Feast Day of Fools (Hackberry Holland 3)

“I’m not?”

“We need your vehicle. I have to get my friend out of here. He’s not well, and the heat has been pretty hard on him.”

“That’s what I said. Let’s take a look at him.”

“Maybe you should sit down. You’ve got blood all over you.”

“It’s no problem. What’s your friend doing out here?”

“He’s an FBI agent.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Where are the guys you were riding with?”

“Gone.”

“They deserted you?”

“Are you a law dog, too, pilgrim?”

“Parks and Wildlife. I’m not sure I like the way you’re talking to me.”

“Don’t Parks and Wildlife people carry weapons? I would. This area is full of rattlers.”

“Where’s the cut on your head? I don’t see it.”

“You’re pretty damn inquisitive for a man asking other people’s he’p. How far back is your FBI friend?”

“Not far. Are the other bikers coming back or not?”

“You cain’t tell about a bunch like that. Y’all should know. They tear up the countryside wherever and whenever they want, and y’all don’t do squat about it.”

“They?”

The man in goggles pressed the back of his wrist to his mouth, as though his lip were split or his teeth had been broken or knocked out. Then Caleb realized there was nothing wrong with his mouth or teeth and that he was making a decision, one that would probably have irreversible implications for both of them.

“Thi

s is my neighborhood. You made your bed when you came into it,” the man in goggles said.

“This is public land. It belongs to the people of Texas. We’ll go wherever we please in it.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know who I am.”

Caleb wet his lips and closed and opened his hands at his sides. “Give yourself up, Mr. Collins.”

“You’re honeymooning here?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Answer me.”

“I was recently married, if it’s any of your business.”

“Oh, it’s my business, all right. You should have stayed with your woman. You’ve spat in the soup, fellow.”

“I’m going to walk out of here now. When I come back, I hope you’re gone. If you’re not, you’re going to be in custody.”