Page 141 of Things We Hide from the Light
He nodded toward the door. “You shouldn’t go around antagonizing men like that.”
Even Cereal Aisle Guy had an opinion on my life choices.
“He started it.”
“Sounded like he’s got an issue with the local cops. Wasn’t the chief of police here shot a couple weeks back?” he asked.
“He was.”
The guy shook his head ruefully. “And I thought small-town life would be quiet.”
“If you want quiet, Knockemout probably isn’t the place to find it.”
“Guess not. They find the guy who shot the cop? Cause the one they just hauled out of here looks like he wouldn’t mind putting a bullet or two in someone,” he said.
“The FBI is investigating but they haven’t made any arrests. I’m sure the guy who did it is long gone. At least, he is if he has half a brain.”
“I heard the chief doesn’t even remember what happened. That’s gotta be weird.”
I didn’t really feel like talking about Nash to anyone. Especially not a stranger, so I simply raised my eyebrow.
He flashed an embarrassed smile. “Sorry. The gossip here runs fast and deep. Back home, I didn’t even know my neighbors’ first names. Here everybody seems like they already know your social security number and great-grandmother’s maiden name.”
“Welcome to Knockemout. Can I buy you a drink for your heroics?” I offered.
He shook his head. “I’ve gotta get going.”
“Well, thanks for stepping in. Even if I totally had the situation handled.”
“No problem. But maybe be more careful next time. You don’t wanna go making yourself a target.”
“I’m sure that creep has bigger problems than worrying about me. For instance, he’ll probably be having nightmares about you tonight.”
The grin was back. “Rain check on that drink.”
“You got it,” I said and watched him leave.
“On the house,” Max said, appearing next to me with the bourbon I’d ordered.
“Thanks. And thanks for not telling me I should have minded my own business.”
Max snorted. “Please. You’re the shero of Honky Tonk. Tate has no idea how lucky he is. We woulda tore his ass up tonight. Then Knox woulda been pissed at all the property damage. And Studly Do-Right woulda been mad about the blood and paperwork.”
“The Morgan brothers owe us one,” I agreed.
Nolan came back inside, stroking his finger and thumb over his mustache and frowning.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I think I might have to shave.”
My lips twitched. “I think you should keep it. Reclaim the ’stache.”
He took the chair Dilton had vacated and waved Fi over.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I warned, pointing to the Shark Week signage.
“Shark Week’s in the summer, isn’t it?”
