“A-neg and B-pos,” Ernie said, and then looked surprised like he did sometimes. He frowned then. “Check on Dimitri in the pit,” he said.
George didn’t ask, just hurried to the inside of the auto bay and hollered down, “Dimitri, how’s your feet?”
“I am resting now, thank you,” Dimitri called back. “I finished patching the tire—if you would like to back the vehicle out, we will be ready for the next one.”
George hurried to comply, reflecting that he’d gotten better at simple driving things—like backing cars out without checking behind him six-zillion times—since spending some of his off hours helping Ace and Sonny out. Funny how backing out a car while palming the wheel made you feel like king of the road.
George had finished doing that, parking the car near the hardpan driveway, when he saw the cruiser slowing down off the interstate.
“Incoming,” he hollered, and Ernie replied, “Critical!”
Oh shit. “What does that mean?” George asked.
“Is no worries,” Dimitri said. “I am prepared.”
“George, get in the cubicle,” Ernie said calmly, “I’m opening the gun safe.”
Oh shit. George didn’t walk—hesprinted. And he was there, facing the Plexiglass—thebulletproofPlexiglas, while Ernie knelt under the counter to open the safe that held guns, both registered and unregistered, when the cruiser swung under the shade overhang of the auto bay.
George knew there had been a concerted effort to protect him in the last year since he’d come to the desert, but he also wasn’t stupid.
That the swaggering, unpleasant man who alighted from the cruiser had parked his vehicle out of sight from the road hadn’t escaped his attention, and if this went badly, George was pretty sure nobody would miss this guy until the shouting was over.
His stomach clenched, because as the guy drew near, it became increasingly apparent that therewouldbe shouting.
“What can I do for you, Officer?”
“You the owner?” the man asked, sounding dubious. He was a young guy—maybe mid-twenties, and he might have been handsome in a bland, sandy-haired, blue-eyed way. George knew this look—he wore it himself, but he also knew that when he peered in the mirror, his eyes were usually animated, excited, happy—even bemused.
This man, who was George’s age with George’s build and general ancestry, had eyes as flat as a snake’s.
“No, sir,” George said cheerfully. “Owners take Mondays off.” He didn’t want to say “we” are filling in. He wasn’t sure if this man would guess how many of them there were.
“I need you to come out from behind that partition,” the man said, putting his hand on his hip, and if George hadn’t been expecting trouble, he would have been surprised.
As it was, he was ready tonotbe surprised.
“Why?” George asked, keeping his voice puzzled. Next to him, he heard the click of a semiautomatic weapon as Ernie checked for bullets in the chamber, made sure the slide and the hammer were clean, set the weapon up to be fired with minimum risk to the person pulling the trigger.
“I need you to come out of there with your hands up,” the cop repeated, pulling his weapon out.
George put his hands up on general principle. “As you can see,” he said, trying to deescalate, “I am unarmed. I am working on my day off here to help my friends run their small business. What do you suspect here?”
“This place is hinky,” the deputy declared. “The sheriff wants it searched, top to bottom, and that starts withyou.”
Georgereallyhoped his Plexiglas held. “So he has awarrantto search a private business, I assume,” he said.
The deputy glared. “You do not need to be claiming your rights here—”
“You are drawing a gun on an unarmed man,” George said. “For no apparent reason. I took my civics courses, sir. You are not allowed to search a private business without a warrant or probable cause. Do you not see the cameras here?”
George looked up at the most obvious security camera, but not the only one. This man had been recorded since he pulled into the hardpan driveway.
But then, even George and Ernie could doctor the security feed if there was something nobody else needed to see.
The deputy glanced up at the camera with some alarm, but he didn’t put his gun down. Instead, he scoped out the cashier’s cabin, taking in that the door to the place opened upinsidethe auto bay, while the Plexiglas with the divoted stainless steel cashier counter served as a sort of fishbowl to the outside world. Frowning in concentration, his gun still out as he edged his way into the auto bay, the man scowled at theverysturdy steel-reinforced door. He came out again, still scowling at George, and Ernie’s hand wrapped around George’s ankle in an attempt to steady them both.
“It must be hot as hell in there,” he snarled.
