Norman Partridge - Saguaro Riptide

Woody’s balls were killing him.

Shit. That motel bitch could kick like a fucking mule. Had to be she knew karate or something.

He paced along the junkyard fence. The bitch was hiding in there somewhere. Her kick had sure enough doubled him over, but he’d managed to straighten up just in time to see her scramble over the chain-link fence.

Woody shined a flashlight through the chain-link but didn’t see a goddamn thing besides busted-up cars.

He’d found the flashlight in the bitch’s house. While he was looking around, he’d traded the sharpened toothbrush for a meat cleaver, too.

The cleaver was pretty damn sharp. Maybe he should just jump the fence, go after her.

But her dog was in there, too. And Woody didn’t want to go up against a pit bull, not even with a meat cleaver. Shit. He’d just been dog-bit the other day. The monk had, anyway. And Woody couldn’t see himself making any mistake that the monk had made.

Man, it seemed like he’d been pacing back and forth for hours. The motel bitch was hiding, and there was no sign of the boxer or the bitch in the black bikini. Woody swore. Maybe he should just bag the whole deal. Find the keys to the motel bitch’s Volvo and hit the dusty trail. Worry about getting himself some trim somewhere civilized, like Tucson maybe.

Yeah. Why not.

He went into the bitch’s house one more time. Her purse lay on the sofa. Woody grabbed her car keys. Figured, what the hell, and grabbed a wad of greenbacks, too.

It’d be good to see this fucked-up place in his rearview mirror, anyway. Just put the whole deal behind him. Coming here had been the monk’s idea, anyway. Woody should have figured it would be a king-sized mistake.

Woody counted the bitch’s money as he stepped out the door. Sixty-seven bucks and change. He shook his head. But, shit. . sixty-seven bucks was better than noth-

“Freeze, asshole.”

Woody froze.

The sheriff said, “Drop the cleaver.”

“Do it now,” said the deputy.

Sandy couldn’t believe her luck. She climbed the chain-link fence and ran across the parking lot.

Wyetta had her pistol trained on Woody Jefferson while Rorie patted him down. “Sheriff!” Sandy shouted. “Jesus, am I glad to see you! That son of a bitch practically broke down my door. He tried to rape me, and-”

“Hold it right there,” Wyetta said.

Sandy couldn’t believe it. Wyetta had turned, but she was still holding her pistol as if she were ready to shoot.

Only now the gun was aimed at Sandy.

“Ease off, Wyetta,” Rorie said. “Sandy doesn’t know what’s going on here.”

Wyetta’s eyes narrowed. “Just how do we know that, Deputy?”

“Hell, Wyetta. We don’t know for sure. We don’t know anything for sure, I mean.”

“And I’m tired of that. Deputy. There’s only one thing I want to know-what happened to that goddamned money. I want to know for sure, and I’m not leaving this place until I find out.”

“But if Sandy knew about Komoko-”

“Hey,” Sandy interrupted, because she was getting mad. “I don’t give a shit about Komoko. The only guy I care about is the bastard who tried to rape me. I want you to lock him up.”

Wyetta shook her head. “Sorry, Sandy. We can’t do that. Not until we sort a few things out.”

“Goddamnit, Sheriff. You don’t seem to understand. This son of a bitch tried to rape me ”

“Uh-huh.” Wyetta nodded. “You’ve made that pretty clear.”

“Aren’t you going to do anything?”

“Sure.” Wyetta nodded at Rorie. “Deputy, put the cuffs on Ms. Kapalua-Dayton, and find some little out-of-the-way place where she can cool off.”

Rorie did as she was told and walked Sandy toward the motel.

“Maybe we’ll be talking some more, Sandy,” Wyetta shouted.

Sandy tried to turn, but the deputy pushed her forward.

The motel owner cussed a blue streak.

“Shut her up,” Wyetta said. “The last thing we need is for her to be screaming her head off when Baddalach and Benteen show up.”

The deputy’s hand brushed Sandy’s shoulder. “You’d better do what she says,” Rorie whispered. “It’s going to be okay. We’re on a tough case. It’s about to break wide open. Here. Tonight. Right now Wyetta doesn’t trust anyone. But I know that you don’t have anything to do with this. Just trust me, and you won’t get hurt.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Sandy shouted. “That guy tried to rape me! Just let me go! Jesus, just let me get out of here!”

Rorie hesitated.

And then she said, “I can’t do that.” She pressed her pistol lo the back of Sandy’s head. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut up.”

Woody had to admit that the look on the motel bitch’s face had been priceless. Shit, it was just too rich-he tries to rape her, and she ends up wearing the cuffs.

He just had to laugh at that.

He laughed real good.

Until the sheriff whacked him upside the head with her pistol.

“You can’t be serious,” Rorie said.

Wyetta didn’t so much as crack a smile. “Do like I told you, Deputy.”

Rorie unbuckled her gun belt and tossed it at the black guy.

It hit him in the chest and fell to the ground.

“Pick it up,” Wyetta said. “We’re gonna have us an old-fashioned shootout, just you and me.”

“You’re crazy,” the black guy said. “Shit. I didn’t do a goddamn thing. First you hit me with your damn gun, and now you want to have a gunfight. I mean, this macho shit is way too much. You want to arrest me, then arrest me. But if you want to grow a dick, why don’t you just go get a damn operation or something.”

“You better do like I tell you or I’ll grease you where you stand. I swear I will.”

“Shit. I ain’t doin’ another goddamn thing until you take me in, book me, and let me talk to a lawyer.”

Wyetta’s eyes were on fire. Rorie had seen the sheriff primed and ready plenty of times, but never like this. Wyetta was actually shaking.

She was way too worked up. And Rorie knew that too much emotion could get in the way when it came to bad business like this.

Wyetta could get hurt.

All because of that damn money. Wyetta wanted it real bad. But they couldn’t seem to get hold of it. And every bend they came around seemed to bring them that much closer, but every bend seemed to lead to a dead end. First the Ouija board directing them to Ellis’s place, where they’d found nothing more than a hole in the ground. Then the boot print in the dust sending them here to the motel, but the chicklet who wore combat boots wasn’t anywhere around.

Neither was the boxer.

But the black guy was here. He’d tried to rape Sandy Kapalua-Dayton and, failing that, had stolen her money. And he was going to steal Sandy’s car, too, because he had her keys.

Rorie bit her lip. This buck didn’t know a damn thing about Vincent Komoko’s money. He wouldn’t be stealing sixty-seven bucks if he had the two million. He only wanted some Hawaiian-Irish-Navajo pussy and a stolen car that would take him down the road.

If Wyetta would just slow down for a minute she’d see that was the way it was. But the sheriff of Pipeline Beach had worked up a real head of steam, and that meant trouble for anyone who stood in her way.

Especially a smart-mouthed asshole like Ali Baba.

But he seemed so cool. Biding his time. Standing there as straight and stiff as a lawn jockey.

“C’mon, jailbird,” Wyetta said. “You know you want to do it.”

“You gonna lose your badge over this. Sheriff.”

“Pick up the gun. All you’ve got to do is bend over. You know how to do that. I figure a pretty man like you did a whole lot of bending over in prison.”