by B. J Daniels
Earl Ray stared at the blood whirling down the drain. He’d done his best to wipe off his hands while out in the van. He hadn’t wanted to scare the people inside the café any more than they already were.
He took his time washing and avoided looking up in the mirror at Gene. He feared his eyes might give his thoughts away: Gus, the man wounded in the van, was going to die. Not even if Gene raced to the nearest hospital would it do any good at this point. When Gus died, all hell would break loose.
“This is my kid brother,” Gene had told him when they’d reached the van. “Don’t let him die.” The threat was followed by a hard jab of the gun barrel to his back.
The pain had been excruciating, but he wasn’t about to let Gene see how much. He’d known when he’d seen the men come in, all armed, and imprinted with a look he recognized, that they were bad. He just hadn’t known how bad. Right now, his only thought was saving the people in the café.
That he might not be able to save himself was something he’d accepted. One look at Gus and he’d known the man might have a few hours left in him. Probably less. He could see that Gene knew it as well. But that wouldn’t keep him from blaming Earl Ray and maybe all the patrons for it. The man was angry, upset and just looking for someone to take his grief and regret out on.
Earl Ray feared it wouldn’t be enough for Gene to simply take it out on him, which meant a lot of people could die today if he didn’t find a way to change this situation. But quite frankly, he was at a loss. Gus was going to die. When that happened, Earl Ray had no way to protect anyone. He hadn’t come armed for breakfast. It had never crossed his mind that he needed to be. Even if he made some excuse to go to the house for medical supplies, Gene would be right behind him—just as he was now.
“You need to get him to a hospital,” Earl Ray had said when they were outside. “There’s one in the next town.”
Gene had made a disgusted sound. “Patch him up. He’ll be fine.”
They’d both known that wasn’t the case.
He finished washing his hands, rinsed them, turned off the faucet and pulled down several paper towels. Gene had moved to the door, propping it open with his foot, his attention divided between him and what might be going on in the café. Earl Ray realized that Gene didn’t trust his two young associates.
“Come on,” Gene said anxiously. “How long does it take you to wash your hands, old man?”
Ouch. Earl Ray didn’t feel old. Sure, his dark hair was more salt than pepper now, but he kept in good shape—despite Bessie’s baked goods—and he believed he hadn’t lost his agility, or at least not much of it. Gene wasn’t that many years behind him. Given the man’s lifestyle, this man would be lucky to see sixty-five.
He smiled back at him in the mirror. Best to let Gene think he was a doddering old man and not a threat, he thought as he ambled slowly back to his booth and Bessie.
* * *
“WHAT THE HELL are you smiling about?” Fred Durham whispered across the table at his son. He was furious with Tyrell after that stunt he’d pulled with not giving up his cell phone—let alone videoing these dangerous men. Why hadn’t the fool dialed 9-1-1 instead? If these men realized that he still had his phone...
Tyrell took his time turning to look at him. “Was I smiling? Sorry.” He took another bite of his pancake before pushing his plate away. The sullen, angry expression wasn’t anything knew. Fred had come to hate it. He wanted to slap it off his son’s face. He’d never raised his hand to the boy. Maybe that had been the problem. If his wife Emily were still around, she’d say it was.
Then again, one of the reasons he suspected Emily had bailed on them was that Tyrell had been such a handful from birth. He’d been a colicky baby, a misbehaving and rather cruel boy, a difficult teen and now this sullen, angry, unhappy twenty-four-year-old.
Fred had tried to talk to Tyrell, but his son no longer listened to anything he had to say. Half the time, Tyrell didn’t even show up for work. When he did, he’d work on his motorcycle, cussing and throwing things in the garage.
He’d suggested that Tyrell might be happier working for someone else. His son had laughed. They both knew why Tyrell hadn’t left Buckhorn to make a life for himself. His son was lazy. He liked the free rent, the food in the fridge, the garage full of tools and even an occasional paycheck when he stooped to actually do some work.
“Please,” Fred said now as he saw his son looking again at the men with the guns. “Please don’t.”
Tyrell looked over at him and grinned. “Don’t what, Dad?”
“Play hero.”
His son scoffed. “Who’s playing?”
* * *
BOBBY WATCHED THE cowboy who’d volunteered to cook look at him a second time as if trying to place him. He was having the same problem. The cowboy looked familiar, too familiar. He didn’t look like a cop but... He just couldn’t place him. Yet.
He turned away to look out the window. Gene was standing outside the van, glaring into the back. Even from this distance, Bobby could tell that Gene was upset about whatever was going on inside. Which meant the old guy who’d volunteered wasn’t going to be able to save Gus. No surprise there, Bobby thought. He and Eric had already figured that out, given Gus had taken the bullet in the stomach. He’d watched enough Westerns on television to know that was bad.
Not that it wasn’t Gus’s fault. The fool was supposed to have made sure that no one had a weapon while Gene and Eric collected the money. When one of the bank employees pulled a gun, Gus had panicked and started shooting.
Still, it was too bad about the old man trying to save him. Gene would just as soon put a bullet in the man’s back as blink. The bank job had been botched. Gene was as much to blame as anyone for bringing his brother into the action. Bobby had seen how nervous Gus was. His first real job with his older brother. Sad, really, he thought. Gus would pay with his life.
Unfortunately, that was the way it worked. Bobby watched Gene getting more anxious and upset. He had no idea what Gene would do when his kid brother died. Wouldn’t matter that Gus had started the gunplay back at the bank that had almost gotten them all killed. Wouldn’t matter at all. Gene would lose it and take out his anger on the people closest. Which meant everyone in this café might not see tomorrow if Gene lost it—Bobby and Eric included.
All he could do was hope the old guy out there knew what he was doing. Though at this point, he doubted anyone could save Gus. Gunshots in their line of work were often fatal, since a hospital or a real doctor wasn’t an option.
How many more of them would die today? he wondered and turned away to see the cowboy watching him again. Bobby frowned. He knew that guy. Worse, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was important he remember. It would eventually come to him. Hopefully not before it was too late.
* * *
CULHANE QUICKLY TURNED his attention back to the grill and the mass of food he had cooking there. When he peered out in the dining section again, he saw that Bobby was watching Gene with definite worry in his expression. He wished he could figure out where he’d seen the man. It was right there, right on the edge of his memory.
He started to turn away when he saw something he’d missed earlier. His heart flopped in his chest. The license plate on the killers’ van. The beginning number was six, indicating the county. Gallatin County. The same county where he and Alexis had been detectives with the sheriff’s department.
He told himself that the men could have stolen the van. It didn’t mean that they were from the Bozeman area where Culhane and Alexis had been deputies and still lived. But he would have laid odds that these men were connected to the area. Which would explain why Bobby looked familiar. What were the chances that they would end up here in Buckhorn—a good hundred miles away?
It could be as simple as Gene had known the cook and had been expecting to pick up another rig here. It didn’t mean that Sheriff
Willy Garwood was behind it. The crooked sheriff couldn’t be behind all the crime in the state, right?
Culhane glanced at the cook lying dead on the floor. The feeling that everything in life was connected sent an electrical current through him. He’d never bought into fate, but here they all were, Alexis included, in this one café. At least he didn’t think the killers knew he and Alexis were ex–law enforcement. But he’d seen Bobby eyeing him as if trying to place him. When he did...
Which was why he had to end this before that happened, he thought as he cooked and kept an eye on what was going among the tables. Everyone was getting restless, always a bad sign. One of them was bound to decide to play hero. It was just a matter of time. He just didn’t want to be that guy.
* * *
BOBBY FELT THE tension building as he looked around the room. What was taking breakfast so long? He was starving. Eric had wandered over to the opening into the kitchen, but he wasn’t watching the cowboy cook. Instead, he was giving the woman at the counter the eye. Damn Eric. Bobby hoped Gene didn’t catch him.
Gene had dragged the old man back outside again to the van. This time, they’d taken a bunch of towels along. Bobby couldn’t imagine how much blood was back there since Gus had been bleeding for a long time.
He let his gaze shift to the two men in the blue overalls sitting at the booth across the room. The name stitched on the pocket of the younger man’s overalls read Tyrell. The old man’s, Fred. Motor jockeys. Both had grease under their fingernails. He started to shift his gaze to the others when the younger of the two looked at him. Their gazes locked. Bobby saw defiance and bravado in those eyes.
He met the challenge with the slow shake of his head as he raised his gun off his thigh. Wanna die today, Tyrell? Just say the word.
He reminded himself that Gene would be pissed off if they killed anyone. But he was getting restless as well. Itchy and twitchy. His nerves felt raw and exposed as if even a stray breeze would set him off. He glanced toward Eric again. “What’s keeping breakfast?”
“You ordered a mountain of food. That’s what’s keeping breakfast,” Eric snapped.
They were all hungry and tired and strung out after everything that had happened in the past forty-eight hours. Worse, cops everywhere would be looking for them. Gene had said something about changing vehicles. Is that what the disagreement with the cook had been about?
All Bobby knew was that the longer they stayed here, there was more chance of the law catching up to them. But the real danger was in that van, he thought glancing out there again. He told himself that if he heard gunshots and Gene came busting in that front door in a blind fury, he’d better be ready.
“Breakfast is served,” the cowboy cook announced from the kitchen as the front door of the café opened on a gust of cold air.
CHAPTER SIX
CULHANE FELT THE cold air, felt the tension and turned to see Gene and Earl Ray come through the front door again. Gene locked it behind them, his gun in his hand. He looked sick. Even from where he stood, Culhane could tell that the man was sweating profusely and appeared shaky. He was definitely coming off something.
Gene leaned against the door for a moment, and Culhane hurriedly dished up three to-go boxes wondering why he was wasting his time. They weren’t just going to leave. That would be too easy. He filled three containers with eggs, bacon, hash browns. In a fourth box, he piled up pancakes. In a fifth, he scooped up three large cinnamon rolls.
Earlier, Bessie had taken rolls out to everyone but few had touched theirs. His stomach growled, surprising him as the aroma of the food rose up from the boxes before he closed the lids.
Under these circumstances, he would think he couldn’t eat a bite. But he’d made cakes and bacon for himself and Alexis. It would give them something to do, a diversion not just for them. He’d seen the way Eric was looking at her.
He took the to-go boxes out and put them on the table next to where Bobby was leaning, cradling his weapon. Without giving Culhane even a glance, the man slid into the booth and, opening the boxes, began digging in.
Earl Ray went straight to the men’s restroom. Gene followed him only partway down the hall to make sure that’s where he’d actually gone. Back in the kitchen, Culhane loaded two plates much as he had for the gunmen. Taking them out to the counter, he placed one in front of Alexis and sat down in front of the other.
Gene eyed him suspiciously as Culhane slid onto the stool next to Alexis and picked up his fork.
“Hey, I thought we were taking it to go,” Eric said behind them, swearing as he slid into the booth across from Bobby. Gene was still standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall, the gun dangling from his hand as he waited for Earl Ray.
Looking over his shoulder, Culhane saw that Bobby was rolling up eggs, bacon and hash browns into one of the large pancakes and stuffing them into his mouth. Eric joined him, both wolfing the food down as if ravenous, their weapons resting on the table within reach.
“You have to be kidding,” Alexis whispered as she considered the overflowing plate he’d given her.
“Wasn’t sure what you might want for your last meal—other than the pancakes and bacon you ordered.”
She gave him a sour look. “I should have listened to you,” she whispered. “But under the circumstances, I’m sure you understand why I might not trust you.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It isn’t what it seems.”
She chuckled as she picked up her fork and cut into her pancake. He’d buttered it and drowned it in syrup in the kitchen—just the way she liked it. “Are you married or not?”
“Not. Well, legally apparently, but married?” He met her gaze. “No. Haven’t been for seven years.”
Alexis gave him a smile. “Let me guess. It’s complicated.”
He nodded, grinning. “Boy howdy.” He began to eat, even though he’d lost his appetite. But he figured if he and Alexis didn’t at least try, it would raise red flags, especially with Gene. Culhane had already seen the distrust in his gaze.
“When the shooting starts, stay down,” Culhane whispered between bites.
She shot him a look. “Would be nice if I had some idea before that.”
He cut a bite of pancake with his fork. “You’ll know when I put my hat on.” He winked. “So how’s your breakfast?”
“I’m not—”
“Eat, otherwise they’ll think something is wrong,” he said.
“Something is wrong,” she whispered back. But she picked up her fork again. “I’d ask if you had a plan, but I know you too well.”
He didn’t look at her as he took a big bite of his pancake. It could have been sawdust in his mouth.
“You two are pretty cozy,” Gene said, suddenly appearing in front of them.
Culhane hadn’t heard him move from the hallway. He looked up and grinned. “Just trying to use this time to my benefit, but I don’t think the lady is having any of it.”
Gene’s gaze shifted to Alexis. “That’s funny. I got the impression of the two of you knew each other.”
Alexis snorted. “My mistake sitting next to a cowboy.”
Gene’s gaze swung back to him and his Stetson lying on the counter next to him. “Cowboy, huh?”
“This one seems to be all hat and no cattle, though,” she said contemptuously. She took a bite of her pancake and mugged a face in his direction.
Culhane laughed. “She’s definitely got my number. But I was raised on a ranch, if that counts.”
Gene smirked. “I grew up on a farm, but it didn’t make me a farmer.”
Earl Ray came out from the men’s room and went to join Bessie in the booth again where she sat with the young waitress.
Gene frowned, his gaze following the man for a moment before he stepped away and raised his voice. “We need medical supplies. I understand someone here has the key to the stor
e?”
No one spoke. Culhane heard a whispered, agitated “Mother.” He turned to see Earl Ray looking at the older woman sitting in the circular booth along with her daughter, Tina, and the baby and Lars, the man who’d quieted the infant.
“Vi,” Earl Ray said quietly. The older woman’s face became more pinched, her eyes narrower and colder. “Why don’t you give me the key?” Earl Ray suggested. “I can go with them to get what they need.” There was no urgency in his tone, but Culhane felt it none the less.
“Give him the key, Mother,” her daughter said, a hard edge to her voice.
Vi shook her head and glared at Gene. Clearly she hadn’t forgiven him for threatening her grandbaby, let alone pushing her down into the booth. But did she realize just what she was dealing with? Apparently not, Culhane thought.
“Give him the keys,” the older man sitting with his wife closest to the door called to her. “For the love of God, Vi, just do it.”
She bristled. “Who’s paying for these supplies?” she demanded as she looked around the café. “Easy for all of you to say,” she said, anger making her words clipped. “It isn’t your store. It isn’t your money.”
“Mother, just do as they ask,” her daughter Tina pleaded again. Vi slid back in the seat, a stony determination in every line of her body as she glared at Gene again.
Gene was looking at her as if she’d lost her mind. He laughed and, raising his gun, he aimed at her head as he approached the booth.
“Vi,” Earl Ray said calmly. “We need to help these men so they can get on their way. Now isn’t the time for stubbornness.”
