“I’m going back to the car lot later,” I said. “Look around behind the place and see where she came from.”
“I think I’ll call up Vick and see if our African American cowboy rings any bells with the Sheriff’s Department.”
“Don’t forget, Vick’s still put out with us.”
“He won’t be much longer. Hunter called right before you got here and said she’d mailed us a care package of Julios.”
Hunter is Hunter Kincaid, our beautiful, tough, straight shooting Border Patrol Agent friend who lives in Texas. Julios are some fabulous tortilla chips made near San Antonio. We were all addicted to them and Hondo and I ate the last bag we had. It was one of the big bags too, almost the size of a pillowcase. Vick knew it was his and that we had it because Hunter called and told him she’d sent it to us.
Vick caught us when he came to the office that day and opened the door without knocking. I had the bag tilted up and was pouring the last tiny pieces of chips into my mouth when he yelled, “Vandals! You’re a couple of vandals!”
He scared me so bad I jerked the bag, and salt and chili powder and all the other spices left in the bag found their way into my eyes and nose. It felt like someone poured fire into my sinuses. Tears flowed and my nose ran clear liquid as I hacked and sneezed and wiped my face.
When I could see again, Vick said, “Serves you right,” and he left. He never did tell us what he wanted that day.
Anyhow, since then he’s been a little testy.
~~***~~