Sarge had a big belly, a long beard and hair that hung well past his shoulders. He’d had a cigarette in his mouth and was shuffling the cards as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Nick wasn’t halfway to the table before the smell hit him and he realized the cigarette was marijuana.
“How’s it going, Sheriff?” Sarge said while flipping the cards between his stubby fingers with the skill only years of practice could provide.
“May I sit?” he asked.
Sarge put the deck of cards down, then took a huge drag on the joint and blew it out just above Nick’s head.
Nick worked hard to control himself. He took his seat across from the large man.
“What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
Nick looked around at the roomful of eyes taking in the scene, then looked back across the table.
“Sarge,” he said in a low voice. “I realize this is a private club, but I came here and showed you the ultimate respect. I asked for permission for a sit down. I allowed a pat down. I even asked permission for a seat.” Nick nodded to the joint in Sarge’s hand. “I think the least you could do is allow me the dignity of not smoking that in front of me.”
Sarge gave him a steely glare. He took a long drag, then blew the smoke out the side of his mouth. With a yellow-toothed smile he snuffed out the joint into a half-full metal ashtray.
Sarge lowered his head, then said, “I’m listening.”
Nick’s heart paced a little quicker than he’d hoped. Composure was a key when dealing with the Harley Mafia. They were mostly ex-soldiers, patriots who’d found a home transporting marijuana across the Arizona border and running a gambling racket. A bunch of misfits who would normally have trouble working in an office, but found the freedom of self employment.
Nick cleared his throat. “All the months I’ve been Sheriff I’ve never once paid you a visit or even spoken with anyone in your club.”
“What club would that be?” Sarge said with an antagonizing tone. “The order of the Moose?”
Nick rubbed his temple, then took a breath. “The reason I let it go is because it’s mostly harmless stuff in my world. I’m a big picture kind of guy. Marijuana should probably be legal. I don’t care about it. You book football, basketball … I don’t give a crap. Shit, I’ve been known to throw down a dime or two on a game myself.”
The bearded man sat still and waited.
“What I need to know is, what’s that sticker doing in the back window of your pickup truck?”
Sarge looked baffled. His eyes roamed in thought. “The only thing I got on my back window is an American Flag.”
Nick pointed his index finger. “Exactly. Why would you do something like that?”
Sarge’s face lightened up. He seemed amused now. “Because I’m a fucking patriot,” he bellowed, causing a few chuckles from men at the nearby tables.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Nick said. “Because my next subject concerns your patriotism.”
Sarge leaned back in his chair and placed his chubby hands on his belly.
“I’ve spoken with Clark over at Nelson’s,” Nick said, “and he told me about a delivery of cigarettes which were stolen from a van outside of Payson about three months ago. It was an insignificant robbery as far as I was concerned. Cigarettes are bad for your health anyway.”
Sarge didn’t appear pleased about the subject.
Nick continued. “Someone with your connections would know who’d done this job. I mean, this is your turf. I can’t imagine someone would be allowed to work in your own backyard without permission.”
“Sheriff if you think-”
Nick held up his hand. “Please. Wait.”
Sarge glanced down at his joint, as if he considered lighting it up again.
“I’m sure you know there’s a terrorist cell in the area. These are people who hate patriots like yourself. I track these people for a living. Or at least I did. But now I’ve discovered a cabin here in Payson where they’ve been holding up and low and behold we discover a Turkish cigarette butt. The same brand cigarette which was stolen just a few weeks back. Sarge, if you really are a true patriot, then tell me where I can find the bastards who’re trying to kill Americans. People like Devon Grabowski, whose house was bombed by this group. Devon was in the Navy during the-”
“I knew Devon,” Sarge said, his jaw tense now as he leaned forward onto the table. “You’re certain the KSF killed the Grabowski’s?”
Nick nodded.
Sarge sat upright and began pulling on his scraggly beard while mulling things over. Nick understood Sarge wasn’t exactly a friend of the law, so this was a tough spot for him. He couldn’t afford to look as if he were assisting the authorities.
Nick leaned over and spoke in a whisper. “Should you feel the need to talk, I’ll instruct the dispatch at the sheriff’s office to put you through to my cell phone anytime, twenty-four hours a day.”
Nick pushed away from the table and stood. He raised his eyebrows and received a subtle nod in agreement.
As he walked to the door, Nick heard Sarge call him.
Nick turned.
“Tell your cousin Tommy to stop by and have a drink with me,” Sarge said. “On the house.”
Nick smiled. Was there a place on the planet where Tommy wasn’t welcome?
Nick stood on the front porch of the sheriff’s office staring through the stand of trees to the main road. He was there for five minutes before a car went by. A couple of minutes later a green Humvee slowly drove by, patrolling the area. Soldiers casually showed their assault rifles as they examined their surroundings. Payson was down to twenty-five percent occupancy.
A white van came speeding up the gravel entrance and stopped short in front of Nick. A large man with a blue cap and blue uniform hopped from the vehicle and pulled opened the back door. He yanked a giant cardboard box from the back of the truck and carried it toward Nick.
“Looking for Steven Gilpin,” he said, holding the box on his knee for a rest.
“Stevie,” Nick called through the open door.
A moment later Stevie came out and smiled. “Great,” he said, signing the invoice and grabbing the box. He hauled it up the steps into the open door and plopped it down on the vacant receptionist’s desk.
“What is it?” Nick asked, following him in.
“It’s a Keating 7600,” Stevie beamed like a proud parent. When Nick didn’t say anything Stevie looked at him and said, “It’s an analytical chemistry analyzer. Before you sent Semir down to the Phoenix Field Office, I took samples from his shoes and fingernails. I thought I might be able to find out where he’s been lately.”
Nick slapped him on the shoulder and said, “That’s why I asked for you Stevie. You’re always a step ahead of me.”
Stevie smiled, then began tearing open the cardboard box.
Nick returned to the porch and tried to clear his mind. The silence of the normally busy road gave him a creepy feeling. “What are you up to Barzani?”
“He’s making you crazy,” Matt said from behind him, stepping out onto the deck. “That’s what he’s doing.”
“He told me on the phone, ‘Arizona will be a very different place,’” Nick said. “Not Payson will be a very different place, not America will be a very different place. Arizona.”
“Maybe he wanted to spread you out so you don’t focus on just Payson.”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe it’s a mistake.”
Nick turned to face Matt. “See, it’s my job to know that. To be able to read him and know the difference. But I’m coming up empty.”
“So, we do what we do best,” Matt reminded him. “Start with what we know.”
“And what do we know?” Nick said.
“We know Barzani is a bomb-loving fiend.”
“And he’s had six months to plant a bomb somewhere in Arizona,” Nick said. “If you were trying to create the most destruction, what would you bomb?”
“Palo Verde?” Matt asked.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Nick said. “A nuclear power plant. But with a group his size? What’s he got ten, twelve soldiers?”
“A Sun’s game?”