Chasing a Blond Moon(124)

“Rifles loaded?” McCants asked.

“Same ting,” the man said. “You-uns walk aroun’ with unloaded pieces?”

Service said, “Put the ice chest down,” and stepped forward, keeping his light on Atbal. Both men had jumpy voices, the kind of nerves on the surface that he’d learned over the years to treat with extreme caution.

McCants moved up at the same time, keeping her light on the other man.

“Okay, gentlemen,” Service said, “Unsling your rifles and place them on the ground. Then take a step back and remove your coats.”

“I speck we kin unload ’em,” Valda said.

“On the ground,” McCants said firmly, reinforcing Service.

Service picked up Valda’s rifle, kept his light on the two men while McCants shone her light at the rifle in his hands. The safety was off, clip in. He clicked the safety on, popped the clip, checked the chamber. There was a round in it, which he extracted carefully, letting the bullet fall to the ground.

He set the rifle down and repeated the process with the second weapon, same result.

“Okay,” he said with a steady voice. “I’m going to unholster your handguns.”

Both men carried .44 Mag revolvers with six-inch barrels. Both weapons were loaded and had a round in the chamber. He popped the cylinders and dumped the bullets, quickly scraping them up and putting the ammo in his pocket. He collected all four weapons and flashed his light around until he found the can they had thrown away. He told Atbal to fetch it and carry it out.

McCants said, “Okay, guys, grab the ice chest and let’s go back to your truck and talk about things.”

“What about our guns?” Valda asked. “We paid cash money. Ain’t cheap.”

“We’ll talk about that,” McCants said.

The men moved slowly, water and the crumpled cans sloshing in the cooler, both of them complaining about the other man’s gait.

From the trail that ran between large sumac clusters, Service saw that more trucks had pulled into the area. He saw trucks, no people. There was no moon, no stars. Clouds had moved in, threatening rain, and he could feel the humidity.

A voice called out, “Which of yas shot ma Winston.”

“I’m Officer McCants, DNR,” Candi said. “Who is Winston?”

“Winston be my strahck dawg what’s a-stretched out day-id in ta back thet rig,” the voice said. It sounded to Service like the man was emotionally between grief and blowing up. Service heard clothes rustling. Something scraped the side of a truck. . .

“No good, shot ma strahck dawg,” the voice said. “Somebody gone pay, thet’s fact.”

McCants said, “Everybody out where we can see you,” she said, pointing her light ahead.

“She Injun?” a voice asked.

“Cain’t you be a-seein’, she’s gook?” another voice challenged.

“You got weapons?” Service asked. The situation was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

“We plan to far ’em we halfta, donchu know,” the original voice said.

McCants said, “We’ll find out what happened to your dog. Everybody just chill.”

Service counted five men, ponytails, full beards, camo shirts and muddy pants, faded orange vests and hats.

They all had slung rifles.

“Place your weapons on the ground and step back from them,” he said, trying to make it sound like a neighborly suggestion.

“Damn fine gook womarn,” one of the voices said.

“Weapons on the ground,” Service repeated, this time not trying to impart anything other than precisely what he wanted. “Now.”

“Okay, boys, you-uns don’t be peartin’ off. These-uns is the law,” the first voice said.

Too many people for two officers to handle, Service thought. Way too many.

The men put their rifles on the ground.

One of them complained, “I just done cleaned hit.”

“Handguns?” Service asked.

“In ta trucks,” the first man said. After his initial challenge he was sounding calmer, and like the leader. Service said, “Hold up your coats.”

The men did as they were told. McCants had reached her truck. Service went over and put the first two men’s weapons on the passenger seat and turned to the weapons on the ground. None were loaded, but he put them in the truck anyway. McCants was on the driver’s side, reached in and picked up a mike. “Delta County, DNR Forty-One Twenty-Eight is requesting backup. Code Two.” This meant urgent, but no lights or sirens. She gave the location and hung up the mike. “Twenty minutes,” the dispatcher said. McCants turned on the truck’s headlights and blue flashers before she got out, and left her door standing open.