Where There's Smoke (6 page)

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, going'-nowhere job, but it was gainful employment that demonstrated 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 5 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.

Momentarily Hap returned.
 
Taking a seat on a case of Beefeater's, he lit a cigarette, then offered one to Bowie, who accepted and tipped his head forward as Hap lit it for him.
 
They smoked in companionable silence.
 
Finally Hap said, "Might ought to think about looking for another job."

Bowie propped himself up on one elbow.
 
He wasn't surprised, but he wasn't going to take the news lying down literally.
 
"You firing me, Hap?"

"Not outright, no."

"I had nothing to do with that bitch."

"I know."

"Then why am I catching the flap?
 
Who is she anyway?
 
You'd think by the way y'all talked about her that she's the Queen of Sheba."

Hap chuckled.
 
"To her husband she is.
 
Fergus Winston is superintendent of our school system.
 
Owns a motel on the other end of town and does pretty good with it.
 
He's 'bout twenty years older than Darcy.
 
Ugly as a mud fence and not too bright.
 
Folks figure she married him for his money.
 
Who knows?"
 
He shrugged philosophically.

"All I know is, anytime Darcy can shake Fergus, she's out here looking for action.
 
Hot little piece," he added without rancor.
 
"Had her myself a time or two.
 
Years back when we were just kids."
 
He pointed the lighted end of his cigarette toward Bowie.
 
"If a thief did break into her bedroom last night, she might have shot him for not raping her."

Bowie shared a laugh with him, but the humor was short-lived.

"Why are you letting me go, Hap?"

"For your own good."

"As long as I don't personally serve liquor, my parole officer said

"It's not that.
 
You do the work I hired you for."
 
He regarded Bowie through world-weary eyes.
 
"I run a fairly clean place, but lots of lowlifes come through the door every night.
 
Anything can happen and sometimes does.
 
Take my advice and find a place to work where you ain't so likely to run into trouble.
 
Understand?"

Bowie understood.
 
It was the story of his life.
 
He just seemed to attract trouble no matter what he did or didn't do; and an honest, hardworking sort like Hap Hollister didn't need a natural-born troublemaker working in his bar.
 
Resignedly he said, "Employers ain't exactly lining up to offer jobs to ex-cons.
 
Can you give me a few days?"

Hap nodded.
 
Until you find something else you can bunk here.

Use my pickup to get around if you need to."
 
Hap anchored his cigarette in the corner of his lips as he stood.
 
Well, I got a stack of bills to pay.
 
Don't be in a hurry to get up.
 
You had a short night."

Left alone, Bowie lay down again but knew he wouldn't go back to sleep.

From the start he'd known that there was little future in working at The Palm, but the job had also provided lodging.
 
He had thought hoped that it would be a temporary respite, like a halfway house between prison and life on the outside.
 
But no.
 
Thanks to a broad he didn't even know, and to some son of a bitch committing a B and E, he was back to square zero.

Where he'd been stuck all his life. chapter three.

Joty Tackett and her son gazed at each other across the distance that separated them.
 
It was a gulf that hadn't been spanned in thirty-six years, and Key doubted it ever would be.

He forced a smile.
 
"Hi, jody."
 
He'd stopped using any derivative of Mother years ago.

"Key."
 
She turned a baleful gaze on Janellen.
 
I guess this is your doing."

Key placed his arm across his sister's shoulders.
 
"Don't blame Janellen.
 
Surprising y'all was my idea."

Jody Tackett harrumphed, her way of letting Key know that she knew he was lying.
 
"Did I hear you say the coffee was ready?"

"Yes, Mama," Janellen replied eagerly.
 
"I'll cook you and Key a big breakfast to celebrate his homecoming."

"I'm not so sure his homecoming is cause for celebration."
 
Having said that, Jody turned and walked away.

Key let out a deep sigh.
 
He hadn't expected a warm embrace, not even an obligatory hug.
 
He and his mother had never shared dat kind of affection.
 
For as far back as he could remember, Jody had been unapproachable and inaccessible to him, and he'd taken his cues from her.

For years they had coexisted under an undeclared truce.
 
When they were together, he was polite and expected the same courtesy to be extended to him.
 
Sometimes it was, sometimes it wasn't.
 
This morning she had been flagrantly hostile, even though he was her only living son.

Maybe that was why.

"Be patient with her, Key," Janellen pleaded.
 
"She doesn't feel well."

"I see what you mean," he remarked thoughtfully.
 
"When did she start looking so old?"

"It's been over a year, but she still hasn't fully recovered from you know."

"Yeah."
 
He paused.
 
"I'll try not to upset her while I'm here."
 
He looked at his sister and smiled wryly.
 
"Is there a pair of crutches in the house?"

"Right where you left them after your car wreck."
 
She went to the closet and retrieved a pair of aluminum crutches from the rear corner.

"While you're at it, get me a shirt, too," he told her.
 
"Mine didn't make it home last night."

He ignored her inquisitive glance and pointed at the shirts hanging in the closet.
 
She brought him a plain white cotton one that smelled faintly of mothballs.
 
He put it on but left it unbuttoned.
 
Securing the padded braces of the crutches in his armpits, he indicated the door with a motion of his head.
 
"Let's go."