"So, this is where we are," Noble pointed to a small dot on the county map on the wall, "this here's the holler were the Rutters rule," he chuckled as he moved his finger a bit, "and this is the road you guys are gonna take to get outa town." The last was a thin black line, snaking its way from Kearney back towards the Interstate.

"Yeah, that's the way we came in," Steve nodded, staring at the map. He was a little uncomfortable at how close the road seemed to be to the Rutter property.

"Yeah," said Noble, picking up on the younger detective's concern. "That's why we want to get you guys on the road as soon as possible. Get you out of the county and at least back on the Interstate before nightfall. The less time you spend around here, the better it'll be for all of us."

Mike, who had been studying the map closely, took a step back and removed his glasses. He looked at his partner. "I wonder if Rudy knew just how volatile things are around here?" He turned to Noble, who was eyeing him questioningly. "You see, we're not really involved in this particular case; we're homicide cops. We're in a bit of a lull in murders to solve right now, god knows why, and our drug guys are swamped, so our captain thought it might be a lark for Steve and me to make this trip. He made it sound like a piece of cake."

Noble chuckled. "Well, it will be if you make it to the Interstate before dark," he said almost cryptically. When he saw the two west coast cops exchange a troubled look, he continued quickly, "Don't worry about it – you'll have an escort. Both of my deputies and myself will be convoying with you, in separate cars, and we have state troopers on alert to pick you guys up at the 15 interchange and escort you all the way into Louisville."

Seeing his visitors relax slightly, he added with a laugh, "We ain't lost an out-of-state cop yet."

"And just how many out-of-state cops have you had here in Kearney?" Steve asked with a knowing tilt of his head, half-anticipating the answer.

Noble grinned, knowing he'd been caught out. "Well, you two'd be the first."

Both detectives laughed. "Say, ah," Steve asked when the laughter died, "you mentioned before about sending Lonny and Alfie to pick Rutter up at a 'camp'? You can't mean an actual, you know, camp, right?"

Noble laughed again. "Ah, no, not quite. It's a minimum security institution – but don't worry, it has just enough manpower to scare off the Rutter family – they don't like to wander that far from home so we knew we were safe sending Donald Lee there. It's called the Bell County Forestry Camp because they use the inmates there to fight forest fires during fire season. It's been around since '62. Got a good rep."

"Humh," Steve snorted, impressed. "How about that?"

Mike chuckled. "So, ah, Eli, what kind of policing do you guys do around here?"

Noble took a deep breath as he crossed around to his desk chair and sat; the two visitors dropped into his guest chairs. "Well, I don't know if I'd call it policing. It's not like what I used to do over in Paducah, that's for sure. Here, they pretty well police themselves, if you can call it that. Coffee?"

"Sure," Mike answered for them both as they followed Noble's lead and stood, turning towards the coffee pot and mugs sitting on a nearby table.

The sheriff laughed. "Oh god, I didn't mean here. By this time of the day our stuff'll clean the rust off a '42 Dodge. Let's head over to the diner across the street. They make a mean cup of coffee and an even meaner apple pie."

# # # # #

"No, what I meant was, the families that run 'shine around these parts, well, they've been a law unto themselves for generations, going back decades, if not a century or more. They're a part of the land here, a part of the fabric of this part of the country, to wax poetic, and not in a good way, lemme tell ya."

"So are we talking Hatfield's and McCoy's here or what?" Steve asked, putting his cup on the table but keeping his hand on it.

"At least," Noble chuckled as he forked another piece of pie into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed before he continued. "There hasn't been a murder since I've been here, but then again, I've only been here a little over a year. Before that, I heard, there was a murder just about every eight months or so."

"Over what?" Mike asked, as equally intrigued as his partner.

"Running 'shine mostly. You see, almost all the families in the hollers rely on 'shine to make a living. Since the coal mines played out, there's no other way to make a living here, and these folks are way, way below the poverty line. But they sure know how to make good 'shine. Trouble is, the… ah… market for 'shine is kinda small so it's become a very competitive little industry around here, and people are very, very sensitive about someone encroaching on their territory."

"Sensitive enough to kill?" Mike asked, brow furrowing.

"And that's just for starters. They use a lot of arson too. Just last year, someone's house burned to the ground with a memaw and her two grandbabies in it." The detectives looked at each other. "Don't worry about not hearing anything about it – nobody outside of Harlan and Bell Counties heard about it. These people don't mean nothing to nobody."

Swallowing heavily, Steve leaned over the table. "So how many families are involved in all this?"

"Four. The Rutters, the Scobies, the Kings and the Caudills. You don't want to mess with any of them. And as bad as the Rutters are, the Caudills are the worst. I know they're up there somewhere, in a holler northwest of town here, beyond the Rutters even, but I've had no dealings with them yet, thank god. But from what I've heard, they'll kill anyone, and I mean anyone, if they get in the way of them getting their 'shine distilled and distributed."

"So… you've never met this family…. the Caudills, is it?" Mike asked, slightly overwhelmed by what they were hearing. "Don't they ever come into town for, I don't know, groceries or gas or whatever?"

Noble shook his head. "Nope. They grow their own food, hunt for their own meat, have their gas delivered. The only time we ever see any of 'em is when they come into town to buy supplies for their stills. Oh, they grow their own corn and barley but they have to buy the sugar and the yeast, so all the families make the trip into town once or twice a year and buy their supplies."

"Well, if making and selling moonshine is illegal, then how come they can buy all the sugar and the yeast they need to make it?" Steve asked, fascinated by this slice of rural Americana he heretofore had no real idea about. "Wouldn't the county and the state be able to put a stop to all this just by restricting the amount of sugar or yeast that could be bought or sold?"

Noble's grin was both ironic and long-suffering. "Believe me, Steve, we have thought of that, and there was a sheriff back in the early 60's who actually tried to enforce that very thing. He was shot three times in the back. They never caught whoever did it – and nobody's tried to stop the sale of 'shine supplies since." Noble winked and chuckled. "And I ain't gonna be the first to buck the tide, let me tell ya."

The genial sheriff with the impossible job pushed the plate of piecrust crumbs to the end of the table and sat back. "Nope, as long as they're only killing each other, I'm gonna let 'em go at it. But the second they leave their hollers and start coming after me or my men or someone from town, then that'll be another story altogether."

Mike, who had listened to all this in rapt concentration, sat back on the booth bench and looked at his partner. "Wow," he said quietly, "and I thought our job was tough."

# # # # #

Donald Lee Rutter turned out to be a little runt of a man. Both Carruthers and Carter seemed to loom over him as Carter dragged him from the back of the blue and white patrol car, his hands cuffed in front of him. They propelled him up the stairs and into the station; Carter pushed him down onto a wooden chair just inside the door as Carruthers continued on to the inner office and knocked on the door.

Noble exited the office first, followed by Mike and Steve. Both San Francisco detectives almost did a double take when their eyes fell on the object of their quest. Mike couldn't resist a sidelong glance at his partner, his eyes widening in disbelief. Noble noticed the interaction and masked his laugh behind a cough.

With a shake of his head, Mike approached the small, almost feral looking prisoner, taking his badge out of his pocket. He flipped the black case open for Rutter to see the star and the ID card. "Donald Lee Rutter, I'm Lieutenant Stone, this is Inspector Keller," he nodded over his shoulder towards Steve, "and we're here to escort you back to San Francisco to stand trial for the distribution and sale of narcotics."

Rutter, who had glanced at Mike's badge, looked away insolently. When the detective finished talking, he hawked and spit on the floor at Mike's feet. Carter, who was standing nearby, kicked the chair, startling Rutter, who looked up quickly with a wide, toothy grin.

Noble took a step closer, putting himself between Rutter and Mike, and turned to his deputies. "We're gonna want to get on the road as soon as possible, so why don't you boys take Mr. Rutter here over to the diner and all three of you have some lunch and then we'll hit the road. I want to be on our way in an hour. Does that work for everyone?" he asked, surveying the room.

"Yes, sir," both deputies replied in unison as Carter reached for Rutter's arm and pulled him to his feet.

Mike nodded, glancing at his partner, then took a step closer to Noble. "Can I make a call back home? I want to let our captain know we're on our way."

"No problem." Noble led Mike back towards his office.

Steve watched as Carter and Carruthers disappeared through the police station door with their prisoner between them. Rutter looked like he wouldn't be much of a problem, but something in the back of his mind was telling him that all was not quite as it seemed. An apprehension was growing that he couldn't shake, and it had everything to do with the journey home.