Page 28 of Small Town Hunter

“You thought that sod-headed jackass could hurt me?”

“He hurts everybody.”

“Look at him, Trina. He’s just a bully with more hat than cattle. He’s got no religion in him. It’s all a show.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Well why did you run to him like a moonsick calf?”

“I told you — I thought I could talk to him.”

I should be touched by her concern but I’m irritated. She nearly got herself killed.

“You had all that heat for her,” I tell the Reverend. “What about me? You got nothing for me?”

“Don’t shoot him!” Trina cries, jerking her arm from the crushing grip I’m putting on it from being too wired. Nearly seeing her die — she doesn’t even know it. Even in war you don’t get used to it; the sudden leap on the razor edge of oblivion.

I don’t even remember hitting him.

I show her the gun. “Maybe I should have asked him nicely not to make you a statistic. He was reaching for this.”

“He wouldn’t have killed me.”

“He comes to get you in broad daylight, alone, armed, and you think he’s not bold enough to shoot you?”

“I didn’t think — ”

“Now would be a good time to start thinking!”

Midway through telling her she doesn’t have the sense God gave a junebug, a sharp instinct nudges me like the tip of a hot poker.

We’re being watched.

Check your six.

Almost like he steps into the frame.

White, male, thirty years old thereabouts, above six feet. Positioned at the entrance of the building.

I turn back to Trina, who is making more racket than a seagull as she decides whether to help her fiancé off the ground or leave him there to rot.

He’s feeling well enough to spew his filth, at any rate. “You’re finished, Trina,” he stutters. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”

I glance back at the motel doors, at my real priority.

McCall is still there. And to my bewilderment, a dark-skinned woman holding a baby comes to join him. They exchange words and she disappears inside again.

The kid has fluffy red hair.

Jada said,He went into the motel last night with a lady.

From what Jada told me I thought McCall had hired a prostitute. But this female looks nothing of the kind. In fact, she looks familiar. I would swear I’ve seen her before, about Florin.

I grit my teeth. Roman never mentioned McCall had a woman with him.

“Crash, what do we do?” Trina whispers as the Reverend suddenly doubles over and empties his guts all over his Gucci shoes.

McCall is getting away, and I’m playing Dr. Phil for these two.

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