Page 90 of Rocky Ride

“Never. I never asked Dan any questions. It was a no-strings relationship and that’s the way we both wanted it. Foolish, I realize. But I always had a feeling he wasn’t one of the good guys.”

“What made you think that, Barb?’

“The way he talked, and didn’t take any crap from anybody, and he got a lot of phone calls like those drug guys do. You see it on TV. They’re always talking on their phones.”

“Yep.” Travis shoved the recorder into his pocket and said, “You’d better go to a clinic and get checked out, Barb. You might have broken bones or rib fractures. I can drop you off.”

“I’ll take her,” said Beth. “I didn’t want to go to work today anyway.” She laughed.

Travis said, “I’ll call the clinic and get a list of your injuries for evidence, Barb.” To me: “Harlan, take some pictures of Barb’s bruises. We’ll need the photographs for Easy Menard’s record when he goes to trial.”

“Copy.”

When we left Barb’s place in Shelby, I said, “We should go up there to Sweetgrass right now and arrest this Easy guy, and I say we walk right into that building and find out the fuckin truth of it. We can take care of it all at the same time.”

“Yep. Good call, Harlan. We’re doing it exactly that way, son.”

Darkers’ Residence. Sweetgrass.

On the drive from Shelby, Travis called and sent Billy and Ted up to Sweetgrass and told them to wait for us on the road out of sight from Darkers’ place.

“Don’t breach the property until we get there, Billy. There’s too many men working there for just the two of y’all.”

“Copy, boss. Waiting for you.”

I parked right behind Billy’s squad, and we all spilled out. Max and Sarge too. We left Butchie at the station with Molly. She was more of a pet—not a working dog like our boys.

Having the dogs with us was equal to having four extra men. The dogs were fast and fearless and perfectly trained.

Walking in the driveway, Travis split us up. “Billy, take Ted and Max and secure the trailer. Arrest everybody inside. We’ll sort them out at the station.”

“Copy.”

We took Sarge and headed for the building back in the trees. Travis opened the door and hollered, “Police. Everybody down on your knees. Hands on your heads.”

Time for one quick look inside. Long tables covered in product. Four guys. One of them firing at us.

“Virge,” hollered Dad.

Virge turned and fired and hit the shooter in the throat with his first shot. A pink cloud floated up as the dead guy went down.

Dead guy had got his shot off before Virge fired and the bullet caught Virge in his left shoulder.

“You fucker,” hollered Virge. His eyes narrowed and he gritted his teeth. Pain, anger and adrenaline manifested in Virge and spewed out like a fuckin volcano. Blood gushing from his shoulder, Virgie blasted the three other guys before Dad could get a hold of him.

“Shit,” said Travis when the shooting stopped. “Get their weapons, Harlan, and bag them. Take Sarge with you in case they ain’t dead yet. See if anybody needs an ambulance or if they all belong to Doctor Olsen.”

I moved between the long tables covered in pill bottles and pill presses and cartons half packed with pill containers.

First guy I came to wasn’t dead. Virge hit him high in the chest and he was bleeding real good and gasping for breath. Kind of gurgling like he was choking.

“Ambulance, Dad,” I hollered.

Moving on, the guy at the end of the row had his brains blown out by my deadly brother.

“One for Doc Olsen.”

Around the other side was the shooter Virge had taken out with his first shot—definitely dead—and a few feet from him was the fourth guy trying to work through another high center mass shot. Not going to make it.

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