Stand Down. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ he wouldn’t be having any of it. “Goddamn it,” she muttered as she stamped around the cruiser to the passenger side and got in, slamming the door closed.

      The deputy turned to the group of young men. “And I better not get any more reports with any of your names in them, else I’m coming after all of you, you hear? Now you all get gone.”

      Casting resentful looks back at Bolan, who had just stood and watched the whole affair, the youths got into the Mercedes-Benz. Everado started the car and backed out, then drove sedately off.

      Deputy Quintanar—Bolan caught his name tag as he turned—watched until the youths were out of sight, then turned back to Bolan. “On behalf of the rest of the folks here in Quincyville, I’d like to apologize for what happened. They’re what passes for the resident hell-raisers around here, and have to be reined in now and again.”

      Bolan nodded. “Boys will be boys, and all that.”

      Quintanar cocked his head. “No, not quite. I imagine his father will be talking with him about this very soon. You know how small towns are—nothing’s ever really private.”

      “I guess so.”

      “Hope you enjoy the rest of your time here.” The deputy turned to go back to his car.

      “Oh, Deputy…” Bolan waited until the man had turned half around before continuing. “It’s probably none of my business, but I noticed the large house on the hill with the police tape around it. I’m kind of an amateur crime buff. Can you tell me what happened over there?”

      Deputy Quintanar stared at him for a few seconds before walking back over. “I hope you won’t misunderstand my response, Mr. Cooper, but you’re right—it is none of your business. However, if you must know, one of our most prominent citizens and his wife were shot and killed last night. We’re going to find whoever did it, don’t you worry. Now, why don’t you go back inside and enjoy the rest of your meal?”

      “Suppose I’ll do just that. Thanks.” Bolan walked back to the diner door and turned to watch the cruiser pull away. Walking back inside, he was surprised to be greeted by a smattering of applause, started by Elaine behind the counter, then spreading throughout the place. Bolan noticed several men who didn’t join in the accolade, either glaring at him or averting their gaze altogether. He understood how they felt—although he wasn’t sure whether they were jealous of it or embarrassed that they hadn’t stepped up—but he wasn’t thrilled with the reception, either. Waving a hand halfheartedly at everyone, he went to his stool and waved Elaine over. “Thought I might finish my lunch.”

      “Damn straight you will—on the house. Luke, another blue-plate special!” A few minutes later a heaping plate filled with enough food to choke a grizzly bear appeared in front of him. Bolan eyed the platter, then looked up at Elaine, who stared at him expectantly. “Dig in, honey.”

      “I’ll try.” Bolan did just that. The stares and whispers didn’t take the edge off his appetite, and he made a good dent in the double portion of everything before calling it a day. Slipping the fifty out of his pocket, he tucked it under the plate, but before he could remove his hand, the waitress cleared her throat.

      “I said your meal was on the house.”

      Bolan flashed her an easy smile. “And I thank you, it was delicious. This tip is from Everado and his boys. Make sure the busboy and their waitress get their share, will you?”

      Elaine’s mouth dropped at the denomination before she swept it into her pocket. “I most certainly will. You stop by here any time.”

      “I will, thanks.” Bolan walked out into the afternoon sun and looked down the street, half expecting to see the punks in their convertible lying in wait for him as he left the parking lot. He looked around at all of the clean, neat buildings and people going about their business. Everything seemed normal.

      Maybe that was it—everything seemed almost too nor mal.

      Bolan checked his watch. If he was going to hit Chicago today, he should have already been on the road. Still…

      He got into his rental vehicle and pulled out his smart-phone, running a quick internet search to find the information he was looking for. Starting the Caddy, he drove to the main intersection of town, then turned right and drove another half mile before pulling into the parking lot of the Quincyville Gazette.

      Getting out, he walked past a vending machine with the latest issue in it—the cover story was about the latest round of crop subsidies being voted on in the state legislature. Stepping through the front door of the A-frame building, Bolan walked up to a long counter with a plump, young, bottle-blonde woman behind it. “Can I help you?”

      “Yes, I was wondering if you had your back issues on computer file or microfilm?”

      “The library would be more likely to help you with those kinds of records. May I ask what you’re looking for?”

      “Sure, my name’s Matt Cooper, I’m a freelance stringer for the Capitol Journal. I’d heard there was a double homicide here in town recently, and decided to come out and see if I could get the story.”

      While he talked, the receptionist’s face went from curiosity to confusion to concern. “Would you wait here for a moment? I’m going to get someone to help you.”

      “All right.” Bolan cooled his heels in the reception area for less than a minute. The receptionist hustled back out with an attractive brunette woman in her mid-to late-thirties.

      “This is the gentleman I told you about.”

      The older woman held out her hand. “Casey Hinder, editor-in-chief.”

      Bolan introduced himself again using the Cooper alias. “Perhaps there’s somewhere we can talk more privately?”

      “Absolutely, why don’t you come back into my office?” She led him behind the counter, past a cluster of fabric-walled cubicles, some empty, others occupied by employees. At the back of the large room was a row of offices. Casey ushered Bolan into the corner one, which was slightly larger than the others.

      “Have a seat.” Bolan did so while Casey closed the door and crossed around the back of the desk, sitting in an old wooden-backed chair. “Okay, buddy, who the hell are you really?”

      Bolan frowned. “I told you, I’m—”

      She held up her hands. “Save it, there’s no way you’re a stringer for the Topeka CJ. Mainly because this ‘story’ hasn’t even gone out over the wire, so there’s no way you’re from that paper, as they don’t even know about it yet. Then I get a call about a dark-haired man resembling your general description who goes toe-to-toe with Everado De Cavallos this afternoon and walks away in one piece.”

      Bolan smiled. “Deputy Quintanar had something to do with that.”

      The journalist shook her head. “Whatever. Look, my source—who knows what they’re talking about—says it looked like you were about to mop the floor with them. I may be the editor-in-chief, but I had my share of bylines before I reached this desk, and it doesn’t take much to figure this one out.”

      “I don’t think your source saw the same conversation I had with Everado.” Bolan leaned back in his chair. “All right, I’ll level with you. I’m a freelance СКАЧАТЬ