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Ivor Hicks only blinked at her through the yellowish lenses of his glasses. No help there.
“Yeah, I can get him home,” Nesmith said reluctantly. “But I really wanted to talk to Sphinx.” He gave a nod to the stage, where people were still swarming. “Find out if he’s the real deal.”
“He’s not!” Otis spat. “Goddamned pantywaist. Gonna just poke around the woods, have the actors hear somethin’ or spy a shadow flittin’ by. Maybe a bear messes with the camp or somethin’. Make a big deal of it on the show when it’s probly jest the stage crew. That’s all that’ll come of it. Trust me, he ain’t gonna find no Big Foot. Not with his cameras an’ lights an’ microphones, all that crap production gear.” He glared at Nesmith. “Has he found one in that Oregon show? Huh? No. Just a damned footprint or two, right? He finds an actual Big Foot and his show is over. Kaput! Mystery solved. Ratings gone. End of the fuckin’ story.”
“Come on, Otis,” she said, nudging him firmly.
“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Otis protested and tried to wriggle away, the reek of alcohol mixed with the pungent smell of his body odor. She rewarded him by twisting his arm behind his back. “Shit! Goddamn it!” he squealed.
“This way, Otis.” She was pushing him toward the main entrance. Nesmith, muttering under his breath, followed behind.
“I don’t need a ride! I just want my damned gun!” Kruger was angry enough, she thought, to maybe take a swing at her with his free arm.
Just try it, she thought, aware several people had turned to stare at them. “Go home, Otis.”
And then he rounded on her, twisted faster than she expected, his fist coiled. He swung. “No way, you bitch, I want to—”
She feinted and he stumbled, dropping to a knee.
“To what?” Blackwater demanded, his black eyes flashing. He grabbed Kruger by his free arm and hauled him to his feet. “To talk to her superior? Well, you got him. Now, let’s go. Move it!” To Alvarez, he said, “I’ve got him,” and she gave up her grip on the drunk. People nearby who had witnessed the scuffle stepped back, the crowd parting as the sheriff marched Otis out of the room and down the stairs. Alvarez, Hicks, and Nesmith followed after.
“This is police brutality!” Otis screamed as they reached street level and he was forced toward the exterior doors. “I’ll sue. Swear to God I’ll sue you and the whole damned sheriff’s department. Don’t think I won’t!” He was blisteringly angry now, spitting nails.
“You can have the papers drawn up from the drunk tank.” Blackwater, jaw tight, gave the older man a little tweak to his arm, and Otis grimaced but quit resisting.
“Okay, okay!” he said, “I’m goin’. Home. But I want my damned gun.”
“Tomorrow. At the station. Talk to Detective Alvarez. She’ll deal with you.”
“You can’t keep my weapon! Son of a bitch! Son of a fuckin’ bitch!” Kruger spat out as Alvarez followed them through the front doors, Nesmith and Hicks in tow.
Outside, the evening was still warm, but far cooler than the stuffy interior of the meeting room, and Alvarez felt as if she could finally breathe again. Streetlights began to glow as dusk settled, and a few cars and trucks rumbled slowly by.
“Go home,” the sheriff told Kruger. “Sleep it off. Come to the office in the morning.”
To the others, Blackwater asked, “Who’s driving him?”
Nesmith said, “Rode with me. We heard there might be a parking problem. All came together. I’m stone-cold sober.”
“Good. Take him home and then take his keys. We don’t want him to get any ideas about driving back.”
“You can’t do that!” Kruger was outraged.
“Sure I can. And you can get them back tomorrow.”
“I can’t drop ’em by,” Nesmith protested. “I got work!”
“Then have Ivor do it. I don’t care. Figure it out,” the sheriff said as he released Kruger. “I don’t want to hear about any trouble, or somebody gets arrested.” He swept his gaze over the three men.
Ivor was shaking his head, then, as if realizing his response was negative, quickly started nodding while some of the combative fire disappeared from Nesmith’s eyes.
Alvarez did notice that the corners of Nesmith’s lips were still tight, but he didn’t argue as he herded Otis down the block toward the king cab of a huge black pickup. Once Kruger was in the backseat, Nesmith climbed behind the wheel and Ivor Hicks took his place riding shotgun.
“Troublemakers,” Blackwater muttered to Alvarez as he watched the pickup pull away from the curb, and drive down a nearly empty street.
“I could have handled them. You didn’t need to step in and take over.”
“I noticed he had a gun. Saw you take it from him, but thought a little assistance wouldn’t hurt. The place was crowded, and I was afraid someone else might think it was a good idea to get involved. Start something. The smell of a fight was in the air. You could feel it.”
