“Do you really have to point that thing at me?”
“Shut up, James.” The sheriff bit a cigarette with his teeth and walked it to the corner of his mouth. “You got a light?”
“If I talk are you going to shoot me?”
“I will if you don’t hand over your lighter.”
James pulled the lighter from his pants pocket and felt his fingertips ski over the.38. Thank god the stolen hoodie was two sizes larger and hung down to his hips. Was the sheriff forgetting protocol? This was worse somehow.
“Thanks.” The sheriff turned his head sideways so he could keep his good eye on James. He lit his cigarette. “I’ll be borrowing this for awhile.”
“Be my guest. I know what you are, man. I’ve always known what you’re all about.”
“And what’s that wise-blood? You learn something other than sucking dick down in old Mexico?”
“Enjoy your career Sheriff. Soon as those roads are clear the sooner your career ends.”
The muzzle came in fast, pushed up into his ear and exhaling cold nothing, like the spaces between stars. Had James misjudged him? Would his brains soon be dripping off the interior of the car? He wondered if the sheriff would find the money afterwards. James couldn’t think of a better car to die in.
The gun pulled away. James’ ear rang and he put his hand up to it to feel for blood but it came away clean. He was screwed. Being reckless had kept the sheriff from suspecting his was armed but it wouldn’t do any good to have a gun if it was hard to get to fast. If he only arrests me, what will he do about the car? Maybe not a thing. It might be a long time before the dentist ever comes down. He could be in Hawaii playing with his balls.
“Do you want to tell me something now?” the sheriff asked.
James nodded. He dangled a cigarette out of the window and the sheriff lit it for him.
“You caught me Sheriff. I’ve done bad. But I was just going to take her for a ride is all. I would’ve even wiped her down good and clean before I put her away.”
The sheriff threw his smoke on the ground and crushed it out. What’s taking Cuke so fucking long, he wondered.
“I appreciate you trying to be honest with me, James. But it doesn’t suit you. Because you and I both know that you’re just another confused white boy badass wannabe.”
“Do you have to insult me?”
“Yeah. Because it makes me feel good dammit. And I won’t believe a word until I get Cuke to search you and the trunk.”
“Why didn’t you do it in the first place, instead of sending Cuke into the house?”
“I wanted to make sure you hadn’t done anything wrong in there. There’s nobody hurt in there or anything?
“Jesus, Sheriff. You know me better than that. You just said I didn’t have it in me. What’s taking Coach so long? He must be using the can or something. Or making himself a sandwich…”
The sheriff kept silent and lit another cigarette. The thought of food made him feel suddenly starved. How long had it been since he’d eaten? All he’d thought about was Cuke’s whiskey. He hadn’t even asked him for something to eat.
They should’ve just ignored him, not even stopped. Who cares if he steals the dentist’s car? Probably insured the hell out of the thing anyway. If there’s nothing on him or in the trunk, you might as well not waste your time on the punk.
James tilted his head so he could see into the sheriff’s face. “You okay Dawkins?”
“I’d like to know what in the hell is taking Cuke so long. I should have told him that he was too old for this shit.”
“Well it was you who deputized him, wasn’t it?”
“No. I only asked if I could borrow his car. And a few guns.”
It would have been too easy to keep screwing with the Sheriff, but James decided to let it ride. At first he’d wanted to mix it up for old times, that if he was indeed going down he might as well have a good time on the way. But the feeling had passed and he’d lost the taste for it. He saw a shadow move next to the dentist’s house and soon a figure emerged into the moonlight.
Coach Cuke appeared much older than James remembered him. His hips had gone to hell, making it hard for him to walk very fast. He held a rifle James had seen him carrying during elk season.
“Cuke,” said the sheriff, turning. “What the hell happened?
“Nobody in there Sheriff. Doesn’t look like he stole nothing either except some candy bars and a drink. A few clothes maybe.”
The sheriff turned around and brought up the pistol. “Why did you need clothes? What’s wrong with your old ones, James?’
“I told you. I was down near the jetty and got hit by a sneaker wave. I was completely soaked and freezing to death.”
“Or maybe your old clothes got blood on them?”
“Give me a break dude. You think I enjoy wearing his clothes? They smell like booze, man. Booze and ass. Listen, I knew I was doing wrong, but I did it anyway. We’re all in kind of survivor mode right now, aren’t we? And when I saw this car I heard a voice inside that told me I needed to drive this car. It told me it would change my life.”
Cuke stepped up beside the sheriff. He seemed to be enjoying himself. He glanced at the sheriff’s cigarette and shook his head. The sheriff dropped it on the ground and crushed it out with his shoe.
“What do we do next, sheriff? I thought we were going after Russians, not punks like home slice over there.”
“I don’t know what to do. I see a whole lot of things I could nail him for. Breaking and entering, grand larceny. But what if he says he’ll never come back to my county ever again? What if I make him write it in his own blood?”
Cuke’s jaw dropped open in disbelief. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m only joking, Cuke. What do you say James? Let us have a quick look and we’ll be on our way?’
James palmed the.38 through the hoodie. He’d managed to shift it forward. Could he get it out fast? He’d smelled alcohol when the sheriff lit his smoke. All he had to do was watch for those drunken gazes at nothing and he’d have a few seconds or more to make a move.
“Did you hear me James?” Dawkins asked.
“Where do you want to start?”
“You can start by popping the trunk and keeping your hands on the dash where I can see them. Cuke, you go on and check it.”
They all heard it, the van’s engine angry with spit and sand, then a dark form roaring up the tree-lined road like a ghost.
It skidded to a stop and a light came on inside. Cuke and Dawkins backed up next to Cuke’s Mercury in a hurry. James watched the driver’s window move down. As the smoky glass dipped further, he saw that the side of the man’s face was raw and bleeding. It’s from the shrapnel, he thought. When Ann had shot at him, he’d been hit by pieces of exploded mussel shell.
The van’s headlights were off and any red lights that may have existed had been smashed. A clear sign of desperation. James recognized the sound of the engine. It had gone by the dentist’s house several times while he’d been inside.
The Russian got out of the van and walked up to the Skylark, let his eyes drift briefly over it. He raised the sawed-off and smiled.
“Your car?” he asked politely.