An Obvious Fact by Craig Johnson

Author:Craig Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-08-23T16:20:25+00:00

9

As I slipped the champion into the bed in our room at the Hulett Motel, she slurred her words just a touch, having succumbed to her fifth dirty martini. “Get in here wi’me.”

I sat beside her. “I can’t. I have to go find Dog.”

She clutched my arm. “He can climb in’ere, too.”

I glanced at the smallish bed. “I don’t think there’s room.”

She stuck her tongue in my ear. “You can have som’ma my room.”

“I just want to make sure he and Henry are all right, considering the company they’re keeping.”

Releasing me just a little, she turned her head and smiled at the monstrous loving cup on the nightstand that barely left room for the lamp. “You seen my trophy?”

I pulled away a little and nodded. “Yep, I have.”

“I won that.”

“I know you did.”

“’Ma helluva shot.”

“Yep, you are.”

“Get in’ere.”

I stood, her hand still holding my wrist. “I’ll be right back.”

She ran her tongue along the web of my thumb and curled her legs. “Promise?”

“Yep.”

Her eyes strayed to the nightstand again. “Y’see my trophy?”

“Yep.”

“I won that.”

I pulled my hand loose and retreated, not quite sure if I could turn my back on her just yet. “I’ll be back.”

“Promise?”

“Yep.”

She slumped into her pillow with a smile, her eyes closing. “’Kay.”

Slipping the door shut behind me, I stepped out into the cool, clear air of night. It had been quite a party up at the Golf Club at Devils Tower clubhouse.

And as far as I knew, it was still going on.

Nance had taken the loss better than I’d thought him capable, and the bar had been open to all. I’d had a beer, but the Terror, flushed with victory, had imbibed like a sailor on shore leave; actually, she put them to epic shame.

I made the corner of the motel in time to see the two miscreants who’d attempted to steal Rosalie, Henry’s motorcycle, now attempting to find the hood release on Lola, which was parked next to the Pennington County sheriff’s Tahoe. “You know, you guys need to find another line of work. Honestly.”

Eddy the Viking was the first to speak. “We were just wanting to look at the engine. It’s got the 430 Interceptor motor in it, right?”

I shrugged. “I guess. I’m not much of a car guy, but the man who owns it is, and if he catches you monkeys fooling around with his vehicle, he’s likely to kick your asses so long you’ll be wearing them as hats.”

They looked at me blankly.

“Your asses.”

They still stared at me.

“As hats.”

They didn’t move.

“Never mind.” I walked past them, deciding that I’d rather take in the air than drive the two blocks with the trailer in tow. I pointed at Irl Engelhardt’s cruiser. “Get out of here before I lock the two of you in the back of that thing with the radio tuned to the rap station in Rapid at high volume.”

I crossed the motorcycle-ridden street, passed the art gallery at the corner, and, cutting through a beer garden to the alley behind the Ponderosa, tried my best to get there without getting anything spilled on me.

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