Linda Warren - Texas Rebels - Elias

Elias sighed. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what do you want me to do?”

“Keep an eye out while you’re in here.”

“Come on, Wyatt, I’m not ratting out kids.”

“They’re stealing. And that’s against the law and I’ve sworn to uphold the law.”

“You’re a stickler for right, aren’t you?”

Wyatt nodded. “Yes, I am. What’s your answer? Jail or undercover work?”

Elias knew he didn’t have much choice, but he would hold out to the last minute. “Exactly what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to watch the door. One of the boys is coming through the front and slipping past the bar to the back. He then opens the back door and lets the other two in and they take the beer and run. You have to stay sober and alert me if you see someone going into the back room. That’s it. I’ll take it from there. All you have to do is call if you see someone.”

“I don’t know.” He hated to turn on kids. He’d once been a wild teenager and beer had always been a temptation.

“Then I’ll have to arrest you. You can sit out your time and do community service. I believe the senior citizen center needs mopping and cleaning. That would be a good job for you.”

“Wyatt, it’s hay season on the ranch and—”

“I’ll sweeten the deal. When you have to go to the auto-parts store, you can park in the sheriff’s area.” He held up a finger. “But just ten minutes, and I’ll alert Stuart not to ticket you.”

Now there was a deal. He held out his hand. “Deal.”

Wyatt shook his hand. “Stay alert tonight and tomorrow. It’s usually Saturday night when they hit. Thanks.”

“Yeah, right.” Elias grimaced.

“Look at it this way,” Bob said. “You’ll be sitting down here instead of in a jail cell.”

Elias spent the evening watching the door and it was as much fun as watching grass grow. The night was slow and nothing was happening so at 10:30 p.m. he went home. He had a full day tomorrow and he needed some sleep. Getting into his truck, he felt a pang of...loneliness. It couldn’t be. He was never lonely, but sometimes lonely crept into his soul without warning.

AT SIX O’CLOCK the next evening, Elias came through the back door dirty and tired, hay stinging him around his collar and down the back of his shirt. He needed a shower and a beer. Grabbing one out of the refrigerator, he took a moment to pop the top.

“Elias?” Grandpa called.

He lived with his grandpa and was the official caretaker of the old man who aggravated him more than anyone. Quincy was Grandpa’s favorite and he’d usually done the caregiving until he got married. After that, somehow the responsibility for Grandpa fell on Elias’s shoulders. He wasn’t the nurturing kind, but he and Grandpa managed to get along.

He walked into the living room. Grandpa sat in his chair with his dog, Mutt, on his lap. Nearing eighty, Grandpa had snow-white hair and a booming voice known to stop his grandsons in their tracks.

“What’s up?”

Grandpa handed him the remote control. “Get the Western channel. I can’t find it.”

Elias took a deep breath. “I wrote it down—” he pointed to the pad on the end table by Grandpa “—right there.”

“Ah, if you don’t want to help me then don’t.” Grandpa tended to be grouchy at times and he liked being pampered.

Elias took the control and flipped it to the Western channel. “Satisfied?”

“Thank you.”

Elias shook his head. One little thing made his grandpa happy. He headed for the bathroom. “Are you going to Quincy’s for supper?” he asked over his shoulder. Quincy still helped with Grandpa, as did his other brothers.

“Yes, I’m waiting on him. He’s gonna pick me up so I don’t have to drive in the dark.”

Quincy lived across the pasture and it wasn’t that far from Grandpa’s house. Grandpa just liked the attention and that was fine. He had to get to Rowdy’s.

* * *

THIRTY MINUTES LATER, he was sitting at a table, watching the door on a Saturday night. It was like blowing up balloons, boring as hell. He looked around at the rustic beer joint where he spent a lot of his time. He never really noticed his surroundings. The joint had been in Horseshoe forever and had been run by several people. Bob had owned it for the past fifteen years. The worn hardwood floors and the jukebox were probably as old as Elias. The songs hadn’t changed in years. Neon beer signs decorated the back of the bar. Red booths lined one wall and had gray duct tape to cover the holes. Above the booths were posters of country music stars who had stopped by. In the back room, there was a pool table. A lot of guys hung out in there.

The place was filling up fast. Dee and Tracy, the waitresses, were working hard to keep up with the beer orders. Someone slipped a quarter in the jukebox and George Strait’s “A Fire I Can’t Put Out” came on. Two couples got up and started dancing. It was Saturday night at Rowdy’s.

Dee stopped by his table. “What are you doing over here by yourself?”

He held up his beer. “Drinking.”

“Want another?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He hadn’t drunk any of the beer. He wanted to be alert like Wyatt had said. The trouble was Wyatt could never tell if Elias was drunk or not. Elias could hold his beer. Everyone knew that. But tonight, for once, he was following the rules. He should write that down on a calendar somewhere.

Couples were still coming in the door and there wasn’t much room for anybody else. Suddenly he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Two couples were standing at the door and there seemed to be someone behind them. Then the figure was gone. Elias got up and went through the swinging half-door of the bar to the back room. Peering around the corner, he saw a guy open the back door. This was it.

He pulled out his phone and called Wyatt. “They’re here.”

“Don’t do anything, Elias. I’m on my way.”

Elias tucked his phone back into his pocket, walked out the front door and made his way around to the back. He crouched in the bushes and watched as three figures carried beer through the wooded area to a vehicle. Elias crept closer. The kids were laughing as they stored the beer in the back of an SUV.

“I slipped in and out and that old coot never saw me,” one bragged.

Another one said, “Now we can par-ty.”

Wyatt had better hurry or the kids were going to be gone. Just then headlights flashed from the right and from the left. Sirens blared as they pulled up to the SUV. Wyatt’s patrol car was in the back and Stuart’s in the front. The car revved up and the kid tried to go around Stuart’s car, but Stuart pulled his car over and blocked him.

Wyatt got out of his car with a megaphone. “Turn off the engine. Turn off the engine. Now!”

In response, the kid revved it up again and tried to go around Stuart’s car without any luck.

“Get out of the car!” Wyatt shouted. “If you don’t get out, I’m going to shoot out the tires. You have thirty seconds.”

No response.

Wyatt pulled his gun from his holster. The driver’s door of the SUV slowly opened and a kid crawled out with a hoodie over his head. Two other kids crawled out from the other side.

“Line up against the car,” Wyatt ordered, still holding the gun in his hand. “Frisk them,” he said to Stuart.

Stuart did as he was told. “No weapons.”

Wyatt shoved his gun into his holster and pulled a flashlight from his car. He shined the light in the first boy’s face. “Brandon Polansky, your parents are going to be proud of you.”

The thing about a small town was everyone knew everyone, and Wyatt knew the people better than most.

Wyatt stepped over to the second boy. “Billy Tom Wentz, this is going to be a shock to your parents and your grandfather.”