Dark River Road (79 page)

He didn’t know who he expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t Cinda standing there with a .357 Magnum in her grip. She held it up for all to see and said coolly, “The next man who moves will need surgery. Or a hearse.”

Staggering a little, he was careful not to move too much. In between pants for air he got out, “Where the hell did you get that fucking cannon?”

“Sargent’s Guns and Ammo. It’s legal. And I’m lethal.”

Got that right. She looked lethal, standing there with her feet spread slightly apart for balance, the gun held level and gleaming in the twilight and mercury lamps.

“Damn, girl,” Billy Mac said, sounding foolishly amused, “you sure you know how to aim that thang?”

“Care to see firsthand?”

“Shit, you wouldn’t shoot me. What’d your Granddaddy think if you shot one of his business partners?”

“My grandfather would never do business with you, Billy Mac.”

Billy Mac snorted. “The hell he wouldn’t. Who you think started this whole thing, anyway? My daddy went into business with your granddaddy back before you or me was ever borned. This has been goin’ on a helluva long time. Why d’you think the cops look the other way?”

Cinda’s eyes narrowed. Chantry could see she didn’t know whether to believe him or not. Then she looked toward Chantry, and must have seen something in his face. Her mouth got real straight and tight.

“Maybe it’s been going on for a long time, Billy Mac,” she said after a moment, “but now it’s ended. And the cops won’t look the other way this time.”

Some of Billy Mac’s cocky humor faded and he started toward her. “Put down that gun, girl. Just get on out of here and I won’t say anything to your granddaddy.”

“If you take one more step, Billy Mac Stark, I’ll put a hole in you.”

He still didn’t look like he thought she’d use the gun. Chantry tensed, tightened his grip on the baseball bat as Billy Mac took another step forward, knife clutched in his right hand, eyes not leaving Cinda. When she didn’t shoot, he took another step.

The bullet hit the arm holding the knife and the impact made him jerk. The knife went flying and Billy Mac went sprawling. Then he started hollering really loud.

“The police,” Cinda said calmly, “will be here any minute. I suggest the rest of you gentlemen stay just where you are until they arrive.”

No one else dared breathe too loud. Not even Chantry. There were times Cinda went pure Quinton on him.

Animal Control loaded up the last
of the pit bulls. Some were in pretty bad shape. A few would have to be euthanized, but Cinda had already called her friend up in Desoto County and arranged for the others to be taken to a pit bull rescue group. The dogs would be treated, socialized, judged for temperament, and eventually adopted if possible. Cinda knew how to get things done.

Chantry looked at her. He sat in the back of her SUV. An ambulance had taken away Beau and Billy Mac, and the police had taken Rafe and two guys Chantry didn’t know. Herky sat inside the car holding his puppy, mule-faced at even the suggestion he let anyone else hold it. It’d take an act of Congress to get that pup from him now.

“You’re hurt,” Cinda said, looking at Chantry’s arm, and he shrugged.

“Just a scratch.”

“It probably needs cleaning.”

“One of the medics did that while you were talking to the police.”

“Ah.” She leaned up against the lowered tailgate of the SUV. “So how long have you known my grandfather’s involved in the pit bull fighting?”

“Not long. Suspected it, but had no proof.”

“Would you ever have told me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

One of the cops approached. “Miss Sheridan, we’ll need you to make a statement down at the police station.”

“I want those men prosecuted. Animal cruelty, whatever felony charges you can come up with that’ll put them away for a while.”

The deputy hesitated, then he nodded. He didn’t look like it was going to happen, and Chantry wasn’t surprised. If it had been going on since Jimmy Joe Stark made a deal with the old man, it wouldn’t stop now.

“Come on down whenever you have time to make your statement,” the officer said, and this time Cinda caught the hint of condescension in his tone.

Her eyes and tone went steely. “Lieutenant, you can rest assured that I’ll be there, and I’ll insist upon charges being filed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He backed away, looked hard at Chantry for a minute. “You, too, Callahan. Captain Gordon wants to see you at the station.”

“He’ll be there with me in the morning, Lieutenant,” Cinda said in that cool voice of authority she got, and the cop nodded and went back to his patrol car. Then she looked at Chantry. “So? What are you thinking?”

Chantry took his time answering. Night sounds filled the trees on each side of the gravel drive; back behind Billy Mac’s trailer, officers had found several trenches filled with dog and a few cat carcasses. The smell was pretty bad. Cinda kept looking at him, and he said the first thing that came to mind.

“I’m thinking that if you weren’t Bert Quinton’s granddaughter, you’d be in the back of one of those patrol cars right now. You shot a man.”

“I’m fully aware of that.”

There was a slight quiver in her voice that got his attention. He looked at her. Maybe she wasn’t as cool about this as he’d thought. Her eyes looked huge in the dim light and she stood with her arms folded across her chest like a barrier. Her lips went flat.

“I’ve never shot a man before.”

He nodded. He remembered his first time.

“I always thought it’d be easy,” he said, “shooting someone who’s trying to shoot you. It’s not. It all happens so fast, looking at them, knowing you’ve got to shoot. But once you pull that trigger it all seems to slow down so that it’s in slow-motion and you hear, see, feel, smell everything. And there’s a taste in your mouth like rust. A blink of the eye and it’s done, and yet it plays over and over again in your mind.”

It got quiet again except for the static of police radios and Herky humming a tune to the pup.

“Did you kill him?” Cinda asked.

He knew what she meant. “Yeah.”

“But that was war.”

“Right.” He got off the end of the tailgate and went over to stand in front of her. “And he’d be just as dead as if it wasn’t war.”

He didn’t know what he was trying to say. He just knew that he never wanted to see Cinda with a gun in her hand again. Not when his actions had put her there.

“Look, cowboy,” she said, “I know what you’re trying to do. Thanks.”

“Cowboy?”

She laughed, a soft sound. “Take me home, Chantry. Please.”

He took Cinda home first. Her house was lit up like Fourth of July. Three cars sat in the driveway. Sleek, new, expensive.
Damn.

“Damn,” Cinda said. “Looks like the entire family’s here.”

Chantry stopped her car out front and put it in park. “I’ll just walk Herky home.”

“No, take my car. I know where you live. And I think he’s had enough excitement for the night.”

Herky had hardly said a word all the way home. He just sat in the back singing to the pup in a monotone. He was still quiet when Chantry pulled up in front of the small duplex that was more an efficiency apartment in the back of an older home. It was on a street that’d gotten shabby, with the only traces of better years evident in the ornate curls and curves of wood trim along a front porch that needed painting.

“Miss Abby says Spot’s a fine dog,” Herky said when they got out of the car and Chantry walked him up to the house. “She said she don’t mind if he stays.”

Abigail Whiting had rented the back of her house to him. She worked at the Social Security office across from the court house in the middle of town, close enough to walk to work every day, and two blocks away from Cinda. Abby probably had ten more years until she retired, had been widowed so long ago people had only a vague memory of her dead husband, and had no children. Herky must be good company for her. And the state helped pay his rent, so it was a win-win situation all the way around.

“That’s good, Herky. You going to be okay?”

He nodded. “I’m gonna be fine, Chantry. You saved my dog for me.”

“You saved your dog. I just gave you a ride out there.”

Herky thought about that a moment, then broke into a broad grin. “That’s right, ain’t it! I did save Spot. I’d do anything to save Spot. And I wasn’t scared at all, Chantry. I was just mad. This dog, he loves me no matter how dumb I am. It’s like he don’t even know I’m dumb. But he’s the only thing I got in this world that’s all mine, and I’d do whatever I had to for him.”

“Guess that’s what being a parent is all about,” Chantry said with a smile, and Herky just grinned.

Cara Sheridan looked furious. The look she shot Chantry was filled with venom. He just looked back at her. Cinda was doing fine. Maybe he wouldn’t have to say much, if anything at all.

Gordon showed them into his office, a small space with big glass windows, metal blinds, and stacks of colored folders everywhere. A cork board held photos and posters of fugitives. It wouldn’t surprise him to see his own face up there, Chantry mused. He’d always been on Gordon’s Most Wanted list.

It took only a couple of minutes to tell Gordon about Billy Mac stealing Herky’s puppy and taking it to use as bait, and how Chantry and Cinda had driven him out to get the dog back before it was too late.

“Billy Mac Stark said he found the dog wandering around,” Gordon said when she finished, “and that Herky wasn’t anywhere in sight.”

Cinda said flatly, “Billy Mac Stark is a liar.”

Gordon frowned. Chantry almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Here he had Cinda, old man Quinton’s granddaughter and daughter to the mayor, in his office saying one thing, and Billy Mac Stark, working for old man Quinton, saying another. Whichever way he went, it was likely to cause him grief.

But for Cinda and Herky’s sake, Chantry was moved to offer advice. “Blood wins out almost every time, Captain.”

Gordon looked up at him. Something flickered in his eyes, like he recognized the truth in what was said, and he nodded. Quinton might be involved in the dog fighting, but when it came down to it, he’d back Cinda before he would Billy Mac.

And that’s exactly what happened. Bert Quinton abandoned Billy Mac and Beau and Rafe and the others without a qualm. He denied being involved with any illegal dog fighting—thereby putting a fine point on what was illegal and what wasn’t—and said flat out that he was proud of his granddaughter for having the courage to confront men who’d do such a thing. It got good press in all the local papers, and even made the papers up in Memphis. The media got interested in things like that when an important man like Bert Quinton was involved. The rest of the time, it was barely a blip on the radar screen of media compassion.

Chantry half-expected a summons from old man Quinton. It didn’t happen. Maybe he figured Billy Mac and Beau and Rafe deserved what they got for threatening Cinda. Or maybe Quinton just figured they weren’t useful anymore. Whichever, life got kinda quiet.

Beau and Rafe got out on bail, but since the passage of that “three strikes” law, it was likely they’d go back to prison if convicted on assault charges, and Billy Mac got a big fine that he couldn’t pay so had to put his land and trailer up as collateral.