Feast Day of Fools (Hackberry Holland 3)

“I think he said, ‘Get to it, woman.’”

“What’s on his mind?”

“He wouldn’t say. He claims you two go back.” She looked at him blankly.

“What are you not telling me?”

“His voice isn’t one you forget. I think I talked to him once last year.”

“Collins?”

“How many sexist pricks call in on the business line?”

“If he calls again, put him through.”

“I put him on hold. I also told him if I get my hands on him, his brains are gonna be running out his nose.”

“You said that to Jack Collins?”

“If that’s who he is.”

“I’m going to pick up now. See if you can get a trace.”

“Watch yourself, Hack.”

He winked at her and lifted the receiver to his ear. Oddly, it gave off a sound like a high wind blowing through the holes in the earpiece. “This is Sheriff Holland. Can I help you?” he said.

“I thought I ought to check in. We haven’t talked in a while.”

The accent was what a linguist would call southern midlands, a dialect common on the plains west of Fort Worth and up through Oklahoma, the pronunciations attenuated, as though the speaker doesn’t have enough oxygen in his blood. This speaker sounded like he had put a teaspoon of metal filings in his morning coffee.

“It’s good to hear from you, Mr. Collins. I had you figured for dead,” Hackberry said.

“In a way, I was.”

“Can you clarify that? I’m not that fast.”

“I did penance for one year. I ate from people’s garbage and slept in caves and wore rags and washed myself with wet ash. I think you know why.”

“I dug those girls up. I wish you could have shared the experience with me. I think you’d find your role as penitent a little absurd.”

“Judge me as you will.”

“Oh, I will.”

“How about those two federal agents? Do you think they were innocent victims?”

“The two guys you capped? I’ve got news for you. They were PIs out of Houston, not feds. They didn’t have squat to do with burning up your shack and your Bible.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Tell that to their families.”

“No, I mean I’m sorry I wasted all that ammunition. There’s been a right smart jump in the price of bullets since the election of our new president.”

“You made a mistake coming back here, bub.”

“I address you by your title, Sheriff Holland. I’d appreciate your showing me the same level of respect.”