Peckerwood Read Free Page A

Mondale was one for appearances where drug busts were concerned, so when he’d received the tip, he’d gone through all the proper channels and waited for the wheels of justice to grind along and plant a warrant in their hands.
    Deputy Musil pulled his cruiser up next to Jimmy’s and the window came down. “Bob.”
    “Jimmy.”
    “Got it?”
    Musil handed the warrant through the open window. Mondale looked it over carefully, not because he was concerned with its legitimacy, but because he was putting off the raid. He had no particular love for Earl Sutter, but he didn’t want to bust him either. Far as he knew, Earl was just another poor, out of work, working-man who cooked crank for his own use and to turn a quick buck. Out here, he didn’t even have neighbors to be bothered if he blew himself up.
    Mondale was just sweeping up Chowder’s work-space.
    Deputy Townsend, sitting next to him in the front seat, leaned over for a better view. “Looks good, yeah? Ready?” The young deputy’s enthusiasm for this part of the job was common, but it rankled Mondale. Townsend had gone to school with Earl Sutter, grew up in the same area, had probably dated the same girls, maybe went to the same parties and social events, but here’s how they turned out; Townsend on the side of the angels, and Sutter a shitbird.
    Mondale folded it and nodded his head. “Yeah, it’s good. Let’s do it.” He and Townsend got out of the car and Musil parked his own and joined them. He sent the deputies the long way around, through the scrub trees.
    When they’d confirmed their positions, he walked up the gravel driveway, past the exposed cinder-block addition, underneath the gutterless overhang, until he stood on the sagging front porch.
    He knocked on the door hard and quick and called out. “Earl Sutter, open up. Police.”
    And listened.
    Inside he heard a faint rustle of movement. C’mon, don’t make it worse. He rapped again and shouted, “Open up, Earl, or I’ll have to come on in. Don’t be dumb, son. I’ve got a warrant here.”
    From behind the door, he heard the sounds of panic setting in. Shit .
    The doorframe was rotting and gave way easily with the third kick. The house was dark. Gray daylight dripped through chips in the crumbling aluminum-foil shields plastered into the front windows. The corrosive stink of the place made his eyes water, and he paused to let them adjust to the dark. From the back corner of the house he heard the toilet flushing. He followed the sound.
    Mondale heard Musil coming through the back door off the kitchen. Before he reached the back of the house, the bathroom door burst open and the blurry shape of Earl Sutter rushed past him, and through Musil’s diving tackle. Mondale stepped over his deputy, checking on him with a backward glance. Musil looked up from the floor at him, “I’m fine,” he grunted, out of breath, too old at forty-five for this kind of work. “Go on.”
    Jimmy had three years on him, but was wiry and agile where Bob Musil had put on a pronounced potbelly that made for a rough landing. He followed Sutter through the house and heard the crash of glass breaking from the bedroom ahead of him. He entered the room just in time to watch the mutt jump out the window he’d just thrown a boom box through. Earl’s foot caught on the jagged sill and went down hard, but rolled and was already running when he started to rise.
    There was no way Jimmy was following him through the window. He saw Townsend come in from the side and tackle Sutter just as he was about to hit a burst of speed. The two men went sprawling in opposite directions and Mondale turned on his heels and reversed course to the kitchen and the back door.
    Musil was right behind him as they hobbled gingerly through the broken glass and garbage spilling out of the overturned trash can on the ground. Outside, they found Deputy Townsend straddling Sutter’s back, struggling to cuff him. The self-employed redneck was