them?”
“Can’t. They got my keys.” I patted my pockets, was surprised to feel a lump and pulled out my set of keys. “Wait.” I looked at them. Yep. They were mine. I snapped my fingers. The Mexicans had grabbed Roy’s keys. Ha. Take that, fucking beaners.
“I’m serious this time,” I told the Trans Am kid. “Get home.”
He shrugged and drove away.
I thought about going after the Mexicans, but it was still three against one, and I hated to admit it, but that Mustang could blow the doors off my Nova. What the hell did they want with me keys? Had they come all the way to Coyote Crossing to steal my Nova? That would make them the world’s worst car thieves.
I went inside the station and cranked the radio. I tried to raise the chief, and when that failed I tried Billy or anyone at all. This was bullshit. Somebody was always supposed to be on duty, either here or listening on the scanner at home. I flipped over to a couple of other channels we used and tried calling all the same people. Nothing. Where the hell was everybody?
I suddenly wanted to feel the weight of my revolver on my belt real bad. I went out to the Nova and fetched my gun, paused when I heard an engine. Maybe a street over. Maybe two streets. Sounded like a big V-8. I got back inside and sat at the desk, swung out the revolver’s cylinder. Just as I thought, no bullets.
I opened the top drawer. Fished around for a box of .38 caliber.
I pushed back from the desk when I heard the big engine again, closer this time. I didn’t doubt it was the Mustang. I went to the window, peeked through the blinds but couldn’t see anything. I went through the back room and opened the door to the alley, stood there a moment listening. Quiet.
The alley stank like trash. It was still so damn hot. I stepped out, looked up and down, trying to catch any little hint of movement in the shadows. I didn’t hear or see anything, but then a light in the firehouse window caught my eye. Wasn’t supposed to be anyone in there, although the town council certainly wouldn’t feel the need to inform me if they were doing some work on the place. What kind of work at this time of night, I couldn’t guess.
I should probably take a look. I was wearing a badge after all, and they hadn’t fired me yet.
I went back inside and grabbed the revolver off the desk, clipped it to my belt. Okay, let’s see what’s in the firehouse. I headed down the alley, my hand resting on the revolver. My own breathing sounded a little too loud in my ears.
Simmer down, dumbass .
I listened at the backdoor of the fire station. All I heard was dead wood. I tried the knob. Unlocked. I swung it in, waiting for the hinges to creak, but they didn’t. I entered a kitchen, florescent lights buzzing overhead. I expected the place to smell musty and unused, but it didn’t.
I paused, surveyed the kitchen counter. Unopened cans of beans. A big stack of paper plates. Jugs of supermarket water. Had the state passed the new budget? Maybe the firefighters were moving back in. I wondered if that meant there wouldn’t be enough in the budget to put me on full time. Like it mattered anyway. I was sure Krueger would take my star away in the morning.
I walked through the kitchen, down a short hall and found another door which lead into the garage. I cracked the door and looked inside. The lights were on, and a truck was parked there. A big moving van. The words Budget Movers still showed through where they had been painted over. Somebody had taped over the little windows of the garage door to keep the light from showing on the street.
I heard movement and held my breath. Voices.
The door crack didn’t let me see too much, but I was-n’t ready to barge in yet. I shifted around, strained to see and hear. A couple of guys standing in back of the truck, mostly out of sight. The elbow and leg of one just in view. A black shirt and jeans. I closed my eyes, put my ear to the door crack.
The first voice was
“Can’t. They got my keys.” I patted my pockets, was surprised to feel a lump and pulled out my set of keys. “Wait.” I looked at them. Yep. They were mine. I snapped my fingers. The Mexicans had grabbed Roy’s keys. Ha. Take that, fucking beaners.
“I’m serious this time,” I told the Trans Am kid. “Get home.”
He shrugged and drove away.
I thought about going after the Mexicans, but it was still three against one, and I hated to admit it, but that Mustang could blow the doors off my Nova. What the hell did they want with me keys? Had they come all the way to Coyote Crossing to steal my Nova? That would make them the world’s worst car thieves.
I went inside the station and cranked the radio. I tried to raise the chief, and when that failed I tried Billy or anyone at all. This was bullshit. Somebody was always supposed to be on duty, either here or listening on the scanner at home. I flipped over to a couple of other channels we used and tried calling all the same people. Nothing. Where the hell was everybody?
I suddenly wanted to feel the weight of my revolver on my belt real bad. I went out to the Nova and fetched my gun, paused when I heard an engine. Maybe a street over. Maybe two streets. Sounded like a big V-8. I got back inside and sat at the desk, swung out the revolver’s cylinder. Just as I thought, no bullets.
I opened the top drawer. Fished around for a box of .38 caliber.
I pushed back from the desk when I heard the big engine again, closer this time. I didn’t doubt it was the Mustang. I went to the window, peeked through the blinds but couldn’t see anything. I went through the back room and opened the door to the alley, stood there a moment listening. Quiet.
The alley stank like trash. It was still so damn hot. I stepped out, looked up and down, trying to catch any little hint of movement in the shadows. I didn’t hear or see anything, but then a light in the firehouse window caught my eye. Wasn’t supposed to be anyone in there, although the town council certainly wouldn’t feel the need to inform me if they were doing some work on the place. What kind of work at this time of night, I couldn’t guess.
I should probably take a look. I was wearing a badge after all, and they hadn’t fired me yet.
I went back inside and grabbed the revolver off the desk, clipped it to my belt. Okay, let’s see what’s in the firehouse. I headed down the alley, my hand resting on the revolver. My own breathing sounded a little too loud in my ears.
Simmer down, dumbass .
I listened at the backdoor of the fire station. All I heard was dead wood. I tried the knob. Unlocked. I swung it in, waiting for the hinges to creak, but they didn’t. I entered a kitchen, florescent lights buzzing overhead. I expected the place to smell musty and unused, but it didn’t.
I paused, surveyed the kitchen counter. Unopened cans of beans. A big stack of paper plates. Jugs of supermarket water. Had the state passed the new budget? Maybe the firefighters were moving back in. I wondered if that meant there wouldn’t be enough in the budget to put me on full time. Like it mattered anyway. I was sure Krueger would take my star away in the morning.
I walked through the kitchen, down a short hall and found another door which lead into the garage. I cracked the door and looked inside. The lights were on, and a truck was parked there. A big moving van. The words Budget Movers still showed through where they had been painted over. Somebody had taped over the little windows of the garage door to keep the light from showing on the street.
I heard movement and held my breath. Voices.
The door crack didn’t let me see too much, but I was-n’t ready to barge in yet. I shifted around, strained to see and hear. A couple of guys standing in back of the truck, mostly out of sight. The elbow and leg of one just in view. A black shirt and jeans. I closed my eyes, put my ear to the door crack.
The first voice was
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