Chapter 14 #2
“Given that it probably took the Jaws of Life to deliver you,” I said, “you ought to be giving your momma gifts on your birthday.” I looked across the room toward the dartboard and saw the game warden watching the players.
“I saw that warden guy over here earlier,” I said. “Was he hassling you about something?”
They both frowned, and I wondered if I’d changed tracks too soon.
“We’re shrimpers,” Buck said. “He started asking us about dead alligators and bait lines. We don’t know nothing about that.”
I noticed that he seemed to rush that last statement in and dropped his gaze from mine in favor of looking at his glass of whiskey.
Trick nodded. “Alligators ain’t our thing. I mean, I like to eat ’em just like the next guy, but I ain’t about hunting ’em, especially out of season.”
“He told me he’d caught the guy,” I said.
“Really?” Buck asked. “Sure didn’t seem that way with all his questions.”
“If someone got popped for it, Hazard would know,” Trick said.
Before I could even wonder about the name “Hazard,” Buck put his fingers in his mouth and whistled.
I covered my ears with my hands, but it was already too late.
Might as well have had a locomotive blowing its horn right next to me.
The train horn must have gotten Hazard’s attention as well because Buck started waving one hand, gesturing for someone to come over.
A couple seconds later, the tallest, biggest guy I’d seen since I arrived in Sinful stepped up next to us and I understood the name. This guy was the bull in the china closet.
Six feet seven. Three hundred eighty pounds. Winded from walking maybe fifteen feet. Threat level nil. Could get away from him with a slow crawl.
“What’s up?” Hazard asked.
“That nosy game warden is in the bar. Told this woman that he caught the poacher. You hear anything about that?”
Hazard scowled. “Yeah, I heard all right. They got that screwed-up kid in jail.”
“What screwed-up kid?” Trick asked.
“The one that ain’t right in the head,” Hazard said. “His buddy got eaten by that gator years back.”
Trick’s eyes widened. “You talking about Petey?”
“Yeah, that’s him,” Hazard said.
“What the hell?” Buck asked. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”
Hazard shrugged. “Maybe. The kid’s big though. I mean, if he wanted to, he could kill a gator and haul it in a boat.”
“I guess so,” Trick said, “but I don’t see it.”
“The kid wouldn’t be in jail if they didn’t have something on him, right?” I asked. “I mean, unless the local cops are that dumb or that corrupt.”
Trick frowned. “Sheriff Lee’s old as dirt and probably hasn’t thought longer than two minutes running since before I was born, but I went to school with Carter. He’s a deputy but he’s the one handling things. He ain’t stupid.”
“No,” Buck agreed. “And there ain’t no love lost between me and cops but I never heard anything about Carter being corrupt. Would surprise me if I did.”
Trick nodded. “Former military, town hero type.”
“So why’s he got the kid in jail?” I asked.
“That’s a damned good question,” Trick said. “I think I might just go over there and ask our friend the game warden. I got a cousin that ain’t right. It’s dirty dog shit to mess with someone like that.”
Before I could formulate an argument for staying put, Trick jumped off his stool and started toward the dartboard, a determined look on his face.
If I had to place bets, the game warden was going to come out the big physical loser in this one, and Trick would be keeping Quincy and Petey company when it was all said and done.
“Oh man,” Buck said, and headed after Trick.
Hazard shrugged and lumbered off in the direction he’d come from, apparently not interested in the short-lived fight that was probably coming.
I slipped off my stool and started toward the dartboard, staying far enough away to avoid the fray but making sure I could text Ida Belle if things got out of hand.
The last thing I needed was a fight moving outside while she was poking around on peoples’ boats.
“Hey.” Trick grabbed Trevor’s shoulder and pulled him around.
At that exact moment, the music ended and the general conversations in the bar trickled off as people pointed to the two men.
I looked over at Gertie, who was standing in the dartboard area, the table with darts on one side and the dance floor on the other.
She glanced over at me and I gave her a single shake of my head.
This was one of those times where blending was definitely the best option.
Trevor started to puff up until he realized he was staring directly at Trick’s chest. He took a step backward. “Can I help you?” he said.
I gave him points for managing to keep his voice normal, but anyone with even a little training could see he was unnerved. He’d already glanced around, checking his options for a quick exit.
“Yeah,” Trick said. “You can tell me why you got Petey locked up for poaching.”
Trevor’s eyes widened a little and I could tell he’d figured out that nothing he said was going to appease the angry man in front of him.
“I can’t talk about an open investigation,” Trevor said.
“It ain’t open if you got a boy sitting in jail.”
“It’s open until it goes to trial.”
“Trial? Are you kidding me? Is the state going to explain how a boy who doesn’t even go in the water managed to poach alligators? What kind of trumped-up crap are you running here?”
The noise level in the bar ticked up slightly as people began whispering.
Trevor licked his lips and glanced again toward the exit door.
Blocking his sprint to safety was about thirty people, several clustered around the dartboard, waiting to see if Trick decided to take his conversation with Trevor to the next level.
“Look,” Trevor said. “I got an anonymous tip and found evidence in the boy’s boat and on his person. The state said it was enough to lock him up and issued the order. I don’t make that decision.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re just a pissant game warden, running around the bayou and picking on traumatized kids. Nice job you’ve got. You and the state need an ass-whupping.”
Whiskey walked out from behind the bar and toward the two men. “Break it up,” he said. “I don’t want any trouble in here. A bunch of people were hauled out last night. One of these days, all this fighting is going to get us shut down.”
“Get this rat out of your bar,” Trick said, “and there won’t be any fighting.”
Trick looked over at Whiskey. “He put Petey Hebert in jail for poaching.”
Whiskey’s eyes widened and he looked back and forth between Trevor and Trick, like he was waiting for the punch line.
“You’re serious?” Whiskey finally asked. “I don’t believe it.”
“Ask him,” Trick said. “Or call up Carter. You’d believe him, right?”
Whiskey blew out a breath and shook his head. “Mister,” he said to Trevor, “I think you’ve opened a can of worms that you didn’t expect. It might be best if you clear out.”
Trevor looked at Whiskey. “You sure about that?”
Everyone else probably didn’t notice Whiskey’s hesitation. It was only a fraction of a second, but I saw the tiny twitch in his jaw before he answered. “I’m sure.”
“Fine,” Trevor said. “I’ll leave.”
He delivered those words with a bit of an edge, trying to keep up the tough guy persona, but I could tell he was relieved to have a reason to leave and a clear path out of the bar.
As Trevor started for the door, a man playing darts stepped up to Whiskey. “Hey, man, I forgot to tell you but I saw someone poking around your boat when I got here—about an hour ago.”
I frowned. Ida Belle hadn’t been out there that long, so this man must have seen someone else.
Whiskey glanced at Trevor’s retreating figure, narrowing his eyes, then back at the man. “You’re sure it was my boat?”
“Looked like it. Evinrude motor with a red racing stripe?”
“Yeah, that’s mine.”
Oh no. I pulled out my phone and sent Ida Belle a text.
Clear the area now!
“Looks like someone’s out there now,” someone yelled from the back of the bar. “Can’t see crap through these windows.”
“What the hell?” Whiskey set off for the door and I gave Gertie a panicked look.
Ida Belle wouldn’t have time to vacate if we didn’t slow Whiskey down.
Unfortunately, I had been standing behind him, so short of tackling him from the back, which would probably look suspicious, I didn’t have a way of stopping him.
Gertie must have understood the necessity of keeping Whiskey from racing out the door because she launched into action.
Just not the action I would have chosen.
I was thinking maybe tripping and falling in front of him or into him.
Even ten seconds more would give Ida Belle the time she needed to clear out from the pier and get to her truck.
But Gertie never did things the easy way.
She grabbed a handful of darts from the table nearby and tossed one at Whiskey.
Except that it didn’t hit Whiskey. It sailed right over his head and landed square in the middle of my left boob.
People around me sucked in a breath as I yanked the dart out while simultaneously giving thanks for the paper towel padding, but before I could say anything, Gertie had fired again.
This time, the dart hit Whiskey in the forehead.
He stopped dead in his tracks and yelled so loudly, I swear the floor shook. Then he yanked the dart from his head and shook it at Gertie. “You crazy old bitch.”
Gertie took one more shot at him, this time the dart landing in his leg, and then she took off running.
People moved to the side, clearing a path out the front door, probably figuring they were better off with the crazy outside, especially as she was still clutching two more darts.
Whiskey brushed the dart from his leg and set out after her, the stunned patrons staring in silence.
I hurried behind them, trying not to draw attention to myself.
As I exited the bar, I saw a group of men walking toward me from the parking lot.
“Grab that woman!” Whiskey shouted.