Here Comes the Night by Linda McDonald Page A

one,” Meatface laughed from the back. “Windows are
tinted, anyway. We’re fine.” For good measure, he gripped Buck’s arm. “Don’t
even think of doing anything.”
    “I won’t,” Buck said. He wasn’t sure he could even hold his
head up. He had been so out of it, he didn’t know what all Twigs had given him.
    As they passed by the Crazy Horse Saloon, onlookers were
gawking as Angie Wesner was being handcuffed and led to a squad car. She was
still plastered, but the fight and excitement seemed to have let a hard dose of
reality creep in.
    Buck managed to look up just as red lights flickered across
Angie’s face. He thought he might be hallucinating. He tried to turn around to
see her, but Meatface squeezed his arm until it hurt. “Eyes straight ahead,
Budro.”
    A few feet away, Wrangler was sitting in the second squad
car, pounding on his window. “You low life prick tease,” he was screaming at Angie.
    The cops were all shaking their heads and trying not to
smile. Just another Friday night in Cowtown.
    A few blocks later, safely out of sight of the cops, the SUV
hooked a U-turn and glided to a stop at the northwest corner of Cattlemen’s
Bank. An enormous elm tree umbrella’d them, its branches throwing patterns of
moonlight on the four faces inside.
    “Now what?” Jorge asked.
    “Now we wait,” Twigs said. She bent down so she could look
up through the windshield at the looming dark bank building. She checked her
watch. “If Bucko here is right, it shouldn’t be more than a half hour.”
    A few minutes later, red and blue lights flashed on their
faces as the squad cars from the bar moved their way, hauling their prisoners
to lockup. Everyone instinctively sunk lower in their seats. Except for Buck,
who came more alert, twisting his head to try and see inside the cruisers.
    And sure enough, there she was, looking sullenly out the
side window as the police car moved slowly past them. Although she couldn’t see
inside the SUV’s tinted windows, it was uncanny how she seemed to be staring
right back at Buck.
    He leaned forward, but Meatface gripped his shoulder,
pulling him back down. “Don’t you fuckin’ look at them,” he warned with a
repeat of his Blue Velvet schtick.
    He had no idea how much time had passed when a pale beam of
light could be seen moving along the row of windows. Twigs checked her watch
and snapped her fingers at Buck. “That him?”
    Buck looked up at the bobbing flashlight on the second
floor. “That’s him.”
    “So after he finishes his rounds, we’ve got one and a half,
maybe two hours. Right, Boobie?”
    Buck nodded, but Twigs jumped on him. “Hey, speak up. It’s
fucking dark. I can’t see your head moving.”
    “Two, right,” Buck slurred.
    “So set your watches, everybody,” Twigs instructed.

Chapter 31
    Hooked up to enormous, humming generators, halogen lights
bathed the countryside area, now cordoned off by yellow Crime Scene ribbons.
They stretched around Candy’s dead horse and a large area of land surrounding
the hill. Uniformed officers were crawling the area, setting up plaster molds
for tire tracks, checking for anything, even debris, that might provide some
clues.
    Standing on the dirt road, Mickey Mullin, his face puffy
from crying, talked with James Edgars, whose cowboy hat, jeans, and leather
jacket didn’t suggest a Homicide Detective, which was his rank.
    In his late 30's, Edgars had climbed the law enforcement
ladder quickly. He proved to be not only bright, with good instincts, but
thrived on soaking up information from everybody he was around. He’d handled
plenty of major cases, but this was his first involving a celebrity.
    Edgars knew he needed to reassure the shaken boy. “Now,
Mickey, remember, the fact that I’m Homicide does not mean we expect your
girlfriend to die.”
    “But she could. They said as much.” Mickey started to cry
again.
    “Who’s they?” Edgars asked.
    “Her family’s talked to the doctors. They