Chapter Eighteen

The chief stumbled onto the road. Despite the chill in the air, both men were breathing hard from the long walk. Raylan swiped a hand across his forehead, wiping away the perspiration there. His shirt clung to his back from the effort of walking the hard road.

"Jesus Christ, you are trying to kill me," the chief wheezed. His cheeks were bright read with exertion.

Raylan eyed the wrecked car, which sat at the edge of the road at a drunken angle. The rear bumper hung on the ground. One front tire was flat, punctured beyond repair by a shard of metal from the road. He tipped his head towards it.

"You have anything to do with that?" he asked.

Broken glass littered the floor, reflecting the late afternoon light. A few shards were smeared with blood.

"Nope." The chief shook his head. "It was like that when I got here."

Raylan sighed. "Left or right?" he asked flatly.

The chief stared. "Wha... what?"

"You're not telling me the truth." Raylan lifted the gun, pointing it at the chief. "So pick one, and we'll see how your story hold up when there's a hole in you."

The stocky man pursed his lips, backing up a nervious step. He opened his hands as best he could, turning his palms toward Raylan. "I swear, Raylan. I had nothing to do with this."

Raylan fired. The bullet tore into the tree next to the chief's head, peppering him with splinters of wood and bark. The stocky man flinched, cursing when a few of the splinters bit into his skin. The scent of bruised tree sap hung thickly in the air.

"Next one goes into you." Raylan warned. "Now, wither you get a talent for flying I don't know about, or you're still lying to me. Which is it?"

The chief frowned, confused. "Flying? What in the name of hell are you talking about?"

Raylan scuffed the toe of his boot across the road. "You had to get out here somehow." He shrugged. "Now, I know you didn't walk."

Sweat dripped into the chief's eyes. He blinked it away. "How'd you know that I didn't have someone give me a ride?" the chief whined.

Raylan pursed his lips, leaning back against the ruined car. "'Cause they'd still be up at the house, waiting for you to get done killing me." He aimed the gun at the chief's left knee. "Think you can live with only one working leg, Nick?" He stressed the K, making it a hard, ugly sound.

The man held his hands up. "Now, Raylan. Don't be hasty. Let's talk about this."

Raylan glanced down at the gun. "You should tell me what I want to know," he commented casually.

"Alright, alright!" the chief yelled. "When I got here, that stupid bitch had crashed the car. I was gonna take her back up to the house." His cheeks darkened. "She smacked me in the balls with the car door and took off in my car."

Raylan lowered the gun and laughed. "Good for her. Got you right in the brains, did she?"

"God-damned bitch!" The chief shook his head.

Raylan tilted his head, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Well, way I see it, you're lucky that's all she did." He gestured at the chief. "Now, give me your phone, Nick."

The chief stared, debating if he should tell the truth. "I don't have one," he muttered, voice shaking.

Raylan sucked a breath between his teeth and clicked the safety back on the gun. With stiff, angry movements, he slipped the gun back through his belt.

The older man backed up another step as Raylan stalked towards him.

"You are a law enforcement officer." Raylan said, voice hard and cold. A thread of bitter amusement slipped into his voice. "Granted, a piss poor one, but a law enforcement officer all the same. So I just can't believe that you'd come all the way out here without a cell phone."

Anger chased the pain from his bones as he caught hold of the chief's arm and slammed him against the trunk of the car. He patted the stocky man down with sharp, savage gestures. His hand brushed over something in the chief's pocket. He yanked it out, holding it up.

"Well, would you look at that." He muttered. The chief grunted as Raylan grabbed his chin, turning his head towards the phone. "Sit down. I'll shoot you if you move."

The older man slumped against the car's wheel, shoulders bowed.

Raylan dialled a number he had taken pains to learn. It rang three times before someone answered. "Art? It's Raylan." A beat of shocked silence followed his words. He frowned at the phone. "Art? Are you there?" Raylan asked, wondering if he'd finally managed to give his boss a heart attack.

"Raylan? Where the hell are you?" Art asked. "We've been searching for you."

The tall man looked around, a wry smile forming on his lips when he realised all he could see was road and trees.

"I don't know. Hang on. The chief is here with me. Let me ask him." He trapped the phone between his ear and his good shoulder, turning towards the chief. He nudged the older man's leg with the toe of his boot. "Where are we?"

The chief glared up at Raylan. "Why should I tell you that?"

Raylan shook his head. "You're just asking for maximum time on your sentence, aren't you?" He turned his attention back to the call. "You're going to have to trace the call."

Art sighed. "Okay Raylan. Just hang on. We'll be with you shortly."

The tall man smiled. "I can't wait."