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He curses, flinching away and climbing up the side of the horse trailer. It’s like watching a bloated chimpanzee trying to struggle up a brick wall. Finally, he pushes himself up high enough and pulls off a fourth tracking device from the roof of the trailer.
As it falls into the snow near my feet, I ask, “Where’s your phone?”
Again, he plays mum, tongue caught in the total humiliation he deserves.
“I want it,” I say. “Either hand it over, or I take it the hard way again.”
His eyes narrow and I laugh.
If I weren’t retired, I’d reconsider the casting invites that come in sometimes for suspense flicks. This shit is fun.
I spin around, giving him a side kick that I’d mastered as a teenager and still practice in my basement gym. A huge bout of satisfaction hits as it strikes the side of his head.
Damn, I’ve needed this.
Not the whole hurting someone, but the tension release.
Turns out, this whole off-the-grid retirement thing has been boring as hell. Working out just isn’t the same, not as satisfying.
Also, I think this counts as community service. No one gets a name like Jackknife without being a royal asshole and hurting people. Can’t say I mind avenging a few of his victims, whoever they are.
I dig two cell phones out of his pockets, and knowing they probably have plenty of tracking too, I shove them in my back pocket, along with his knife. I’ll destroy it all later.
Right now, I need to get that woman and her dad out of here.
This goon can’t go anywhere with his keys locked up and four flats, but that’s also a problem. He’s stuck here. They can’t be.
I pick up the four trackers as I walk back to the door of the bar, leaving Dickless raging in the snow.
Once inside, I tell Tobin, “Start our truck. The old man’s riding with you. I’ll ride with the girl and give her directions.”
“Ridge—”
“Start our truck.” I’ll let him lay into me with his overly polite concerns after we’re home.
For now, I cross the room and drop the four black trackers on the table. “Found these on your truck and trailer.”
“Son of a bitch,” the old man says, his eyes bugging out as he coughs again.
“Hope you two don’t mind a change of plans. Our friend outside will be stuck here for a while, and I don’t think the Crow Motel’s safe with him hanging around town. You’re coming home with me,” I say. “I have a barn for your horses and a guesthouse.”
The woman looks at her father, who’s still coughing, then at me with such worry and trepidation in her big blue eyes that my heart actually aches for her.
That hasn’t happened in forever, but if anyone deserves some compassion, it’s her tonight. I’d say she’s had a tough row to hoe lately.
I brush the snow off my shoulders and arms while she pats her dad on his back. They’ll need a minute to think it over, so I head for the bar.
“Grady, you should close up a little early tonight. The snow’s coming down mighty thick out there now. Call Sheriff Wallace, tell him there’s a moron outside with four flats and he locked his keys in his car.”
“You’re sure that’s his only problem?” he rumbles in a low tone, leaning in, his eyes dark.
“Yeah. I helped set him straight with everything else.”
Satisfied, Grady nods and walks over to the oilmen, politely closing out their tabs.
Tobin lingers by the window, glaring into the night, the key fob to our truck dangling in his hand.
I round the table to the old man and stoop down next to him.
“My name’s Ridge. What’s yours?”
“Nelson,” he says with a gasp. “Nelson Sellers.”
“You look like a smart man, Nelson. A good man, but you also look like you need some rest and a warm bed for the night.” I lay a hand on his shoulder. “I give you my word, you and your daughter are safe with me.”
He studies me, evaluating whether or not I’m one more piece of bad luck.
I don’t know him from Adam. To him, I could be a serial killer, a brazen drunk, or just plain fucked in the head. Maybe I’ll admit to the last one since I charged into their business, just as long as their dealings with Pete are done for now.
I glance at the trackers I’d laid on the table. “A hell of a lot safer than you would be out on the road. Trust me,” I say.
He looks at the trackers, his daughter, and then up at me, and nods slowly.
“I believe you’re right,” he says, the only sane response even if he doesn’t like it.
“I know I am.” I jerk my head at Tobin. “That’s my friend over there, Tobin. He’ll give you a ride to my ranch. It’s about ten miles from here. I’ll drive your truck and help your daughter get your horses settled in while Tobin gets you set up in the guesthouse, all right?”
