Buck Fever (Blanco County Mysteries) by Ben Rehder Read Free Book Online Page B

we're crossing our fingers. After that, I guess we'll have to put word out in Austin and San Antone.”
    Lem grabbed a small flashlight off a shelf and raised the dead man's left arm. “Here's what I wanted to show you.” He shined the light on the palm of the rigid left hand, revealing faint writing from a ballpoint pen.
    “Looks like a phone number,” Garza said. “What is that, 555-1508?”
    “That's what it looks like to me. Another month and that writing would have been gone.”
    Garza took a small notebook out of his shirt pocket and wrote the number down. “This could be what we need, Lem. Good eye.”
    “Just call me Quincy.”
    “We sure are jumping into this awful fast,” Billy Don said. It was Sunday evening and the two men were sitting in Red's truck at the Sonic Drive-In. Two bags filled with deep-fried favorites sat between them.
    Red responded while munching on a handful of Tater Tots: “No sense in waiting around when ten thousand bucks is on the line. You know how long it would take us to earn that in the construction business?”
    “How long?”
    Red paused for a moment. “A good long while, that's for sure. And another thing—what if someone else finds the deer first? Or what if something happens to it? Marlin or Colby could have already hauled it off a hundred miles away.”
    Billy Don nodded. Red always had a good answer for everything. But the idea of using a gun on Colby scared him. Even if it was a pellet gun.
    Red sensed his nervousness. “Now, don't worry. All we do is stick this in Colby's face like this.” He pointed the gun at Billy Don. “ ‘Give me the damn deer,’” he practiced between clenched teeth.
    “Red, don't point that thing at me.” Billy Don slid toward the door.
    “Don't be a baby.”
    “I mean it. Aim that somewhere else.”
    “Hell, it ain't even loaded.” Red pointed the gun toward the unopened passenger window, just inches in front of Billy Don's face, and pulled the trigger.
    The corn dog sticking out from Billy Don's mouth exploded as a loud pop filled the cab of the truck. The window immediately became a weblike network of cracks surrounding a small, neat hole.
    Billy Don cursed while opening the door and climbing out of the truck. “Dammit to hell, Red! That thing missed my head by about an inch.”
    Red looked around the drive-in diner to see if they were drawing attention. Nobody seemed to notice. “Get back in here, Billy Don.”
    “Go to hell.”
    “Nobody even heard it, so get back in here before everybody hears your hollerin’.”
    “Put that damn gun down. First you miss that deer the other night, and now you almost take my head off. And you ruint a perfectly good corn dog. Shit.”
    Remaining inconspicuous was more important than maintaining his pride at the moment, so Red laid the gun on the seat. “Billy Don. I'm sorry. Now get back in here. Please.”
    Billy Don slowly eased himself back into the truck. He grabbed the pellet gun and put it on the floorboard at his feet.
    “Okay, good,” Red said. “Now, here's the plan.”
    Roy Swank sat at his desk in his den Sunday evening and contemplated the whole debacle with the trophy deer named Buck. Damn, what a mess it all was! Swank always felt confident, even when things weren't going his way. His years at the state capitol had forged nerves of steel. But for the first time, he was beginning to feel a little antsy. Maybe he was in over his head this time.
    Part of his nervousness had to do with being in a new line of business—and dealing with an entirely different breed of clientele. Oscar, for one, was a threatening figure. How do you gauge a man like that? Who knows how he would react if he knew about this current situation?
    No, he was definitely getting too old for this type of stress. He would clear this mess up and then retire for good. Isn't that what he had in mind when he originally moved out here? Maybe lease a few pastures to deer hunters during the season and run a few