“Right.”

“Where is the junction box?”

“Across the street from the sewage plant pump house. They clustered all the utilities in one place.”

She paused in the doorway, looked at me with her cop eyes one more time. “Stay here.”

“I’m not going to do anything more ambitious than smoke this cigarette.”

And then she was gone.

I sat there and smoked the cigarette all the way down, then dropped the butt into Billy’s mug. The butt hissed out in the cold coffee. Karl snored lightly from his cell.

“Cowboy,” the hellcat whispered from her cell. “Talk to me.”

I sank in my chair, put my feet up on the desk. “What about?”

“What would it take to get me out of this cell?”

“A stick of dynamite.”

“Look at me, cowboy.”

I looked.

With thumb and forefinger she tugged the hem of her dress over her knees, showing a taste of thigh. “A girl like me can do special things for you, make you feel like you’ve never felt before.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Money, then. I can give you more than you’ll make on cop pay in ten years.”

“Lady, how about shutting up for a while?”

Surprisingly she did.

I let my chin hit my chest, closed my eyes. I could probably sleep for a week. I felt fatigue pull me slowly into a long, dark drop.

I was on stage in a honky-tonk. I thought I recognized the place, a sawdust-on-the-floor shithole just south of Lubbock. I was playing along with some song I didn’t recognize, trying to make the chords, but my fingers couldn’t hold the strings down. The strings bit into my fingers, and I jerked my hand away. I wiped the blood on my shirt, saw I was wearing the khaki deputy shirt. I’d wiped blood on the star, and when I tried to wipe it off I just wiped more on.

The drummer yelled “keep playing” at me. I looked at him. The drummer was Billy, blood leaking over his face from the huge gash in his forehead. I tried to climb down from the stage, but the crowd kept pushing me back.

I heard a woman call my name. The voice sounded familiar but fuzzy. I looked around but didn’t see her. There was no way to get off the stage. I felt urgently that I needed to get down, the crowd looking at me, the guitar a useless thing in my hands.

“Toby!”

I kept looking for the source of the voice calling to me. “Toby!”

I opened—

—my eyes.

“Toby!” Amanda’s voice squawked from the radio.

I shook the cobwebs out and grabbed the microphone. “I’m here.”

She said, “Listen, somebody’s done a number on this junction box. Looks like they’ve ripped out half the wires.”

“What are you going to do?”

“The state police are an hour away,” Amanda said. “I’m going to drive up to the Texaco and put in a call and come right back. Can you hold down the fort until then?”

“No problem. Be careful.”

“See you soon. Over and out.”

Amanda was being optimistic. The drive from the state police barracks at Morrisonville was an hour, but she’d have to explain what she needed on the phone first. Then they’d hem and haw and get their ducks in a row. Plus Amanda needed to get to a working phone at the Texaco.

I guessed a good two hours. If we were lucky.

After the weird dream, the idea of sleeping suddenly didn’t appeal. I took Karl’s Glock and my own .38 and the hellcat’s automatic and laid them out on the desk, lined them up by size in descending order. I went to the back room and came back with the cleaning kit and went to work on the guns. I started with mine. Karl’s was already spotless. The little automatic was such a piece of shit, it wasn’t worth cleaning, but I did it anyway.

I reloaded the .38, holstered it.

If I hadn’t been so damn tired, the knock on the door might have startled me. As it was, I merely turned toward the front door lazily and squinted, wondering who it might have been this time of night, hoping it wasn’t some damn crisis.

Hell, it was the police station after all. Maybe it was even a legit emergency.

“Come in,” I called.

Wayne Dobbs stuck his head through the door, took off his hat. He seemed embarrassed to be at the police station.

“Come on in, Wayne. It’s okay.”

He came in. “I tried to call, but my phone was on the fritz.”

“There’s a lot of that going around.”

“Lightning hit the junction box again?”

“Something. We’re looking into it. What can I do for you?”

“I was on my way in to prep for breakfast when I saw some vagrants out by the Tropicana. Thought you might want to know.”

The Tropicana was the defunct drive-in theater east of town, about two miles past the Mona Lisa Motel. I couldn’t summon up very much civic concern about vagrants.

“I’ll make note of it,” I told Wayne.

“It’s just that there’s quite a few of them, and they got a pretty big campfire going. Fire like that could get out of hand.”

“What are you doing prepping for breakfast? Didn’t you close Skeeter’s down last night?”

Wayne frowned. “My morning man crapped out on me.”

“Sorry to hear that. More work for you.”

“Par for the course. Listen, one more thing. Some of them Jordan boys are tooling around in a pickup truck and they seem pretty pissed off about Luke. I’m not sure what they’re going to do. Just thought I’d mention it.”

“Did you tell them I was babysitting Luke’s body?”

“Sure. I told them what I knew about the whole thing.”

Hell.

“Holy cow, that’s her right there!” He pointed at the hellcat in the cell. “That’s the gal what was talking to Luke right before he got himself shot.”

“Wayne, I need you to keep a lid on this.”

His face wrinkled up all bewildered. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, we don’t need any vigilante stuff.”

“Oh, I get you. Sure, mum’s the word.” He thought about it a moment. “Say, listen, I hope I didn’t cause any trouble talking to the Jordans.”

“It’s okay. Wayne, you seen Chief Krueger?”

“Not since we were all together at closing time. Why?”

“No reason. Just need to check with him on something.”

“Well, I best get over to the restaurant,” Wayne said. “I got the early shift of truckers and dirt farmers going to want the usual, and if any more of my help craps out on me I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.”

“Okay, then. I’ll let the chief know about the vagrants.”

He flipped me a two-finger salute and was gone.

Maybe when they fired me from being a deputy, I could work for Wayne. He seemed to have trouble keeping help. I guessed the pay probably wasn’t so good, but how hard could it be scrambling eggs and flipping pancakes? Or maybe I could work nights and pour beers and such.

Breakfast. The idea of scrambled eggs and a fat slab of ham and a hot cup of coffee made me want to weep. Hash-browns.

I forgot about breakfast and thought about Luke. The idea that notorious jerkweed and lowlife Luke Jordan just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time was just too far out to believe. He was tangled up in this illegal alien smuggling or I was a monkey’s uncle.

“Hellcat. Hey, hellcat. You awake?”

“Why do you call me that?” asked the Mexican woman.

“You won’t tell me your name.”

“No.”

“Okay, then. What was Luke Jordan to you?”

“Nothing.”

“How was he involved? He had the keys to that truck.”

“Leave me alone,” she said. “I’m tired.”

“Fuck tired. Was he your partner? The Jordans are in on it, ain’t they?”

“Go tug on yourself, cowboy.” Shit.

I sighed, stood up and pushed away from the desk. I stuck Karl’s Glock in my waistband at the small of my back, shoved the little automatic in the front pocket of my jeans. I walked toward the front door.

“Where do you go?” asked the hellcat.

“Out.”

I locked the door behind me and scanned Main Street. Quiet as a grave.

I climbed into Roy’s big-rig, tried to crank it up, but it wouldn’t start. I guess you could only pound these things so much before they gave out. I popped open the last energy drink and gulped it warm. It almost came right back up. It was just that bad.