Page 36 of Cowboy Dreams

The next ten minutes were cold, boring, and uncomfortable, despite the parka and slippers Joe brought me. The first emergency vehicle that came screaming down the lane was the fire engine. The driver got out and edged toward us. “Uh, someone called?” He kept his big-eyed stare on Morse.

“Tell them I’m a cop,” Morse demanded. “They can’t do this.”

“You tried to burn our barn,” Joe snapped. “We sure as hell can.” He waved the firefighters over to the barn. “This bastard tried to set the place on fire. Can you make sure I got it all? Tap for the hose is around back.”

“Sure thing.” The firefighter backed away, probably glad to do something that was in their paygrade. He waved the other two out of the truck and they hurried over to the charred wall. The woman went into the barn with a big flashlight, presumably to check for spread on the inside.

A cop car arrived next, lights and sirens blaring. As they pulled up in the yard, headlights blinding me, I set the gun on the ground behind me and raised my hands. The door swung open and Deputy Lancaster got out, hiding behind the door panel, her gun aimed. “Everyone stay put. Hands where I can see them.Allof you.”

Morse called, “Lancaster, it’s me. Come put the cuffs on McNeil for assaulting an officer.”

“Not till you put them on Morse for fuckin’ arson,” Joe yelled.

“Shut up. Morse, you keep your hands up too.” Lancaster didn’t budge. “Sheriff’s on his way.”

“Can we finish putting out this fire?” the firefighter asked.

“Sorry, sure, Mac. Just stay well clear of those others.”

For a few minutes, as the firefighters dragged their hose into the barn, I kept my hands up and tried to relax. My back was working its way into a spasm, I could tell. Finally, I had to say, “Officer Lancaster, I have a bad back and I need to put my hands lower.”

“Don’t listen to the fruitcake, he’s trying to snow you,” Morse growled.

Maybe Lancaster didn’t like insults either— no doubt Morse was a less-than-fun coworker for a woman. She said, “Okay, lower your hands but keep them out from your sides.”

“Yes, officer.” I almost groaned at the relief.

Another cop car came our way with more lights, more sirens. Donner whinnied his displeasure, pacing the fence. The man who got out looked about fifty, built like a tank, with that cop strut that said he was in control. “Deputy Lancaster, what’s going on?”

“I responded to the 9-1-1 call about arson and assault. Arrived to find Mr. Georgia-um there holding a gun on Deputy Morse. Joe McNeil was standing beside them. The fire brigade was engaged in putting out a burn over by the barn. I had Mr.… Sylvester put the gun on the ground and waited for you.”

“Got it. Secure the weapon in an evidence bag, Lancaster.” The new cop headed for me, as Lancaster edged around the outside of our little group, knelt, and collected Morse’s gun. “I’m Sheriff Breyer. You’re Sylvester Georgiadis? This here is your property, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Jumping in before I could reply, Morse said, “I caught some guy in a pick-up truck trying to set fire to that barn. Before I could stop him, Joe McNeil assaulted me and took my service weapon. The truck got away and they’ve held me prisoner. That’s kidnapping a police officer, sir.”

Breyer turned to me. “You got anything to say to that?”

“It’s a lie!” Joe broke out.

Breyer held up his hand. “Mr. Georgiadis?”

“It’s notalla lie,” I said, my mind racing. The more Morse incriminated himself, before he found out about the cameras, the better. “We were alerted in our beds by the horses getting excited. A dark-colored pickup truck was parked out here, with a man holding a flaming torch against the barn. Joe and I ran over to stop them and the man inside the truck drove away. Joe was able to stop the man with the torch from getting into the truck and escaping. Him.” I pointed at Morse.

“Boss, they got it wrong. I was trying tostopthe arson. I’d have hauled the guy out of the truck and taken him prisoner, if McNeil hadn’t punched me in the performance of my duties.”

I could see Joe getting ready to explode and I tried to wave him down subtly. He glared but subsided.

I asked, “If you were stopping the guy in the truck, not helping him, how did you get here? Where’s your vehicle?”

Breyer said, “Good point. Where are your wheels, Morse?”

“I, um.” He glanced around. “I, uh, heard someone making plans to commit a crime and I climbed in the back of the pickup. I hitched a ride out here that way, planning to stop him.”

“Who was he?” Breyer asked.

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