Blanco County 03 - Flat Crazy Read Free Page B

most fluent Spanish speaker in the department. Trey Sweeney was the state wildlife biologist assigned to Blanco County.
    “Yeah, some kind of weird thing I’ve never heard of,” Turpin replied. “A Spanish word. Coopa something? Coopacobra?”
    Marlin grinned. Surely Turpin was joking. “Chupacabra?”
    “Yeah, that’s it!” Turpin said. “Chupacabra. What the hell is that, anyway?”
    Duke would have preferred to talk it out, to strike some kind of deal they could both live with.
    But Searcy had to be an asshole about it all. He had to act like a big man and put the pressure on. Goddamn it, he hadn’t given Duke time to figure a better way out. And what was Searcy thinking, coming in here with a gun? All that did was force Duke’s hand.
    Yeah, it was more or less Searcy’s fault. That’s what Duke was thinking as his arm came whipping around, the screwdriver clenched in his sweaty fist.
    The thing was, Duke didn’t really want to hurt the guy too bad. Just take the gun away from him, scare him away for good.
    Duke was aiming for the meaty part of the guy’s upper arm. Just the arm, that’s all. To make him drop the revolver.
    But Searcy saw what was coming. He raised his hand and tried to deflect the blow, but he was too late. All he did was bump Duke’s forearm and change the path of the screwdriver.
    And it plunged into the flesh on the side of the man’s neck, just below the ear. It sank in all the way up to the handle.
    Then there was silence. Duke was wondering if he should pull the screwdriver out or leave it in, and he was starting to freak because of the fucked-up look on Searcy’s face.
    Just then, the phone rang, and Duke twitched.
    Searcy made a hacking sound, like a cat choking on a hairball. His revolver bounced on the linoleum floor.
    The phone rang again.
    Duke grabbed Searcy by both shoulders, easing him gently out of the chair and onto the floor.
    The phone rang again.
    Searcy’s eyes became still, and just that quick, he was gone. Duke had always wondered what it was like to kill a guy. It’s a fucked-up mess, that’s what it is, he thought.
    Duke turned and grabbed the phone, just to shut it up. “What?”
    “We got a problem.” Damn, that’s just what Searcy had said. But this time, it was Kyle Dawson, Duke’s best friend.
    “Shit, what now?”
    Kyle told him.
    Duke sighed heavily and plopped down into his leather chair. “You’re right, Kyle. I’d say that’s a definite problem.”

3
     
    MARLIN SPOTTED DEPUTY Ernie Turpin’s cruiser and Trey Sweeney’s old Jeep on a remote stretch of Flat Creek Road, but neither man was in sight. Marlin tapped his horn as he stepped from his truck, and he heard Ernie give a directional shout from within the thickly wooded ranch.
    He found them about fifty yards into the brush. Ernie was standing with his hands on his hips, staring down at a small dead goat, while Trey was circling the carcass, snapping photographs with an expensive Nikon.
    Marlin always had to suppress a grin when he saw Trey. Most people around Blanco County referred to him as “eccentric” or “colorful.” The less tactful ones called him “downright peculiar.” Marlin knew from experience that Trey, a man with an off-the-charts IQ and a wild imagination, didn’t pay much attention to what was said. The biologist had an unruly beard, round-lensed glasses, and a thick mop of auburn hair, which hid the fact that he was missing an ear. It had been removed by a black bear several years before, when Trey, doing research, had trespassed into the bear’s den while it was hibernating. As Trey had once said over several rounds of beers, “The bear decided to relieve me of that particular appendage, and I was in no position to argue.”
    When Trey saw Marlin approaching, he immediately began speaking at a rapid clip. “John, you gotta see this. We’ve got this dead goat here, no wounds at all except fang punctures in its neck like a dog’s been after it, and sure,