Victor Gischler - The Deputy

A lone man, in over his head, against a corrupt town in the middle of nowhere.

Toby Sawyer starts the night with a simple job: babysit the body of Luke Jordan. Luke, one of a family of four brothers (all bad apples), has gone and got himself shot over what appears to be getting too friendly with someone elses girl.

Tobys working part time for the police department, hoping hell someday get the bump up to full-time deputy. Hes got a trailer, a wife, a baby boy, and not much else. Coyote Crossing isnt exactly a hotbed of opportunity for a young man, after all.

Unless, of course, a young man has a knack for the illegal. Turns out Luke Jordan might have been involved in smuggling Mexican illegals up through Texas. Turns out Luke Jordan might not be the only one in town with a stake in the operation. Turns out Luke Jordans death might not be the last one on this hot Oklahoma night

The Deputy by Victor Gischler

Published by Tyrus Books 1213 N. Sherman Ave., #306 Madison, Wisconsin 53704 www.tyrusbooks.com

Copyright 2010 by Victor Gischler

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

ISBN 9781935562009 (paperback) ISBN 9781935562016 (hardcover)

For Jackie

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks big time to my whole family, especially my wife Jackie and son Emery who had to put up with a grumpy writer when things weren't going smoothly and a slightly silly writer when things were going well. First readers (and super cool pals) Anthony Neil Smith and Sean Doolittle will always get props. Video Golf on me next time, guys. Super-fly agent David Hale Smith derserves big thanks as does his right hand Shauyi. Hello to all my peeps back in Oklahoma. You didn't think I was done writing about Oklahoma, did you? And thank you, readers. And finally, I am grateful to Alison and Ben of Tyrus Books. You gave this novel a home. Much obliged.

CHAPTER ONE

I faked a cough, put my hand over my mouth to hide the grin. I knew it wasnt funny really, but the surprised look on Luke Jordans dead face caught me just right. Luke was the first dead guy Id ever seen up close except for in a funeral home.

Chief of Police Frank Krueger sighed out long and loud and scratched his big belly, pushed his straw hat back on his forehead, wiping the sweat off his face with a red handkerchief. He looked down at the body of Luke Jordan lying half-in half-out of the old pickup truck and began counting, stabbing his fat finger at the body. Finally he said, I count nine bullet holes. That what you got?

I didnt bother counting. Yeah. I fingered the tin star pinned to my Weezer t-shirt, feeling stupid in untied high-top sneakers and sweatpants. When the chief phones you out of bed at midnight, you grab what you can and run out the door. I held the holstered revolver behind my back. Id tried clipping the holster to the sweatpants, but the gun was too heavy, kept pulling the waistband down past my ass-crack.

So I didnt count the bullet holes, but I looked hard at Luke Jordan, eyes wide and surprised as hell, blood all gunky and black and starting to dry on his plaid shirt. Luke was one of these good looking rednecks in a rough way, all faded jeans and t-shirts with the sleeves ripped off. Cowboy boots, some kind of fake lizard skin. Probably told everybody they were rattlesnake.

In high school civics class, Luke used to chew up notebook paper until it was nice and soggy then fling it at the back of my head. After graduation, Lukes brothers had driven him down to Tulsa to see the Army recruiter. The Army had sent him back a month later. Luke said it was bad knees, but Id heard somewhere theyd kicked him out for fighting and drunkenness. Hed been kicked out of gym class for pretty near the same thing.

Chief Krueger slapped a hammy hand on my back. Stay here and watch the body, Toby. Im going to talk to Wayne.

Okay, Chief.

Billy gets here you tell him hes on my shit list, Krueger said. He only lives on over to Dixon. Should have been here ten minutes ago.

Check.

The chief walked over to Wayne Dobbs who sat on the front steps of Skeeters, the local watering hole and burger joint. It had been Wayne whod found Lukes body, called the chief at home. Youre allowed to call the chief of Police at home if youre on the town council, I guess. Wayne had been the late night cook and wash-up guy at Skeeters for as long as I could remember, even kicked me out of the place when I was sixteen and trying to get beer on a fake I.D. Now he was the owner. Wayne had American dreamed himself to the top of the food chain. Hell, it sure was a small damn town.

Wayne stood when the chief came over, wiped his hands on his apron then started pointing and talking, and I knew he was telling the same story over again about hearing the shots and finding Lukes body.

The chief nodded, and they both walked into the bar.

I went to my rusted as shit Chevy Nova and opened the passenger door, leaned in and fished a pack of Winstons and a Bic lighter out of the glove compartment. I leaned against the hood and lit up, sucked the smoke in deep, then blew a long gray stream into the night.

The smoke clung, drifted, looking for a puff of wind to hitch a ride. But there was no breeze. Humid. It was hot, hot, hot fucking August in Oklahoma, and when the sun came up and cooked Luke Jordans body for a while it would get awful ripe real quick.

I looked up and down Main Street. The road glistened a dead black, the brick buildings closed up and sleeping. The chief said he chased a few folks back inside before Id arrived. Guess theyd heard the shots. Only a few folks lived over their stores like in the old days. The barber shop, dime store, bank all looked like a deserted movie set. The light at the four-way stop blinked a hellish red. God cued a cat somewhere to meow and knock over a garbage can.

Headlights flashed at the other end of Main. They came close, and I saw it was the other squad car, Billy Banks behind the wheel. He pulled in next to me and climbed out. He wore ironed khaki pants and shirt, black tie. Shoes polished. His gun belt hanging at a jaunty, gunslinger angle. Billy was all close black haircut and brushed teeth and trimmed finger nails. I thought he was running for some office, although God knows what out here at the ass-end of Oklahoma. Dog Catcher maybe.

He nodded at me. Toby.

I grinned. Chief says youre late.

Billy smiled back. He in there talking to Wayne?

Yeah.

Billy squatted next to Luke, wrinkled up his face like hed eaten some bad egg salad. Jesus, Luke pissed off somebody bad, huh? I bet he got drunk and his hands got busy after the wrong girl. Half these good old boys around here got pistols under their car seats.

Uh-huh. I kept smoking. It was too hot to keep up my end of the conversation.

Billy saw the chief coming and stood, straightened his tie. Got here as quick as I could, Frank.

Krueger looked at his wristwatch then back at Billy. Have yourself a cup of coffee? Read the morning paper?

Billy smiled like it was a joke, but he knew it wasnt.

I dropped my cigarette, ground it into the dirt with my heel. Krueger motioned he wanted to have a pow-wow. We made a little huddle.

The chief thumbed a giant wad of tobacco into his mouth, cheek bulging. He chewed, spit, then said, Wayne says Luke was talking to some Mexican gal an hour before closing.