Sutherland struggled to find words to respond with when the center console on his desk beeped twice. Sutherland dove for desk and pressed the button eagerly, “Yes? What is it?”
A uniformed Customs officer appeared on the screen. “We intercepted a PNDA distress signal coming from a planet that matches the trajectory of the Marshal’s ship.”
Harpe spun the console around to face him, “Where did it originate from?”
“A small mining planet called Seneca.”
Sutherland turned the console away from Little Willy, in his own direction. “Did the signal make it any further?”
“We killed it immediately, sir.”
“Good work.” Sutherland shut the screen off and sat down at his desk. He resisted the urge to sigh with relief and instead used his most professional tone to say, “I can have a ship outfitted and ready to take you and your friend within the hour, Mr. Harpe. I am sure you want to be on your way as soon as possible.”
Little Willy presented his hand to the Chief and Sutherland grabbed it enthusiastically. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Harpe,” he said. As soon as your ship is clear of my station, I am going to blow you into cosmic dust.
Harpe stopped smiling and looked down at Sutherland’s hand. He cocked his head sideways, admiring it. “You have nice hands, Chief.” He stroked the skin on Sutherland’s hand with the tips of his fingers. “But you’re a nail biter, I see. You do that when you’re nervous?”
“Not really. Just out of habit, mainly,” Sutherland said. He tugged, trying to free his hand from Harpe’s grip, but Harpe held him fast.
“Not because you’re hungry? Speaking of that, it’s gonna be a long day for me. You think I should eat before I go?”
“That sounds like it’s a good idea. Can I have my hand back?”
“It does sound like a good idea, doesn’t it?” Harpe said. “In fact, you’re hungry now too.”
“Yes, I am,” Sutherland said suddenly. He smiled with embarrassment that he’d needed Little Willy to remind him. “I could damn near eat anything.”
“You don’t say,” Little Willy said. He looked down at Sutherland’s hand and stroked it gently.
Ten minutes later, Hank Raddiger hurried back to the Chief’s office, holding a long-tailed rodent by its throat. He was careful not to kill it, but wanted it to be stunned a little before he had to put it in his mouth. He thought about slamming its head against the wall a few times, but was in too much of a rush to get back. “Willy!” he called out. “Willy, I’ve got it-”
Little Willy stepped in front of him at the doorway to block his entrance. “Stop yelling, you damn fool.”
Hank lifted up the rat. “I’ve got it,” he said. His hand was dripping with blood from where its claws tore him when he snatched it. It squirmed in his hand and squealed. “I’m ready,” he said, opening his mouth wide around the creature’s head.
“Get rid of it,” Little Willy said. “We’re leaving.”
“What about our deal?”
“Get rid of it.”
“Aw, goddamn, Little Willy. You swore.” Hank threw the rat as hard as he could against the wall and continued to whine, but Little Willy ignored him.
Little Willy kept his head turned to inside the Chief’s office and he nodded with approval and said, “There you go. That’s how you do it.” Something was making a sickening crunching and slurping noise inside the office. “Keep going, Bill. Finish your meal.”
Bill Sutherland’s mouth was full of something wet and he garbled his words, saying, “So good. So unbelievably good.”
Hank tapped Little Willy on the shoulder. “Is the Chief coming with us?”
“Bill’s slightly occupied. Go find me a ship,” Little Willy said. He looked back into the office and said, “Okay, Bill. Time’s about up. Wake up and tell me what you see.”
Hank tried to look past Little Willy’s enormous form, but a shriek burst out from inside the office so full of horror that Hank immediately ran off into the docking bays to find a ship.
Four days after Jem Clayton had come to her house, Janet Walters summed up the nerve to go and see him. She knocked on the Sheriff’s Office screen door, and when no one answered, she put her face against the screen and frowned when she saw a grizzled old man sitting at the desk . “Go away,” he said.
Janet folded her arms and did not budge. “Who are you? Where’s Sheriff Junger?”
“I’m Mr. Never You Mind, and this other feller is Nobody Cares, now beat it.”
“Where’s Jem Clayton?”
“Not here.”
“Are you gonna let me in?”
“No.”
Janet banged her hand against the door and said, “You open up right away, whoever you are. I’ve lived here my whole life and I’m not leaving until I get to speak to someone in authority.”
McParlan grunted and came to the door. “We’re closed. Your so-called Sheriff ain’t here. I’m a PNDA Marshal and I’m housing a prisoner in this facility, which means I don’t have time to investigate who stole your ears of corn or why Miss Mary Lou played fiddle at the ho-down instead of Old Billy Bob.”
Janet folded her arms across her bountiful chest and said, “Lister here, Mister Fancy Off-World Newcomer, I didn’t come to make no complaints. I came to bring something to Jem Clayton.” She held up a framed photograph and said, “It’s a picture of Jem’s daddy, Sam, back when he was the Sheriff.”
McParlan opened the door to take the picture from her, and Janet wedged past him to look at the man inside the cell. Elijah Harpe was lying on his back with his bandaged leg propped in the air, snoring. Her eyes widened, “Is that your prisoner? I heard he’s famous.”
“Don’t go anywhere near him,” McParlan said. “He’s only famous for all the disgusting things he does to innocent women right before he slits their throats. Ain’t that right Elijah?”
The man in the cell did not respond, but his snores paused long enough for McParlan to see a slight smile at the corners of his mouth. McParlan looked back at the picture. “Is that Jem back when he was a boy?”
Janet peered over his shoulder and nodded, “Sure was. And that’s his little sister, Claire. She’s married to a man that got gimped in the mines, poor thing. She’s been taking care of him for most of their marriage. Everybody says it’s a shame how she got stuck taking care of a cripple, being so pretty and all, but I think it’s sweet.” Janet pointed at the man standing in the middle of the photo wearing a gold star on his vest, “That’s their daddy, Sheriff Sam Clayton. Wasn’t he handsome? Everybody says how much Jem looks like him.”
“Is that your daddy?” McParlan said.
“That was Deputy Tom Masters. I live in his old house down Pioneer Way. That’s how I came upon this. My sister married his son Bart. I was going to take it to Claire myself, but she lives all the way at the opposite end of the settlement at the last house on Pioneer Way. I hoped to see Jem before he left. Everybody says he won’t stick around for long.”
“He’ll be back,” McParlan said. “I’ll make sure he gets this.”
“I’m much obliged,” Janet said. “I work just down the street, across from the Proud Lady.” Janet looked around the office and said, “Are you stuck in here all this time?”
McParlan shrugged and said, “Somebody’s got to stay here and guard the prisoner.”
“When’s the last time you had a home cooked meal?”
The old Marshal scratched his chin and took a second look at the young woman standing in the doorway. She was heavy, sure, big as a truck, but she had real pretty eyes and her bosoms were bunched together to create a deep crevice that looked like the kind of place he might be able to rest his head and stay awhile. McParlan said, “It’s been a long, long time, Miss Janet.”