Page 12 of Gypsy's Lady
“For what?” Doug became aware there were a dozen men crowded around. He glanced side to side, cataloging the faces he knew. A mix of Winger’s group, and some men from the Rebel Wayfarers. They were an MC whowasbuilding a larger presence in town. An uneasy trickle of fear wormed down his spine. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing that concerns you, Lawman.” Agray-beardedman Doug didn’t know stepped up behind Winger and spoke, reaching up to place his hand on Winger’s shoulder. That show of support was not lost, and Winger’s chin tipped up in confirmation of the sudden realization he no doubt saw on Doug’s face.
I know what they’re going to do.
Heheld Winger’s eyes. They were certain, unwavering, confident in the rightness of what was coming.
And I’m goingto let them.
He let that rightness of the decision wash over him, firming his resolve. The men around them crowded closer, heat from their bodies all along his back and Doug smothered a snort of laughter as he mentally acknowledged the truth.Like I could stop ‘em.
Decided, he took a sharp breath, then clipped out, “I’m going home.” He dipped his chin towards his neck. “Feelin’ tired suddenly.Came on me all at once. Probably stay in the rest of the night. Dixie,” he called a little louder, hearing her response from the other end of the bar, “I’ll catch up next time I’m in. You know I’m good for it.”
“I know you are, darlin’. Drive safe.”Darlin’. I like that.
Bodies shifted abruptly, and an empty corridor appeared between him and the door to the parking lot. Without another word,without looking to either side, Doug walked out, got in his car, and drove home. He had a beer and ate a sandwich, then went to bed and slept deeply, dreamlessly.Guilt free.
The next morning there was an article in the local paper about the untimely death of Brinkley Sullivan. He’d been found floating face down in the river that ran through Indianapolis, his body cold and white as they draggedit out of the water. Doug read while holding his breath, his forgotten cup of coffee cooling on the kitchen counter. Off therecord,someone from the coroner’s office had notedelevatedblood alcohol, and that, along with reports of Sullivan being seen visibly drunk in at least two downtown bars, had pinned it to the wall with a big fat accidental death nail. Done, and done. Sullivan would neverface a jury of his peers for his actions, butbemoaningthat seemed overkill.
“Dickweed.”
