Carolina Mac [Mac - Final Table

FINAL TABLE

The Blackmore Agency: Book Eight

Carolina Mac

Copyright 2018 by Carolina Mac

FINAL TABLE - 1st ed.

ISBN 978-1-988850-54-

All rights reserved

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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To: Daniel

Jealousy is a disease. Get well soon.

Anonymous

CHAPTER ONE

October 28 th .

Apache Springs Sheriffs Office. West Texas.

WATCH the store while Im gone, Doris, and keep an eye on the Watson boys if they wander in. I think those sons of bitches have been lifting smokes when your head is turned.

Doris muffled a giggle and peered at the Sheriff over her glasses. Oh, I dont think so, Sheriff, those boys are barely into their teens. Way too young to smoke. She focused her attention on her calculator, adding up the receipts from the previous day.

Sheriff Newcomb hitched up his uniform pants. They were riding low, weighted down by all the gear on his belt, and forever tripping him up. He shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the SUV. Doris, would you keep an eye open anyway?

Course I will, Sheriff, dont I always? She pointed a stubby finger at the land line beside the cash register. Should I relay any emergency calls to yall?

Of course, but I doubt there will be any. The towns been pretty damn quiet since the DEA shut the bikers down.

Doris shot the Sheriff a worried glance. Yall arent gonna make trouble where there isnt any, are you, Stan?

The Sheriff chose not to answer, and instead waved an arm in the direction of his Deputy who was helping himself to a nutty buddy from the ice cream freezer. Lets go, Ronnie.

They drove north through the business section of Apache Springs. Three blocks of store fronts, the businesses inside barely hanging on. The Asian couple who ran the cleaners had given up and moved back to El Paso. A red and blue for sale sign decorated the front of their building. The co-op had added a large hardware section when Hank went broke and now they did double duty. Angelas diner was a bright spotgood food people could afford. Angie had to let her cook go and do the cooking herself. She did double duty too but managed to stay open. The bank had gone on reduced hours to save manpower. If you needed to access your account on any day but Tuesday or Thursday, the ATM was your only choice.

Stan operated the only gas station for twenty miles and stocked essentials in the attached convenience store. He kept more grocery items on hand now that Harrisons Grocery called it quits, but he had no room for produce. The locals had to drive miles or grow their own. The last building heading north was the New Moon Motel. Stan glanced at the parking lot to see if Karen Rose had any customers. One truck. He didnt know how long shed be able to hold out.

Ronnie ate his ice cream in the shotgun seat of the Sheriffs SUV and never uttered a word until he was finished. The second he crunched the last of the cone he asked in his whiny twang, Where we going, Sheriff? We get a call?

Nope, no call, son. Heard a couple rumors about the Varmints. Old Petey Price thought he saw three or four Harleys togetherlike in a convoyheading east off the highway up here a piece. Its my duty to see where the Varmints hightailed it to and its my duty to see if the bastards have set up another meth lab.

Ronnie shook his blond head so hard his hat almost fell off. No, it aint Sheriff. Aint one bit your job. We crossed the county line ten minutes back and that means it aint our problem. Youre heading into the mountains again, aint ya?

Ronnie Slater was worse than nothing as back-up. Couldnt lick nothing tougher than an ice cream cone, but he was the only choice. Nobody else in town wanted the job. It paid next to nothing with the county holding tight to its purse stringsso tight, in fact, Stan had to run the Sheriffs Office out of the back room of his gas station. He paid Doris to run the store and pump gas and act as dispatcher for him on the side. He was lucky he had a uniform to wear and the county vehicle to drive. Didnt even have a fuckin holding cell.

Just for a look-see. Nothing else. The Sheriff flicked on his blinker and turned off route fifty-four. Recon only.

We went this way last time, Ronnie ragged on and the Sheriff turned up the volume on the radio. Drove for miles around these winding dirt tracks and never found dickshit. Remember that, Sheriff?

Have a smoke, Ronnie, and shut the fuck up.

Ronnie pulled a pack of Spirits out of his shirt pocket and lit up. He lowered his window and puffed away silently for the next five minutes.

Stan turned down another narrow dirt road running through thick bush and brush. No buildings except the odd hunting cabin. They were climbing now, circling around and through the Apache range. They approached a crossroadstwo dirt roads intersecting in the middle of nowhere.

The Sheriff stopped the SUV, looked to the left and then to the right and pondered his decision for a minute or two.

Which way, Sheriff? Ronnie asked in a whine. Are we fuckin lost?

How could we be lost? We have GPS. Stan glared at the skinny kid. And wipe that fuckin ice cream off your face.

Apache Mountains. West Texas.

SANTANA leaned back in the only chair on his newly constructed deck and filled his lungs with fresh mountain air. From where he sat the mountains surrounding him looked more like big tree covered hills. None were high enough to have snow caps, but they were called mountains all the same.

October. Hed hoped to have the clubhouse up and running by now, but things took time. Even longer when you delegated physical labor to an army of idiots whose best skills were toking and drinking beer.

But the lab was his first priorityit supported the club and made all other projects possible. Out of sight, about a quarter mile back in the bush, hidden in the trees, it was running at peak performance. Hed hired some guys that were long on experience and knew what the hell they were doing. After his crew had been arrested at the last site, hed had no choice but to look for new people. New people. Better people. Their second shipment was almost ready for delivery. Twice as much product and twice as much income for the club.

His second project since moving here onto the clubs hunting property and target range, was the clubhouse. There was no meeting place and no place big enough for poker. The boys liked a game every night, and this far from bars and strip joints what the hell else were they gonna do?