Blind Tiger by Sandra Brown

“I’m here.” A stick figure of a man materialized out of the dark and murky interior. “Plummer, you say? Kin to Irv?”

“His daughter-in-law.”

“Huh. Heard your husband blew his brains out.”

Laurel ignored Gert’s cruel remark and focused on Lefty. “May I have a moment of your time?”

“What for?”

“It would be in your best interest.”

Gert repeated the statement, mimicking the modulation of Laurel’s voice. “Who do you think you are, a fuckin’ Rockefeller?”

“Back off, Gert.” Reaching past her, Lefty pushed open the screen door. “Come on in, but I already told Irv no deal.”

“That’s not what Irv told me,” Laurel said as she stepped inside. “One of you is lying.” She gave the hatchet-faced man an arch look. “I suspect it’s you.”

He turned and crossed the large room to the bar, where he motioned her onto a stool. He sat down, leaving an empty stool between them. Laurel pretended not to notice the shotgun lying on the bar.

Gert lowered herself into a chair at one of the nearby tables and lit a fresh cigarette. By the time she’d smoked it down all the way, Laurel and Lefty were sealing a new deal with a handshake.

As Laurel stood to leave, she asked, “Do you know the O’Connor twins?”

“Don’t everybody?”

“Since Irv was wounded in the fracas last night, one or both of the O’Connors will take over making your deliveries. They’ll know the terms of our agreement. Don’t try to cheat me.”

“Wouldn’t think of cheating a lady,” he said, grinning. If that’s what you could call the exposure of his crooked teeth when he peeled his lips back.

“When do you think you’ll be able to reopen?”

“Tonight,” Gert said as she ground out her cigarette butt in the chipped ashtray on the table. She heaved herself out of her chair. “Smarty-pants, you keep undercutting people in this business, you’re gonna start pissing them off.”

“Thank you for the warning.” Laurel headed for the door.

“You got gumption. I’ll say that for you. If moonshining don’t work out, I could always use you upstairs.”

Laurel didn’t acknowledge that. Rather, she kept walking until she reached the door, and only then turned and confronted Gert. “You didn’t lose Corrine to the raid. She took advantage of the commotion to escape her imprisonment here.”

Gert’s face became bloated with rage. “That ungrateful little slut. Where’s she at? If you know, you’d better tell me. She owes me money.”

“While in your charge, she was disfigured, maimed, and half blinded. The only thing you’re owed is contempt.” She turned and stalked out.

The screen door banged against the exterior wall as Gert barged through it, but Laurel didn’t turn to look back. Gert was bellowing obscenities, most of which Laurel didn’t even know the meaning of.

She kept her head high and walked toward her car with purpose, although she was mindful of that handy shotgun. At any moment a blast from it could be the last thing she ever heard.

She made it to her car and thanked God that it started on the first crank. She drove away unscathed except for the blistering her ears had taken from Gert’s profanity.

But midway to the highway, when no longer in sight of the roadhouse, fear and trembling caught up with her. Like the night she’d escaped from Martin’s Café without being exposed as a moonshiner, she broke a cold sweat.

She braked her car, rested her forehead on the steering wheel, and gasped for breath as she willed her heartbeat to slow down. Hearing another vehicle approaching, she jerked her head up and looked behind her. But the sound was coming from ahead, not from the direction of the roadhouse.

She pulled out of the middle of the road, allowing the other vehicle to pass her. It was a newer model than hers by several years, the shiny black paint defiant of the powdery road, but she was relieved to see that it didn’t have an official seal stenciled on the side.

She continued on her way and blessed the second she reached the highway without anyone in pursuit. Still shaken, but calmer than she had been, she pointed herself toward town.





Thirty-Six



After leaving Bill Amos to deal with his situation at home, Thatcher rode the gelding back to Barker’s, then put in a long day of work, exercising every horse in the stable and trying to correct whatever bad habit or stubborn trait each had.

He kept his distance from Fred and Roger. The youngster had developed a case of hero worship since the incident with the rattlesnake and often trailed Thatcher around like a puppy. Today the two picked up on his desire for solitude and stayed away from the stable and corral.

Learning of Bill’s circumstances had left Thatcher with conflicting emotions that were equally strong and unshakeable. Throughout the day, he fluctuated between being angry and resentful over Bill’s manipulation, while also feeling compassion for his personal torment.

And prior to that distressing conversation with Bill, he’d had the set-to with Laurel.

He was ready to see an end to this day.

He returned to the boardinghouse in time to fill a plate with what was left of the cold supper and ate alone in the dining room, even as the landlady was clearing the dishes and utensils off the long table with more clatter than necessary. When finished eating, he dodged the residents seeking companionship and headed for his room.