Blind Tiger by Sandra Brown

To a man they shifted their gazes to him, but he gave a small shrug and kept his attention on Bill.

“Okay then,” the sheriff said, as though a weighty matter had been settled. “We’ll try to peacefully serve the warrant,” he said, “but I don’t expect Bernie to surrender without a fight. Thatcher, anything to add to what you’ve already told us of the situation?”

“Yeah. Croft’s man Hennessy is no amateur. Given the chance, he’ll kill you. If you get into it with him, don’t hesitate. Put him down.”

They acknowledged the advice with grim nods.

Bill said, “All right. Let’s go.”

“Who’s that?” one of the deputies said.

They all turned. Irv Plummer’s truck was rattling like a peddler’s wagon up the road. It came to a stop behind the second department vehicle.

Bill swore. “Get him out of here.”

But before anyone could act, Corrine hopped down from the passenger seat and came running toward Thatcher. “Mr. Hutton? What’s going on?”

“We’re serving an arrest warrant.”

“For Gert?” She turned to Bill. “I hope it’s for Gert.”

“Not today.”

“Fair warning, y’all. She keeps a loaded shotgun on the bar within reach.”

Looking past Corrine, Bill said, “Mr. Plummer, you can’t be here.”

“It’s a public road.”

“Not now, it’s not.”

“Irv, you need to get going,” Thatcher said.

“Oh, you think that badge gives you the right to order me around?”

“Take it up with me later, Irv. For right now, get Corrine and clear out.”

Irv looked around at the group of solemn men, and the firepower they carried, and seemed to grasp the seriousness of the situation. He said to Thatcher, “The girl saw the marked cars, insisted on turning in and finding out if Gert was finally gonna get her comeuppance. But I see y’all got business, so we’ll be on our way. Come on, girl.” He put his hand in the crook of Corrine’s elbow.

She shook him off, saying, “What the hell’s he doing?”

They all followed her line of sight. Lefty was staggering out from a grove of mesquite trees. Seeing them, he stopped. Swaying on his feet, he slowly and unsteadily raised his hands in surrender. “I had no part in it. Didn’t want no part in it.”

The two deputies closest to him took him by his skinny arms, and half-dragged, half-carried him over to the group. “Swear to God, it was none of my doing.” His protruding Adam’s apple slid up and down. “I sneaked out the back while’s they were occupied.” His knees gave out, and he would have gone to the ground if the deputies hadn’t been supporting him. “I’m kinda drunk.”

Bill said sternly, “Well, you’ve got one second to sober up. What’s going on back there? What don’t you want any part of?”

“I’m scared ’fore it’s over they’re gonna kill her.”

“Who?”

He rolled his eyes and finally blinked Irv into focus. “His daughter-in-law. Ain’t that why all y’all are here?”





Fifty-Nine



Thatcher waited for no one. He tossed the rifle into the back of Bill’s car, got behind the wheel, and, thanks to the electric starter, was already accelerating by the time Bill had caught hold of the open passenger door. He stood on the running board until he could clamber into the seat.

Scotty shouted, “All hell has broken loose.” He and the other two deputies sprinted after the car, grasped whatever handhold they could get, and hopped onto the running boards.

Thatcher was merciless on the motor. He didn’t spare the tires, either, making no attempt to dodge rain-filled potholes. When the roadhouse came into sight, he aimed the hood of Bill’s car at the rear end of Croft’s town car. As he braked behind it, mere inches away from colliding with it, the deputies leaped off and divided up as Bill had instructed them to. Scotty took off toward the left side of the building, the other two went right.

Thatcher pulled his pistol and hurdled the front steps, then flattened himself to one side of the screened door. “Laurel!”

No answer.

Bill made it to the porch and stationed himself on the other side of the door. “Bernie, we know you have Mrs. Plummer. Send her out unharmed.”

Nothing.

“I have a warrant for your arrest, Bernie.”

From within, Croft laughed. “That’s hilarious.”

Bill said, “You’re right. Let’s skip the official stuff, save taxpayers the money of trying you for the murder of Davy O’Connor and the arson murder of the Johnsons. I’ll simply kill you for poisoning Daisy.”

There was no response, and Thatcher was done fucking around. He signaled to Bill that he would open the screened door, since it opened out toward them, and he was on the left side. Bill nodded.

Thatcher reached for the handle and flung open the door toward Bill. Thatcher hit the ground and rolled across the threshold. He was greeted by two shotgun blasts. Gert must have fired both barrels. Thatcher registered that she would need time to reload. Bill must’ve had the same thought as he came through the opening with his pistol blazing.

He drew fire from two positions: behind the bar and from above. Thatcher looked up. Hennessy was on the landing at the top of the stairs, holding Laurel in front of him, one hand clamped over her mouth, his other aiming a pistol at Thatcher.