the bikers’ full attention, the competition and posturing started. She planned to use it to her advantage.

“Hey,” she said. “Where can a girl get a drink around here?”

“Right here, babe.”

“I got it.”

“Hey, lady. I’m buying.”

Cologne swirled around her, mingling with a whiff of sweat from one of the bikers.

One man went through the door and the rest parted long enough for her to enter the bar, then closed around her after, blocking her exit. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

Her heart rate kicked in hard. Easy. Don’t panic. Panic is the worst way to handle this. Jammed in the middle of too many oversize bodies, she forced herself to wrestle her fear under control. She could do this.

She wiped her upper lip.

She had extensive martial arts training. She had a gun and a cell phone. Two cop cars were a one-minute drive away.

The man in front of her stepped aside and she got a good look at the bar.

A stripper gyrated onstage to the throbbing beat of a rock song so loud the bass echoed in Shannon’s pulse.

The place was packed. More than a few glances flicked her way.

Lights flashed onstage while the rest of the bar was dimly lit, no doubt covering up all manner of illegal activity. She glanced at every corner, assessing the situation.

She’d gone through Awareness Training when training to be a cop. There were five levels of Awareness, all color-coded. At the moment she’d bypassed Condition Yellow—attentive, but relaxed, and had shot straight to Condition Orange—focus directed and watching for potential threat.

Any one of these jokers could become a potential threat in a flash.

Perfect. She was exactly where she needed to be. If she couldn’t find the answer here, the cause was lost. Determination stilled her panic and her sense of purpose returned. She could do this.

Her biggest challenge would be keeping maximum awareness of her surroundings without looking like a cop.

She chose a seat at the bar with her back to a door she was fairly certain opened to the back parking lot.

She’d done as much as she could to keep herself safe. She knew from experience, though, how things could go from safe to shit in a matter of seconds.

* * *

FRIDAY NIGHT IN Ordinary, Montana, was small-town quiet. The shop windows were dark and only a few couples strolled toward Chester’s Bar and Grill for dinner.

As he’d done every Friday for the past year, Cash drove to Austin’s trailer to pick him up and take him to a movie.

Austin’s mother answered on the first knock, ready and waiting for Cash. He hated this part. Connie was about the neediest woman he’d ever met. Her most pitiful aspect was the way she looked at him—as though he were her hero, or savior.

He might be trying to save her son, but he wasn’t rescuing her. That was beyond his limited powers.

He’d done his time with Mom until another man had come along and married her. He loved his mom, and he would come running the second she needed him, but his duty with needy women was done.

He wasn’t taking on Connie.

“Austin ready?” he asked.

Austin appeared behind Connie, but she raised her arm and leaned on the doorframe so the boy couldn’t pass.

“How’ve you been, Cash?” She smiled, probably thought she looked sexy, but all he sensed was loneliness pouring from her in waves. He wished he could help—he really did—but what she wanted, he wasn’t prepared to give. The only thing he could do was try to save her son.

That old claustrophobia he used to feel when his mom needed him too much crept around him, choking him. He needed to get away.

Austin scooted under her arm, thank goodness, and out the door, more than ready for his few hours of freedom.

Connie saw Cash start to turn away and she frowned.

“Austin,” she called, “don’t forget to stop at the Lucky Seven and pick up food. There’s nothing in the fridge.”

Cash’s anger flared. It was a mother’s job to take care of the kid, not the other way around.

He wanted to shake Connie, to yell at her, “For God’s sake, woman, develop a backbone and do right by your boy,” but he was caught in a familiar bind. If he yelled or criticized, he would hurt a woman too weak to defend herself no matter how mildly he expressed it. He remembered how easily Mom used to cry. His anger and frustration had nowhere to go.

He bit his tongue, holding it all in. He left her standing there and climbed into the truck.

“Harry Potter is playing tonight. That okay with you?”

“Yeah,” Austin said, his low voice barely audible.

Was the giant step Austin had taken away from his Big Brother normal I’m-almost-a-teenager-stuff? Or was there something more sinister going on?

At the edge of Monroe, on the way to the Five Points Cinema, they passed Sassy’s Bar. The transient biker population of the next county hung out there, and the parking lot looked jammed full of chrome and bikes.

When they got to the theater, they settled in with popcorn and pop and watched the movie.

Afterward, Cash waited while Austin went to the washroom.

Five minutes later, Austin came out looking pale, with his shoulders hunched up around his ears, setting off alarms in Cash.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Austin mumbled while he kept his face averted. Something seemed fishy.

“Hold up,” Cash said. “I think I’d better use the washroom, too.”

He slipped into the men’s room and scouted around. Nothing looked out of place. There was a pair of feet under the closed door of one stall. Did someone just sell Austin something? Marijuana? Drugs? Or had someone said something off-color or insulting? Something about his mom? Cash’s cop instincts went into overdrive. Why had Austin come out of here so secretive and embarrassed?

He used the urinal and washed his hands, taking his time so he could find out whose feet those were. The toilet flushed and Brad McCloskey walked out. He nodded when he saw Cash.

“Hey, Cash,” he said.

Brad owned the only pharmacy in Ordinary. He was a father of four boys, and his wife, Mary Lou, volunteered at church. They attended services every Sunday.

Brad was one of the good guys.

So why had Austin come out of here with a bad case of something going on, with Brad the only other person here?

Had Austin picked up something that had already been stashed in here? They came to the theater every Friday. Had Austin pre-arranged something? No way could Cash go out and search Austin’s pockets, though. It would break the fragile trust he had worked so hard to build.

Besides, he didn’t have a shred of proof that Austin was doing drugs other than those few puffs of marijuana this morning. All he had was a healthy suspicion of trouble, and trouble didn’t necessarily mean drugs.

He left the washroom no wiser than when he’d entered it, his frustration racing double time.

One thing he would do was put his cop skills to use by taking a closer look at Brad. Was there a wolf hiding inside his mild-mannered sheep’s clothing?

Cash pulled into the Lucky Seven parking lot, the only convenience store and gas station in the county open twenty-four hours.

“You have money to get groceries?” he asked.

Austin blushed and shook his head. So, Connie was using Cash for…cash.

That anger flared again. It had nothing to do with being stingy. He enjoyed helping people, but Connie needed to find a way to support herself.

Resigned, he said, “Come on,” and stepped out of the truck.

* * *

SHANNON HAD BEEN in Sassy’s for an hour already, surrounded by more bikers than she could count, and still knew nothing. She had five drinks in front of her and hadn’t done more than mime drinking them. She wouldn’t put it past one of these jokers to try to slip her a roofie.

She finally asked what needed to be asked, interrupting some guy’s story about a battle they’d pitched somewhere with a rival gang.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.