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Authors: Victor Gischler
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door, clapped the padlock back on.
I stood over Billy again, looked into his vacant eyes, knew I had to go get somebody about this. Fact is I did toy with the notion of hauling the body off and burying it, pretending like the whole thing never happened. What? Who? Billy? Shrug. Haven’t seen him. Why? Something wrong?
No, that shit never works out. Never. I’d seen enough CSI shows to know that, and anyway I was spattered pretty good with Billy’s blood. No, this was a big, fat mess which wasn’t going to go away or clean up easy.
I left the firehouse through the kitchen and walked the alley back to the police station. Inside, I tried the chief on the radio again and came up empty. I was starting to worry something bad had happened to him. Billy had tried to kill me. What else might he have been capable of?
I flipped open the Rolodex on the chief’s desk and dialed Amanda’s number. Her machine picked up after six rings. Her recording sounded very businesslike. I waited for the beep.
“Uh, Amanda, this is Toby. I think … uh … listen, we got a problem, and I need somebody to get down here to the station. I’ll try Karl next.” I hung up, wondering how much of a dork I sounded like. I hated talking to those things.
I sighed, thought about waiting five minutes then trying Amanda again. I did not want to call Karl, former Sooner linebacker, loud-mouth, muscle-head prick. He blew out his knee at University of Oklahoma, came back to Coyote Crossing and stayed. Putting on a badge made him feel like big man on campus again, I guess. He also volunteered as assistant football coach for the school’s JV team. He enjoyed shouting at people.
I suspected he basically looked at me like some guitar-playing pussy. I’d never gotten any warm vibes from him.
Anyway, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t deal with this shit myself, so I dialed Karl’s number.
After three rings I heard him pick up, some kind of rattle, a cough and a moan, Karl’s jock voice asking, “What the hell time is it?”
“It’s Toby, Karl. I need you to get down to the station. There’s been … trouble.”
“What the hell are you talking about, man?”
“Just get down here, okay? I can’t handle this, and I don’t want to explain it all on the phone.”
“Where’s Krueger?”
“I can’t find the chief. That’s why I’m calling you.”
A big sigh on his end, lips smacking. “Okay just … let me get dressed. Just stay there, right?”
“Okay.”
“Shit.” He hung up.
I wasn’t sure if I felt better or not, but at least it was out of my hands. Karl’s problem now. I wondered if he’d arrest me, what the procedure was. Then it occurred to me Karl and Billy were pretty tight pals. Maybe Karl wouldn’t arrest me at all.
Maybe he’d pull his gun and blow my brains out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I put my feet up on the desk, sat back and lit another Winston. I was going through the pack pretty fast. I wasn’t really supposed to smoke inside the station, but if you kill a guy you get some slack. I was pretty sure that was a rule.
I exhaled, watched the smoke twist and drift, and replayed the conversation between Billy and the Mexican back at the firehouse. There was something I was supposed to pay attention to, something important, but I couldn’t get it straight in my head.
I patted my pockets. Three sets of keys. Mine, Roy’s and Luke Jordan’s.
Keys.
I picked up the phone and dialed. It rang, three times,
four, five. Come on, come on come on … Billy’s words came back to me all to clear. Go find the boy again and get the right keys this time .
Eight rings, nine, ten. Answer the damn phone, Doris!
I slammed the phone down. This time I didn’t rush off. I took the box of .38 ammunition, loaded my revolver, stuck the rest of the box in my pants pocket. I was out the front door in a flash, getting into the Nova and cranking the engine. I gunned it, squealed my tires making a U-turn on Main and hauled ass west of town, the
I stood over Billy again, looked into his vacant eyes, knew I had to go get somebody about this. Fact is I did toy with the notion of hauling the body off and burying it, pretending like the whole thing never happened. What? Who? Billy? Shrug. Haven’t seen him. Why? Something wrong?
No, that shit never works out. Never. I’d seen enough CSI shows to know that, and anyway I was spattered pretty good with Billy’s blood. No, this was a big, fat mess which wasn’t going to go away or clean up easy.
I left the firehouse through the kitchen and walked the alley back to the police station. Inside, I tried the chief on the radio again and came up empty. I was starting to worry something bad had happened to him. Billy had tried to kill me. What else might he have been capable of?
I flipped open the Rolodex on the chief’s desk and dialed Amanda’s number. Her machine picked up after six rings. Her recording sounded very businesslike. I waited for the beep.
“Uh, Amanda, this is Toby. I think … uh … listen, we got a problem, and I need somebody to get down here to the station. I’ll try Karl next.” I hung up, wondering how much of a dork I sounded like. I hated talking to those things.
I sighed, thought about waiting five minutes then trying Amanda again. I did not want to call Karl, former Sooner linebacker, loud-mouth, muscle-head prick. He blew out his knee at University of Oklahoma, came back to Coyote Crossing and stayed. Putting on a badge made him feel like big man on campus again, I guess. He also volunteered as assistant football coach for the school’s JV team. He enjoyed shouting at people.
I suspected he basically looked at me like some guitar-playing pussy. I’d never gotten any warm vibes from him.
Anyway, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t deal with this shit myself, so I dialed Karl’s number.
After three rings I heard him pick up, some kind of rattle, a cough and a moan, Karl’s jock voice asking, “What the hell time is it?”
“It’s Toby, Karl. I need you to get down to the station. There’s been … trouble.”
“What the hell are you talking about, man?”
“Just get down here, okay? I can’t handle this, and I don’t want to explain it all on the phone.”
“Where’s Krueger?”
“I can’t find the chief. That’s why I’m calling you.”
A big sigh on his end, lips smacking. “Okay just … let me get dressed. Just stay there, right?”
“Okay.”
“Shit.” He hung up.
I wasn’t sure if I felt better or not, but at least it was out of my hands. Karl’s problem now. I wondered if he’d arrest me, what the procedure was. Then it occurred to me Karl and Billy were pretty tight pals. Maybe Karl wouldn’t arrest me at all.
Maybe he’d pull his gun and blow my brains out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I put my feet up on the desk, sat back and lit another Winston. I was going through the pack pretty fast. I wasn’t really supposed to smoke inside the station, but if you kill a guy you get some slack. I was pretty sure that was a rule.
I exhaled, watched the smoke twist and drift, and replayed the conversation between Billy and the Mexican back at the firehouse. There was something I was supposed to pay attention to, something important, but I couldn’t get it straight in my head.
I patted my pockets. Three sets of keys. Mine, Roy’s and Luke Jordan’s.
Keys.
I picked up the phone and dialed. It rang, three times,
four, five. Come on, come on come on … Billy’s words came back to me all to clear. Go find the boy again and get the right keys this time .
Eight rings, nine, ten. Answer the damn phone, Doris!
I slammed the phone down. This time I didn’t rush off. I took the box of .38 ammunition, loaded my revolver, stuck the rest of the box in my pants pocket. I was out the front door in a flash, getting into the Nova and cranking the engine. I gunned it, squealed my tires making a U-turn on Main and hauled ass west of town, the
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