A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(20)

“I didn’t do anything!” Ryan protested.

“Bullshit,” said Brick. “Now shut up.”

Truman left the man on the floor on his stomach and turned to Clint. “On your stomach, arms out.”

“But Chief—”

“Now. This is for my own safety.”

Clint shot him a dirty look and laid his sweaty face down on the floor. Truman tried not to think about the filth of the tavern’s floor. Clint followed Truman’s orders and was quickly cuffed. Truman exhaled, letting go of some tension. Police work was full of what-ifs. His training had taught him to be prepared for any issue, how to study behavior and movements to anticipate a suspect’s next move, and that even a simple face-to-face discussion could turn deadly. People were insulted when the cuffs went on, but that was how it worked.

Truman went back to Ryan. The man turned his head, struggling to make eye contact from his prone position on the floor, clearly drunk.

“What happened here, Ryan?” Truman asked.

“Nothin’,” Ryan spit out. “My brother is an asshole!”

“You swung at me first!” Clint yelled back.

“That’s bullshit!”

“You’re the bigger asshole!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Both of you shut up,” Truman ordered. He hauled Ryan to a sitting position, noting how the man swayed, and then did the same with Clint. Truman couldn’t decide which man was more drunk. He turned to Brick. “You filing charges?”

“Nothing’s broke.”

Truman had figured that would be Brick’s answer.

After a quick pat down, Truman said, “I need to see IDs from both of you.” After some awkward maneuvering due to the men sitting on their wallets and having their hands cuffed, Truman finally opened the first wallet. He found a diplomatic card identical to the one he’d been shown by Joshua Forbes but with Clint Moody’s name and photo. He looked at Clint and showed him the ID. “This all you got?”

The man squinted blearily at the card. “Nah, that’s just a joke. My regular license is in there.”

Truman found a legitimate Oregon driver’s license. Clint was twenty-eight.

“Told you not to carry that crap,” Ryan told his brother. “It’s illegal.”

“Shut up!” Clint shot back. He looked nervously at Truman. “Like I said, it’s just for fun.”

Truman checked Ryan’s wallet next. No diplomatic card. Just a normal license. He was thirty.

“These are expensive.” Truman held up the fake ID. “I’d like to know where you got it.”

“A friend gave it to me. He didn’t charge me anything.”

“What’s that friend’s name?”

Clint looked away.

Truman bit his cheek at Clint’s stubborn silence. Does he not realize he’s sitting on the floor in cuffs and about to go to jail? He sighed. There was no point in arguing when the men were clearly inebriated.

Eagle’s Nest officer Samuel Robb pulled open the bar door and entered at that moment.

“Damn. I missed the fun,” the buzz-cut, brawny officer said as he took in the two men on the floor. “What do you have?”

Truman briefed him on the fight and fake license. “I want them locked up until they’re coherent.”

Samuel nodded. “Will do. I got this one.” He grabbed Clint’s arm and easily hauled him to his feet. “This way, princess.” The two men disappeared out the door.

Ryan sat silently, his head down, still swaying. Truman hoped he wouldn’t puke in the back seat when he drove him in.

“Nice job.” Owen approached and shook Truman’s hand.

“Thanks.” The simple fact that Owen approved of Truman’s police work was a big sign of the change in Mercy’s brother. He’d been suspicious of police and government all his life. Enough to make him rub shoulders with a growing militia several months ago. He’d learned from his mistake and had grudgingly also accepted his sister as a federal officer.

“I heard Joshua Forbes will be arraigned tomorrow,” Owen commented, his words casual but his eyes alert as he studied Truman.

“I heard that too,” said Brick.

“Word travels fast.”

“He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed,” added Owen.

“I noticed that,” said Truman. “You know him well?”

Owen shrugged. “Everyone knows the Forbeses.”

“Not me.”

“They try to stay under the radar,” said Owen. “His dad had a few run-ins with the courts and police back in the day. He’s in a wheelchair now, and that’s reined him in. But Joshua seems to be following in his footsteps.”

Brick nodded. “Right here in this bar, I’ve overheard him try to convince people about the straw man theory. He’s pretty fervent in his beliefs.”

“People fall for it?” asked Truman.

“Hard to say,” answered Brick. “It’s easy to get people’s attention when you tell them they’re not legally obligated to pay taxes and that the government actually owes them money. Making the life change is a difficult commitment, but sometimes people are just hungry and desperate for answers. No taxes sounds like heaven.”