Lizardskin Read Free Page B

McAllister could hear the tone-beep of the emergency system. Armed robbery, or a gun run. Nice timing, Beau.
    “Up on Elbow Hill, a coupla miles, Eustace. What’s up?”
    “Well, if it’s not an imposition, maybe you might get yourself down to Joe Bell’s place. He’s got a robbery in progress, wants to know if we feel like helping out.”
    McAllister started up the cruiser, not soon enough to distract Scratch from the next pup down the road.
    “Why me? That’s a County call. Get the Yellowstone guys onto it. Get the Big Horn guys. Get anybody but me.”
    “Bell’s place is on the interstate, last time I looked. That’s us. Quit jerking me around, Beau.”
    “Any guns?”
    “One thing for sure—Bell’s got one.”
    By now, McAllister had the white Ford LTD rocking down the dirt road toward Pompeys Pillar.
    “He tell you that?”
    “He didn’t have to—I heard him doing it. Ronny’s on the way. And Rita. The rest of the guys are all over the County.”
    Shit, thought McAllister. Never answer the phone on a Friday afternoon.
    Joe Bell was a retired railroad man who ran Bell’s Oasis, a huge truck stop and Shell gas station on I-94, at the east end of Pompeys Pillar. Bell’s Oasis was
the
major business of Pompeys Pillar. Joe Bell was a big bald cracker with his hand in all sorts of pockets around Yellowstone County. Like everybody in Montana, Bell had a do-it-yourself attitude about law enforcement, and he seemed to be doing it himself right now. McAllister had the Ford shuddering over a washboard track as the radio popped and snarled with chatter.
    “Four nine nine, come on?”
    “Yes, Sergeant?”
    “Where’re you, Rita?”
    “I’m behind an RV, ’bout a mile out. No—wait—
shit
!”
    “Rita? Rita?”
    “I’m fine—I just took him on the shoulder there.”
    McAllister could hear the siren in the background as she talked. Rita was new and very intense.
    Eustace Meagher was back on the air. “Rita, cut the chatter. Beau, you there?”
    “I’m here, Eustace.”
    “It looks like Joe’s out there by the pumps, shooting the buttons off everything.”
    Christ.
    “By the pumps?”
    “Yeah—I called Fire and Rain. ETA is ten minutes.”
    “I’m just about there.”
    “Sergeant?”
    “Rita?”
    “Yeah—I can see it now. You want me to wait for you?”
    “You block the east end. Where the hell is Thornton?”
    There was an explosion of static and then Ronny’s voice, breathless and wired up.
    “This is 495. You’re gonna blow right by me.”
    McAllister could see the town now, a ragged line of low buildings set in the lee of a dry wash. The Shell sign was the tallest thing in town. At the point where the gravel road hit the pavement, McAllister could see Ron Thornton’s cruiser.
    “Sarge, I can see you!”
    “Yeah. Rita, stay put! We’ll come east on the service road. You block the far end. Ronny, when we get there, keep that goddamned werewolf in the car. We don’t need him ripping up the citizens. Rita, you read me five by five?”
    “Ten-four, sir. I’ll hold.”
    McAllister was doing a flat eighty as he flew by Ronny’s cruiser. Ron Thornton was a heavy-set, barrel-bodied youngster with a pencil-thin moustache that made him look like a Mexican pimp. His dark face was hot and bright. Through theslots in an aluminum barrier, McAllister could hear Ronny’s police dog howling and snarling.
    Ronny stayed right on McAllister’s bumper all the way up the main street of Pompeys Pillar, sirens yipping and the people all lined up on the walkways. Bell’s Oasis was at the far end of town. At a hundred yards out they heard the solid percussive boom of a shotgun.
    Ronny and McAllister slid to a stop in the lee of a J. B. Hunt tractor-trailer. The driver was already flattened up against the wheels. He grinned weakly as they ran over and got their backs up against the trailer.
    “What the
hell’s
goin’ on here?” McAllister asked the driver.
    “Beats me, Sergeant,” said the