Thumps didn’t get back from Buffalo Mountain until late. The plan was to sleep in.
Which didn’t happen.
“Hey, boss.”
It took Thumps a moment to rub his eyes open, unstick his mouth.
“You there, boss?”
Thumps reluctantly rolled over, disturbing the cats.
“I’m here.”
“Were you asleep?”
Thumps checked the time. Jesus.
“No.”
“ ’Cause I always hate it when I’m trying to sleep in and someone wakes me.”
Cookie crawled onto Thumps’s chest, put his face next to the phone, began purring at decibels well above the legal limit.
“That a generator?”
Thumps pushed the cat away. “Cooley . . .”
“Right. You probably want to get down here.”
“Because?”
“We found Greeley’s rental.”
“And?”
“And when you come in,” said Cooley, “maybe you could pick up some doughnuts.”
THE OPEN SIGN was lit at Dumbo’s. Fancy Whelan was waiting for him.
“Your lads called, yeah?” Fancy set a large box on the counter. “Put in the order, so you wouldn’t have to make any hard decisions.”
The box was large enough to hold a couple dozen doughnuts.
“Don’t suppose they paid for the order as well?”
“Be joking.”
“Thought you were working at Pappous’s.”
“My night job. Uncle Morris don’t pay shite.” Fancy taped the box shut. “What’s the law pay? You got to go to school?”
Thumps tried to picture Fancy in a deputy’s uniform.
“Twelve-week course over in Helena.”
Fancy wiped her hands. “Been working in this manky mansion for almost a year now. Twelve weeks in fresh air would be happy days for sure.”
“Actually,” said Thumps, “Duke’s looking for a couple of deputies.”
“Is he now?” Fancy handed Thumps the receipt. “And can you shoot folks?”
“It’s frowned upon.”
“Not what you see on the news.” Fancy made her hands into guns, complete with sound effects. “Might just give it a lash.”
“You should do a ride-along,” said Thumps. “See what the job is like.”
“And where would I be getting a ticket for that?”
Thumps picked up the box. “Stop by the office.”
“And would I be arriving for such an occasion with treats for the lads?”
“First impressions,” said Thumps. “Always important.”
THUMPS CARRIED THE box back to the car. The more he thought about Fancy as a deputy, the more he liked the idea. Selling doughnuts wasn’t a gateway job to law enforcement, but working for Morris Dumbo had exposed her to bigots and difficult individuals, and you couldn’t buy that kind of experience. And she was good with the general public, another skill that was difficult to teach.
Deputy Whelan.
When Thumps got to the office, Duke was in his chair, his feet on the desk. Cooley was standing by the file cabinet, watching the old percolator melt perfectly good coffee beans into volcanic magma. Howdy was lying on the floor, licking his genitals.
Duke shook his head. “Yeah, it’s pretty disgusting.”
“He does that a lot,” said Cooley. “I think it makes him happy.”
“And picking up his shit doesn’t float my boat either.”
“You brought the dog to work?”
“Not my dog,” said Duke. “And not my idea. You know what happens every time I try to leave him behind?”
“He cries,” said Cooley.
“He cries,” said Duke. “Makes the most pitiful sounds you’ve ever heard.”
“I figure he’s got FOBLO,” said Cooley. “It’s not uncommon.”
“Fear of being left out,” said Duke. “Cooley looked it up on the internet.”
“People get it too,” said Cooley. “I think I may have a mild case.”
“Dog won’t let me out of his sight.”
Thumps put the box on the filing cabinet. Looked at the coffee in Cooley’s cup. Decided against it.
Duke took his feet off the desk. “Cooley cracked the case.”
Cooley opened the box, considered the selection. “Wasn’t exactly the case we thought it was.”
“The case being . . .”
“The stolen cars,” said Duke. “Appears our car thieves are two brothers.”
Cooley took his cellphone out, made a couple of swipes, held it out for Thumps to see. “Elmer Little Horse, age eighty-six, and his younger brother, Elroy, age eighty-four.”
Thumps stared at the image. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” said Cooley. “A two-man team makes sense. The brothers drive around, find a car. Elroy boosts it. Elmer follows. And then back to their hideout they go.”
“Which in this case is a garage over in Harlowton,” said Duke. “Tell Thumps the good parts.”
Cooley put the phone away, helped himself to a doughnut. “Well, to begin with, neither Elmer nor Elroy has a driver’s licence, nor the required liability insurance that the state requires.”
Duke smiled. “It gets better.”
“Right,” said Cooley. “And they don’t see themselves as car thieves.”
Thumps snorted. “What? They’re misunderstood automotive detailers?”
Duke started chuckling. “Wait for it.”
“No,” said Cooley. “The brothers see themselves as horse thieves.”
Duke waved a finger in a circle against the side of his head. “Seems the brothers Little Horse don’t live in the current century.”
“Horses.” Thumps rubbed the back of his neck. “Right.”
“At one point in our history,” said Cooley, “we were great horse thieves.”
“The brothers fix up the cars?”
“No,” said Cooley. “That’s Brian Little Horse. He’s Elmer and Elroy’s nephew. Runs the garage. Brian’s mother is Elmer and Elroy’s younger sister. She married Horace Fox, who is my dad’s cousin—”
“Cooley . . .”
“So, when Brian realized what his uncles were doing, he was sort of in a . . .”
“Quandary?”
“Right,” said Cooley. “He didn’t want to turn them in, seeing as they’re family. So, he figured if he fixed the cars, got them all nice and sparkling, and returned them, the owners wouldn’t press charges.”
“You can’t buy stories like this,” said Duke.
“Great work,” said Thumps. “How’d you crack it?”
Cooley shrugged. “Brian called me.”
Thumps waited for the punchline.
“It’s no joke,” said Duke. “Tell Deputy DreadfulWater why.”
Cooley nodded. “Best I show you.”
Cooley headed into the back. Duke reached out, scratched Howdy’s head.
“I know you’re hoping that I’m going to keep him,” said Duke. “But that’s not going to happen. Can hardly take care of myself.”
“I take him back to the shelter, and they can’t find him a home, they’ll put him down.”
“Nice try,” said Duke. “Already talked to the shelter. They don’t do that shit anymore.”
Howdy moved closer, put his head in Duke’s lap.
“Did you know that you can’t give beer to a dog? I mean, what the hell. Nor can you feed the mutt ice cream, ’cause it causes diarrhea. Grapes will give him kidney failure. Chocolate will cause vomiting and death. And don’t even think about coffee.”
“I imagine that doughnuts aren’t good for him either.”
“But you know what he loves?” Duke waited a beat. “Peanut butter. You believe it? It’s like pie or cake. And the crazy thing is, it’s okay to feed him peanut butter. Go figure.”
“Peanut butter?”
“But not too much,” said Duke, “or he’ll get fat. And not the ones with a sugar substitute.”
“Here we go.” Cooley came out of the back with a gun case. “Went over to the garage first thing this morning. Brian had returned all the cars his uncles rounded up, except for one.”
Duke leaned forward. “You want to guess?”
“Stan Greeley’s rental.”
“That’s the one,” said Cooley. “Brian was detailing the car when he found this.”
Cooley lay the case on Duke’s desk. “Soon as he opened the case, he called me.”
Cooley undid the latches, lifted the lid. Inside was a rifle broken down into pieces.
“Sniper rifle,” said Cooley. “Remington CSR with 7.62 NATO rounds.”
“This was in the car?”
“In the trunk,” said Cooley. “Where the spare would normally go.”
“That a suppressor?”
“Puts a whole new spin on our Mr. Greeley.” Duke opened a drawer, took out a jar of peanut butter and a spoon. Howdy was on his feet in a flash.
Thumps lifted the receiver and the folding stock out of the case. “Three pieces. Easy transport. Fast assembly.”
“Dead accurate out to five hundred yards,” said Cooley. “Twelve hundred if you know what you’re doing.”
Duke scooped up a lump of peanut butter, held the spoon out. Howdy surged forward, began licking at it furiously.
“Not cheap,” said Cooley. “Gun and case, suppressor, ammo, tax. Run you close to a thousand dollars.”
“Except this one isn’t new.”
Cooley lifted the scope to his eye. “Even used isn’t going to come cheap.”
Duke wrestled Howdy for the spoon. “So, what’s a low-end Sherlock like Stan Greeley doing with a high-end sniper rifle?”
Thumps put the parts back in the case. “Curiouser and curiouser.”
“Alice in Wonderland,” said Cooley. “All we need is a white rabbit.”
“What are we going to do with Elmer and Elroy?”
“In the old days,” said Cooley, “they used to hang horse thieves.”
Duke put the peanut butter jar and the spoon back in the drawer. Howdy leaned against the side of the desk, a forlorn look on his face, sad noises in his throat.
“BLA,” said Duke. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”
“The Black Liberation Army?”
“Best left alone,” said Duke. “Do you have any idea of the aggravation and the paperwork that would be involved in prosecuting Elmer and Elroy? First, we’d have to get one of the car owners to press charges. Do we have any complaints at present?”
“Nope,” said Cooley. “Nothing but happy customers.”
“And,” said Duke, “by the time the case made it to court . . .”
Thumps rubbed his ear. “So, the question is were the cars stolen or were they simply taken in for repairs and cleaning?”
“Chicken and the egg,” said Cooley.
“Best thing to do,” said Duke, “is eat a doughnut, drink a cup of coffee.”
Cooley tapped his forehead. “Almost forgot. Beth called. Wants you to stop in.”
“She means you,” said Duke. “I’m still on leave.”
“Then why’d you come in?”
“For the doughnuts,” said the sheriff. “And to drop off the dog.”
“No can do,” said Thumps. “Can’t take a dog to a morgue. It’s a sterile environment. Beth would have my hide.”
“DreadfulWater . . .”
“And before I forget, Fancy Whelan is thinking she might want to be a deputy.”
Duke grunted. “Dumbo’s niece? The one who runs the shop?”
“I figure if she can deal with Morris,” said Thumps, “she can deal with hardened criminals.”
“Not a bad idea,” said Cooley. “She sort of scares me in the same way my aunt scares me.”
“Roxanne scares everyone,” said Duke.
“I suggested that she do a ride-along,” said Thumps. “See what the work is like.”
“You’re in charge.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re in charge.” Duke stood, hitched his belt, grabbed the leash. “Me and Howdy have to go find a grassy knoll.”
“What do you want me to do with the sniper rifle?” said Cooley.
Duke turned. “Just before you see me bend over to pick up his shit in a little bag,” said the sheriff, “shoot me.”