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The man was lying, an
d he wasn't doing much to hide it. Even the straight face he was keeping was less because he thought that he needed it, and more because he didn't seem to particularly care what they thought, so long as they left.
"You don't mind if we come in? I've got a warrant, you see."
"Let me see it."
The Deputy pulled a bill out of his pocket and handed it over. The man took it and glanced down. Then he handed it back and shrugged. "Knock yourself out."
Barrett tipped his head to signal Glen to follow. There were more inside. Maybe twenty of them in total. Too many for a brewery, but more than that, too many for them to take in a fight. They should have had four. Shouldn't have come in with just the two of them.
The damage was already done.
Glen stayed a few steps behind, tried to keep his back pressed up against the wall, and tried to keep his eyes on the men around him.
There was a door with the word "OWNER" written across the front, and inside, a behemoth of a man with curly red hair leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on his desk.
Glen tapped on the Deputy's shoulder and pointed him out. "That's our guy."
"Rod Dawson?" Barrett called it out before they crossed into the room, making Glen glance around nervously. The brewers continued to decidedly ignore them.
Something about the entire set-up seemed contrived to make them think that it wasn't going to be as much trouble as it was. It might have been that Glen was letting himself get nervous, but he would rather be nervous than dead.
"Yeah, who's askin'?"
"My name is Deputy Micah Barrett, and I've got an arrest warrant, signed by a judge, to bring you in."
"What's the charge? If you don't mind my asking."
The man stood up. His head seemed to be just inches away from brushing the ceiling. Glen was struck by the feeling that he didn't want to get into a fistfight with the man. He also thought that if things went the way he was afraid they would, there was a good chance that he wouldn't have a choice in the matter.
The giant held his hands out and let himself be cuffed. Nice and easy. Maybe, Glen thought, he was just being jumpy. Maybe things would go fine. Maybe they had the wrong guy after all. He looked around the room anyways. He couldn't afford to give the man the benefit of the doubt until he was already home, safe.
Barrett didn't act surprised. Perhaps he wasn't, and this was how it went. Not in Glen's experience, but then, his experience was Army experience. The folks they had sent him out to get, he rarely gave the chance to come in quietly. They weren't that kind.
Glen let the Deputy pass him. The big man went first, then the Deputy, and Glen came last. His hand sat on his pistol, but he kept it light. Any moment he might have to grab it and have it out.
They went through the door. Nice and easy. He was just jumpy. Still, he stayed jumpy. It was going to keep him alive, he hoped. The brewers were watching, now, wearing an expression somewhere between surprise and anticipation.
Glen made the trip through the door halfway backwards, keeping his eyes out for someone to rush him. Then he turned to follow Barrett.
A shot rang out and the Deputy fell. Glen's hand was quick, and he'd been afraid of this. He turned the direction he'd heard the shot from and a second shot rang out. The man holding a gun grabbed at his gut and fell back against the brick wall behind him. Glen's other hand smacked the hammer back a second time and he let off another shot, winging a man but sending him wheeling to the ground as well.
The blow that came down on his head took a second to register. Nobody could hit that hard, he thought, and his horse was still tied to the post. Couldn't have kicked him from this distance.
His body knew what to do on its own, though. Glen fell to the ground. The gun slipped out of his fingers, and then with the last fading bits of consciousness he clutched for it, turned himself over, and pointed it at the big redhead behind him.
"Let me go, or I'll end you. I may not get out of here alive, but I guarantee you, you son of a bitch, neither will you."
The man was already going through Barrett's pockets, and the Deputy wasn't moving to stop him. "You're the guy from Billy Howell's old ranch, eh?"
"What if I am?"
"How's his wife doin'? You tried her yet? Best cunt in town, I tell you. And that mouth—"
Glen thumbed back the hammer. "Let me go," he repeated.
"G'on. Since we's so close, and all." The man gave a wink. "Tell Catherine that Roddy sends all his love. We'll be by later an' talk."
