Let It Go (2 page)

“You were soaked in it. Should have had a Breathalyzer done. Now it’s too late. Let’s go, boys.” The deputy held the cell door open and waited for them to walk out. They were allowed their shoes back for going in front of the judge.

The courtroom was on the other side of the building that held the sheriff’s office. Only Creed’s old man driver and some slick-looking asshole were in the small room when they arrived. The assistant district attorney walked in and sat at the opposing table and yawned. The judge arrived a few minutes later. Black robe over bare legs and flip-flops. He had a nice tan going, at least. “So, gentlemen, to what do I owe this disruption of my Sunday morning?” the right honorable Judge Dickhead said after they rose to stand at attention in front of him.

The judge was handed a folder from a stack of folders about a foot high. He studied it for a while then lowered the slim glasses he’d donned for reading. “Seems the two of you have a history of violence against each other.” He sighed when the dude in the suit stepped forward. “Mr. Mason, your uncle has seen fit to send his lawyer to speak on your behalf, if you’re so inclined.”

“Disinclined,” Eli said without looking at the suit. “Tell him to pound sand, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Mason, you are aware that there are some pretty serious charges being levied against you and Mr. Dickson.” He paused to wait for the ADA to chime in; the man nodded and waved, saying nothing, and the judge continued. “Maybe declining legal counsel isn’t such a good idea right now.”

“Yes sir, I am aware. I’m also aware that I have a law degree and am perfectly capable of saying guilty by reason of insanity without my uncle’s interference. I was drunk. I threw the first punch. I don’t remember hitting some chick but if they said I did then I probably did, not intentional, I assure you, and I’m good for any damages to the bar.” Eli didn’t like hauling out the big guns. Yes, he had a law degree. No, he didn’t want the damned thing. He never tried to pass the bar exam. He had no interest in being a suit or dealing with people like himself.

“And you, Mr. Dickson, would you like legal counsel or are you ready to plead guilty for wasting my time?” The judge looked over the rim of yet another folder at the two of them standing side by side. Eli could hear the steam building in Creed’s head. It wasn’t often the kid lost his temper, and as far as Eli knew he was the only one capable of getting Creed pissed enough to lash out. Yeah, this was about to get fun.

“Just plead guilty, man, and we can go on our merry little way,” Eli whispered, trying not to look like he was talking out the side of his mouth while he talked out of the side of his mouth.

“I’m not guilty, you asshole. I was minding my own business when you came up and started shit. You always come up and start shit. I wasn’t drunk. I never even threw a punch. I didn’t hit anyone and I didn’t break anything. That was all you. And quite frankly, I’m tired of even knowing you, so pardon me if I—”

The gavel pounding the desk cut off the rest of Creed’s tirade.

“We can add contempt of court to the charges.” The judge took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Mason, based on your reputation as a hell-raiser in these parts and your lack of giving a shit about the damage you cause and because you’ve pled guilty to the charges, with the exception of contempt, which I’m pretending you did to expedite things, I’m sentencing you to six months and restitution of all damages as well as medical for the young woman. And a handwritten, preferably in blood, letter of apology to all injured parties. Time to be served under house arrest on your property outside town.”

“But, Tom, I’m scheduled to ride in the Texas State—” Eli nearly bit his tongue when the gavel came down.

“Seven months. And if you so much as cross the road to check your mail I will have you arrested and held in county lockup for the remainder of your time. Do you understand me, Eli?” The judge wagged the gavel at Eli. He then turned his attention to the taller man beside Eli and sighed. “Well, Mr. Dickson, you seem to have found yourself in a predicament. By pleading not guilty, which I assume that’s what your outburst a little while ago meant, and with no one here to corroborate your story—Mr. Treadwell is biased testimony as he was also a part of this brawl and should be standing here as well.” The judge held up his hand and the noise Eli heard behind them subsided immediately. “Why he isn’t is beyond me. But he isn’t. Mr. Dickson, I have no choice but to send this to a jury trial for the assault charges. And since you’re a rodeo bum who’ll be in Texas this time tomorrow if I let you go, I have no choice but to set your bail at a hundred thousand dollars. Bailiff, remove these fine gentlemen to—”

“I’ll pay it,” Eli found himself shouting as the bailiff came around to cuff him again for the trip back to county lockup.

“You’ll pay what, Mr. Mason? I’m confused.” The judge stopped short of pounding his gavel, holding it suspended as if he’d forgotten what he was about to do. Surprise registered on his face as he looked between them as if they’d somehow conspired to get on his last nerve.

“I’ll pay Creed’s bail. Since it was my fault he’s in here in the first place. If he’d plead guilty it wouldn’t be so bad since I was the one who hit the girl—”

“The girl claims Mr. Dickson is the one who pushed her into your fist. So you’re both charged with assault.” This from the ADA who yawned afterward. “She’s pretty bruised up and mad as hell.”

“I don’t even remember a girl being anywhere around, Your Honor. Sorry to speak out of turn, but I don’t remember a girl being injured at all. And I wasn’t drunk.” Creed’s voice was strong and sure. He never missed a thing. And Eli had to agree; he didn’t remember a girl between them either, but he was on his fourth—or was it his fifth?—beer by the time he spotted Creed on the other side of the bar with that asshole Jimmy Marquess’ arm over his shoulder. Laughing like they were the best of friends.

“Witnesses say you reeked of beer and were stumbling around like a drunken sailor,” the judge pointed out, his gavel hovering in the air.

“Yessir, that’s probably true, from Eli’s mean left hook, he fights dirty. He always fights dirty.” Creed turned his purple-and-blue-splotched face for the judge to see.

Eli snickered. “Not my fault you have a glass jaw.” Oh hell, he was going to get more time in lockdown, but this was so damned funny. Big damn Creed Dickson could not take a punch. Sometimes he could land one. Just sometimes. When Eli made him mad enough to throw the first blow.

“Change of plans, boys.” The judge leaned back in his chair, holding his gavel in both hands. His smile was slow and—oh shit, this was not going to be good—evil. His eyes shimmered with—evil. “I’m releasing Mr. Dickson into your care, Mr. Mason, to await trial. If the charges against him are dropped—and the ADA will seriously discourage either party from dropping those charges—then he can hightail it back to Texas to meet up with his people. Until that time, well, what better punishment than to lock the two of you up together? You’ll kill each other or figure out how to get along. Either way, a win for the taxpayers.”

“But … no,” Eli managed to choke out the words. “Come on, Tom, you can’t do that. It’s not fair.”

“I’m saving you a hundred grand, Eli, and giving you a ranch hand. He’ll earn his keep while he’s at your place. As I understand it, Mr. Dickson is pretty good with horses. And you’ve neglected yours these past years chasing bulls. Deputy, fit these gentlemen with some ankle jewelry and get ’em out of my building.” The gavel fell heavy on the desk, and the judge rose from the bench tugging his robe off. “You cost me my first round of golf one last time, Eli. Don’t make me come out there and kick your ass. I will. And Mr. Dickson.” He looked sadly at Creed. “Sorry, son. I hope this works out in your favor.”

The deputy who escorted them in came and escorted them out. Without the cuffs this time. Creed was silent all the way back to lockup. His head seemed in a perpetual state of bent; his chin damned near touched his chest. “Goddamn,” Eli said to no one in particular. He hated seeing the kid looking like his horse broke a leg. It used to be fun to rag on Creed fucking Dickson. Now, not so much, and Eli couldn’t figure out what had changed in the last few years.

An hour or so later the two of them were processed out. Creed had his precious gold buckle back along with his wallet, and that’s all the kid seemed to have on him. No phone or cash. No other jewelry, ring, or even a watch. Speaking of jewelry, the ankle strap monitoring device dug into his boot, which pressed the leather back into his leg. “This thing is too tight. I’ll sue if my foot rots off.”

“You do that, Eli; the judge will expect nothing less.” The deputy smiled. This deputy he knew very well. He hated his black little heart, Randy with his Boy Scout do-gooder attitude. Figured he’d become a cop. Eli couldn’t help sneering at him. “Stay out of the pool, Eli, it won’t stand up to the chlorine, and if it stops working I’ll assume you killed it and come and bring you in. You’re allowed a trip into town once a week, most likely on Sunday, or with prior notice to the judge for anything unforeseen like a doctor visit. So if you need anything, you might want to think about it now before we head out.”

“I need to get my gear and make arrangements for my horses,” Creed said from his chair, his sullen streak finally at an end. “I need to find Sly and I don’t know … say good-bye I guess.”

“Mr. Treadwell is in the lobby.” The deputy was kinder to the kid now, Eli noticed. And as usual the special treatment rankled. Creed Dickson rankled. Everything about him rankled. Everything from his threadbare shirt to his beat-up old straw hat and worn-out boots. He had long, tanned hands and bright green eyes that looked at him as if Eli wasn’t fit to be in his shadow. Just a rodeo bum was all Creed Dickson was. All he’d ever be. Just a cowboy chasing broncs until one of them killed him. Eli looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in years.

He was startled by what he saw. Fine lines fanned out from his eyes. His sun-streaked brown hair lay shaggy past his collar, his jaw was sharp, his nose too, his face long and lean like his body. He wasn’t a kid. Not anymore. There was too much life behind his eyes. Too much bringing him down. Creed saw him staring; their gazes locked for a long minute, in which Eli forgot how to breathe. Definitely not a kid. A full-grown man. And Eli was a fool.

“Oh, Jesus, just fuck me now,” he said to nobody in particular. His stomach chose that moment to do this strange churning thing, and the beer and Doritos he’d had for dinner seriously threatened to come back up. Fast. The cool green eyes narrowed as Eli said the words and he had to clutch his stomach. “John. Now. Gonna hurl.”

Chapter 2

The deputy’s cruiser bounced over ruts in a dry dirt road, jostling Creed into Eli as they sat side by side in the back. In the back of a damned—Creed sighed. He’d never been in trouble with the law, except when Eli was present. And never had he spent the night in jail with the man. And now, holy shit, this was too much. Ordered to work out at Eli’s ranch. Eli had a ranch? How in the hell… Never mind, he didn’t want to know. He leaned his head back against the seat, resisting the urge to turn to see if Sly was still behind them. He breathed in deeply and almost gagged. The overwhelming odor of beer and puke filled his nose.

Heat wafted off Eli, his arm nearly burning him as they touched. Eli’s eyes were closed. His head bobbed with each rut. Creed decided that the deputy was hitting all of them hard and fast on purpose. Good. As long as Eli didn’t puke again, he amended.

“Mason. Dickson.” Eli suddenly laughed next to Creed. The sound rich, almost sensuous. Nothing like the laughs he’d heard from the man at any other meeting in their ten-year rivalry. “Hilarious. I get it.”

“Moron,” Creed whispered, covering his eyes with his hand and shaking his head. “Ten years and now he gets it.”

“Aw, you’re just pissed you’re going to be sleeping in my barn until you have to go to prison. Shoulda pled guilty and paid the damned fine and you’d be on your way to Texas with your grandpa.” Eli never opened his eyes, but he did smile.

Again the word
sensuous
swirled in Creed’s brain, and he willed himself to look out the window at the flat green expanse of land passing by.

“He’s not my grandfather.” Creed never could explain what Sly was to him—not an employee, he’d once been his father’s employee; now, Creed suspected, Sly stayed out of loyalty to his father.

“Sugar daddy then. Oooh, honey, you have poor taste in men,” Eli twittered in a high-pitched voice.

“If I murder you right now it would be worth it,” Creed mumbled under his breath.

“I won’t say a thing,” Creed heard from the front of the cruiser. “Prick needs killing.”

“Fuck you very much, Randy.” Eli laughed that same sensuous laugh. “Should have done that when you had the chance.”

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating, Eli,” the deputy said in a strained voice.

“Good to know Eli has a long list of enemies lined up; it’ll make it so much easier,” Creed said, a bubble of something unfurling in his chest. The deputy’s laughter released that something inside Creed and he laughed too, for the first time in longer than he could remember. It came out as a snort.

“Man, I hope the dash cam or something is on and this is recorded so that when I come up dead they know who did it.” Eli still didn’t open his eyes but he did smile. “Randy, be careful up ahead, there’s a washed-out spot off to the right. Might want to do something to let Gramps know so he doesn’t rattle the horses too much.”

“Got it covered,” the deputy said, slowing and moving over. He turned on the roof lights and waited a bit before easing past the deep rut in the road. “He’s going to have to drive on the grass, but he’ll make it. Why don’t you get that fixed before someone ends up killed or something?”

“County road. And anyway, who says I haven’t tried. I fill it with gravel every fall and try to shore it up so it won’t wash out, but until the county gets out here and does something more permanent it’s going to keep washing out.” Eli had become serious in a way Creed had never seen him, though he still lay sprawled in the seat with his eyes closed. “Talk to Judge Dickhead, get him to do something. He lives out here too.”