Pretty Shameless, page 20
part #2 of Deputy Laney Briggs Series
“I hate you,” Wyatt said as he picked himself up off the ground. Once he was fully on his feet he added, “From now on we are no longer cousins.”
“Fine by me,” I replied, pulling him along by the handcuffs. “It wasn’t like I was proud of you anyways.”
The back door creaked open, and a black cowboy hat poked out, putting a lid on our petty little bickering.
“If the family bonding is over,” Gunner said, smiling way too casually, “I’m ready to hit the road.”
Wyatt and I both looked at each other.
“What family?” we answered in unison.
Gunner laughed. “Come on. It’s time to get you someplace safe, Wyatt.”
Before hightailing out of fuckville, aka Elm Brook, I placed a call and asked that an ambulance swing on by to pick up Manny. Thirty minutes later, I had the pleasure of watching his scrawny ass being trundled out in cuffs.
On the way to my house, we blew past the single stoplight and barreled through Center Street. All twelve storefronts sat pathetically vacant. The turn signal in front us blinked green, and Gunner turned onto FM 167. He hooked a left, and we disappeared down the narrow, single-lane dirt road. As it was, I’d been born into a mess. Just take one look at the louse sitting behind me.
The Yukon braked, parking on top of my weed-infested front lawn. Tilting my head, I checked in with Wyatt in the backseat. He was a wreck. “If you even think about drinking my beer, I’ll make you sleep out in the barn.”
Wyatt shrugged. “Gunner could offer me a cold one.”
My eyeballs sunk into the back of my head. “You really think Gunner’s in the mood to offer you a beer,” I told him.
A droopy smile slipped across his blotchy red face. “Probably not,” he conceded as he slid out of the backseat.
Gunner was already standing on the porch with a hip leaned against the banister, watching our little catfight. He smiled and tipped the brim of his hat at us. I lugged up the porch steps, clutching Wyatt by the wrist.
“Don’t say a word,” I ordered and stormed past Gunner. I pushed through the front door. “Not a word. You hear me?”
A mind-numbing belly laugh burned my ears. I chose to ignore Gunner and dragged my cousin over to the couch. I was plum exhausted. If Wyatt even looked at me wrong, I’d knock him to kingdom come.
“Take a seat,” I spat, tossing Wyatt on the couch.
He plopped into the cushiony seat and immediately his cloudy eyes started zoning in on the closest exit.
I pointed a finger at him. “Don’t even breathe,” I said, cuffing him to the end table. “Gunner and I need to discuss some stuff, and if I hear one peep from you, I’ll raise another bump on your head with my pistol.”
Wyatt swallowed hard. “Is she always this bitchy?” he asked.
“You learn to live with it,” Gunner responded and then whisked me off to the kitchen.
There wasn’t much to do but wait until tomorrow when we could set up a get-together with Willie King. And waiting sucked worse than only getting to first base while parking on a date. I flopped down at the kitchen table and covered my face with my hands.
“A whiskey please,” I mumbled through my fingers.
I had my knees pulled up to my chest when I heard the lovely sound of clinking ice.
“Just what the lady ordered.” Gunner winked.
I picked up the glass and took a drink. The burn felt good. I pushed the glass at him.
“So,” I said, “please tell me you’ve got a plan.”
Gunner poured another two-finger shot. He grinned, leaned in close, and tossed the whiskey down. He wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand and said, “First, we’re going to need to bring Elroy in on the plan. It’s so simple. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. All we need to do is have Wyatt call Willie King for an impromptu meeting. Then we’ll wire up Wyatt, stick him in a room at the Pistol Rock Motor Lodge, and wait.” He paused to pour himself another drink. “We’ll be next door, and once Willie says enough to implicate himself in the illegal gunrunning,” he stated matter-of-factly, “we’ll storm the room and arrest the asshole. Aren’t I a fucking genius, Laney?” He took another drink of whiskey. “This plan is foolproof.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Why don’t you sound convinced?”
“The man you plan on wiring up and throwing into a motel room with Willie King is about the biggest fool I know.”
The confidence drained from Gunner’s face.
I snatched up the bottle of Jim Beam and poured myself another shot. This was going to be one hellishly long night.
Chapter Seventeen
It was Christmas Eve, and I was holed up inside the Pistol Rock Motor Lodge with Gunner and Elroy. Using the cover of night, we moved Wyatt across town, and ever since then I’ve been hunkered down in the motel staring at a broken wall clock. With all that was riding on this plan going off without a hitch, the climate in the room was pretty damn intense. I glanced over at Gunner, who was fixing to come apart at the seams. Hat in hand, he was wearing a hole in the dingy carpet, scratching his head, and muttering under his breath. Perfect. Just what I needed right before we all stood face-to-face with an armed criminal with connections to a Mexican drug cartel. A self-combusting cowboy.
“We could call for backup,” I told him.
“No,” Gunner barked. “I’ve got this.” He looked at Elroy slouched in his chair with a glob of cherry doughnut jelly tagged to his butt chin. “We’ve got this,” Gunner corrected. Apparently he felt that raking us all through the coals would make us shape up to be the law enforcement officers we were supposed to be.
“Why is it so important that you solve this case, Gunner?” I asked him.
He placed his hat back on his head, walked over to the window, and pulled the plastic gold shade away to peer out the window. “Because I’m trying to secure myself a damn promotion,” he grunted and aggressively released the shade.
I pressed my forefingers to my temple. This was bad. This entire case rested on the shoulders of my loser pothead cousin, who at the moment was next door, probably sitting in a pool of his own piss, and wired from head to toe. We were all dead. Hunting season was among us. And with Gunner freaking out, I was about to come undone. The sound of tires rolling into the lot effectively sucked all of the air from the room. Well, no time like the present to get the party started.
The walkie-talkie clicked on, and I could hear Wyatt’s heavy breathing spill over the scratchy speaker.
“Wyatt,” Gunner spoke over the static. The introduction was met with a long line of silence. He thumbed the mic again. “Wyatt!”
“Yep,” Wyatt hacked back over the line.
“This might be it. Get ready.”
“This might be what?”
I swear that vein in Gunner’s neck burst.
“Willie King, you fucking idiot. Did you not hear the car pulling up?”
“No. I was listening to music.”
“Music? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I brought Laney’s iPod with me.”
“Goddamn it, Wyatt,” Gunner yelled. “You keep those headphones out of your ears, or I’ll come over there and pull them out from your asshole! Do you hear me?”
Wyatt paused. Then his voice trembled over the line.
“Yeah. I hear you.”
Gunner stretched his neck and continued wearing a path in the already torn-up carpet. All the while I mindlessly watched the veins throb and pop along his neck as he rubbed his forehead raw with his thumbs. I had a sinking feeling that by the time this stakeout was called a wrap, either Willie King or Gunner would do Wyatt in. Gunner pulled back the curtain and checked out the window, drawing in a deep breath.
“Is it Willie?” I asked.
“No.”
He spoke into the mic again. “Wyatt, you can relax a little while longer. It isn’t Willie.”
The mic stopped shaking on the other end.
“Okay.”
I cleared my throat and decided it couldn’t hurt to throw in my two cents. He’d been kind of hard on Wyatt for being what he is, an idiot. The worst Gunner could do would be to scream at me, and he’d already gotten that out of his system with Wyatt.
“Can’t you lay off him a little?” I started, but immediately paused, watching those deep-set, assessing eyes narrow as they found themselves a nice new home pinned smack-dab on my face. Maybe I had misjudged what his reaction would be, because he looked like he was going to do more than just scream at me. He had that same look on his face he’d get when he was about to throw me over a knee for a spanking, although this time the frustration in his eyes wasn’t lit with sexual tension.
“Laney,” Gunner said my name, teetering on the edge of control. “Fine, I’m sorry,” he gritted through his teeth. “Sometimes I need to take a step back and realize you’re just as much doing your job as I am. But sometimes I wish you’d let the boys do their job.”
Where did he get off thinking the boys were better suited to cracking the case?
I cocked a look at the walkie-talkie, keeping one eye firmly pinned on my live-wire Texas Ranger, and said, “By all means, Gunner. Why don’t you show little old me how a real man gets things done?” My voice purred with the sarcasm lathered on thick. Not even waiting for a response, I turned my attention to my nap, laying my head down on the tabletop. But just as I closed my eyes, the sound of another car entering the parking lot jolted me back to attention.
“It’s him,” Gunner said. He picked up the mic. “He’s here, Wyatt. Get ready.”
This oughta be good.
“Now listen, dipshit.” Gunner’s voice was hot and agitated. “Don’t screw this up. Do it exactly like we talked about.” He stalled a moment, debating over his next choice of words. “Because if you screw this up, Wyatt, I’ll kill you if Willie King doesn’t.”
My idiot cousin mustered up a single-word reply. “Okay.”
After the long night and tense morning of waiting, I was ready for this shindig to get started. It seemed Willie King had all the time in the world. That car motor was still running outside in the parking lot. I looked up from the table and saw Gunner staring out the window from behind the curtain. Clearly he wasn’t in the best mindset. Okay, I can do this. It was time to buckle down and take control of the situation. Besides, when did men ever think levelheaded? There was no way I was taking a backseat on this stakeout. I pushed away from the table and marched over to the window. I gave Gunner a nudge, but it was like trying to knock over a stone wall. So he wasn’t going to pay attention to me. No worries. I sent a swift kick of my boot into his shin.
“Goddamn it, Laney,” he hollered, finally paying me the respect I deserved.
I dismissed him with a heavy shrug of my shoulders.
“What?” I played dumb. “I need you to scooch,” I lied, tossing him my most genuine smile, “so I can watch my boyfriend at work.”
He shook his head. “Like I believe that one,” he countered, shoving his shoulder at my arm.
I wasn’t going to put up with his bullying, so I shoved back.
“Stop that,” I snapped, taking a moment to watch the hard lines that had earlier outlined his face soften as he stared at me with concern-streaked eyes. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There was no way he was going to pull that defeated puppy dog look on me now.
“Don’t you even try that look on me, Gunner,” I said, pointing a finger in his face. “You should apologize to me right now.”
“Why do I owe you an apology?” he asked, keeping one eye on the happenings outside the window.
“Well, limp dick is still over there shoveling doughnuts down his pie hole, obviously not giving a shit about any of this.” I paused at the choking sound Elroy started making, and then added, “And you’ve been treating me like I’m a nuisance ever since we got here, when I’m the only person you’ve got on your side right now.”
He tugged at his huge belt buckle. “I’m not in mood for this, Laney.”
“You stubborn ass. Move along and let me see what I can do about this shit fest we all seem to have gotten ourselves into.”
Gunner was still blocking the window. He grunted, then took a single step back.
“By all means have at it, sweetheart,” he answered sarcastically. “And please allow me to sincerely say that I am sorry for not involving you in something that could potentially get you killed. I’m such an asshole.”
I slung my arms across my chest and stepped in front of the window. The gurgling engine noise had amped up over the past couple of minutes and was starting to give me one hell of a migraine.
I watched our seedy car salesman. Slouched inside a ’73 burnt-orange Cadillac convertible chromed out to the max, with white pin-striping down the side and a pair of longhorns wired to the front grill, was Willie King and some blockhead, who I was fingering as his right-hand man, Sal Henna. Both men scanned the parking lot one more time before exiting their vehicle. Simply put, Willie hadn’t disappointed on the scumbag quota. He’d come dressed to the nines, wearing a beige leather-fringed vest, ass-hugging denim bell bottoms, and a pair of alligator sterling-silver-tipped cowboy boots. He wet two fingers and slicked down that rattail dangling from the back of his mostly bald head. Then he looked over his shoulder to motion for Henna to join his side. Henna jumped at the command and shuffled up next to Willie. I was having a hard time not staring at his enormous carpenter-style blue jeans and arms that looked like they were capable of knocking over trees like a child would a table lamp. He had a single glass blue eye that protruded from his pug-dog face. He was wearing a tan Dickie’s work shirt that barely reached the waist of his pants, and his coal-black hair was buzzed all way down to a dark stubble. Henna stared ahead, knuckle crunching the cartilage out his carrot-length fingers.
This was definitely not going to be a walk in the park. I kept my eyes glued on both men as they trampled up to room eight. Abruptly, the shade fell from my hand when Gunner spoke.
“Tell me what to do, boss,” he drawled, amusingly.
I spun around to find Gunner sitting at the table. The chair was slung around, and his long, toned arms were crossed and dangled over the back. He cocked his chin at me and motioned to the empty chair butted up next to him. Reluctantly I took my seat, pushed aside the Dixie cup of stale coffee, and stared off into space while Gunner switched on the live feed linked to Wyatt’s motel room.
“I’m gonna let you handle things from here, if that’s all right with you,” I told him.
There was still a slim chance that Wyatt could pull this high-stakes game of cat and mouse off. But all joking aside, I felt discouraged when the idiot started to talk.
“Welcome to the Pistol Rock Motor Lodge,” we heard Wyatt say through the mic, his voice trembling and sounding like he was fixing to toss his cookies.
“Cut the crap, Wyatt,” Willie responded, dragging a chair across the floor. “Are you wired?”
Wyatt didn’t answer.
Willie laughed. “I have to say, I think you’re dead either way, so don’t sweat it. And I’m assuming your Texas Ranger buddy ain’t going to let you off the hook. So let’s make this as quick and painless as possible. How much do the Rangers know?”
“I had nothing to do with Gunner Wilson finding out about the guns.”
Willie snorted. “You merely tipped him off to the illegal gun ring and helped Wilson gain inside information on my business dealings.”
“Yep,” Wyatt admitted free of charge.
“You have a lot to learn about being a crook. I was going to give you a little credit, that’s all. But my boss wants me to sack you, and now since you got that pretty little cousin of yours involved…” Willie paused and sucked some air through his teeth. “It’s a shame, but she’s gonna be in about eight different Hefty bags before the day is over.”
Well, that was my tipping point. I lowered the volume on the live feed box then turned toward my Texas Ranger.
“Okay, I think it’s time you pushed your muscle around, Gunner,” I said, gaze glued on the adjoining motel door. “He plans on chopping me up into pieces.”
Gunner slid a sideways look at me. “Not on my watch.” He shot to his boots and drew his semiautomatic. “Elroy, I’m going in.”
I pulled my pistol and slipped my finger around the trigger and stepped behind Gunner.
He looked over his shoulder. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked, taking in my gun. “Willie just threatened your life, and now you want to go in there? Please let me handle this, babe.”
“You need backup.”
“I don’t want you getting hurt. And if Willie King is after your head, it’s best that you stay put, sweetheart.”
I clicked back the safety and looked him square in the eyes.
“Sometimes even badass cowboys need a little help covering their asses.”
“How sweet,” Gunner said, gesturing at Elroy to unlock the door. “Just like old times. You, me”—he winked at my gun—“and a gun aimed at my ass.”
I had half a mind to squeeze that trigger at his sorry butt, but when Wyatt’s shrill scream echoed over the mic, I bolted upright and made the decision to take out the asshole next door. Although I’d have loved the honors, Gunner threw the door open and the two of us stormed the room with our guns drawn. Gunner leveled his on Willie, and I set mine on Sal. All three men sprang to attention, craning their necks in our direction.
“No one move a muscle,” Gunner stated authoritatively, using his full-on cop voice.
Willie jumped to his boots but didn’t move any farther once he saw Gunner’s gun aimed at his chest.
A slim, cool smile slashed across his cratered face. “Sal, grab the dumbass,” Willie barked, motioning toward Wyatt, who was sweating like an Eskimo visiting Houston in the summer. Sal was about to follow Willie’s command, although he was a little hesitant with me pointing a .9mm at him.
“Sal,” Gunner stated, keeping his eyes on Willie, “I know Willie might be the one who pays you, but if you so much as take one step Laney is gonna be the one that kills you. Do you understand?”
