I asked Henry if he wanted to have lunch with us, but he said he had things to attend to, including lobbying the Tribal Council about my daughter’s wedding. I thanked him and told him to keep me posted about his brother.
My best buddy drifted down the hall, light on his feet like some great cat. He slipped back into my office and disappeared. I turned back to Ozzie. “Ready for lunch?”
He looked more than a little uncomfortable. “Sure, but if you’re busy . . .”
I pulled my jacket on and continued to listen as somebody, probably Vic, tore a strip off Fetterman Street. “Actually that was my other lunch date that just blew through here earlier, so it would appear that I am completely free.”
“Great. Well . . .” He put his hat on, a snappy Gus type that added a good six inches to his height, and started for the steps. “I’ve only got an hour, so we better get going.”
I shrugged at Ruby and Dog, who had raised his head to watch the action, and then followed Ozzie down the steps and past the photographs of the five previous sheriffs. Ruby’s voice trailed after me. “Isaac Bloomfield called and said your eye appointment with Andy Hall is at nine a.m. on Thursday.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah . . .”
Ozzie had already crossed behind the courthouse and was approaching the concrete steps that descended diagonally toward Main Street, and he moved quickly. My foot was still worrying me, so I called out to him. “Ozzie, hold up.” He waited at the top of the shoveled steps. “I got a little torn up a couple of months ago, and I’m still not completely healed.”
“Sorry about that.” He smiled, but I noticed his hands jiggled the change and car keys in his pockets. I guess he felt as though he should make some sort of conversation as we walked.
“Boy, that deputy of yours is a real pip.”
I nodded as we made our way down the steps. “Yes, she is.”
“And she golfs?”
“Apparently.”
He nodded as we passed the barbershop and the Owen Wister Hotel and approached the door of the Busy Bee Café alongside Clear Creek. The windows of the café were steamed with an inviting warmth and gave me a little hope that no matter how long the high plains winter might be, I’d have a place to go and eat.
I started to take my traditional spot at the counter, but Ozzie kept walking toward a table in the back along the windows and away from the few patrons already in the place. The chief cook and bottle washer, Dorothy Caldwell, turned from the grill to give me the high sign, her hazel eyes following us with interest.
Ozzie pulled out the chair in the corner, which left me with my back to the door and the room. I wasn’t used to that seat, but maybe developers in the modern West were more in danger of being shot in the back than sheriffs.
I draped my jacket over my chair and sat just in time for the queen bee herself to appear with two glasses of ice water and a couple of menus. Why she brought me a menu I’ll never know, but it was a ritual and I found comfort in it.
She looked around as if this portion of the restaurant was one in which she’d never been. “You guys hiding from the law?”
I took the menu she proffered but then laid it flat on the surface of the yellow-speckled Formica table. “Yep, and if you see a deceptively diminutive deputy pull up, you’ll let us know?”
She crossed her arms along with the tiny pad and stubby pencil and looked at me through her mostly salt and not much pepper bangs. “What did you do now?”
“I didn’t know she golfed.”
The expression on Dorothy’s face didn’t change. “That’s a new one.”
“Yep.”
Ozzie, figuring that the conversation was complete, handed his menu back to her. “I’ll have the BLT, hold the mayo.”
Dorothy nodded, took his menu, and plucked mine out of my hands. “The usual?”
“Yes, please.”
Ozzie looked uncertain. “What’s the usual?”
She looked at him. “I haven’t decided yet.”
He paused for only a second. “I’ll stick with the BLT.”
As Dorothy retreated behind the counter, Ozzie turned back to me and spoke in a low voice. “Before we get started, I just wanted to tell you I was going to drop those charges against George Stewart.”
I was a little shocked, and my face probably showed it. “Well . . . I was hoping that would be the case.”
He took a deep breath and exhaled through distended nostrils, continuing to make eye contact with only the table. “The man is dangerous, but I figure we ought to let bygones be bygones.”
My plan was to just let him talk, but it appeared that he was done. “That’s very big of you.” I looked around to make sure I was sitting with the right guy. “Just so you know, he hasn’t filed any charges against you even though he bruised a few of his ribs and cracked his head open.” I tried looking out the windows but settled for watching the drops of condensation roll down at a low rate of speed. “I guess Geo’s not the kind to take that sort of thing seriously.”
“And I am?”
I took a sip of my water just to slow us down. “No, that’s not what I said.”
The small man leaned in, the brim of his hat only a few inches from mine. “He walks up and down that fence line with a rifle like he’s in some kind of range war.”
Probably waiting for your mother, I thought, but kept that to myself. “He shoots the rats that you’ve been complaining about.” I thought, with the turn of events, it was possible that Ozzie knew more about the relationship between the junkman and his mother, so I tested the waters. “Have you discussed any of this with your mother?”
He looked genuinely surprised at that one. “What?”
“Your mother, have you talked to her?”
He shook his head as if to clear my words from it. “What does my mother have to do with any of this?”
“Well, she was there.”
His mouth hung open. I wasn’t sure how much he knew about the situation, but I was certain he didn’t know how much I knew. “Look, Sheriff, just because my name is Junior doesn’t mean I have to check everything I do with my mother.” He was really steaming up now. “Did you check with your mother about our meeting today?”
I took a breath of my own and waited as Dorothy planted two iced teas on our table, glanced at us, and then made a silent retreat. When she was completely gone, I turned to look back at him.
He was a good-looking man, small but athletic. I could only imagine how difficult growing up with his father, a truly hard man, must’ve been. How strange it was to inherit somebody else’s dream and be forced to deal with the realities of it day after day. He was in a difficult position in more ways than one, whether he was totally aware of it or not. Ozzie Jr. must have had suspicions. It could be that these suspicions were what were fueling the current crisis, but only by making the situation clear could I deflect them and that meant betraying a trust; I wasn’t that desperate—at least not yet.
“My parents have been dead about twelve years, Ozzie, but there’s hardly a day goes by that I don’t wish they were here so I could ask them some damn thing about fixing potato salad, wiring my house, or how I’m doing raising their granddaughter.” I smiled, just to let him know we didn’t have to draw our flatware and go for each other’s throats.
His eyes were the same sad ones his mother had, and he was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry; there really wasn’t any call for me to say that.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, no it’s not.” He took a sip of his iced tea and stared at the table again, and I got the feeling he wanted to slow things down a little himself. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, and I’ve been saying a lot of things.” He looked up at me. “Now that you mention it, my mother and I had an argument when she came home last night, and I haven’t seen her since.”