Walk the Wire (Amos Decker #6)(9)

“A murder!?”

“You have murders up here, don’t you?” said Decker sullenly.

“Yeah, it’s usually two drunk knuckleheads going at it, or some gang boys fighting over drug turf. Meth, coke, and heroin are like candy up here. Who got killed?”

“We can’t go into that with you,” said Jamison quickly. “But you’ll probably hear about it on the news.”

“Damn. And the FBI got called in for it? Why can’t the locals handle it?”

Decker said, “We just go where we’re told to go, Stan.”

“Would you like to join us for dinner?” asked Jamison.

Baker blanched and took a step back, glancing at Decker. “What? No. I, um, I already ate my dinner.”

“What are you doing here, then?” asked Decker, who was now clearly curious about Baker’s discomfort. “If you’ve been here over a year, surely you’re not staying here.”

“No, I got my own place. I’m here to meet, uh . . .” he mumbled.

“Meet who?” said Decker sharply.

“Stan?”

They all turned to see a woman in her early thirties saunter into the room. At least saunter was the verb that came to Decker’s mind as he watched her move. She was quite beautiful, and he could see many of the men in the room, even those there with other women, turn to stare at her.

“Caroline, hey,” said Baker rigidly, glancing nervously at Decker. “This is Caroline Dawson,” he said to Decker.

“Yeah, I got that,” replied Decker, gazing sternly at his soon-to-be ex-brother-in-law.

“Um, Caroline, this is Amos Decker, and his partner, Alex. Amos is—”

“I’m Stan’s friend,” interjected Decker. “Neither of us knew the other was in town.”

Caroline smiled. “Cool, what a nice surprise. You ready?” she asked Baker before glancing at Alex. “Hey, you guys want to join us? We’re going clubbing.”

“There are clubs here?” said an incredulous Jamison.

Caroline smiled and did an eye roll. “I know. You wouldn’t think, but yeah, there are maybe three good places. Well, they’re more bars than clubs. But not all of them play just country music, which Stan loves and I can’t stand.”

“We’re good,” said Decker. “We just flew in. Pretty beat.”

“Okay, we’ll do a rain check, then.”

“Right.”

Caroline gripped Baker’s hand. “Let’s roll. First stop, the OK Corral Saloon.”

“Do you live in London?” asked Decker suddenly.

She grinned. “Yeah. I’d prefer to live in London, England. Maybe someday. My dad owns this hotel, and a bunch of other businesses. I help him run them. He lives in a big place way outside of town. I sometimes stay there, but I also have a condo in town.”

“Okay.”

“See ya,” said Caroline, and she led Baker from the room. Jamison looked at Decker. “What a coincidence, huh?” Decker sat back down and stared dully at the wooden-topped table.

“Sorry about your sister,” she said.

“She should have called me,” said an obviously stricken Decker.

“Are you sure she didn’t try to contact you?” said Jamison in a suspicious tone.

Decker suddenly looked guilty. “I think there might have been some voice mails I forgot to return.”

“Wow, for a guy who can’t forget anything that is remarkable.”

“I know, I know,” he said miserably. “I’m bad about that.”

“You need to talk to her. Be supportive. Let her tell her story without being judgmental.”

“People work stuff out all the time. And Stan has already found someone else.”

“I’m not sure he’s looking for a permanent companion in this relationship, Decker. And by the looks of it neither is Caroline. I think they’re just two people having fun.”

When their food finally came Decker only took a few bites before mumbling to Jamison, “Sorry, I . . . I lost my appetite. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He headed out without further explanation.





THE OK CORRAL SALOON.

It was big, loud, and assuredly hopping.

The lights blazed from every window and Decker could hear the music blasting out of the place. It was country, with a dash of rock and roll, at least to his ear. It shot through the air like a sound cannon.

He stood outside and felt his skin slowly begin to pucker with the humidity that had returned after the storm.

After he cleared the outside bouncer checking IDs, Decker opened the door, and the heat and comingled smells of sweat and spilled alcohol hit him like a tank round. Either they had no AC or it was having a struggle to keep up with the warmth thrown off by the waves of swaying people. And from what Decker could see, he might have been the only sober customer in the joint.

He edged around a knot of young people near the front entrance. They seemed to be holding each other up, though it was not yet ten o’clock. He didn’t want to be around these folks at midnight.

There was a live band, four guys, and a gal as the lead singer. Her hair was Dolly Parton big and swirled around her head as she danced while crooning a Faith Hill ballad to pitch perfection. The band looked like petrified wood next to her steamy gyrations. She started her next set, and from what Decker could hear, the lyrics focused principally on guys, gals, dogs, and guns, with a Chevy pickup thrown in for good measure. There was a quartet of ninety-inch TV screens on the walls, all tuned to sports channels. In one corner behind a waist-high partition was a mechanical bull, but it didn’t seem to be in operation. It just sat there looking pissed off.