Frontier Justice

Back in the days of the Wild West, there was this private detective agency called the Pinkertons. Their motto was “We Never Sleep.” Here we are over a hundred and fifty years later and these morons? Our new bumper crop of psychos? Their motto could very well be “We Never Think!” What a bunch of total idiots! Starting a gunfight in a restaurant? Stupid! Starting a gunfight in an Arizona restaurant out here in the sort-of-boondocks where everybody and his dog is packing a gun? Mega-stupid! Yet here we are! And the only saving grace? None of these idiots can shoot for shit, so they didn’t manage to kill anybody! But that doesn’t mean they didn’t create a ginormous mess that we have to clean up! Which is to say: that I have to clean up! Welcome to my life! God hates me! The world hates me! The stupid little Sphere of Destiny hates me! How else do you explain it? This is the Allison Rane curse in full bloom!

“All right, listen up people! I’m going to ask one more time! Is anybody else in here shot?”

And they’re all shaking their heads. That’s to be expected. Some of these morons are so stupid, they’re practically non-verbal!

“Sarge! It’s just those two! How are they doing?”

“They’re fine, princess! The one in the hat got a scratch! The other one got his foot creased! We should bill them for calling EMS!”

Fine with me! Not that either of these douchebags probably has any insurance. Is there such a thing as stupidity insurance? I doubt it. It would probably cost too much and the company would get so many claims that it would go bankrupt in a year.

“I take it they both want to press charges against the other?”

“Oh, yeah! The one with the warrant can press his charges from a jail cell! I’m still not sure we’ve got enough to hold mister ten-gallon hat, though.”

We ought to lock his ass up just for wearing that stupid outfit! I mean, look at this dork! He’s got the whole ensemble: the old cowboy hat with the fake painted-in sweat stains, the python skin boots, the shiny silver spurs, the Old West long duster, and that idiotic waxed almost-handlebar mustache that went out of style in about eighteen ninety-five! Is he kidding? You know he’s not married! No woman in her right mind would let him go out of the house looking like that! Besides, who the hell would be stupid enough to marry this assbag? No woman on earth is that desperate!

“I don’t care! As soon as the paramedics give him a Band-Aid for his foot; his stupid ass is going to the lockup! Book his ugly boots as evidence! I’ll sign the booking approval myself!”

“Rane, you know you can’t sign your own booking approval. It’s your arrest. And I’m not sure I want to sign it for you.”

Chicken! Like that’s going to stop me! Hell, no! I’m a woman on a mission! I know exactly how to fix this!

“Jimmy! Congratulations! They’re both your arrests now! I’ll sign the booking approvals for you!”

“Uh-huh. Are you going to write the arrest reports for me too?”

What is it with men these days? Why do they expect the woman to do all of the work? This feminism shit has gotten completely out of hand! You know, it used to be that men would go out of their way to help a lady. They used to hold doors open for us and stand up when we’d enter a room. I know. I’ve seen it in lots of old movies. Things really were a lot better back in the day, weren’t they?

“You need the practice. As soon as they’re cleared by the paramedics? Straight to jail! Just don’t put them both in the same cell! They’ll probably try to finish the job!”

We don’t need any more death matches in the jail. We’ve had more than our share of those in the last few months. We’ve been taking so many so-called “mutual combat” arrestees there that the jailers had to rearrange the custody inventory so that no two parties to one of these cluster fucks winds up in the same cell as the idiot who tried to kill him. And some days? That’s not easy to do.

“Allison, what exactly are we supposed to charge these guys with? Yes, I know the one guy’s got a fugitive warrant…”

“Felony dickface! Both of them! They’re both guilty of being a dickface in the first degree! Beyond that? Unlawful discharge of a firearm, assault with a deadly weapon, fighting in public, unlawful disruption of a business…”

“I get the point. Come on, dudes. You’re going to jail. You heard the lady. She’s calling the shots. You two took enough shots as it is.”

Uh…duh! Ten shots by mister ten-gallon hat and fourteen from mister too-stupid-to-take-care-of-his-warrant! Look at this place! There are bullet holes everywhere! Look at that wall over there! Look at those holes! It looks like someone was trying to shoot a fleeing cockroach! Uh, a drunk someone! Who the hell is going to pay for all of this? There’s broken dishes all over the floor! Yes, that’s what happens when two total yahoos start shooting at each other in the middle of a crowded restaurant at the start of the dinner hour! Say goodbye to your five-star rating, guys! This is definitely going to put a dent in your profits for the month!

“Sarge, what are we going to do? It’s getting worse! They’re all over the city and we don’t even know about it until something like this happens!”

“It’s always darkest before the dawn, Rane. This shit will blow over eventually, but for now? We’re just going to have to deal with it. Which is to say you’re going to have to deal with it.”

Would you listen to him? Keep it up, old man! I’m just counting the days until you’re officially declared back to full duty! And as soon as you are? You’re going to pay dearly for all of the shit you’ve dumped on me! Get ready to meet Allison: Mistress of Pain! Oh, have I got some real horrors planned for you! And Mistress Allison doesn’t want to hear any of your bullshit excuses! She demands absolute obedience from her quivering male slaves! You’ll see! Oh, will you ever see!

“Jimmy, don’t forget to take pictures of their injuries! I don’t want any crap like we had with those guys at the Promenade!”

“Paranoia’s not a good look on you, Allison.”

I’m not being paranoid! That Promenade caper? Those two assbags were booked with what looked like a couple of shaving cuts! The next morning in County Jail? They’re screaming for the guard to take them to the infirmary because they both looked like they’d gone ten rounds with an angry mountain lion! Can you say “self-inflicted wounds?” Naturally, they said they were going to sue the city and the police force for neglect. Dollar signs in their eyes! Nice, huh? I’m not going through that crap again! Especially not when we can avoid it with a few cellphone pictures!

“Just take the pictures on your cellphone and book them as an addendum to the report. I’ll see you at the station.”

“You really suck sometimes, you know that? And not in the good kind of way.”

Nice try, Jimmy! Sexual innuendos will be overlooked, as usual. But they won’t get you anywhere, either. And no, I’m not sorry for dumping this load of crap on him! We’ve been dealing with this bullshit for months! It’s everywhere! And nobody seems to know how to put a stop to it! More than that; it’s actually getting worse! I’m telling you: our little desert paradise? We’re the official weirdness capital of the whole world! How else can you explain it?

Back at the police station and still stewing over that demonstration of monumental stupidity! It’s been like that almost non-stop for the last two months! It was bad enough when we were getting one of those calls every two weeks, but now? It’s every week! Sometimes two or three times a week! How did it get this bad? We hardly rate a mention on the map! How did we suddenly become the total insanity capital of the world? I need someone to explain that to me! I’d pay good money for that explanation! So would just about everyone on the police force right now! If you don’t believe me? Ask them!

I suppose I should explain. It’ll give me a chance to rest and recover from my ranting and raving. Yes, it’s your old pal Allison Rane here: Sergeant of Police, Sniper Girl, connoisseur of bad fifties sci-fi films, lover of old sixties crooners, and something of a total nympho, as I’m sure you all remember. You’re probably wondering what I’ve been up to since the…unpleasantness…almost a year ago. That’s my gentle way of saying when I blew Martin Hunt’s brains out on a top-secret government base and it was definitely what you’d call an “extra-judicial” killing. That’s a fancy term for cold-blooded murder. Hey, the law might’ve considered it murder, but we all know it was the only justice that son of a bitch was ever going to face. I’m not sorry I did it. I’d do it again if I had to. It was the right thing to do and I’m certain of it. I won’t rehash the past right now. Suffice it to say, absolutely nothing came of it. That big Man in Black we spoke to? He kept his word: no one would ever know what happened and we’d face no consequences for shooting that assbag Hunt. And we’d never see him or any of the other Men in Black again. Since then, we haven’t seen or heard from any of them. Not a peep. Believe me: we like it that way. I hope it stays that way!

So we buried the dead, got on with our lives, and the wounded recovered from their wounds. Even the Sarge. It’s been a long road back for him, let me tell you. Considering the fact that he was so close to death that they were going to pull the plug on him? He’s doing very well. He’s up and about – as you saw because he was at the restaurant with me – and he’s due to be restored to full duty in a couple of days. He’s been light duty since he was able to come back to work and he’s been absolutely miserable about it. He thinks he’s Superman and he should be out working the field like nothing ever happened to him. Pighead! What a pighead! But that’s the Sarge for you. Thank God Lieutenant Jutras let him come back and work light duty because he was driving me right up the wall the whole time he was benched! It wasn’t so bad when he was bedridden – even he knew he couldn’t do anything when he was like that – but once he was up and about? Oh, God! Non-stop complaining! What a total grouch! It was sheer hell!! About the only time he ever shut up about it was when he was in the backyard building that damned gazebo! I didn’t even complain about the noise because it seemed to keep him busy, if not happy. Other than that? He was absolutely miserable to be around! And I didn’t get a break from it until his doctor said he was healed up enough that I could bang his brains out again! You’d better believe I made up for a lot of lost time once we got the green light for that! I like to think I did a better job of strengthening his heart than those physical therapists did. My kind of physical therapy is just as strenuous but a hell of a lot more fun; not that I need to tell you that. God knows I had fun! And that’s precisely how it should be!

Other than that? Things overall have remained much the same. This town is still the same. In addition to being Sniper Girl, I’m still Cydonia Girl: poster babe for your favorite gun and survival shop catering to conspiracy theorists of all shapes and sizes. I still do the podcasts and appear in the ads – usually wearing as little as is legally possible. Nobody’s gotten tired of me over there so I must be doing something right. My friend and confidant LC is still running the show over there and he’s still very much the King of Conspiracies. No one tried to mess with the store’s licenses as a result of him helping me sneak into the top-secret Dugway Proving Ground to assassinate that assbag Hunt, so Cydonia is still going strong. In some ways, it’s going stronger than ever. The Halloween sale was a big success. They were giving away a pumpkin with every firearm purchased so you’d have something to shoot. We had a video contest for the podcast: most spectacular pumpkin explosion from a gunshot. Now, Cydonia being Cydonia? Most of our contestants weren’t satisfied to just shoot the things. No, they decided to go overboard and see how much Tannerite they could pack into one poor pumpkin! And when they shot them? Spectacular doesn’t even begin to describe it! Anyway, the store is looking forward to Christmas now. So am I, as long as it’s a peaceful one.

So why all of my ranting and raving? Well, it’s a bit of a story. Aren’t they always, huh? I take it you remember how we were having a huge problem with vigilantes at the time Martin Hunt and his Men in Black were trying to murder all of us? I’m sure you remember how Lieutenant Jutras threw Hunt’s right-hand flunkie to the vigilantes and he got his neck stretched? Well, Hunt and his flunkie may be dead, but the vigilantes are still here. They never went away. In fact, they got a hell of a lot worse. I didn’t think that was possible, but that’s what I get for underestimating this city’s capacity for total weirdness. Oh, it got much worse! It got so that you couldn’t swing a stick without hitting a member of one of our “Vigilance Committees!” It got so bad that we had four different outfits vying to be the “official” vigilance committee for the city! Now I ask you: what the fuck is going so wrong with this town that we have people trying to be the recognized “official” vigilantes? Insane! Totally insane! But they’re doing it! And the craziest part? Who the hell decides who gets to be the town’s “official” bunch of take-the-law-into-your-own-hands assbags? I mean, the whole thing about vigilantes is that what they’re doing is illegal! But we’ve got four vigilance committees who want the city council or whoever the hell is in charge of bestowing…I don’t even know what you’d call it! Official certification? Something like that. They want them to give it to their group! Frontier justice is alive and well in the twenty-first century! How fucking crazy is that?

Oh, but it gets better! Or should I say “It gets worse!” Oh, it definitely got worse! Much, much worse! And who do we have to thank for that? Our city’s unofficial evil wizard Randall Schoen? No! Some shadowy government secret agency? No! Some total nut job from over at Cydonia? No! Who do we have to thank for our current level of insanity? None other than one of our local citizens named – get this: Elmo Sodd! You heard me: Elmo Sodd! That’s his real name! I never heard of the guy before the current shit storm hit and from what I can tell? Neither did anybody else! Elmo Sodd is an old retired rancher, sort of a hermit, and sometime acquaintance of one Mister Clevis Painter – I’m sure you remember him, right? How could we forget? Well, I guess retirement got boring and Mister Sodd wasn’t into streaming Game of Thrones or whatever and…oh, who the hell knows? Maybe he didn’t realize there are a million free porn sites out there to pass the time? I could give him some links, if he’s interested. Anyway, Elmo was bored and he didn’t have a hobby, so he decided to busy up his days by…becoming a bounty hunter! Yes, Elmo Sodd decided that he needed a new lease on life, so he became a genuine bounty hunter! But not just any bounty hunter! Oh, no! He wasn’t interested in arresting bail jumpers for a few dollars here and a few dollars there. No, he decided to focus on major assbags with very high prices on their heads! I’m talking about the big-time assbags in those wanted posters that you see down at the Post Office – assuming you even bother to go into a Post Office these days. Now, to say that Elmo is way past his prime would be charitable. The guy’s in his eighties, I think. You’d think he’d get his ass stomped into the ground on day one, wouldn’t you? Well he didn’t. And he wasn’t one of those…shall we say, “colorful” types with the boots and the spurs and the ten-gallon Stetson. You know, like the moron we just arrested? No, he wore chinos and work boots and Carhartt shirts and looked like pretty much every farmer or rancher in the country. He didn’t carry a brace of pearl-handled Colt forty-fives in a tooled buscadero rig like that dork back in the lockup. No, he had a forty-caliber Beretta Storm that he bought just for his new career because he didn’t even own a handgun. Despite not knowing squat about handgun marksmanship and being a walking disaster waiting to happen; in eight months of bounty hunting, he managed to get into only two shootings; neither of them fatal. Lucky him! So he’s the most Harvey Q. Milquetoast-looking bounty hunter on God’s green earth who wouldn’t know one end of a pistol from the next and he keyed on the worst assbags imaginable. Uh, recipe for disaster much? He has zero experience in man-tracking. I don’t know if he even owned a computer before he got into this gig. He looks like a guy who thinks high-tech is a car with an automatic transmission. And he’s not going to duke it out with some desperado in an old western saloon punch-up. Not at his age, right? So how did he do? He’s banked one hundred seventy-four thousand dollars so far! In less than a year! It seems we’ve got a lot of badly-wanted assbags in and around the city and somehow he managed to find them and herd them into jail without getting himself killed! Go figure, huh?

Anyway, no one could believe it. How could anyone believe it? We couldn’t believe it and we’re the cops! But he did it! So our local newspaper – owned by one Mister Randall Schoen, of course – did a feature on him in their Sunday magazine section and kaboom! It totally opened the floodgates! Every stupid dickface with a pair of cowboy boots and a gun poured into town and started calling himself a bounty hunter! Oh, and a few women answered the clarion call of mega-insanity! And yes, they’ve got the boots and the spurs and the hats just like the men! Theirs are usually prettier, though. We came across one wanna-be Calamity Jane packing a nickel-plated and engraved Colt Peacemaker with pink pearl grips and gold inlay. Cute, huh? Hardly! I’m telling you: these goddamned bounty hunters are going to be the ruin of us all! Oh, they’ve come from near and far to cash in on the new gold rush! Lately it seems like they’re everywhere! And do they ever cause us trouble! They’re loud, aggressive as hell, confrontational, frequently dangerous, and the vast majority of them have seen way too many bad movies. Throw in the fact that most of them have zero training in the profession or they took a forty to eighty-hour course somewhere – usually online – and you get the picture. The whole thing has been a disaster. For starters, it’s not like there are nearly enough of these wanted-dead-or-alive bad-guy types here to sustain them all. That means the rush to catch them makes the would-be bounty hunters reckless. Then there’s the fact that sometimes more than one of these yahoos shows up at the scene to try to catch the same fugitive. You’ve heard of turf wars? Pissing contests? Buddy, you ain’t seen nothing until you’ve been to one of those calls! Remember: only one bounty hunter can collect the bounty and you can be talking about some serious bucks on the line. Throw in their ginormous egos and their romantic visions of themselves and you’ve got the mother of all recipes for disaster. And that’s what we’ve been dealing with for the last few months – in addition to the usual crime and weirdness that we have around here. Believe me when I tell you: they don’t pay us nearly enough for this crap!

So this is my life these days. The Allison Rane curse is alive and well and it’s about to deliver me a great big steaming pile of dog shit for Christmas next month, as the Sarge likes to say. He’s been blissfully detached from this whole mess because he’s been on light duty since he recovered enough to do anything. Don’t get me wrong: I don’t blame him. No, I envy him! He hasn’t had to deal with this crap the way the rest of us have! We’ve been begging the city council and the mayor to put a stop to all of this, but so far? No luck. Some of them even have a sneaking admiration for these dickheads. That’s mainly because they think it might give us a boost in the tourism. Uh…tourism? What tourism? Who the hell wants to come here for a vacation? We don’t have anything worth seeing! If you want to see the desert? You go to the Grand Canyon. Then you get two attractions for the price of one. I think they just don’t want to do anything about it. Politicians who don’t want to do anything except collect a paycheck? Gee, what else is new?

What else? Well, I’m still a sergeant, still a sniper, still technically an Element Leader with our SRT team, and still the division’s unofficial shit magnet. We’re still grossly understaffed, poorly equipped, totally underappreciated, and often forgotten unless there’s some new horror in the city that gets the interest of the press. I’m still with the Sarge and Beefy the dog is just fine, fat, and happy as usual. We still live in the Sarge’s cabin and it’s a lot nicer than it used to be since he’s had so much time to work on it lately. I’ve still got Randall Schoen’s ear – though not quite as much as I did during that business with the Men in Black and Martin Hunt – and he’s still the undisputed master of the city and surrounding area. Despite my urging, he’s refused to take a public position on these vigilantes and bounty hunters. Why would he? There’s no money in it for him and public opinion seems pretty divided on the subject: some people like them and some people think they’re a menace to society. He’s sitting on the sidelines until he can think of a way to make a buck off of them. I think the only reason why they’re not getting more press around here is because the situation at the border is going crazy. Illegal border crossers are flooding in and our current administration in D.C. seems to think that’s just great. They should come down here and see just how great it is. The ranchers along the border are finding dead bodies almost every week. I’ve told you how dangerous that desert can be. Well? There’s your proof. Anyway, that’s your lead story on the news around here. We’re not getting it as bad since we’re a ways from the border, but we’re having plenty of problems as a result of it. People are up in arms about it – literally. If you thought a lot of people were packing guns before? You should see it now. They’ve got reason to be afraid: the Avicenna drug cartel has really stepped up their game and they’ve moved into human trafficking in a big way. They’re here and we’ve had some incidents already. There’s never a dull moment in our neck of the woods, is there?

So what do we do about Frick and Frack back in the holding cells? As you’ve already surmised, Frick is one of our would-be bounty hunters and Frack is the guy he was trying to apprehend. Frack is wanted in New Mexico for human trafficking of illegal immigrants and there’s a ten thousand dollar reward for his capture. He skipped out on a huge bail and naturally the federal judge wasn’t too keen on him not showing up for his trial. Now he’s got a charge of being a fugitive who crossed state lines to escape on his rap sheet. He was working as a busboy in that restaurant under an assumed name when Wild Bill Dickface showed up, delivered some idiotic line from an old western movie, and pulled one of his Peacemakers. That’s when Frack pulled his much more modern Glock 17 and the shootout at the Sun Devil Bar and Grill was on! They each scratched each other because neither of them can shoot for shit. Then half the patrons in the place pulled their guns and held the two morons at gunpoint until we arrived. We’re getting at least one call like that per week; sometimes three of them. It’s getting really old!

And here comes Lieutenant Jutras, probably to make fun of me for yet another cluster fuck! See? I’m really mastering the Sarge’s lingo, aren’t I?

“Another bounty hunter disaster, Allison?”

“Does it show?”

“That, and the bounty hunter is back there yelling at the top of his lungs that he didn’t do anything wrong.”

Shooting up a crowded restaurant? That’s wrong in anybody’s book!

“Tell that to the guy who owns the Sun Devil Bar and Grill, sir. It’s going to cost a fortune to patch all of those bullet holes and replace the broken dishes.”

“So I heard. I hope you’re ready for more of it. The city council still won’t budge. Some merchant’s group begged them to draft a bill to regulate bounty hunting in the city, but they’re not having any of it. Not until after the first of the year, anyway.”

Great! Two more months of inaction! That’ll be a big help! And who’s to say they’ll even come back right away after the New Year? They might decide to take an extended winter vacation. I’ve noticed they do that a lot.

“Sir, what are we supposed to do? Almost every one of these disasters comes down to a judgment call: were they justified in doing whatever they did? People are afraid of making the wrong call. I know. I’m one of them.”

“Without clear guidance from the City Attorney or the District Attorney, it’s the best we can do. And they’re not about to weigh in. They’re afraid anything they decide is going to wind up before a judge and they don’t want to go there. Until they change their minds, we’re stuck with the Wild West.”

Our guys are terrified of getting sued. Restraint of trade, infringing on people’s livelihoods; that sort of thing. People have a right to be bounty hunters and the business isn’t very regulated in this state. It’s going to have to happen at the local level and that ain’t happening around here, let me tell you!

“What about the vigilantes?”

“As long as they don’t break the law, they’re to be considered citizen patrols for now. That’s straight from the Chief’s Office. We’ve told him some of them are clearly breaking the law, but he’s not listening. He doesn’t want the bad press. People have mixed feelings about the bounty hunters, but the vigilantes still have a lot of public support. People are sick of crime.”

Yes, I’m sure you remember Chief Wishy-Washy? Also known as Chief Bricklin? What an empty suit! The guy is even more worthless than Chief Wright! And I didn’t think that was possible!

“And they don’t think we’re up to the job.”

“They watch the national news. They see what’s happening in Chicago or Los Angeles or New York and they think it’s the same thing here: the police have their hands tied and they’re not doing the job. We’re not that bad, but people don’t make a distinction.”

No, they don’t. And people out here are big on handling things themselves. They’re very independent and they support people who take care of problems directly. If these vigilantes are keeping us from becoming crime-infested hellholes like the major cities east and west of here? People say more power to them. Lucky us!

“Sir, the troops are on edge. They’re responding to too many calls with shots fired or guns being waved around. It’s going to cause a disaster pretty soon.”

“I know. And I’m counting on you and the other sergeants to prevent that from happening. It seems like these bounty hunters are getting more and more brazen. We’ve had a lot more incidents where shots were fired. Captain Weitz says it’s only a matter of time before these jackasses start shooting first and asking questions later.”

And they’ve already screwed up plenty of times. We’ve had dozens of calls where it turned out the guy they were trying to haul away wasn’t the one who was wanted. I know these dickheads are stupid, but I’d like to think they could at least read the damned wanted poster before they grab somebody. No such luck, huh?

“So what about the assbags back in the tanks?”

“Charge the fugitive with whatever’s in the warrant and notify New Mexico that we’ve got him and we’re sending him back. Beyond that? Charge them both with felony endangerment for the shootout and we’ll see if the DA is willing to file charges. Don’t hold your breath, though.”

Oh, I gave up holding my breath about five minutes after this crap started! The DA is going to figure the fugitive is a slam-dunk case and he’ll just go with that. If he files any additional charges, it’ll mean he has to try the dork right here. That’ll interfere with the extradition and it’ll start another pissing contest. He’ll want to avoid that. And if he’s washing his hands of the fugitive, then he’ll probably wash his hands of the stupid bounty hunter as well. You just can’t escape the politics, can you?

“I gave the arrests to Jimmy and Lonnie. I signed off on ADW, negligent discharge, felony endangerment, and whatever that dickface is wanted for in New Mexico.”

“You don’t really think our DA is going to file all of those charges, do you?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. I got here at nine this morning to cover for Sergeant Ramos. It’s almost seven o’clock. I’m going home. I’ve done my good deeds for the day.”

“So you have. All right, you’re out of here. Do me a favor and take Frank with you. He’s been getting on people’s nerves today.”

Just today? He hasn’t been paying attention, has he?

“Two more days and he’s got an appointment with the city doctor to get cleared for full-duty.”

“Are you sure the doctor’s going to clear him?”

Oh, he’s going to clear him, all right! He’ll do it if I have to bang his city doctor ass every which way but loose! I mean it! I’ll do practically anything to get him back to work so I don’t have to listen to him whine anymore! A wild bang-fest with a strange doctor is a small price to pay for that!

“It’s in the bag, sir. Trust me.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Good night, Allison.”

“Good night and good luck, sir.”

That’s what Edward Murrow used to say when he signed off his broadcasts, isn’t it? Well, if what’s happened so far today is any indication? He’s going to need all the luck he can get. We all will.

Home at our cabin. See? I told you it was even nicer than before. Look at those floors! Beautiful hardwood and polished to a mirror shine! And we’ve got new insulation so the place will stay warmer on winter nights and cooler in the summer. I might even convince the old man to turn on the air conditioner from time to time. Look! We’ve got real pictures on the walls now! Not just framed posters, mind you. Real paintings! Nice ones! We got them at an art shop that we found. I have no idea who painted them, but they’re nice and they look great and they really spruce the place up. We’ve even got some plants in flower pots! Real plants that grow and need water and everything! This place is a real home now. Even the Sarge thinks it’s looking good – though don’t expect him to admit it. You know how he is. My favorite upgrade? He put in a new, very modern-looking shower in the bathroom. Not only does it look fantastic, but it’s practically made for me to perform one of my water shows for him. You know how much I like to do that for him. Getting banged in there is a complete blast, too. We’ve got grab bars along the walls so I can hold on for dear life when he gives it to me hard and deep! Hey, a girl has needs, doesn’t she? And showers can be slippery. Safety first!

And of course, we have Beefy the dog sitting on the couch. He’s happy we’re home early. I don’t usually come in so early – you know how I feel about getting up in the morning and working in the early afternoon heat. But we’re home and Beefy got used to the Sarge being around all day so he hates it when we’re both gone. I think the Sarge has been stuffing treats into Beefy while I’m at work because he’s definitely looking porky these days. He’s also a lot more excited to see the Sarge, which leads me to believe he’s expecting him to go straight for the treat jar. Bribery is a crime, you know! Besides, Beefy is my dog! He’s my buddy! He’d better not be defecting to that old man if he knows what’s good for him! I’ll put him on a diet and make him go running with me out in the desert! That’ll teach him!

It’s November, so that means it’s warm in the daytime and pretty damned cold at night. It helps with the electric bill – we don’t have to run the air conditioner very much – and we usually build a fire at night. Sometimes we even sit outside around the fire pit, which is really cool. When it gets colder, you can see more stars in the sky. I don’t know if you can actually see more of them or if the ones you can see are just brighter, but there’s definitely a difference. I’d say it’s also romantic, but you know what getting the Sarge into a romantic mood is like. Try pushing a stubborn elephant uphill and you’ll get the idea. I made it plenty clear to him after he scared the living daylights out of me by nearly dying that I expect him to make me Mrs. Sarge before long. He’s been waffling, but I know how to wear him down. Look how long it took me to get him to nail me. Well, I succeeded then and I’ll succeed this time, too. He owes it to me! I’m not listening to any of his bullshit about the age difference. If Randall Schoen can surround himself with a bevy of bikini models who are all young enough to be his granddaughter, then the Sarge can step up to the plate and marry me. It’s going to happen. I’ve put my foot down.

Thank heaven I don’t have to clean my sniper rifle tonight. I’m not up for it. I need to oil my pistol, though. The winds were kicking up earlier and a lot of sand was blowing around, so I need to make sure it’s oiled and ready to go just in case. I heard we’ve got some really big storms coming in a week or two. Just what I don’t want! I hate the rain! I hate working in it! I hate being soaked to the skin! And it plays havoc with my duty gear! Speaking of which: this pistol is really a marvel. You’d think all of the finish would’ve been worn off of it by now, but it’s not. I guess that’s what happens when your pistol costs as much as a down-payment on a used car. I have to admit: this thing has never failed me. It fires every time I pull the trigger on a live round and it’s accurate like you wouldn’t believe. Les Baer. If’ you’re willing to spend the money? I highly recommend it. My off-duty Dan Wesson pistol is almost as good, but not quite. Good Lord! Who’d have thought I’d ever be speaking so highly about a couple of guns? See what the Sarge did to me? When I think back on what I was like before I met him, I can barely believe it. I’m not complaining, mind you. He made me the cop that I am today. He had a lot to do with making me the woman that I am today, but he’ll never admit that part. No matter. The woman I was before I met him still makes him blush more often than he’d care to. I like doing that to him, as I’m sure you’re already aware.

“Listen up, Beefy! The Sarge is in the other room doing his thousand pushups and sit-ups, so it’s time for another classic movie! We’ll be enjoying The Robot vs. The Aztec Mummy! See? It says right here: ‘See the relentless machine battle the gruesome corpse!’ Sounds like five stars to me! Popcorn time! You be ready to make room for the Sarge when he’s finished.”

Which should be in about another fifteen minutes. I mean, holy cow! He’s been going crazy trying to whip himself into shape ever since he got out of the hospital! I get that he wants to return to his former level of fitness, but there’s such a thing as overdoing it. A thousand pushups a day? A thousand situps? I’m pretty sure that if you can do five hundred of each, then you’re ready to be certified for full duty. I admit, he’s in remarkably good shape. If you’d seen him when he was first released from the hospital? You wouldn’t believe it. He was a complete wreck. I’m just glad he’s back to his old self. I just wish he’d come to realize it before he pulls a muscle or throws his back out. I’m sick of listening to his whining about things like that.

“Stay here while I go get changed for the movie. And you stay away from the microwave! That’s my popcorn! You hate popcorn! Don’t even think of touching it!”

He won’t eat it, but he’s discovered he likes to knock the bowl over and spill the popcorn all over the floor! What a stinker!

“And no chewing on my boots! You’ve got those rawhide bones if you want to chew on something! Use those!”

He’s not a puppy, but he still loves to chew on my stuff. Yes, that’s still one of the banes of my existence. I asked a dog trainer when he was going to outgrow that and she said probably never. She said some dogs retain their puppy behavior for most of their lives. Maybe, but I need him to knock it off. I’ve lost more pairs of underwear, bras, and shoes to his teeth than I can afford. Speaking of underwear? What should I wear for the movie? You should know by now that the choice of undergarments is essential for movie nights. I tend to wear something over them that’s very easy to remove. The underwear is a treat, like unwrapping a present. Movie nights are supposed to result in a wild bang-fest, you know. The proper choice of undergarments is essential to baiting the hook. Let’s see…the pink ones? No, not the pink ones. I bought them because they’re really cute, but I’m just not a pink kind of girl. Deep red silk! That’s what I’m looking for! This one always does the trick! It feels amazing against my skin and even more amazing as he’s sliding it off of me! Definitely the one! I’d pair it with black stockings but I’m not sure I’m up for that tonight. Once I slide his hand down my shorts, I don’t want him distracted by my legs. Not tonight. I expect him to get right to work on the important parts. He does it so well, as you know.

Oh, hell! What’s this? I’m getting a text message and that ringtone is the one I use for Lieutenant Jutras! He’d better not be calling me in to work! I already put in a long shift! What is this…it’s a bulletin. It went out to several counties. We get these from time to time about particularly dangerous assbags. Think of them as digital wanted posters. But…this one isn’t one of those. It’s just a notification bulletin: some guy is supposed to be in our city now. Who the hell is this guy? It doesn’t say he’s wanted. It doesn’t even say he’s a criminal. Who is he? Some rock star? Movie actor? Some other assbag that we’re going to have to babysit?

“Sarge! Knock off the calisthenics! Who the hell is Luther Bodine?”

That’s what it says his name is. It’s got a picture of him too. God, this guy looks so full of himself! I’ll bet he’s a total assbag!

“Did you say Luther Bodine?”

Well, I pronounced it Bo-dine and he pronounced it Bo-deen, but I guess they’re the same guy.

“I don’t know how you pronounce it. This guy, right here. Lieutenant Jutras sent me an information bulletin on him. Do you know who he is?”

And for that matter, do you know why he’d be sending me an information bulletin on him? Like I said: he looks like a conceited assbag. Why would I want to know about someone like that? I already divorced someone like that, as I’m sure you remember.

“Son of a bitch! He’s back in our city?”

“I guess so. That’s what the bulletin says. So who is he and why should we care?”

“You should care because if I see this fucking maggot anywhere in the city limits, I’m going to kick the living shit out of him!”

OK, so he is an assbag. But I’m still in the dark here.

“You know this guy?”

“Unfortunately, yes! Jesus Christ! This fucking maggot was declared persona non grata years ago! What the hell is he doing back in our city?”

Um…I’m still in the dark, Sarge! Maybe if you provided a little useful information?

“How come he got kicked out? What did he do?”

“He’s a goddamned assbag! He was before your time, Rane. By that, I mean before you started taking the job seriously. You would’ve been working Traffic when this idiot got the boot. He’s a professional bounty hunter. He’s the kind of reckless son of a bitch that gives real bounty hunters a bad name! Hell, he gives those crazy modern-day cowboys a bad name!”

OK, that’s saying something! But he still hasn’t told me what he did. I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but even I know it takes a hell of a lot to get yourself officially banned from the city. He must’ve done something pretty horrendous.

“You still didn’t tell me what he did.”

“This guy’s been a professional bounty hunter for years. He’s even licensed in a few states where you need that to do that kind of work. The thing is, this assbag’s more Tom Horn than Papa Thornton.”

Still a little too cryptic for me, old man! Now, I’ve heard of Papa Thornton. When our bounty hunter problem exploded? Some of the old-timers mentioned his name. It seems he was a very famous bounty hunter back in the sixties and seventies and that guy from The Blob even starred in a movie about him. But who the hell is Tom Horn?

“Do you want to clue me in on who Tom Horn is?”

Oh, here we go! He’s rolling his eyes again! I hate it when he does that! It means I said something that he thinks is common knowledge, but half the time when he does that? It’s about something nobody but he knows! It’s mega-annoying!

“Jesus Christ, princess! Are you telling me you never heard of Tom Horn?”

“Sure I have. In the last five seconds when you mentioned him. So who is he? And skip the eye-rolling this time. I’m really not in the mood for it right now.”

“Tom Horn was a rancher and a cowboy at the turn of the twentieth century. He took to being a hired assassin for Montana cattle barons; shooting homesteaders who got in the way of the great herds free-ranging up there. A lot of people are divided on whether he was some kind of Old West hero or just a murderer. There’s no doubt he murdered a lot of people, though.”

So…why are people divided on their opinion of him? If he murdered people just because a bunch of rich assbags paid him for it? Then he was a total assbag! Pretty simple, wouldn’t you say?

“Was this Bodine character a murderer?”

“Hard to say. He ended up shooting a lot of people that he was supposed to bring in alive for the bounty. Most of the shootings were ‘questionable,’ to say the least. He got himself arrested a few times while he was here, but none of the charges ever stuck. But he was so brazen about it that the city council declared him persona non grata and had a couple of uniforms escort him to the city limits. I heard we weren’t the only ones. This son of a bitch has been declared unwanted in a lot of places. So what the hell is he doing back here?”

Well, considering how we seem to be the bounty hunter capital of the southwest right now? I think it’s pretty obvious.

“I think he’s probably a Johnny-Come-Lately to the party, don’t you? So what are we supposed to do about him? Just because the city fathers say you’re an assbag and we don’t want you around doesn’t mean he can’t legally come here. Not unless the whole city got a restraining order against him.”

Which I’m pretty sure is impossible. I’ve heard of people being branded persona non grata around here, but it’s a symbolic thing. It doesn’t carry the force of law. This guy’s got to know that. If he’s a professional bounty hunter, then he’s had plenty of opportunities to talk to lawyers. They would’ve clued him in.

“Is that all there is to the message? Jutras didn’t say why he sent it to you?”

“That’s it. He just forwarded it to me. He probably forwarded it to you, too – which you’d know if you’d bother to turn on your cellphone.”

He’s been forgetting to turn that thing on since he got out of the hospital. Well, I’m not sure he’s forgetting to do it. I think he does it on purpose so he doesn’t have to talk to anybody that he doesn’t want to. I know: what a curmudgeon! But he grows on you.

“Remind me to pull the file on this maggot tomorrow.”

“What for? He didn’t do anything. He’s not wanted. And anything in that file is going to be several years old. What good will it do you?”

“I just want to see if there’s anything useful in there. Rane, this guy is all kinds of trouble and I can’t believe he’s changed since the last time. If he’s here? He’s going to cause us some real problems.”

Uh, do you mean like every other whacko bounty hunter that’s roaming the city these days? Does he really think this guy is going to be any worse than the ones we’ve already got? Is that even possible?

“Sarge, I’m going to give you a piece of your own advice. I’m sure you’ll remember this one since it’s one of your gems: don’t go looking for trouble. We’ve got plenty of it already. There’s no sense in trying to add to it.”

“Rane, there’s a difference between looking for trouble and recognizing it when it shows up on your doorstep. If this son of a bitch is in town? He’s going to be trouble. Especially with everything that’s going on around here these days. The last time he was here, some people ended up dead and they probably didn’t need to. Goddamned Luther Bodine? I’m betting he hasn’t changed a bit!”

Well…he does look like a total assbag. And that grin on his face in the picture? He’s got to be a raging egomaniac too! We’ve got too many of those types running around looking for anyone who so much as skipped bail on a drunk-in-public charge right now. The last thing we need is another one – especially one with an established reputation for shooting people who don’t really need to be shot.

“So how come nobody ever shot this guy? If he’s as big of an assbag as you say…”

“I told you, princess: he thinks he’s a modern-day Tom Horn. He doesn’t do most of his shooting up-close-and-personal. He prefers a rifle at a distance.”

Really? Now that’s something I can relate to. Is this guy some kind of vigilante sniper? If he is, then he’s going to become my problem before long. I’d better do some checking on this dork tomorrow when I get in. The last thing I need are any surprises. You know how surprises usually work out for me.

“All right, we’ll look into him tomorrow. Not tonight. I spent all day at work and I want to relax. That means you’re going to help me do it. Movie time! We’ll be enjoying robots and Mesoamerican zombies! Park your ass on the couch, old man! Beefy! Movie time! Now!”

“For God’s sake, princess! When are you going to give up on these crap movies? Can’t we watch something good for a change?”

Uh, his idea of “good” is about as boring as watching paint dry!

“Like that stupid snoozer about Mister Smith going to Washington? The guy from the Christmas movie where he’s a total loser? Forget it! I’m not into ninety-minute black-and-white sleeping pills! Besides, I’m wearing the burgundy silk number under these clothes. That should tell you how this evening is going to turn out. Now park it, old man! And loosen up your fingers! You know what I expect you to do with them!”

I’ll worry about mister dickface tomorrow. I’ve been dealing with vigilantes and bounty hunters and your basic all-around idiots all day. Time for a movie that doesn’t force me to think. Followed of course by a first-rate finger-banging and then a totally wild bang session! I’m talking tied up, bent over, lots of deep thrusting and plenty of earth-shaking orgasms! And after that? I guess we’ll get something for dinner. I think that says a lot about my priorities, doesn’t it? Well, don’t expect me to make any excuses for it! After all this time? You know what I’m like!