Рита Браун - Full Cry

“But you’re back. I mean, your senses are restored. You’ve got a good job. Why would anyone want to take you down? Think! ” she commanded.

“My memory might return.” He stopped, leaned toward her. “But I didn’t do that much with Anthony and Mitch. I rarely worked for the same people they did. They were big guys or bigger than I am. I wasn’t going to be able to lift the stuff they could. The jobs I picked up were mostly janitorial or the odd tack cleaning and repair job. Mostly I tried to keep some horse contact going, even when I was down at the station.”

“You know that, but the killers might not. They might think that Anthony and Mitch told you a lot. Did they?”

“No. Every now and then they’d get money. Seemed like a lot then. Anything over fifty dollars was a lot to us. I never asked. Hell, Sister, I was too drunk or too hungover to care.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. And if these people are that worried about me, why don’t they just kill me?”

“Good question. I think I have the answer.” She folded her hands together on the tabletop. “They’ve done enough damage, taken enough chances. They either need to set you up as the killer or kill you with booze.”

He passed his hand over his eyes. “Christ.”

“You might want to pray to him because you’re in danger.”

“Did you tell Gray?”

“No. He’s worried enough as it is, and he thinks you’re back on the bottle.”

“I don’t blame him,” Sam’s voice lowered.

“Will you help me catch them?”

“Yes,” Sam said with conviction.

“It’s a funny thing, Sam. Call it loyalty to an old dance partner, but tattered as Anthony’s life was, no one had the right to take it away from him. He didn’t deserve to die like that. None of them did.”

“No. What do you want me to do?”

“I’ve drawn over our foxes, lying tight in a covert. They know I’ve drawn over them, and they think I’ve gone. With me?”

“Sure.”

“I’m going to swing back around and draw in the opposite direction. I think I can flush them out.”

“Who?”

“Dalton, Clay, and Izzy. I’m damned certain she’s in on this, if not behind it.”

He swallowed hard. “Oh.”

“And one of them was with you at that AA meeting, am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“Well, keep to your rules. I guess I don’t need to know exactly which one. What I want you to do is to get into a fight with Xavier.”

“That’s easy enough.” He laughed.

“Yes and no. It means you two must cooperate.”

“Have you talked to X?”

“I’ve come directly from his house. He agrees.”

“He likes to hit me.” Sam smiled ruefully.

“With good reason, but you know what I always say. Send the past into the ocean; let the waves take it away. He can’t change it, you can’t, Dee can’t. Done is done.”

“He doesn’t see it that way.”

“Not now. He might later. X is a good man. I love him very much.”

Sam sighed deeply. “And I once hurt him very much.”

“You did, but that’s over.”

“Why do you want us to pick a fight?”

“A diversion and a shake up. Next hunt. I’ll turn and lift my crop up over my head. I think of the three of them, Clay’s the shakiest. While you two put on your show, I’ll go for Clay. I think Dalton and Izzy will be mesmerized by your joint performance, and they won’t look to help Clay.”

“You’re taking a risk.”

“Life is a risk.”

“You must have loved Anthony once.”

She blinked, then slowly said, “He was the first man I ever slept with, and at eighteen, I thought it was love. Perhaps it was.”

“You’re something, Sister.”

“Know something? So are you.”

CHAPTER 41

“What’s the difference?” Xavier angrily countered Marty Howard.

“The difference is your life, the quality of your life,” she fired right back, secure in the righteousness of her cause.

“Marty, I like you. Understand that. I do.” Picasso’s reins were draped over his shoulder. “But I’m going to do as I damn well please. I’m smoking and that’s that. And don’t give me crap about filtered cigarettes or low tar. All that crap. All you do is inhale the tiny fibers from the filters or whatever they treat the tobacco with. I’m better off smoking straight cigarettes. The others are for wimps anyway.” Defiantly, he blew a puff of blue smoke.

“Then at least smoke good tobacco.” Crawford emerged from the trailer’s tack room. “Addictive personalities. You know. If they don’t do drugs, they turn to God. Forgive the cynicism. If they drink and give it up, they smoke. You’re an addictive personality.” He handed Xavier a pack of Dunhill Reds. Same cigarettes he bought for Sam, now lurking on the other side of the trailer since he didn’t want to get into a run-in with Xavier.

“Thanks.” X didn’t think he was an addictive personality.

“How could you?” Marty felt undermined.

“Honey, people will live as they see fit, and you can’t improve them. Besides, I’d rather have him or Sam smoothed out by nicotine than not, wouldn’t you? Life is too short to put up with other people’s irritations. Seems to me our efforts should be directed toward steering young people away from smoking. I don’t think you can do much to change older ones. X is my witness.”

“Lung cancer is hardly an irritation,” she snapped.

“His lungs.” Crawford shrugged.

“What’s Sam got to do with this?” Xavier was now irritated, edgy.

“I buy him a carton of Dunhill Reds each week. A bonus. Keeps him happy. Rather have him smoking than drinking.”

Xavier opened his mouth to say once a drunk, always a drunk, but he shut it, then opened it again. “I’m smoking again to lose weight.”

“There are better ways.” Marty was persistent.

“Tried them all.” He paused. “Although last night Sister mentioned HGH. I went home and looked it up on the Internet. Might work. I’m not going to the gym. Christ, I hardly have a minute to myself now. Foxhunting is my solace, and if I have time for only one sport, this is it.”

Crawford, familiar with strategies to stay young, had his HGH flown in from England, and no one was the wiser for it. “Xavier, get a stationary bike and ride it while you watch the news. Better than nothing. And try the Atkins Diet. I’m serious.”

A rustle from the kennel alerted them to the hounds walking out in an orderly manner.

“Damn.” Crawford tightened his girth.

As Crawford and Marty hurried to pull themselves together with Sam’s help, Xavier walked Picasso back to his trailer, mounting block by the side, and heaved up just as Clay and Izzy rode by.

“Didn’t hear you grunt that time,” Clay said.

“Shut up,” said X.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“If I hear one more lecture from Marty Howard about cigarettes or women’s rights or sugar or Free Tibet, I’ll spit in her face, so help me God.”

“Umm,” Izzy murmured as if in agreement, furtively looking for Dalton. She caught his eye. He smiled, then looked away.

Ronnie rode up. “If you all don’t want to ride in the back of the field, hurry up.”

“X is having a snit.”

“I’m not having a snit!” He breathed deeply, petted Picasso, and said, voice low, “I’m tired of being middle-aged and fat.”

“Nothing we can do about the middle-aged part, but fat, that’s fixable.” Ronnie walked on toward the kennels.

“Come on.” Clay rode next to Xavier. Izzy rode a little behind them.

This Saturday’s fixture was Roughneck Farm. Apart from being full of foxes, Sister and Shaker enjoyed hunting from home because they could luxuriate in an extra hour of sleep. Also, they could load up the pack with the young entry, since, if someone did take a notion, the young ones knew the way back to the kennel. This year’s class had made great progress since September’s opening day of cubbing. The fact that it had been a moist fall greatly helped them enter properly.