Josh Lanyon - Slay Ride

Table of Contents

A wild and dangerous ride takes two lonely men into uncharted territory

1943 Montana. Returning home to Montana after being wounded in the Pacific, Police Chief Robert Garrett was hoping for a little much needed Peace on Earth and Goodwill Toward Man. Instead, he finds himself chasing after a cold-blooded killer on Christmas Day, aidedwhether he likes it or notby eager young reporter Jamie Jameson.

Jamie has idolized Police Chief Garrett most of his life. Despite a stolen birthday kiss seven years earlier, he knows his feelings are unreturned. Even if Rob felt the same, theres no room in their world for such feelings between men. But while Jamie can accept Robert not sharing his feelings, he wont put up with being treated like a troublesome kid brother. He too has a job to do, and he intends on traveling this bloody and twisted road with Robert Garrettno matter where it leads.

SLAY RIDE

Josh Lanyon

Maybe Tom Finneys phone call was a blessing in disguise.

Robert was having an early dinner at the home of Sheriffs Deputy Clinton Dooleys widow. Dooley had been shot to death on Mill Creek Road three months earlier, and it was a god-awful Christmas for Mabel and the three little girls.

But then, with the war on and so many families missing loved ones, it was a god-awful Christmas for everyone. Joey, Roberts kid brother, had been killed in the Pacific the previous spring. The Pacific was where Robert had nearly lost his right leg the January before that. There wasnt a family in Bolt that hadnt been touched by the war. In fact, there probably wasnt a family in Montana or maybe the whole of the United States that hadnt felt the brush of that icy finger.

Robert was doing his best to bring a little holiday cheer to the proceedings. Mabel was swell. Hed been to school with her, had even thought about asking her to marry him at one time. But somehow, hed never gotten around to it, whereas Clint Dooley had. Now Dooley was dead, shot one night on a country back road by a nameless assailant, and Mabel was making a brave effort not to cry into the mashed potatoes.

When he was done failing to comfort the Dooley girls, Robert was supposed to head over to his mothers house, where his kith and kin would make their own brave effort not to notice the empty place at the table.

So yes, in a funny way, Officer Finneys phone call was a relief.

Chief, I just got a call from Eugene Boswell, the assistant manager of the Safeway over on Harrison Avenue. He claims theres some bird holed up at the Knights Arms, waving a roscoe around and squawking about bumping off his girlfriend.

Knights Arms. Thats the place on Main Street? Robert asked. And then, suspiciously, How would Eugene Boswell know whats going on in the Knights Arms? Finney had a fondness for practical jokes, and was known to celebrate the holidays, every holiday known to manincluding some that hadnt been thought of yetwith a nip or two.

But Finney sounded cold sober when he replied, Boswell was over there having dinner at his mother-in-laws apartment when a gal burst in, followed by this Harold Braun. Braun said he had three bullets, two for the dame and one for himself. While the women were trying to reason with him, Boswell scrammed across the street to the Scandia Bar and called us. He said Brauns not fooling.

On my way. Ill meet you in front of the Knights Arms. Robert hung up and turned to find Mabel standing in the doorway holding his hat and coat. Her pretty face was pale. She was a tall, thin blonde with a spatter of golden freckles across an upturned nose. In the old days, she had always laughed a lot.

Trouble? she asked. She had been a lawmans wife for nearly a decade.

Robert nodded. Sounds that way. Im sorry about dinner.

Mabel brushed aside the mention of the meal on which she had used up so many of her ration coupons and worked so hard to prepare. Be careful, Robert.

Sure, Robert said easily. Im not the heroic type.

Not you, Mabel agreed. Not being heroic is how you got shot in the Philippines.

Everybody got shot, so that doesnt count. Robert shrugged into his coat, took his hat, and limped toward the front door. Anyway, it was my leg that got shot, not my Philippines. My Philippines still work fine.

Mabel laughed shakily. If you can come back later, do. Ill save you a slice of mince pie.

I cant promise, but if I can, I will.

She was still standing in the doorway, framed in cozy lamplight and hugging herself against the cold, when he climbed into his car and pulled away from the curb.

* * * * *

A handful of snowflakes drifted down as Robert parked behind the Scandia. He got his pistol out of the glove box and climbed out of the car. His leg ached in the damp winter air. But then, his leg always ached now.

Christmas lights strung across the windows of the bar cast watery blue and red and green smears on the black, shining street as he hurried across to where Finney and OHara were pacing in front of the brick apartment building. There was a third man with them, young, sandy and balding, plump as a pigeon, in a dark overcoat. That would be Boswell, the grocery store assistant manager, and Robert automatically wondered why he wasnt in the army or some other branch of the service.

Chief, we were just about to go in, Finney said as Robert reached them. Finney was in his forties, short, wiry, hair prematurely white. He always reminded Robert of a smooth-haired fox terrier. Now he was almost quivering, like a dog tugging at a leash.

OHara was older than Finney. He was bigtall and broadwith a head of curly and startlingly dark hair. He hooked a thumb back at the trio of men hovering just out of earshot, and said, The newshounds say they heard a shot right before we arrived.

Newshounds? Robert swore inwardly. It had taken him less than five minutes from receiving Finneys phone call to get over to Main Street, and he had been relieved to see there wasnt much of a crowd gathered yet. But now that he took a closer look, he saw that the three men lurking a few feet away near scraggly shrubbery were not casual bystanders. One of them, a kid with a shock of white-blond hair, held a camera. Robert recognized the second man as Earl Arthur from the Montana Standard . And the third man His heart jumped at the sight of that tall, lanky figure with the untidy chestnut hair.

Jamie.

He hadnt seen JamieJames Jamesonsince Joeys funeral, but hed been on Roberts mind the past few days. Ever since Officer Alf Davies had told him Jamie had traveled to Great Falls and tried yet again to enlist. With the same results as before. 4F. Weak lungs. There were worse things. A lot worse things, as Robert would have liked to remind him, but somehow he hadnt gotten around to it, and now here was Jamie gazing back at him, eager and alert, hazel eyes shining like Santa had brought him a brand-new bicycle that very morning.

How old was he now? Twenty-one? Twenty-two? No. Twenty-three. Same age as Joey would have been. Why kid himself he didnt know? Not like he would ever forget the year Jamie turned sixteenand a stolen kiss at a birthday party.

Remembering that Jamie now worked for the Bolt Daily Banner , Robert groaned inwardly. He turned his back on Jamie and the other newshounds. Another snowflake drifted down and melted as it brushed his skin.

Hes crazy, Boswell was saying between chattering teeth. Hes going to kill that woman. My wifes still up there.

Finney and OHara were only waiting for his word. Robert pulled his pistol from his belt. How many people are in the apartment?

My wife, my mother-in-law, Mrs. Mileur and her sister.