Pg 28

of A Crow in the Wheat

Nora leaned back on the counter with both elbows. “You flipping your granddad’s railroad watch for this, I don’t understand, Jerk. Stupid is what I think. But, you’re almost gettin’ what ya paid for. It’ll knock a dime off a fence post at five hundred yards easy. Good shooter could hit what they’s aiming at from eight hundred yards. Some say a thousand, but that’s just people talkin’. Only you ain’t gonna be shooting at dimes or deer are you? You two are going to the Tribute Call in New Baker is my guess.” 

The sheriff glanced at Jerk’s icy, silent stare and said, “Best we didn’t say Nora. We caused you enough trouble, we did.”

“If you’re thinking of trying what I think you’re gonna try, they’re gonna shoot you boys a’fore you get close enough. Best you keep this.” She put the amoxicillin in Stan’s huge hand. And take Westbrook’s pea-shooter on your way out. Gives me the willies.”

“So we’re square, then,” Jerk asked.

Nora leaned in close, “Account-wise, we balanced. We’ll be square when you walk your skinny ass back in here alive.” She kissed Jerk tenderly on his scarred cheek. She swept the cigar box off the bar and turned her back on the two men. She walked into the hidden office and started fiddling with places to hide the high-end contraband. “You best watch over him Stan, or I’ll hunt you down myself.”

   “I always do.”

Nora spent a minute getting false drawer bottoms secured and locked, floorboards locked down and the fire door bolted closed. As she swung the shelf wall back in place she said “You boys have a drink for the road?”She turned around. Shellie’s was empty. On the bar was a hand-carved eight-inch replica of her Malamute, spots perfectly rendered in birdseye maple, mahogany, and white oak.

Nora knew is was a fiendish puzzle. Not the first Jerk had gifted her. Normally, finding the first piece to pull out took an hour. Then once she’d worked out how to get it apart, she’d need Jerk to put the whole thing together next time he came around. She never could get it back herself or fathom how he did, much less how he hand-made it in the first place. This one, she was going leave as is. She picked it up and breathed in the scent of newly carved, hardwood. She felt like weeping. But of course, she didn’t.

Outside, Petty and Edison had packed up and mounted and were heading toward the East End. As they rounded north, Dalton Stalker, on horseback, Peacemaker in a half-grip laying casually across the saddle horn, blocked their way. It was twilight and getting darker, the sheriff reached for his holster. Jerk grabbed his arm firmly. Stalker looked up smiling. 

   “Gentlemen, we need to chat.”