Dead Renegade by Victoria Houston Read Free Book Online Page B

man. A girl. Deer hunters had found the little body frozen, the collarbone fractured and evidence of other bruises on the arms and legs. The kid had run from her mother’s house in the dead of winter. No jacket even.
    Bobby’s defense lawyer had alleged his client was framed by the former girlfriend, that Rita was an abusive parent, and managed to get him a reduced sentence on a charge of battery to a child, but people who knew Bobby knew better. They knew.
    After all, Bobby Schradtke was a habitual offender going back to his early teens. He had launched his career by running away to join a carnival, but he was soon arrested for robbery and sent home. This sparked years of arrests for theft, possession of burglary tools, stealing cars, and two episodes of attempted sexual assault on a minor. It was an arrest for distributing crack cocaine on tribal lands that won him his most recent sentence—eight years and four months. But now, in his early forties, Bobby was a free man.

    “So this town’s gone soft,” Bobby was saying. “Hell, that’s good for my business.”
    “What do you mean?” said Kenny. “Hard as hell to make a living up here still. Been this way for years.”
    “Can’t believe you got a broad as chief of police. Now that’s what I call sweet. Sweet and easy.”
    “What exactly did you hear?” Ron asked, blowing cigarette smoke towards an open window. “That lady’s been around a couple years now. She’s tough. I seen her kneecap a couple drunks my size. I would not call her ‘sweet.’“
    “Had a meeting this morning with my parole officer and she was there. Kept quiet. Didn’t say much. A couple other guys got paroled were there, too, so we were about six of us altogether. We got the rules read, the usual shit,” said Bobby with a shrug of indifference.
    “The way I see it,” said Bobby, spreading his hands as if he had a map laid out in front of him, “Loon Lake’s got a female cop and that by my standards makes for easy pickings.” A spider laugh. “Ron, you and me, we got work to do. I’ll show you how to double the dough you’ve been making breaking your butt with all that logging—”
    Kenny felt an urgent need to leave the room. Leave now or you’re an accomplice, he told himself.
    “Speaking of logging,” said Ron, straightening up in his chair and motioning with his hand for Kenny to join the conversation, “Kenny and I got a … dilemma … we’d like to discuss with you. Gotta problem with this joker by the name of Calverson …”
    “Yeah? Hold that thought—gotta see a man about a horse,” said Bobby, getting to his feet. Ron had relaxed into the chair next to Kenny with his legs stretched out and his ankles crossed. As Bobby walked by, he gave his brother’s feet a swift kick with the toe of one pointed cowboy boot.
    Kenny could see from Ron’s face that the kick both hurt and embarrassed him in front of Kenny. Ron squinted as he rubbed an ankle. He stared at the bathroom door until it closed, then said in voice that sounded like a curse: “Welcome home, big brother.”

    Minutes later, with Bobby back on the sofa twisting the cap off another beer, Ron recounted their morning confrontation with Curt Calverson. “So?” Bobby rolled a toothpick across his lips as he mulled over Ron’s story. “Whaddya want exactly—the money? Or hurt the guy?”
    “Both,” said Ron.
    “Just the money,” said Kenny. “No trouble.”
    “Ah,” said Bobby, “no trouble, no fun.”
    Kenny shook his head and said, “Count me out, you two. All I want is to get paid for the work I did. I’ll take fifty cents on the buck.”
    Bobby laughed, “No, you won’t. You’ll get a hundred percent of what you’re owed. Leave it to me. Now I’ll tell you what, you two. Give me a couple a days. Gotta check in with some guys I know. Kenny, don’t you worry.” Bobby shook an index finger at him. “I did eight years and don’t plan to do a day more. You’re talkin’ to a