Mary Sullivan - No Ordinary Sheriff

Cologne swirled around her, mingling with a whiff of sweat from one of the bikers.

One man went through the door and the rest parted long enough for her to enter the bar, then closed around her after, blocking her exit. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

Her heart rate kicked in hard. Easy. Don’t panic. Panic is the worst way to handle this. Jammed in the middle of too many oversize bodies, she forced herself to wrestle her fear under control. She could do this.

She wiped her upper lip.

She had extensive martial arts training. She had a gun and a cell phone. Two cop cars were a one-minute drive away.

The man in front of her stepped aside and she got a good look at the bar.

A stripper gyrated onstage to the throbbing beat of a rock song so loud the bass echoed in Shannon’s pulse.

The place was packed. More than a few glances flicked her way.

Lights flashed onstage while the rest of the bar was dimly lit, no doubt covering up all manner of illegal activity. She glanced at every corner, assessing the situation.

She’d gone through Awareness Training when training to be a cop. There were five levels of Awareness, all color-coded. At the moment she’d bypassed Condition Yellow—attentive, but relaxed, and had shot straight to Condition Orange—focus directed and watching for potential threat.

Any one of these jokers could become a potential threat in a flash.

Perfect. She was exactly where she needed to be. If she couldn’t find the answer here, the cause was lost. Determination stilled her panic and her sense of purpose returned. She could do this.

Her biggest challenge would be keeping maximum awareness of her surroundings without looking like a cop.

She chose a seat at the bar with her back to a door she was fairly certain opened to the back parking lot.

She’d done as much as she could to keep herself safe. She knew from experience, though, how things could go from safe to shit in a matter of seconds.

* * *

FRIDAY NIGHT IN Ordinary, Montana, was small-town quiet. The shop windows were dark and only a few couples strolled toward Chester’s Bar and Grill for dinner.

As he’d done every Friday for the past year, Cash drove to Austin’s trailer to pick him up and take him to a movie.

Austin’s mother answered on the first knock, ready and waiting for Cash. He hated this part. Connie was about the neediest woman he’d ever met. Her most pitiful aspect was the way she looked at him—as though he were her hero, or savior.

He might be trying to save her son, but he wasn’t rescuing her. That was beyond his limited powers.

He’d done his time with Mom until another man had come along and married her. He loved his mom, and he would come running the second she needed him, but his duty with needy women was done.

He wasn’t taking on Connie.

“Austin ready?” he asked.

Austin appeared behind Connie, but she raised her arm and leaned on the doorframe so the boy couldn’t pass.

“How’ve you been, Cash?” She smiled, probably thought she looked sexy, but all he sensed was loneliness pouring from her in waves. He wished he could help—he really did—but what she wanted, he wasn’t prepared to give. The only thing he could do was try to save her son.

That old claustrophobia he used to feel when his mom needed him too much crept around him, choking him. He needed to get away.

Austin scooted under her arm, thank goodness, and out the door, more than ready for his few hours of freedom.

Connie saw Cash start to turn away and she frowned.

“Austin,” she called, “don’t forget to stop at the Lucky Seven and pick up food. There’s nothing in the fridge.”

Cash’s anger flared. It was a mother’s job to take care of the kid, not the other way around.

He wanted to shake Connie, to yell at her, “For God’s sake, woman, develop a backbone and do right by your boy,” but he was caught in a familiar bind. If he yelled or criticized, he would hurt a woman too weak to defend herself no matter how mildly he expressed it. He remembered how easily Mom used to cry. His anger and frustration had nowhere to go.

He bit his tongue, holding it all in. He left her standing there and climbed into the truck.

“Harry Potter is playing tonight. That okay with you?”

“Yeah,” Austin said, his low voice barely audible.

Was the giant step Austin had taken away from his Big Brother normal I’m-almost-a-teenager-stuff? Or was there something more sinister going on?

At the edge of Monroe, on the way to the Five Points Cinema, they passed Sassy’s Bar. The transient biker population of the next county hung out there, and the parking lot looked jammed full of chrome and bikes.

When they got to the theater, they settled in with popcorn and pop and watched the movie.

Afterward, Cash waited while Austin went to the washroom.

Five minutes later, Austin came out looking pale, with his shoulders hunched up around his ears, setting off alarms in Cash.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Austin mumbled while he kept his face averted. Something seemed fishy.

“Hold up,” Cash said. “I think I’d better use the washroom, too.”

He slipped into the men’s room and scouted around. Nothing looked out of place. There was a pair of feet under the closed door of one stall. Did someone just sell Austin something? Marijuana? Drugs? Or had someone said something off-color or insulting? Something about his mom? Cash’s cop instincts went into overdrive. Why had Austin come out of here so secretive and embarrassed?

He used the urinal and washed his hands, taking his time so he could find out whose feet those were. The toilet flushed and Brad McCloskey walked out. He nodded when he saw Cash.

“Hey, Cash,” he said.

Brad owned the only pharmacy in Ordinary. He was a father of four boys, and his wife, Mary Lou, volunteered at church. They attended services every Sunday.

Brad was one of the good guys.

So why had Austin come out of here with a bad case of something going on, with Brad the only other person here?

Had Austin picked up something that had already been stashed in here? They came to the theater every Friday. Had Austin pre-arranged something? No way could Cash go out and search Austin’s pockets, though. It would break the fragile trust he had worked so hard to build.

Besides, he didn’t have a shred of proof that Austin was doing drugs other than those few puffs of marijuana this morning. All he had was a healthy suspicion of trouble, and trouble didn’t necessarily mean drugs.

He left the washroom no wiser than when he’d entered it, his frustration racing double time.

One thing he would do was put his cop skills to use by taking a closer look at Brad. Was there a wolf hiding inside his mild-mannered sheep’s clothing?

Cash pulled into the Lucky Seven parking lot, the only convenience store and gas station in the county open twenty-four hours.

“You have money to get groceries?” he asked.

Austin blushed and shook his head. So, Connie was using Cash for…cash.

That anger flared again. It had nothing to do with being stingy. He enjoyed helping people, but Connie needed to find a way to support herself.

Resigned, he said, “Come on,” and stepped out of the truck.

* * *

SHANNON HAD BEEN in Sassy’s for an hour already, surrounded by more bikers than she could count, and still knew nothing. She had five drinks in front of her and hadn’t done more than mime drinking them. She wouldn’t put it past one of these jokers to try to slip her a roofie.

She finally asked what needed to be asked, interrupting some guy’s story about a battle they’d pitched somewhere with a rival gang.