Page 54 of Big Daddy Sheriff

Tyler, Jim, and Mike—not their real names but the ones they currently answered to—kept their distance as they sat in the car, watching the store.

They’d had eyes on the place all morning, so they knew Alyssa had gone in there with the marshal. Then, the marshal came out. The girl had stayed. Unless she went out the back, she was in there, alright.

“This is perfect,” Jim said.

In the passenger seat, Mike nodded. “We’re in and out. Quick. Make it look like a robbery.”

“Yep,” Jim agreed. “Better than her just out walking or something and it seems like a random murder. This is a lot more plausible.”

In the backseat, Tyler questioned, “What about the others in there?”

Jim shrugged. “Can’t leave witnesses. Even if we’ll be in masks.”

“Two of us can handle this?” Mike said.

“Yeah. In and out. Pop a bunch of shots. It’ll be over in a matter of seconds,” Jim said. “Y’all want me to go in? I don’t mind.”

Mike shook his head. “You’re a better driver. We need you behind the wheel. Just keep a gun handy and pointed toward that marshal’s office. If he hears the shots and comes running…”

“Don’t worry. He’ll get what’s coming to him. It’ll be better like that, anyway, so he doesn’t chase us,” Jim said. “Just remember to grab cash from the register on your way out. That way it looks like a robbery.”

Everyone put on their masks, checked their guns, and then set out to carry on with the plan.

It was go time.

Don was in the middle of a two-day bender.

His most recent batch of ‘shine was his strongest yet. It about burned his damn throat up with each swallow.

Just the way he liked it.

But he was hungry. Some fresh deer meat sure would be nice.

That’s why he was glad when he saw that elusive buck right there on Main Street. At first glance, it looked sort of like a man in a black ski mask walking toward Joe’s General Store. But then he realized it was that buck.

“Damn buck ain’t gonna fool me,” Don declared with a hiccup.

He raised the rifle to his shoulder, lined up his shot, and squeezed the trigger.

In his office, Quinn held the phone to his ear, listening intently as the person on the other end of the line spoke plainly and with emphasis, making sure he understood the gravity of the situation.

“This is Detective Willingham over in Little Rock. I wanted to let you know we have apprehended Lana Foster, Hector Foster, and Bruce Monahan. From what I understand, you’ve already had a run-in with two of those individuals.”

“That’s right. Hector and Bruce came through town a while back,” Quinn said. “But I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Lana yet.”

“Well, I thought you’d like to know they’re behind bars.”

“That’s great. I appreciate the call. But how did you know to get ahold of me?”

“That’s the not-so-great part,” Detective Willingham admitted. “We heard your name—and your town—referenced during our surveillance. That’s actually how we were able to apprehend Ms. Foster. As you probably know, the DA has dropped some prior charges until they can rebuild the case. But a judge okayed a wiretap warrant, and we heard them plotting a murder-for-hire scheme.”

Quinn’s blood ran cold. He didn’t need the detective to tell him who the target was.

“Is it over? Now that you’ve arrested them?” Quinn asked.

“No, Marshal. I’m afraid that’s also why I’m calling you. Ms. Foster hired three men out of Memphis. Some heavy hitters with long criminal histories. They’re violent. And we do not currently have a lead as to their whereabouts, but we have reason to believe Ms. Mills is in danger.”

Before Quinn could respond, a shot rang out, echoing down Main Street and sending another chill down his spine.

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