Night Game by Kirk Russell Page A

blocked a hard punch that hurt. He waited for the man to come at him again, but surprisingly, he didn’t.
    “Kick his ass, Nyland, kick his ass!” But Nyland had changed his mind, and the same voice egging Nyland on called to Marquez, “She’s his girlfriend, asshole.”
    Two Placerville officers pushed through the bar doors. Nyland tried to back away, but the police closed on him and looked as though they recognized and didn’t like him. Petroni got to his feet, wiped blood from his nose. Sophie handed him a napkin. Marquez didn’t take his eyes off Nyland. If Nyland was local, he had to know Petroni was the warden out of Georgetown, and not many people come after law enforcement officers, at least not in a crowded bar.
    “Take him in,” Petroni told the officers.
    But they didn’t work for Fish and Game and went about it their own way. They stopped Nyland from walking away and asked Marquez and Petroni to come outside as well. Marquez waited near the bar entrance away from the patrol cars. But Petroni got close enough to Nyland to where one of the cops put a hand on Petroni’s chest and pushed him down the sidewalk. Nyland swore as one officer clicked on cuffs and the other read him his rights. He yelled over at Marquez.
    “I’m watching for you.”
    Marquez ignored him, instead watched Bobby Broussard, who stood in front of one of the cops and kept pointing down the street. Nyland’s keys got handed over to Bobby, and Marquez realized that must have been what the conversation was about. After Nyland was in the back of the patrol car, Marquez moved close to Petroni. One of the cops walked over. He asked Petroni, “Are you going to press charges?”
    Petroni shook his head. “I’ll take care of it.”
    “What do you mean, warden?”
    “I mean, I’ll deal with it.”
    The officer looked to Marquez. “And who are you?”
    “A friend of Bill’s. I was at the bar and saw Nyland or whatever his name is cross the room and start the fight.”
    “And how did he do that?” The cop started writing.
    “He came up from behind and yanked Bill off his chair.”
    Marquez gave terse answers and then his alias as a name. The police cruiser pulled away.
    Petroni’s voice was thicker, his nose clogged with mucus and blood as he explained. “Nyland used to be her boyfriend. They lived together for years.”
    “Is that his truck Bobby’s driving?”
    A Toyota pickup went past on Main Street, and Petroni nodded, touched his lip, and looked at the blood on his fingers.
    “He’s got dogs in the truck. That’s why they let him take it,” Petroni said. “Nyland’s close with the Broussards, and he used to go out with Sophie. That’s what that was about.”
    “How long have you been going out with her?”
    “She’s not one of them if that’s what you’re thinking. She left home when she was sixteen.”
    Petroni turned to face him, his nose still bleeding, teeth streaked with blood, the tissue paper in his hand saturated. He forced a strange pained smile, and Marquez didn’t think it was the pain of the blows.
    “This isn’t over,” Petroni said.
    Marquez left it alone. Petroni was angry, humiliated, and he needed to cool down. He ought to go down to the station and press charges, let Nyland sit in a cell for a month.
    “Want me to run you by the clinic and get your nose looked at?”
    “No.”
    “Where does Nyland live?”
    “I’ll deal with him.”
    “I’ve got a different problem with him.”
    Marquez got directions to Nyland’s place before Petroni went back inside to Sophie. Shauf was waiting for Marquez near his truck. As they got in he told her.
    “Nyland was at the wheel the other night. That’s the truck that followed me.”

10
     
    The next morning Marquez took an early run with Shauf, then sat at the kitchen table in the safehouse, cooling down, talking with Roberts and Cairo while Shauf showered. Shauf came back out, and her wet hair dripped onto the Crystal Basin Wilderness map as