Read Online Stand Your Ground by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online

doing?” Stark asked, mildly curious.
    â€œHe’s still in the hospital. Ought to be able to go home in another day or two, his daddy said. Bert Frazier—that’s Andy’s daddy—stopped by here for coffee a while ago on his way to work. He’s a guard out at the prison, you know. Good fella. Used to be a cop. He’d been by the hospital to see his boy.”
    â€œWell, I’m glad to hear the youngster’s doing as well as can be expected.”
    â€œYeah, he’ll be all right. Done for the year, though, as far as playin’ football. That’ll hurt his chances of gettin’ a good scholarship. Tough break.” The old man grunted. “No pun intended.”
    Stark smiled and drank some of his coffee.
    The waitress brought his food a minute later, and he dug in with enjoyment. The talkative old-timer let him eat a while, then asked, “You ain’t from around here, are you, mister?”
    â€œNo, just visiting,” Stark said.
    â€œThought so. I know just about everybody in town. Ain’t hard for me to pick out a stranger . . . and the town’s full of ’em this mornin’, let me tell you.”
    â€œIt is?” Stark said with a slight frown.
    â€œYep. Seen some of ’em down at the grocery store parkin’ lot and here and there around town. Funny-lookin’ fellas, too. Thought at first they was Mexicans, comin’ in for some sort o’ construction project, but I ain’t so sure about that. Looked to me like they might be some other kind o’ foreigner.”
    That was odd, Stark mused. His first thought at hearing the old man’s words had been a worry that cartel soldiers might be moving into the town for some reason. The whole area had had so much trouble with drug smugglers, with the problem continuing to grow worse over the past decade because of budget cuts and what passed for immigration reform to Democratic politicians, and Stark’s personal history included so many violent clashes with the cartel that it was natural his thoughts would turn in that direction.
    But then the old-timer had said that he thought the men he’d seen weren’t Hispanic. What did that leave?
    Middle Eastern, Stark thought as his frown deepened.
    Alarm bells went off in the back of his head.
    He finished his food, then asked the waitress, “Where’s the police department?”
    She looked surprised as she asked, “Something wrong with the food?”
    â€œWhat? Oh, no.” Stark laughed and shook his head. “The food was great. Perfect. Wonderful bacon. No, I need to talk to somebody about something that doesn’t have anything to do with the food.”
    She blew out a mock sigh of relief and said, “That’s good to hear. The police department’s a couple of blocks up Main, on the other side of the street.”
    Stark nodded and said, “Yeah, I think remember seeing it when I was walking around town yesterday.”
    â€œYou probably won’t find anybody there but the dispatcher, though,” the waitress told him. “And there’ll only be one officer on patrol on a Sunday morning like this.”
    â€œWell, it probably doesn’t amount to anything,” Stark said. “I just want to check on something.”
    â€œAll right, hon. Hope it works out for you.”
    Stark paid his check, nodded, said so long to the old-timer he’d been talking to, and left the café. He walked back over to the motel, and as he did, he saw a couple of men striding quickly from one of the units to another.
    With their dark hair and skin, they could have been taken for Hispanic, all right, he thought. But like the old man in the café, he didn’t think they were.
    Instead of going to his room, Stark got into his pickup and started it. He backed out of the space and pulled from the parking lot onto Main Street. It took him less than a minute to reach the Fuego Police