Bull Mountain(49)

“Yessir, Mr. Sheriff, sir.” And off he went, sloshing beer on himself and the floor.

“What was that about?” she said.

“Some folks live their whole lives without an ounce of class,” Clayton said, and took a long pull of hundred-proof bourbon, letting it sit on his tongue. Nicole wiped up the spilt beer.

“Well, don’t worry, Sheriff, he’s harmless.”

“He’s an *.”

Nicole leaned in close to Clayton’s ear. “Hell, Sheriff, show me a drunk who ain’t.”

3.

Clayton was on his third drink when Special Agent Simon Holly took Big Joe’s vacated seat. He just sat there, smiling that shark smile of his, until Clayton came up out of his rocks glass and took notice. He squinted hard at Holly, either to focus his eyes or to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. Maybe both.

“Evening, Sheriff.”

“What are you doing here, Holly?” Clayton said, turning his attention back to his glass.

“My travel agent said this place was one of the top attractions to take in while visiting the mountain paradise of Waymore Valley, Georgia.”

Clayton just stared blankly, his eyes slowly disappearing into his face. He wasn’t up for cheery sarcasm.

“Sorry, Sheriff, I can see you’re in a mood. I’m staying at the motor inn across the street. I saw your deputy drop you off a little while ago, so I thought I’d come break some bread. Tough night?”

“Why?”

“Your face looks like shit.”

“Yeah, well, you can take a little responsibility for that.”

Holly put his smile away. “You spoke to your brother?”

“Well, we didn’t do much speakin’.”

“I take it it didn’t go well?”

“That’s one way to say it. Brother shit. I don’t think he’s going to listen to reason.”

“I have no doubt you will find a way.” Holly motioned for Nicole, who smiled even bigger than normal when she saw him.

“Well, hello there,” she said. “And just who might you be?”

Holly just smiled, leaned back on the stool, and let the sheriff make the introductions.

“Nicole, this is Holly. He’s a federal agent sent here to complicate my life. Bring us both one of these.” Clayton tapped his empty glass.

Holly held out a hand. “It’s Simon, and you better make his water.”

Nicole cupped his hand with both of hers and leaned in close, making sure Simon got an eyeful of the same award-winning cleavage she’d showed off to Clayton earlier. She spoke in a whisper. “I was just about to call his wife to come get him.”

“I got him,” Holly said, and winked at her.

“Cool,” she said, and off she floated to the other side of the bar. Holly leaned forward and watched her move. This time, Clayton did, too.

“Your day go any better than mine?” Clayton said.

“We had an incident off Highway 27 near a place called Broadwater. I was close, so they put me on it.”

“An incident?”

“Yeah, looks like a hijacking gone wrong. We got one body.”

“Who bought the farm? A hijacker, or hijackee?”

“Hijacker, we’re assuming, unless he was jogging along the highway with an assault rifle and a clown mask. The scene was scrubbed clean before the state boys got there, but we impounded an empty moving truck, and we think there might have been bikes involved. We found a broken Harley side mirror, and the skid marks are consistent with someone laying one down.”

“Bikes,” Clayton said. “Is it related to our thing?”

“I’m not one hundred percent, but I’ve got ears in Florida that tell me they were moving a bundle of cash this way. It fits with the schedule they keep. But nothing is cement right now. The staties are dragging ass on telling me anything else.”

“That’s because half the state patrol is in Halford’s pocket. That whole area around Broadwater is a dead zone. Did you ID the dead guy?”

“Yup. No ID on him, but we ran his prints through IAFIS . . . Um . . . IAFIS is a national database of—”

Clayton held his hand up. “I know what IAFIS is.”

“Right. Anyway, we got a hit. The guy’s name is Allen Bankey. Does that name ring any bells?”

Clayton thought about it. “Nope.”

Nicole appeared and set two glasses of water down on the bar and a fresh bourbon for Holly. He smiled and nodded politely. Once Nicole bounced away, he kept talking. “He’s ex-military,” Holly said. “We think he was part of a crew but got left after he went down. Surprisingly, the guy’s file is pretty clean except for a bullshit statutory rape charge from a few years back.”

“How is a rape charge bullshit?” Clayton said, looking at his water like it was some kind of alien artifact.

“The girl was sixteen, but you’d never know it looking at her. The sex was consensual. The parents let it go, knowing their daughter was no prize, but the state picked it up and the next thing you know, boom—G.I. Joe is a lifelong registered sex offender. It happens all the time.”

“And now he’s dead.”

“As Elvis. You’re sure you don’t know him?”