Page 75 of Snow in Texas

Candy gave Fox a nudge. “Make the call.”

They were parked well off the road, amid scrubby grass and tumbling bits of paper trash, behind a long-abandoned gas station. The moon, fat and white, poured cool light down over them, casting facial expressions and gestures in theatrical relief against the glowing backdrop of sandy soil.

Standing in the center of their small circle, Fox pressed the dead informant’s phone to his ear. When he spoke into it, his voice left his lips dripping with an authentic Texas accent, nothing like his usual London flavor.

Goosebumps shivered down Candy’s arms, and the way Colin stiffened told him the prospect was reacting to the sound too. That was their Fox: full of deadly little surprises.

“I need you to meet me,” Fox said, Texas-accented voice breathless, panicked. “I found something out about the Dogs, like you wanted me to.” A beat, while Agent Riley talked, then: “Nah. I can’t say it over the phone. What if somebody’s listening?” More agitated, edging toward fear: “Just meet me, okay?” He gave the address, said, “Hurry. I’m freaked the hell out.” And disconnected.

Cricket song rushed up to fill the silence. The empty windows of the gas station gaped at them, silent in their shock.

Colin cleared his throat and said, “How many accents can you do?’

“Every accent,” Fox said. “He’s going to be there in five minutes. We should get ready.”

~*~

Colin

The Armadillo was bursting with thirsty patrons. Cowboys and girls in impossibly short denim skirts drifted in clusters between the tables and across the dance floor. The usual sawdust muskiness of the bar was polluted by a miasma of perfume and cologne, low notes of fresh sweat breaking through in bursts. He and Colin had a narrow booth crammed up under a stuffed longhorn steer head, its glass eyes reflecting the neon above the bar.

“Why’s it so crowded?” Colin asked.

“Half-price domestic night,” Candy said, taking a long slug of his Miller on draft. “Look. There he is.”

They had a good view of the bar, and bellying up to it now was Elijah Riley, out of place in his bad fed suit. He scanned the stools alongside him several times, frowning. He was looking for John Jeffries, and he wasn’t going to find him.

“Poor dumb bastard,” Candy said, almost sounding sincere.

Riley claimed a stool and kept looking. The bartender went past him twice without stopping.

“Can’t even get a beer,” Candy said. He drained the last of his, and as if by magic, their waitress reappeared with a fresh one.

“Sure you boys don’t want something to eat?” She did a dip and a swivel as she set the new mug down and plucked up the old one, smile flicking between the two of them. She was cute: brunette and a little thick through the hips, her skin smooth and tan, cheeks pink with a healthy flush. Her lipstick was magenta, but it worked somehow.

Candy’s eyes traveled over her in an expert sweep, hitting all the sweet spots. He smiled. “Nah. Not right now, sweetheart.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.” She gave them a show as she twitched back to the bar.

Candy might have watched her, but Colin only had eyes for Riley. “How long you think he’ll stay?”

“Not long.” Candy reached for his new beer. “He’s too proud to wait around on some junkie to show up. I told Jinx and Fox they had five minutes tops.”

“Is that enough time?”

“For them? Oh yeah.”

Some shitty pop-country number started up on the sound system and every female in the place whooped in delight. There was a mad rush to the dance floor, and for a moment, the bar was obscured.

“Shit, I can’t see him anymore.”

“Don’t need to.” Candy had his phone out and showed the screen to Colin. “They’re done.” He drained his beer in three efficient swallows. “Let’s go.”

Colin hustled to follow.

They skirted the edge of the dance floor where a whole lot of drunken female ass shaking was going on. Colin spared the action a glance as they passed, and said a silent thank you that Jenny didn’t seem the type attracted to this scene.

Distracted, he didn’t realize Candy had pulled up short until he slammed into the guy. It was like running into a parked car. One of Candy’s elbows jabbed him in the stomach and all the air left his lungs in a rush. He gasped and staggered to the side, trying to catch his balance.

---