wisps of light brown hair coming untucked from beneath her blue cap, but that was the only hint of softness about her. Her lips were compressed into a thin line when she wasn’t speaking. When she spoke, her voice was the officious bark of a drill sergeant. She made sure that the word “sir” contained not a speck of actual respect or courtesy.
Keller took a deep breath. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Is there some kind of--”
“Mind telling us why there’s a shotgun in the front seat?”
He kept his voice mild, inwardly cursing himself for choosing not to bring the shotgun in with him. The desk clerk at the last place he had stayed had seen him carrying his gun into the room and had spent most of the evening coming by and calling on various flimsy pretexts to make sure Keller had not killed himself with it. “It’s not against the law to have a shotgun, is it?” he asked.
The big cop straightened up. His lips stretched over his teeth in a rough approximation of a smile. “Smart-ass, huh?”
The female cop looked annoyed at the interruption. “Mind if we look in the car, sir?”
Keller did mind, but there was no way to win the argument without a lengthy discussion, part of which would probably take place at the police station. It was a discussion he was sure he would win, eventually. Still, that would take time, possibly a lot of time. Keller wanted to get back to work. He took the path of least resistance.
“Sure,” he said. He was still smiling. He took his keys out and opened the doors.
The search was quick and sloppy. Keller noticed that the male cop seemed to take particular pleasure in leaving the contents of the glove compartment scattered over the front seat so Keller would have to put them back himself.
“Why do you have these metal rings welded to the floor of the back seat, sir?” the female cop asked.
Keller’s smile was beginning to pain him. “I work bail enforcement,” he said. “Sometimes they don’t want to stay in the car. The rings are for the handcuffs.”
“What about the police scanner?” she said.
“Like I said,” Keller replied, “I work as--”
“A bounty hunter,” the male cop said. He pronounced it like a curse.
“Whatever,” Keller said. There was no overt insolence in his voice, but the lack of deference seemed to anger the male cop. He got out of the front seat of Keller’s car and stood up.
“You got a--” he began. The female cop interrupted him. “Can you open the trunk, sir?” she said.
Keller’s shoulders tensed, then he shrugged. He popped the trunk. The male cop walked around to the back and whistled in amazement.
“Marie,” he said. “Come look at this.” The female cop walked around to the back of the car. “Holy shit,” she said. She reached in and pulled out a length of heavy chain. Heavy leg cuffs were soldered to each end. She held it up and looked over at Keller.
“It’s all legal,” Keller said.
“We’ll decide that,” the male cop said.
Keller’s temper had reached the limit. “Bullshit,” he said. “There’s not a damn thing you can make stick here. I’ve got permits for the handguns. The handcuffs and restraints are all legit. All my licenses are up to date. So if you’re going to arrest me, do it. But stop jerking me around.”
“All right, smart-ass,” the male cop said. “Hands on the car and spread your legs.” Keller shook his head in frustration, but complied. The male cop frisked him quickly while the other one, Marie stood back to give herself a clear field of fire if Keller decided to try anything. Keller felt the male cop’s hand at the small of his back, heard him chuckle as he withdrew the 9MM from Keller’s waistband.
“Looks like carrying a concealed weapon to me.”
“I told you, I’ve got a carry permit--” he was cut short by an explosion of pain across his lower back. The cop had pulled his nightstick in a cross-body draw that would have done credit to a samurai. He whipped the nightstick in a short arc and smashed Keller across the kidneys. Keller arched his back in agony and dropped to his knees.
“And resisting arrest,” the cop said. Keller heard his high-pitched giggle. He tried to roll over on his back to stave off another blow, but he felt a sudden weight on him. The female cop had thrown her body across his. One of her hands grabbed Keller’s wrist. He heard the clink of metal as she took the cuffs off her belt. “Stay down,” she muttered. “You can’t win. Just stay down.” Keller tried to stand, then suddenly realized that she had placed herself between him and another blow. He relaxed and allowed himself to be handcuffed with his hands behind his back. When she was done, she rolled off and yanked Keller awkwardly to his feet. Her grip was very strong.
Keller looked at the male cop. The man’s image seemed to swim in a red haze before Keller’s eyes. The cop’s own eyes were dreamy and far away and there was a slight smile on his face.
“When this is over,” Keller said through pain-clenched teeth, “I’m going to take that fucking baton away and shove it up your ass.”
The cop’s smile widened. This was what he had been waiting for. He drew back his hand for another shot. Keller had no way to protect his head; he knew the next blow would shatter his skull. The female cop interposed her body between them again. “Get in the car, asshole,” she said. She put a hand on Keller’s head to guide him through the open door of the police cruiser. Without taking his eyes off the male cop, Keller slid into the back seat.
The brown truck pulled into the parking lot of the timber company office. The trailer was still surrounded by a web of yellow crime-scene tape that appeared to have been strung mostly at random. The three men got out of the truck and approached the steps. Raymond took a curved Hawkbill knife out of his pants pocket, opened it, and sliced through the tape. They walked up the steps and stood before the locked trailer door. There was a moment of silence. “John Lee,” Raymond said. “You got the keys?”
“Oh, um, yeah,” John Lee said, embarrassed. He fumbled for a moment in his pocket, then unlocked the door.
The interior of the trailer office was small and cramped. A metal desk sat facing the doorway and took up most of one side of the room. There was a gray metal filing cabinet behind the desk on their right. Raymond went around the desk and tried to open the cabinet. It was locked. He rattled the handle in frustration. “You got a key to this, John Lee?” he said.
John Lee shrugged. “Sorry, Raymond,” he said. “Daddy always kept that one hisself.”
Raymond slammed his hand against the cabinet in frustration. He turned to Sanchez. “He ever tell you where he kept the key to this?”
Sanchez shook his head. “No,” he said. Raymond turned back. He hit the cabinet again, as if he could convince it to open by beating it enough times. He withdrew the pistol from his belt and drew back the hammer. He carefully pointed it at the latch on the filing cabinet.
“Wait,” Sanchez said. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small plexiglass key ring. He laid it carefully on the table. There were two keys on the ring, one smaller than the other.
Raymond looked at Sanchez,
