Bull Mountain(71)

6.

“Let her go, Hal. Now!”

Halford lifted Cricket higher onto the tips of her toes. She screamed louder. “Tell this bitch to shut up, Clayton, so we can get this done. Tell her before I paint the walls.”

“Let her go, Hal, or I swear to God, I’ll shoot you down where you stand.”

“Tell her, Clayton. Tell her right now.”

“You’re going to be okay, Cricket. I promise.” Cricket looked at Clayton, wide-eyed and terrified. “You’re going to be okay. He won’t shoot.” Her screams dialed down into choked sobs. “Now let her go, Halford. I’m right here. Say what you came here to say, but leave her alone.”

Halford laughed. “You think I came here to talk? We’re beyond talking. You only get to stay in this valley, pretending to be sheriff, because I let you. You’re only still alive because I let you. You think you got power? You think you can f*ck with me? You have no idea what you’re f*cking with, little brother.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Halford, but if you don’t put her down, it’s not going to matter.”

“You think I don’t know it was you? You come up on the mountain talking about cops taking my money, talking about Wilcombe like you know him, while you send your own boys in to rob me. You think I’m stupid? I want my money.”

“What money?”

“Did you really think I would just lay down and let you take what I earned?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Halford, but I’m serious. I’m not going to tell you again. Let the girl go, and drop the shotgun, or I will put you down.”

Halford didn’t laugh this time. His eyes went as cold and dark as Clayton had ever seen them. “You’re a f*ckin’ disappointment, Clayton, through and through. Deddy called a spade a spade with you before you could shave.”

“Deddy’s dead. His death is on you. Just like yours is going to be on me, if you don’t let . . . her . . . go.”

Cricket had gone quiet. She wasn’t scratching or even struggling. Her eyes were closed and her lips were moving, but there was no sound. Clayton assumed she was praying.

Good girl, he thought. Stay still.

“Last warning, Halford. If you want to talk this out, I’ll listen. No one needs to die. But if you keep pointing that gun at Cricket, somebody will, and it won’t be her.” Clayton thumbed the hammer back on his Colt and held it steady.

“I believe you’re right about that,” Halford said, and swung the shotgun toward Clayton. Thunder filled the small office as Halford fired. Buckshot sprayed the ceiling and walls to Clayton’s left, but the sheriff’s aim was true and he put three bullets through Halford’s chest. His huge body bucked and went limp as he fell backward through the plate-glass window behind him and into the street.

7.

Clayton stood frozen in place, still aiming his gun at where his brother had been standing. There was no keeping his hands from shaking now. He dropped the gun to the floor as if it were suddenly a venomous snake. Cricket was balled up against the wall, pulling and holding her knees to her chest. The clamor of the shots in this tight environment had temporarily stolen her hearing, but otherwise she was okay—at least physically. Halford’s body was lying on the sidewalk in a growing pool of sticky red, surrounded by thick broken glass that made everything sparkle in the hot afternoon sun. Clayton fell to his knees. All of his will to stand dissipated like smoke.

8.

“Sheriff?” The voice was right next to him but sounded miles away.

Agent Holly knelt down beside Clayton. People were in the room now, EMTs, state police; Darby was there in uniform, and the deputy coroner was tending to Halford’s body. The edges of Clayton’s vision were blurred, but he could see his brother’s muddy work boots sticking out from underneath the white sheet the medics had laid over him. A stocky female EMT shined a penlight into one of Clayton’s eyes, and then the other. “Sheriff? Can you hear me? His pupils are reactive and I don’t see any outward trauma. I think he’s okay, but he’s most likely in shock.”

“Talk to me, Clayton,” Holly said. He was coming in clearer now.

“I . . .” Clayton tried to speak, but it felt like his mouth was packed with sawdust.

“It’s okay, Sheriff. You did good here.” Holly shooed the medic away and got right up in Clayton’s face. “He came here to kill you, Clayton. You have to understand you had no choice.”

“No, he . . .”

“Yes, he did,” Holly said. “He would have killed you, and that little girl you got working for you as a bonus. You know in your gut that’s the truth. He’d have killed you both, left you to rot, and whistled his way back up that mountain. You saved your life and hers.” Holly took Clayton by the chin and lifted his head to give him a view of Cricket through the shattered window. She was wrapped up in another one of the medic’s sheets, sitting on the bumper of the McFalls County ambulance. Mascara streaked down her face and she shivered regardless of the blazing afternoon sun. She would go home today. And that was good.

Holly stood and reached out a hand. Clayton, feeling his strength returning, took it and let Holly help him to his feet. Once he was up, Clayton leaned down and picked up his hat and gun. He put them both back where they belonged.