Where There's Smoke

Now there’d be hell to pay.

Making an animalistic grunt, the officer lunged for Bowie. Bowie dodged him. The deputy took a wild swing, which Bowie also deflected. Hap Hollister shouldered his way between them. “Hey, you two! I don’t want any trouble here. I’m sure y’all don’t either.”

“I’m gonna break every bone in that little cocksucker’s body.”

“No, you ain’t, Gus.” Gus struggled against Hollister’s restraining arms, but Hap had tussled with angry drunks many times and was no small man himself. He could handle the deputy. “Sheriff Baxter would have your ass if you harassed a suspect.”

“I’m not a suspect!” Bowie shouted.

Still restraining Gus, Hap glared at Bowie over the deputy’s meaty shoulder. “Don’t go shooting off your mouth like that, kid. It’s stupid. Now, apologize.”

“Like hell!”

“Apologize!” Hap roared. “Don’t make me sorry I stood up for you.”

While the deputy seethed, Hap and Bowie exchanged challenging stares. Bowie reconsidered. If he didn’t keep a job, his parole officer would be after him. It was a lousy, goin’-nowhere job, but it was gainful employment that demonstra

ted his desire to reintegrate into society.

He for sure as hell wouldn’t go back to Huntsville. Even if he had to kiss the ass of every thick-necked meathead with a badge pinned to his shirt, he wouldn’t go back to prison.

“I take it back.” For good measure, he unbuttoned his shirt and showed his chest and back to the deputy. “No bullet holes. I was here all night.”

“And there’s probably three dozen or so witnesses who can testify to that, Gus,” Hap said. “Somebody else tried to break into Ms. Darcy Winston’s bedroom last night. It wasn’t Bowie.”

Gus wasn’t ready to concede, although it was obvious that he had the wrong man. “Funny that as soon as this parolee hits town, we get the first report of a serious crime in as long as I can remember.”

“Coincidence,” Hap said.

“I reckon,” the deputy grumbled, although he continued to glare suspiciously at Bowie.

Hap diverted him with a piece of local gossip. “By the way, guess who else blew into town last night. Key Tackett.”

“No shit?”

Hap’s maneuver worked. The deputy relaxed his official stance and propped his elbow on a shelf, for the time being forgetting Bowie and the purpose of his visit to the honky-tonk. Bowie just wanted to return to the sleeping bag and get some rest. He yawned.

The deputy asked, “What’d old Key look like? Gone to fat yet?” Laughing, he slapped his belly affectionately.

“Hell, no. Hasn’t changed a smidgen since his senior year when he led the varsity team all the way to the state playoffs. Tall, dark, and handsome as the devil hisself. Those blue eyes of his still spear into everything they land on. Still the smartass he always was, too. First time he’s been back to town since they buried his brother.”

Bowie’s ears perked up. He remembered the man they were talking about. Tackett was the kind of man who made a distinct impression on folks—male and female alike. Men wanted to be like him. Women wanted to be with him. He’d no more than sat down on a barstool when Ms. What’s-her-name with the red hair and big tits had grafted herself to him. They’d been real friendly, too, for more than half an hour. Tackett had left within minutes of her slinking exit.

Interesting coincidence? Mentally Bowie scoffed. He didn’t believe in coincidence. But they could cut out his tongue and feed it to a coyote before he’d tell the deputy what he’d seen.

“Clark’s passing—that was a tough time for ol’ Jody,” Gus was saying.

“Yeah.”

“She ain’t been the same since that boy died.”

“And on top of that, that woman doctor moved into town and got the gossips all stirred up again.”

The deputy stared into near space for a moment, sorrowfully shaking his head. “What possessed her to come to Eden Pass after what happened between her and Clark Tackett? I tell you, Hap, folks nowadays ain’t worth shit. Don’t care nothin’ about nobody’s feelings but their own.”

“You’re right, Gus.” Hap sighed and slapped the deputy on the shoulder. “Say, when you get off duty, come have a beer on the house.” Bowie was impressed by Hap’s diplomacy as he steered the deputy out of the storeroom and through the empty bar, expounding as he went on the sad state of the world.

Bowie lay back down on the sleeping bag, stacked his hands behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling. Cobwebs formed an intricate canopy across the bare beams. As Bowie watched, an industrious spider added to it.