Page 32 of Cowboy Dreams

“That’s what I said.”

“Did you call the cops?”

“Not yet.” I held up my hand when he started to ask why. “We’ve got three deputies that patrol around this area and one of them is Morse. If he starts gloating about how that’s our fault for shoving our ‘lifestyle’ in someone’s face, I might punch him. Hitting a cop is a bad idea.” The only thing that had saved his fat nose from my fist a time or two.

“Got it. We should, though. Leave it to me. I can keep my temper.”

“I can too,” I said, a bit stung. “I was being, like, metaphorical. Or hypothetical or one of those.” Although, actually, I’d been telling the truth.

“I know. You put up with me.” Sylvester nudged my arm. “Still, we want a paper trail. In case.”

“In case it happens again?” The thought had occurred to me. “How badly is this likely to mess us up?”

“On the plus side, it’s early days yet. On the minus side, shit like this is rarely a one-time deal, even if it’s just some bored kid. But we can fight back.”

“How?” If he said, Kumbaya and community outreach, I might punchhim. Staring at that word in four-foot-high letters, knowing Sylvester had to see it coming from someone in my community, was bringing out the worst in me.

“Cameras,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Security. I have a budget line item for that. We just jump on it sooner, and maybe a bit quieter.” He walked closer, paused a few feet from the barn. “There’s some boot prints in the dirt here. Might pay to take a picture of those if you haven't yet.”

“Could be anyone, anytime. We got a ton of workers going through.” But I went to one knee and tried to get some shots of the treadmarks of what looked like a medium-sized wide boot.

“True.” Sylvester pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1. I only heard his side of the conversation, but it sounded like the dispatcher would send someone along when they got to it.

Sylvester stepped back and looked up. “Eaves of the barn there. We can put some cameras tucked up under, unobtrusively.”

“Don’t you want cameras to warn people off?”

“Now that depends. If there’s just one vulnerable point, like a door, yes, visible cameras keep them from trying. But here, we’ve got a whole ranch they could make trouble on. So here, I want to catch them in the act.”

“You sound like you’ve thought about this already.” I wasn’t sure if that was smart, to be prepared, or sad, that he’d been sure trouble was coming.

“We went through something like this at the hotel fifteen years back. Someone began setting off the fire alarm every few days, disrupting the whole hotel by holding a cigarette up to the smoke detectors in empty rooms.”

“Shit. What did you do?”

“Same as this. Cameras. We couldn’t put them in all the rooms for privacy, but we upgraded the hallways with better imaging and made sure all the doorways were covered. I’d figured it was staff, someone who had a key, but it turned out to be the moocher nephew of one of the longtime residents. A kid who’d dropped out of college, or maybe got expelled, I don’t recall anymore. His parents sent him to stay with the uncle, he was bored. Turned out he stole a master key from one of the housekeeping staff and blackmailed her into not telling, by threatening her with deportation.”

“Bastard.”

“Yeah. She was legal but her husband wasn’t. He was sexually harassing her too. We got it all on camera, him going into the room at the time of the next alarm, and him grabbing her ass and her fighting him off. She wouldn’t testify, but we got her ten grand out of his parents.”

“That’s something.”

“He was a piece of work. I expect he’s in prison now, although his parents’ money might’ve bought him off again.”

“He didn’t go to jail?”

“For a ‘prank?’” Sylvester did air quotes. “Nice white boy like that? No. But he got some community service, and his parents helped him pay the hotel a big fine to cover our lost expenses and damaged reputation. They shipped him off somewhere to be someone else’s problem.”

I huffed, but that was how the world worked. “You figure this is a bored teen?”

“You know the local people. What do you think?”

The letters were big and bold and slashed across the boards at a slant. “Man height, at least.” I could reach a bit higher, but not a lot, and I was tall. “I don’t know. How would a teen know or care about us yet? None of them were at that planning meeting.” Sylvester had gotten the permits about as fast as I’d expected when he saidHalf a million dollars.Speaking of how things worked.

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