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Authors: Bill Crider
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for you.”
“That’s the truth,” Lawton said. “Bein’ married don’t agree with just ever’body. I remember —”
“Lige Ward,” Rhodes said. He couldn’t help himself. “Cockfighting.”
“Cranky,” Hack said. “You’re gettin’ downright cranky.”
Rhodes didn’t apologize this time. He just waited for Lawton to get on with his story, which he finally did.
“Well, anyway, I was out at Wal-Mart, sittin’ on the bench in the entranceway there, when Gad Pullens came in. He sat down, and we got started talkin’ about first one thing and then another, and I said somethin’ about how Lige Ward sure did hate Wal-Mart, and Gad mentioned something about how it was a shame that Lige had closed up his store and how he’d heard that Lige was thinkin’ about maybe stagin’ a cockfight to make a little money.”
“You heard that there was going to be a cockfight, and you didn’t think about mentioning it to me?” Rhodes said.
“Downright cranky,” Hack said under his breath, though not so low that Rhodes couldn’t hear him.
“I didn’t hear that there was gonna be a cockfight,” Lawton said. “Or I’d’ve told you. I heard that Lige was thinkin’ about havin’ one. That’s all. I didn’t really believe it, and I guess that’s why I forgot about it. He couldn’t make much money that way, nohow.”
“Depends on how much the entrants had to put up,” Hack said. “And on how much prize money he gave out.”
“Just when was this fight supposed to be?” Rhodes asked Lawton.
“I told you I didn’t know that there was goin’ to be one. That was a good while back. If there was a fight, it’s all over by now.”
“Maybe there’s been more than one,” Hack said. “I’ll ask around if you think it might help.”
“Me too,” Lawton said.
“Talk to Gad Pullens,” Rhodes told Lawton. “See if you can find out who’s raising fighting cocks, aside from the two or three we already know about. And get me another one of these gaffs if you can. File it till it’s just like this one.” He turned to Hack. “Did you get out that APB on Lige’s pickup?”
“Sure did. It’s a black Ford Ranger.” He gave Rhodes the license number, and Rhodes wrote it down. “Anything else you want?”
“Yes,” Rhodes said. “Have Ruth go out to Press Yardley’s and take some impressions of the footprints around his emu pens. The ones close to the gate. While she’s out there, get her to take one of Press’ shoes, so we can eliminate them.”
Rhodes didn’t have much more faith in footprints than he did in fingerprints, but you could never tell when something would turn out to be useful.
“And first thing tomorrow,” he continued, “call up the people who rent out those Sani-Cans. Tell them there’s one missing, and try to find out where it was.”
Hack didn’t write anything down. He prided himself on being able to remember. “Is that all?”
“You can run a man named Nard King through that computer of yours. His whole first name’s probably Bernard.”
Hack nodded. “That it?”
“For now. If you hear from Dr. White about the autopsy, call me at home.”
“Even if it’s late?” Hack said.
“That’s right,” Rhodes told him. “Even if it’s late.”
Chapter Five
B efore going back out to Obert to talk to Nard King, Rhodes drove by the veterinary clinic owned by Dr. Slick, who had recently helped Rhodes with a case involving cattle rustling. Slick’s house was located only a few yards away from the clinic, and Rhodes was hoping that the vet would be home on a late Sunday afternoon.
Rhodes was in luck. Slick came to the door and asked Rhodes in. “What brings you by here on a Sunday? Got another case I can help you with?”
“Maybe,” Rhodes said. He fished the feather out of his pocket and handed it to Slick in its plastic bag. “Can you tell me what that is?”
Slick took it and looked at it closely. After a few seconds he said,
“That’s the truth,” Lawton said. “Bein’ married don’t agree with just ever’body. I remember —”
“Lige Ward,” Rhodes said. He couldn’t help himself. “Cockfighting.”
“Cranky,” Hack said. “You’re gettin’ downright cranky.”
Rhodes didn’t apologize this time. He just waited for Lawton to get on with his story, which he finally did.
“Well, anyway, I was out at Wal-Mart, sittin’ on the bench in the entranceway there, when Gad Pullens came in. He sat down, and we got started talkin’ about first one thing and then another, and I said somethin’ about how Lige Ward sure did hate Wal-Mart, and Gad mentioned something about how it was a shame that Lige had closed up his store and how he’d heard that Lige was thinkin’ about maybe stagin’ a cockfight to make a little money.”
“You heard that there was going to be a cockfight, and you didn’t think about mentioning it to me?” Rhodes said.
“Downright cranky,” Hack said under his breath, though not so low that Rhodes couldn’t hear him.
“I didn’t hear that there was gonna be a cockfight,” Lawton said. “Or I’d’ve told you. I heard that Lige was thinkin’ about havin’ one. That’s all. I didn’t really believe it, and I guess that’s why I forgot about it. He couldn’t make much money that way, nohow.”
“Depends on how much the entrants had to put up,” Hack said. “And on how much prize money he gave out.”
“Just when was this fight supposed to be?” Rhodes asked Lawton.
“I told you I didn’t know that there was goin’ to be one. That was a good while back. If there was a fight, it’s all over by now.”
“Maybe there’s been more than one,” Hack said. “I’ll ask around if you think it might help.”
“Me too,” Lawton said.
“Talk to Gad Pullens,” Rhodes told Lawton. “See if you can find out who’s raising fighting cocks, aside from the two or three we already know about. And get me another one of these gaffs if you can. File it till it’s just like this one.” He turned to Hack. “Did you get out that APB on Lige’s pickup?”
“Sure did. It’s a black Ford Ranger.” He gave Rhodes the license number, and Rhodes wrote it down. “Anything else you want?”
“Yes,” Rhodes said. “Have Ruth go out to Press Yardley’s and take some impressions of the footprints around his emu pens. The ones close to the gate. While she’s out there, get her to take one of Press’ shoes, so we can eliminate them.”
Rhodes didn’t have much more faith in footprints than he did in fingerprints, but you could never tell when something would turn out to be useful.
“And first thing tomorrow,” he continued, “call up the people who rent out those Sani-Cans. Tell them there’s one missing, and try to find out where it was.”
Hack didn’t write anything down. He prided himself on being able to remember. “Is that all?”
“You can run a man named Nard King through that computer of yours. His whole first name’s probably Bernard.”
Hack nodded. “That it?”
“For now. If you hear from Dr. White about the autopsy, call me at home.”
“Even if it’s late?” Hack said.
“That’s right,” Rhodes told him. “Even if it’s late.”
Chapter Five
B efore going back out to Obert to talk to Nard King, Rhodes drove by the veterinary clinic owned by Dr. Slick, who had recently helped Rhodes with a case involving cattle rustling. Slick’s house was located only a few yards away from the clinic, and Rhodes was hoping that the vet would be home on a late Sunday afternoon.
Rhodes was in luck. Slick came to the door and asked Rhodes in. “What brings you by here on a Sunday? Got another case I can help you with?”
“Maybe,” Rhodes said. He fished the feather out of his pocket and handed it to Slick in its plastic bag. “Can you tell me what that is?”
Slick took it and looked at it closely. After a few seconds he said,
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