Mason had walked in five minutes earlier, setting his shotgun on the counter. Billy knew who he was—everyone in Appalachia did—and guessed if Mason could walk the streets with the shotgun, it wasn’t against the rules to take it into the sheriff’s office.
Mason had yet to speak, but Billy could still hear his hard breathing. Maybe he was waiting for Sheriff Carney, but there was something odd about how Mason’s right arm hung at his side and the constant sweat beading on his forehead. Maybe Mason had been injured while cornering the fugitive. All around town, word spread about how the dogs had torn the man apart and how he’d died already. Billy himself had seen the undertaker and his assistants move a coffin from the apartment on the other side of the town square into a wagon.
With Mason close, Billy had looked over only once and felt guilty even for that brief glance. He had specific instructions to watch the computer screen all night. That one glance, however, had shown the bounty hunter staring at Billy hard, with one milky eye wandering in different directions, adding to Billy’s discomfort.
Billy was wondering if he should pick up his two-way radio and call for Sheriff Carney when Dr. Ross pushed open the door to the office.
“Billy,” Dr. Ross said pleasantly. “Surprised to see you here at this time of night. You going to be here long?”
Billy thought through Sheriff Carney’s instructions. He couldn’t find any reason not to answer Dr. Ross.
“Hello, Dr. Ross,” Billy said. “Sheriff Carney wants me here all night. Can I help you with something?”
“I’m here to set Mr. Lee’s broken arm. Might be easier if he lay on one of the cots.”
Dr. Ross referred to the two jail cells which could be reached via the door just left of Billy, where he had slept nearly all of the afternoon. More than once, Dr. Ross had come in to tend to someone who had hurt himself while drunk and disorderly, despite Bar Elohim’s strict laws against alcohol.
“Where I’m standing is good,” Mason grunted from the counter. “Let’s get this done.”
Billy moved his eyes back to the screen. He intended to do this assignment without any mistakes. He heard a small thunk at the counter and assumed it was the doctor’s carrying bag.
“It will take some time for the freezing to set,” Dr. Ross told Mason. “You’d be more comfortable on a bed. Or at the least, sitting down.”
“No freezing,” Mason said. “Just set it and cast it.”
“If I don’t freeze it,” Dr. Ross said, “it’s going to—”
“Doc, I’ve stitched myself up with needle and thread before. Don’t need you to freeze it. Just set it and cast it and get out of here.”
“Your muscles will be in shock around the bone and spasm. I’m going to pull hard. And if there’s any bones grating, it will—”
“You don’t hear too good. Just get it done.”
Billy was grateful that he had his assignment to hold his focus. He didn’t want to watch someone have his arm set, especially without freezing.
He wished there were more interesting images on the computer screen though. Just the front and side view of the livery. He was familiar with it, as he’d spent years of his boyhood working the stables. With no movement on the screen, there was little to distract Billy from the grunting behind him. He did peek over once and saw that it wasn’t Mason making the noise, but Dr. Ross, who had to use all his strength to pull Mason’s arm into place.
Mason’s face was flat. Except for the beads of sweat, he could have been playing a poker game. Billy found this frightening, along with Mason’s calculating stare. It seemed to Billy that Mason was paying special attention to the computer screen, but with that one eye drifting, it was hard to tell.
Mercifully enough, the setting only took about a minute. Dr. Ross went into the back room and found water to mix the plaster for Mason’s cast, and afterward, wrapping the arm was finished in another couple of minutes. Dr. Ross bid Billy good night, but pointedly said nothing to Mason before stepping back onto the street.
“Did you like the show, boy?” Mason said as soon as the door shut behind Dr. Ross. “Someday you’ll tell your grandchildren how you saw a doctor set Mason Lee’s arm. Be sure to tell them how the bones grated.”
Billy kept his eyes on the computer screen.
“Switch that screen so it shows all the cameras in town by rotation,” Mason said. “I’m going to take over that computer now.”
“I can’t,” Billy said. “Sheriff’s orders.”
“Then maybe your children and grandchildren won’t be hearing this story.”
Billy watched the screen.
“That was a threat, boy. I meant you may not live long enough to have children. You aren’t too dense to understand that, are you?”
This, Billy decided, was one of those questions that didn’t need answering.
Mason said, “What’s so important about the livery?”
Billy started giving thought as to whether Sheriff Carney would want Mason to know.
“Are you as stupid as you look?” Mason said. “Answer me.”
If he had to answer, the question needed consideration. Billy finally said, “I don’t know how stupid I look, so I’m not the one who can tell you.”
“Why are you watching the livery?” Mason hissed.
“It’s sheriff’s business.”
“My arm’s in a cast,” Mason said, “but I could still slit your throat. Don’t think because you’re big that I couldn’t do it.”
Billy understood, but he was more afraid of Sheriff Carney. Especially after how bad things had gone wrong at Mrs. Shelton’s. He pressed his top teeth hard against his bottom teeth. Couldn’t say anything to make Mason Lee kill him if he kept his mouth like that.
“So tell me what you’re looking for,” Mason snapped.
“Sheriff’s business.” Billy had to say something. But he didn’t take his eyes off the screen. He wondered if he’d be able to turn around in time to stop Mason from slitting his throat.
“You’re not afraid of me?” Mason asked.
“I know who you are.”
“Then you know well enough to tell me what I want to know.”
“Sheriff’s business,” Billy said.
“All right then,” Mason said, grinning like he’d decided to toy with Billy. “Guess I’ll just stand here and watch with you.”
Billy wished Mason wouldn’t, but he didn’t have any orders to cover what to do with a bounty hunter who worked directly for Bar Elohim. So Billy said nothing when Mason put the shotgun on his lap, pulled up a chair, and moved it within two feet of Billy, who could feel Mason’s glare switching between the screen and his face.
It took a few minutes for Billy to grow accustomed to the smell of drying plaster and Mason’s acrid body odor. Even so, the next hour was not comfortable for Billy, with Mason’s menacing silence so close. At least Billy didn’t get drowsy, wondering if Mason would pull out a knife without warning.
Movement appeared on the screen. Mitch Evans, who managed the livery, led a few horses out the rear door.
Billy knew what to do about that. He reached for the radio to call Sheriff Carney.
“This is what Sheriff Carney was waiting for?” Mason said.
Billy was conflicted. Sheriff Carney wanted to know the minute that Mitch Evans appeared on camera. But did Sheriff Carney want Mason Lee to know what Sheriff Carney wanted to know?
“I’m going to leave you here.” Billy pushed away his chair, two-way in hand. He’d call Sheriff Carney from the back room where the jail cells were.
“Don’t think so.”
Billy was surprised a man could move so fast, especially with one arm in a cast. It seemed before Billy could blink, Mason was standing and pressing the shotgun barrel into Billy’s spine.
“You’ll talk to him right here,” Mason said. “But if you say a word about me, there’s going to be a big piece of you spread all across that far wall.”
Billy obeyed both sets of orde
rs. He informed Carney about Mitch Evans. He didn’t say a word to Sheriff Carney about Mason Lee. The sheriff told Billy to stay put.
“You’ll have no problem following those orders,” Mason said after Billy put the radio back on the desk. “You ever been in one of your own jail cells before?”
“This afternoon,” Billy said. “Getting some sleep. And one other time, last week, I accidentally locked myself in. Sheriff Carney got mad at that.”
“Well then,” Mason said, pushing Billy away from the counter with the shotgun, “you can handle going back in for a while.”
SEVENTEEN
Sheriff Carney stepped from the shadows beneath the eaves of the livery when Mitch Evans began to slide the livery door shut. The horses nearby did not move.
“Got to say I’m disappointed, Mitch,” the sheriff said. “You and me go a long ways back.”
Carney had his pistol holstered. The two-way was clipped to his belt, but he’d shut it off. No telling when that simpleton Billy Jasper might call to ask about something, and Carney didn’t want any distractions here. Didn’t want anyone interfering either. If this could lead to finding the girl, Carney wanted this interaction as off-camera as possible.
“Clarence, you about gave me a heart attack,” Mitch said in a relaxed voice. “What brings you out after curfew?”
Mitch was slightly bigger, slightly older. In daylight, his face showed a few more wrinkles, and he was losing hair faster than Carney, but in his usual overalls, he cast an impressive shadow. He could crack walnuts with his bare hands.
“I never thought you were the one. But looking back, it makes sense.”
“Clarence?”
The sheriff leaned against the edge of the door. “I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon, how easy it might be for you, like hiding a needle in a haystack of needles.”
“It’d be nice if this conversation started making sense, Clarence.” Carney guessed Mitch had repeated his first name to emphasize their longstanding friendship.
“You know how things work in Appalachia,” Sheriff Carney said. “Bar Elohim is not intrusive in private affairs. Sure, public moments are recorded, and radio chips track the movements of every horse, every day. And you know the argument about how that protects folks in more ways than one. Gives them privacy. Just like the best place to have a secret conversation is in the middle of a party with fifty other conversations around you. Bar Elohim doesn’t have the time and manpower to examine more than half a percent of what gets recorded and saved. On the other hand, everyone knows that all of that information is somewhere on the mainframe, and enforcement can use it to unravel just about any crime against God or Appalachia, right?”
“Sure, Clarence. Just seems like a strange time and place to discuss something we both know.”
“I was able to track a recent visitor in town,” Carney said. “Don’t even know his name, just his face. And the fact that he was a wanted man. I tracked him right to your doorstep. You were the only person in town he had any conversation with.”
Mitch leaned against the opposite door frame. “Be glad to help if that’s why you’re here. Lots of folks come to me for horses.”
“Not lots of folks with Mason Lee hard on their trail. Last thing anyone like that wants is a horse that shows Bar Elohim every movement through a radio chip.”
“Can’t speak for how others think,” Mitch said. “I assume you have a photo or something so I can identify him and tell you what I can about his conversation with me.”
“Mitch, I’m thinking there’s a saddle under the blanket of one of those horses. That would be strange, wouldn’t it?”
Mitch straightened a little.
“See,” Carney said, “if the horse isn’t reported stolen, then there’s no reason to track it by satellite, is there?”
When Mitch remained silent, Carney continued. “Someone shows up at night, leaves with the horse, then sends it back when they get to the next town. Is that how it works? Chances are slight that someone in law enforcement would show up and check your horses to see if all of them are accounted for, especially if you only did this every couple of months. And especially if you were good friends with the sheriff, right, Mitch?”
Mitch took a step away from the livery, toward the horses outside the stable.
“All I want is the girl,” Sheriff Carney said. “She’s coming for a saddled horse, isn’t she? Tell me when you expect her, and then maybe I can go easy on you and your family.”
Mitch whirled and dove toward Sheriff Carney. It was fast and unexpected. Carney pulled his pistol to clear it from his holster, but he realized he’d made a mistake, playing this conversation so relaxed.
Mitch’s broad shoulder hit the sheriff squarely in the chest, knocking him against the wall. His head slammed back with a thud, dazing him. Before he could breathe, Mitch was on top of him, pinning his arms with his legs, sitting squarely on his chest.
Carney was looking straight up, but Mitch’s face was in a shadow, and Carney couldn’t read it. He tried squirming, but the man was too big. Mitch pushed the gun away from Carney’s reach.
“Don’t make this worse, Mitch. Surveillance cameras show me getting here. You kill me and nothing will show me walking away. Any investigation leads right to your door. Let me up right now, and let’s talk through a way to keep you from being sent to a factory.”
“What’s wrong with allowing a few horses to travel unsupervised now and then? What’s wrong with a little freedom? I’m tired of all this.”
“Tired enough for death by stoning?” Carney was trying to think of a way out of this. “Mitch, I don’t want that to happen to you. All you need to do is let me know when someone comes to you for an illegal horse.”
Then he heard a whirring sound. A sickening thump. Mitch tilted sideways, fell off Carney’s chest.
Carney pushed off his hands into a sitting position. It took him a moment, and the light at the entrance of the livery, to make sense of what he saw.
An outline of a man stood in the light. He held a pitchfork like a baseball bat. Poised to strike again.
Carney was in no position to raise his hands to protect himself from the thunderous blow to his head. The pain lasted only a heartbeat, then all sensation disappeared into a black void.
EIGHTEEN
Leading the horse by the reins, Caitlyn was halfway through the gate when a monstrous figure rose from a low set of bushes just outside the fence. She took a half step backward and nearly lost her grip on the reins.
“You’ll have to turn the horse back into the livery. It’s past curfew.” The voice speaking to her was male. He sounded young—and apologetic.
She had no idea who he was or of his intent. But anyone out after curfew was disobeying the law. She knew she should feel terrified, but so much had already happened, she felt numb. She had to trust her instincts.
She wasn’t an expert rider but had spent enough time in a saddle to ride comfortably. She calculated about ten steps between her and the stranger. She turned the horse slightly to put him between her and the man for protection, then stepped into the stirrup with her good leg, ignoring the pain in her injured foot, and swung up quickly into the saddle.
The man had already lunged toward her. Much quicker than she expected for someone of his bulk. Before she could urge the horse toward the opening in the brush, he took the reins from her.
“I think the sheriff is looking for you,” the voice said. “If not, you’re still breaking curfew. And stealing a horse.”
Caitlyn thought of jumping down and trying to sprint, even with her sore ankle. Theo was back in the trees. Maybe she could warn him as she fled.
But with his other massive hand, the man reached up and locked one of her wrists in his fingers. “I can squeeze harder,” he said, “but I don’t want to. I don’t like hurting people.”
Instinct told her this man, large as he was, was telling the truth. She didn’t think he wanted to hurt her. Still, fear finally star
ted pumping past her numbness, and she knew she had to escape arrest.
“Then let go of my wrist. You’re holding the horse so I can’t go anywhere.” She rubbed a foot along the ribs. Maybe she could kick the horse hard enough to bolt.
“I think you can. I don’t like being fooled either.”
“Please let go of me,” Caitlyn said. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Horse stealing is wrong. There’s a criminal code for it, but I haven’t learned it yet. Otherwise, I’d officially record this arrest on my vidpod.”
“It’s not what you think,” she said.
“I’m not so good at thinking. That’s Sheriff Carney’s job.”
“My job too,” said another voice. “Don’t know how you got here, but for someone so stupid, you saved me a lot of trouble.”
Caitlyn turned her head. From her elevated perspective on the horse, she saw the man approaching from the livery, maybe twenty paces away. It was too dark to see his features, but she recognized the object cradled in his arm.
A shotgun.
Billy didn’t like to hurry decision making because he always seemed to decide wrong. Like now. After leaving the jail, he’d decided not to directly approach the livery, because whatever Mason Lee had planned against Sheriff Carney couldn’t be good. If Mason was willing to lock Billy up, it wouldn’t be smart to just march into the livery when he knew all about the shotgun and what it felt like to have the barrel pressed into his back.
But when he’d raced around to the gate behind the livery, hoping his escape would make up for what happened with Mrs. Shelton, there’d been this girl, stealing a horse. Billy figured she probably had something to do with why the sheriff wanted him to watch the livery and Mitch in the first place, so she must be important. Even if she wasn’t important, she was breaking curfew and stealing a horse.
Now what?
Mason was right there, outlined by the light of the livery in the background, pointing the shotgun. In a way, Billy felt relieved. Immediate control had been taken away from him. He didn’t have to make a decision.
Broken Angel Page 8
