Strong Cold Dead (Caitlin Strong, #8)(10)

“Seemed to you.”

“That’s what I said.”

“The problem is nobody appointed you judge in the matter, and now they’re calling for your head.”

“You going to give it to them?” Caitlin asked, standing before Tepper’s desk, in a shady corner on the second floor of Texas Ranger Company F headquarters in San Antonio.

“It’s out of my hands, Caitlin. This is too big a pile of shit to sweep under the rug. You might have thought you saved the day, when what you really did was embarrass a whole lot of folks seated behind big fancy desks, who couldn’t save their own ass from a hemorrhoid.”

“I tried to explain it to Consuelo Alonzo, Captain. But she was too busy getting even with me to listen. What was I supposed to do?”

“How about nothing, like Alonzo ordered?”

“And what shape might the city be in right now if I’d done that?”

“I don’t believe those folks behind those big desks care about the might, only the is. And right now they’re trying to cover their collective asses, along with the truth.”

Tepper was old enough to have partnered with both Caitlin’s legendary grandfather and her father, stitching multiple generations of Texas Rangers together. Unlike many, he had proven adept at both relinquishing the old ways and methods and adapting to the new. He wore his experience on his gaunt face. Caitlin imagined there was a story behind each of the deep furrows lining his cheeks and brow. His thin gray hair looked glued to his scalp, dry patches evident amid all the sheen. He had youthful eyes that belied the smoking habit that had left him with sallow coloring and stained fingernails. Caitlin’s efforts to force him to cut back on his smoking had also cut back on the wet, hacking cough that one doctor said made Tepper a poster child for emphysema.

“What truth would that be, exactly?” she asked him.

“Let’s see, where would you like me to start?” Tepper said, tapping a Marlboro Red from its box but stopping short of lifting it out. “How about sticking your nose in somebody else’s jurisdiction? How about taking on the entire gang population of San Antonio, with a riot brewing a few blocks away? How about shooting at a police helicopter?”

“I was shooting at the spotlight.”

“Last time I checked, the two were connected. There’s also trespassing, damage to civilian property, and arresting a suspect without a warrant.”

“I had probable cause on Diablo Alcantara.”

“That probable cause entitle you to shoot four other men while dragging him off?”

“All in the leg. I thought you’d be happy.”

“Sure, jumping for joy,” Tepper said, forgetting he already had a cigarette out, launching it airborne when he tapped the pack again.

Caitlin crushed the cigarette with her boot before he could retrieve it from the floor, and he set about tapping out a fresh one in its place.

“As I was saying…” Tepper continued.

“As you were saying…”

“Hell, I don’t even remember what I was saying, you get me so ramshackled.”

“You were jumping for joy.”

“Oh, yeah. Turns out you nicked an artery in the leg of one of those gang members. They got him to the hospital just before he would’ve bled out. Somebody had tried to stitch the wound with a sewing needle.”

“And that’s my fault?”

“Was it your bullet? Anyway, forget that. We got bigger fish to fry. Feds are thinking about charging you with use of a weapon of mass destruction.”

“Are you serious?”

“Ranger, you poisoned a whole section of the city with whatever spewed out of that crop duster.”

“I dropped a stink bomb.”

“That’s your defense?”

“How about the fact that it worked? Locals and Feds who spent the rest of the night interrogating me have reclaimed the neighborhood. You know what’s going on here as well as I do, D.W.”

Tepper continued to simmer, doing his best not to seem to see her point. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“I got it done when they couldn’t. And since when is skunk oil a weapon of mass destruction?”

“Since you dropped it on the city of San Antonio, Ranger.”

“I tried to play ball here, Captain. Took my intentions to Deputy Chief Alonzo, who practically spit in my face.”

“Speaking of which, you’ve looked better.”

Caitlin touched the bruises on her face, left by her fight with Diablo Alcantara, and tried to move the jaw he’d cracked with an elbow. Paramedics were pretty certain it wasn’t broken, but she was supposed to go for precautionary X-rays just to make sure. Her hands, too, were badly scuffed and bruised, knuckles swollen like those of the ex-boxer her father, Jim Strong, had busted, as peacefully as he could, when the retired fighter was having what he called one of his “episodes.”

“Good thing SAPD let me take a shower and change clothes,” Caitlin told him. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to stand the smell of me, never mind the sight, thanks to that weapon of mass destruction.”

Tepper shook his head, easing into his mouth the second cigarette he’d tapped out. “You mean stink bomb?”

“Camouflaged the scene, to boot.”