SIXTEEN

Billy Jasper didn’t like the dark presence of Mason Lee, who leaned on his left elbow on the counter that divided the front part of the sheriff’s office area. He occasionally lifted his uninjured hand to stroke his waxed mustache.

Mason had walked in five minutes earlier, setting his shotgun on the counter. Billy knew who he was—everyone in Appalachia did—and guessed if Mason could walk the streets with the shotgun, it wasn’t against the rules to take it into the sheriff’s office.

Mason had yet to speak, but Billy could still hear his hard breathing. Maybe he was waiting for Sheriff Carney, but there was something odd about how Mason’s right arm hung at his side and the constant sweat beading on his forehead. Maybe Mason had been injured while cornering the fugitive. All around town, word spread about how the dogs had torn the man apart and how he’d died already. Billy himself had seen the undertaker and his assistants move a coffin from the apartment on the other side of the town square into a wagon.

With Mason close, Billy had looked over only once and felt guilty even for that brief glance. He had specific instructions to watch the computer screen all night. That one glance, however, had shown the bounty hunter staring at Billy hard, with one milky eye wandering in different directions, adding to Billy’s discomfort.

Billy was wondering if he should pick up his two-way radio and call for Sheriff Carney when Dr. Ross pushed open the door to the office.

“Billy,” Dr. Ross said pleasantly. “Surprised to see you here at this time of night. You going to be here long?”

Billy thought through Sheriff Carney’s instructions. He couldn’t find any reason not to answer Dr. Ross.

“Hello, Dr. Ross,” Billy said. “Sheriff Carney wants me here all night. Can I help you with something?”

“I’m here to set Mr. Lee’s broken arm. Might be easier if he lay on one of the cots.”

Dr. Ross referred to the two jail cells which could be reached via the door just left of Billy, where he had slept nearly all of the afternoon. More than once, Dr. Ross had come in to tend to someone who had hurt himself while drunk and disorderly, despite Bar Elohim’s strict laws against alcohol.

“Where I’m standing is good,” Mason grunted from the counter. “Let’s get this done.”

Billy moved his eyes back to the screen. He intended to do this assignment without any mistakes. He heard a small thunk at the counter and assumed it was the doctor’s carrying bag.

“It will take some time for the freezing to set,” Dr. Ross told Mason. “You’d be more comfortable on a bed. Or at the least, sitting down.”

“No freezing,” Mason said. “Just set it and cast it.”

“If I don’t freeze it,” Dr. Ross said, “it’s going to—”

“Doc, I’ve stitched myself up with needle and thread before. Don’t need you to freeze it. Just set it and cast it and get out of here.”

“Your muscles will be in shock around the bone and spasm. I’m going to pull hard. And if there’s any bones grating, it will—”

“You don’t hear too good. Just get it done.”

Billy was grateful that he had his assignment to hold his focus. He didn’t want to watch someone have his arm set, especially without freezing.

He wished there were more interesting images on the computer screen though. Just the front and side view of the livery. He was familiar with it, as he’d spent years of his boyhood working the stables. With no movement on the screen, there was little to distract Billy from the grunting behind him. He did peek over once and saw that it wasn’t Mason making the noise, but Dr. Ross, who had to use all his strength to pull Mason’s arm into place.

Mason’s face was flat. Except for the beads of sweat, he could have been playing a poker game. Billy found this frightening, along with Mason’s calculating stare. It seemed to Billy that Mason was paying special attention to the computer screen, but with that one eye drifting, it was hard to tell.

Mercifully enough, the setting only took about a minute. Dr. Ross went into the back room and found water to mix the plaster for Mason’s cast, and afterward, wrapping the arm was finished in another couple of minutes. Dr. Ross bid Billy good night, but pointedly said nothing to Mason before stepping back onto the street.

“Did you like the show, boy?” Mason said as soon as the door shut behind Dr. Ross. “Someday you’ll tell your grandchildren how you saw a doctor set Mason Lee’s arm. Be sure to tell them how the bones grated.”

Billy kept his eyes on the computer screen.

“Switch that screen so it shows all the cameras in town by rotation,” Mason said. “I’m going to take over that computer now.”

“I can’t,” Billy said. “Sheriff’s orders.”

“Then maybe your children and grandchildren won’t be hearing this story.”

Billy watched the screen.

“That was a threat, boy. I meant you may not live long enough to have children. You aren’t too dense to understand that, are you?”

This, Billy decided, was one of those questions that didn’t need answering.

Mason said, “What’s so important about the livery?”

Billy started giving thought as to whether Sheriff Carney would want Mason to know.

“Are you as stupid as you look?” Mason said. “Answer me.”

If he had to answer, the question needed consideration. Billy finally said, “I don’t know how stupid I look, so I’m not the one who can tell you.”

“Why are you watching the livery?” Mason hissed.

“It’s sheriff’s business.”

“My arm’s in a cast,” Mason said, “but I could still slit your throat. Don’t think because you’re big that I couldn’t do it.”

Billy understood, but he was more afraid of Sheriff Carney. Especially after how bad things had gone wrong at Mrs. Shelton’s. He pressed his top teeth hard against his bottom teeth. Couldn’t say anything to make Mason Lee kill him if he kept his mouth like that.

“So tell me what you’re looking for,” Mason snapped.

“Sheriff’s business.” Billy had to say something. But he didn’t take his eyes off the screen. He wondered if he’d be able to turn around in time to stop Mason from slitting his throat.

“You’re not afraid of me?” Mason asked.

“I know who you are.”

“Then you know well enough to tell me what I want to know.”

“Sheriff’s business,” Billy said.

“All right then,” Mason said, grinning like he’d decided to toy with Billy. “Guess I’ll just stand here and watch with you.”

Billy wished Mason wouldn’t, but he didn’t have any orders to cover what to do with a bounty hunter who worked directly for Bar Elohim. So Billy said nothing when Mason put the shotgun on his lap, pulled up a chair, and moved it within two feet of Billy, who could feel Mason’s glare switching between the screen and his face.

It took a few minutes for Billy to grow accustomed to the smell of drying plaster and Mason’s acrid body odor. Even so, the next hour was not comfortable for Billy, with Mason’s menacing silence so close. At least Billy didn’t get drowsy, wondering if Mason would pull out a knife without warning.

Movement appeared on the screen. Mitch Evans, who managed the livery, led a few horses out the rear door.

Billy knew what to do about that. He reached for the radio to call Sheriff Carney.

“This is what Sheriff Carney was waiting for?” Mason said.

Billy was conflicted. Sheriff Carney wanted to know the minute that Mitch Evans appeared on camera. But did Sheriff Carney want Mason Lee to know what Sheriff Carney wanted to know?

“I’m going to leave you here.” Billy pushed away his chair, two-way in hand. He’d call Sheriff Carney from the back room where the jail cells were.

“Don’t think so.”

Billy was surprised a man could move so fast, especially with one arm in a cast. It seemed before Billy could blink, Mason was standing and pressing the shotgun barrel into Billy’s spine.

“You’ll talk to him right here,” Mason said. “But if you say a word about me, there’s going to be a big piece of you spread all across that far wall.”

Billy obeyed both sets of orders. He informed Carney about Mitch Evans. He didn’t say a word to Sheriff Carney about Mason Lee. The sheriff told Billy to stay put.

“You’ll have no problem following those orders,” Mason said after Billy put the radio back on the desk. “You ever been in one of your own jail cells before?”

“This afternoon,” Billy said. “Getting some sleep. And one other time, last week, I accidentally locked myself in. Sheriff Carney got mad at that.”

“Well then,” Mason said, pushing Billy away from the counter with the shotgun, “you can handle going back in for a while.”