When the noise of the explosion passed, we looked up from behind the backseat. The sheriff slowly stood up and helped Dirk to his feet. Dirk’s arm was hanging by his side, as if it were broken. Angela, Croc, and I sat up in the backseat, our ears still ringing from the noise. We were covered in broken glass. The good news was that so much adrenaline had pumped through me in the last few minutes, I felt no lingering effects of the drug.
“Are you all right?” I asked Angela.
“I’m okay,” she said. “Although I’d really prefer not to go through that again. Ever. If it’s all the same.” We carefully picked our way out of the car, trying to avoid getting cut or scratched. We were going to have to come up with a whopper to explain the way we looked. I had a scratch on the back of my hand and Angela’s cheek was bleeding.
“Me either. We’d better check on Dirk and the sheriff,” I said. I wondered how the sheriff was going to explain this to … whomever sheriffs explained things to. The car was so full of bullet holes it looked like a sponge.
“Are you okay, Dirk?” I asked. His face looked a little pale, like maybe he was going into shock. The sheriff was beside himself with anger.
“All right. I’ve had enough innuendo and half-truths to last me a lifetime. Somebody better tell me everything right now!” The sheriff was beyond his boiling point.
Dirk took out his phone. “What happened is, there has been a horrible accident. Three Valiant County citizens were killed in a collision with Dirk Peski, the Paparazzi Prince, who may or may not have been intoxicated. I’m going to call 9-1-1 and you are going to deliver Angela and Q back to Boone in San Antonio. As quickly as you can.”
The sheriff reached out to stop Dirk.
“Are you insane? You can’t call 9-1-1. You’ll go to jail. Especially if you take the blame.”
“Don’t worry about me, Sheriff,” Dirk said. “As I think you know, I’ve got friends in high places. I won’t be in jail for long. There will be an investigation, I’ll spend a few days, maybe a couple of weeks at most, in the clink. Then I’ll be found to be not at fault for the accident and sent on my way. The Valiant County sheriff will warn me not to show my face around these parts again. This is how it works.”
“I don’t understand any of this,” the sheriff said.
“Sheriff Hackett, you’re a good man. And I’m sorry you got caught up in this. I truly am. But there are many lives at stake. And I’ve already said too much. I need you to see this through. Get Angela and Q to San Antonio. Hand them over to Boone. I’m going to make that 9-1-1 call. Then I’m probably going to sit down on the ground and pass out because my arm is killing me. But I need to know you’ll do what I ask.”
I decided then that maybe Dirk Peski wasn’t such a bad guy after all.
“All right, all right, call it in,” the sheriff said, “but when I get back to the station—”
“When you get back to the station, you and I are never going to speak of this night again, right?” Dirk asked.
The sheriff frowned. I admit I felt a little sorry for him. But I was also glad he was on our side. After all, he’d just saved our lives.
The sheriff helped us clear most of the broken glass out of the backseat. Angela, Croc, and I climbed in. As we pulled away, we heard Dirk saying into his phone, “Hello! My name is Dirk Peski. I think I just caused an accident out here on County Road 19. You’d better send fire trucks and ambulances …”
The rest of his words were lost as we zoomed away into the darkness.