Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
He nods, though they can’t see him.
“Leeson’s doing it. I sure as hell wasn’t. I’ve got a wife and kids to get home to, ya know.” Eli glances in the rearview mirror, and I feign not listening, even though there’s no way I couldn’t hear him. Seems the gossip train is still a’chugging.
“Yeah, I will. You too.” He hangs up and sighs, makes a couple of turns, and then shrugs like he’s having an internal conversation with himself. “What happened?”
“No comment,” I answer flatly, staring out the window. If there’s one thing Mom taught me, it’s don’t talk to police. It never goes well, even if it’s with the best of intentions. You might’ve not done anything wrong, but you can still end up in juvie with a mom on probation who doesn’t speak to you. Yep, my lips are sealed.
I don’t know my way around Maple Creek that well, but at least we’re staying in town, not heading out to a deserted area. That bodes well for me. I even relax a little when I see a beige brick building with letters over the double doors that proclaim WILSON COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT.
I’m frog-marched inside unceremoniously and directed onto a heavy-duty bench that’s anchored to the floor with huge bolts. “Stay there.”
I don’t have to guess who Sheriff Laurier is. He walks in looking like an older version of Roy. Not-brown-not-blond hair that’s a bit thinner than his son’s; cold blue eyes with crow’s-feet, which I bet are from squinting at suspicious people, not from smiling; and a confident swagger that comes from knowing you’re the biggest dick in the room. Figuratively speaking. He’s wearing slacks and a polo, not a uniform, which tells me he likely came into the office to deal with this—a.k.a. me—on his day off. Guy like him probably works Monday to Friday, holding down a desk and doing most of his official work with a pen.
Sheriff Laurier strides up to Deputy Eli, his voice carrying across the open room. “Where the hell’s Roy? He okay?”
“Leeson’s bringing him in to figure out what happened.”
“We know what happened. That shitstain attacked Roy. How quick can we lock him up and throw away the key?” Sheriff Laurier snaps, shooting me a threatening look—or, I’m sure he thinks it’s threatening. He should see Two-Bits, the guy who controlled the west corner of my street. He got his name from serving twenty-five years for first-degree murder, and when he got out he was still the scariest motherfucker you’ve ever seen—cold, empty, dead eyes. He was scary. Sheriff Laurier is a yippy chihuahua in comparison.
Eli nods slowly, turning toward me with a carefully straight face. He reaches for my arm to lift me to my feet, but Laurier stops him. “I’ve got him.” With that, the sheriff grips my bicep in his hand, squeezing as tight as he can, and jerks me toward a holding cell in the corner of the room. “Open the door!” he shouts, and a buzzer sounds as the lock releases.
Laurier shoves me into the cell, but he sticks his foot out at the last second to trip me. I end up slamming to the floor on my left shoulder and hip but manage to keep my head from bouncing off the linoleum. “Watch your step, son,” he bites out before swinging the door shut. The buzzer sounds out again as the door locks.
Laurier strides away, yelling at someone to notify him as soon as Leeson and Roy arrive.
I roll over and wiggle around to sit up, which is no easy feat, since I’m still cuffed. I decide to stay on the floor because the bench looks too narrow to sit comfortably with my hands behind my back. Seeing Deputy Eli at a computer, I ask, “Your boss always assault restrained detainees?”
He cuts his eyes to me. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. You tripped.”
I huff out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, sure.”
“Whatever, man. Include it in your Yelp review of Maple Creek or whatever. It’ll just keep annoying tourists from coming to town and screwing things up.”
Leeson said something similar. “For a town that survives on year-round tourism, you sure don’t seem to like or want visitors much,” I say conversationally.
“Double-edged sword,” he answers before he clicks a couple of keys on his computer and gets up, then walks away. Guess he’s done with our friendly chitchat.
Locked down, locked away, lost without you. Fight them all, destruction and ruin, just to get to you.
I entertain myself with song lyrics and humming, wishing I could write things down because I’m probably going to forget most of it. All the while, I watch the door for Leeson and Roy. But they never come.
At some point, I see Sheriff Laurier stomp toward the doors, and he leaves too. Probably going to check on his baby boy, I think with a satisfied smirk. Fucker had it coming.