Page 48 of Final Ride

“Overexaggerated,” mumbled Travis.

“Under,” mumbled Virge.

“This is a red-letter day for me,” said Nate. “Travis Frost coming to my house. HeardFrostwas an alias, but what do I know?”

“Need to talk to you, Nate.” Travis ignored Nate’s sarcastic chatter. “Got a minute?”

“I’m pretty busy drinking a few cold ones with my friends. Could you come back another time?”

“Nope.”

“What did I do, Sheriff? Can’t wait to hear what you’re trying to lay on me.”

“I’d like you to provide me with an alibi for your whereabouts the day the Outfitters store was robbed in Cut Bank, and the store owner was murdered.”

“That’s easy. I was in Canada when that went down. Heard about it when I got back.”

“I didn’t tell you when the robbery took place, Nate.”

“Don’t matter. It was a couple days ago. I been away for a week and just got back last night. I wasn’t even in this country, Sheriff.”

“Anybody across the border in Alberta who can verify that, Nate?”

“Don’t need nobody. The government will do it for me. Easyto check with the border guards when I crossed and when I crossed back.” He grinned. “That should keep you busy for at least an hour.”

“I’d like to meet your friends,” said Travis. “Who have you got visiting you today?”

“Couple of my good buddies stopped by for a beer. Come on into the kitchen and see for yourself.”

Travis followed Nate into the kitchen and Virge was right behind him.

Nate’s two buddies were more nervous than he was and had their guns drawn and pointed at Travis when he walked into the kitchen.

Time for me to move in. “Guns down,” I hollered from the doorway into the hall. “Put your guns down and your hands in the air.”

“Don’t think so,” said buddy number one. Fat belly and beard. Looked like he belonged on a Harley.

Bang.

Virge didn’t give second chances. He shot beer belly in the knee and knocked him to the floor. Beer belly fired a wild shot on his way down to kiss the linoleum and shot out a window on the other side of the trailer.

“Hey, take it easy,” shouted Nate at his buddy. “You might hit my boy.”

“Guns down,” hollered Virge. “You assholes deaf?”

I moved in closer to the action, pointing my shotgun at the buddy who wouldn’t lower his weapon.

“Put your gun down, Pat,” said Nate. “These boys mean business.”

Pat somebody—buddy number two—a short stocky guy with a mop of sandy hair—laid his Glock on the kitchen table and started to raise his hands in the air.

“Call an ambulance, Harlan, for the guy on the floor,” said Travis.

“Copy that.” The second I was busy with my cell, buddy two—Pat—reached for his boot knife.

Travis saw him go for it, whipped his blade out of the sheath on his belt and fired it across the room. The movement was so lightning fast none of us really saw it happen.

Heard it.

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