Chapter 3

Two years earlier, the Bank of Langford had spent over two hundred thousand dollars to tear down some buildings and build a parking lot that many citizens thought was a joke.

At the front of the parking lot, right under the big sign that could easily be seen from the highway, there were several planters with shrubs in each. When Mule saw his friends take off across the street, he went the long way around the block.

He had just made the block when several gunshots were heard behind the old hardware store. Mule started walking in that direction and was by one of the planters when the man rounded the corner, running toward him with a pistol in his hand.

Mule slipped back in the planter right next to a newer model Chevrolet truck, decked out with bug shield, tire flaps and fancy wheels. He saw the man stop just short of the truck and turn around. Mule looked out and saw Psycho and Squiggy running toward the man.

When he saw the man raise the pistol, Mule left his hiding spot, moving at a speed he had not matched in many years. He forgot about the pain from where he broke his leg the year before.

As he neared the man, Mule heard Squiggy shout. As the man started to fire, Mule dove, hitting the man right under his raised arms. The gun blared again, but was pointed up in the sky.

It was a tackle any pro linebacker would have admired. The shooter crumpled up and crashed to the ground, right next to his truck with Mule on top. The man was knocked silly for a few seconds. Just as he started getting his senses back, there was another problem.

The hit from this giant lug hurt, but not nearly as bad as the crazed dog. Psycho went for the gusto, right for the man’s privates and got a good bite that caused the man to scream.

He had never known pain like this. He had been a good running back in his high school some thirty years before and taken some hard hits, but nothing like the one he had just received, one that was made even worse when the mutt bit down.

There was a loud crunching sound and the man knew one of his nuggets had just ruptured. He was fighting to get loose and aim the gun at either the big man or the gun. Just as he almost completed this action, the other man stepped on his wrist, causing the gun to fall free.

“Howdy,” Squiggy said. “How’s it feel for a pit bull to bite your goodies?”

The man was too busy screaming to answer.

“Psycho, let go!” Squiggy said. The dog was jerking its head back and forth, but quit and released his hold on the man. “Nice hit, Mule.”

Mule smiled at his friend. He didn’t realize it, but a cut had opened between his eyes and blood was streaming down over his nose. “Hee hee, I hit him a good one!”

The first officer from the county came flying over the railroad tracks and pulled up next to where Mule had the man held.

The deputy came out of his car with a gun pulled. He ran over and pointed his gun at Mule.

“Get off the man!” the deputy said and pointed his weapon about one inch from Mule’s head.

“Huh?” Mule said, looking at Squiggy in confusion.

“Naw, you idiot,” Squiggy said, pointing at the man grimacing in pain. “That’s the bad dude.”

“Oh,” the deputy said, then noticed the dark spot on the man’s pants. “Did he pee himself?”

“Naw, Psycho got him,” Squiggy said with proudness. “I think he lost a nugget.”

“Cool,” the deputy said. “Where’s the chief?”

“Probably still in his car. He got shot in the foot.”

“Well dadgum,” the deputy said. “The way he was going on, I figured he was gutshot.”

Squiggy looked down at Mule. The blood was dripping down on the man’s dress shirt. “You can probably get off him, Mule.”

Mule slowly climbed off, making sure his knee landed near the man’s injury. Psycho was sitting back, watching the man’s every move. Another car from the county came pulling up behind the man’s truck. This was the head cheese, the sheriff.

He and Mule explained what was going on and the sheriff informed the OSBI, the state organization for criminal activities.

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After getting the police chief settled down and convinced that the gunshot wound to the foot wouldn’t kill him, Michael left to go see what was happening. He had heard the screaming and wondered what could cause a person such agony. After finding out what did cause the pain, Michael fully understood why the man was hurting.

He slipped back to the office and got his camera. Michael got some good pictures of the man getting cuffed and stuffed in the sheriff’s car, right before an ambulance arrived. The EMTs determined that the man could make it to the hospital without their assistance and went searching for the injured police chief.

Squiggy was confusing the issue more than helping so Michael translated what happened, starting with the initial gun shot in the Burroughs Building.

“Reckon somebody else got shot?” the deputy asked.

The sheriff glared at his deputy and shook his head. “Why don’t you let me ask the questions?”

The scolded deputy moved off to the side to pout. Michael and the sheriff walked back toward the Burroughs Building, passing by the old hardware store that was now the third pawn and gun in Langford. They cut in between the buildings and found the EMTs working on Chief Arnold, who seemed to scream every time anybody got close to his foot.

“You gonna be okay, Chief?” the sheriff asked.

“I’m hurting…bad!” the police chief said and howled again. “Am I gonna lose my big toe?”

The EMTs tried to keep from laughing, no easy task. “You’ll be wigging that bad boy in no time,” the bigger EMT said.

Michael took a picture of the scene, complete with the chief howling. That would be a good one, he decided, but doubted the chief would appreciate it.

They walked across the street and walked around the building. The front door was locked so they went around to the back. That door was ajar. The sheriff started to open it.

“Aren’t you worried about fingerprints?” Michael said.

The sheriff stopped, slowly turned and glared at Michael. “What are you, one of those CSI nuts?”

Michael shrugged. “I like the real one. Don’t much care for the Miami or New York versions.”

“I’m more of a Law and Order guy,” the sheriff said. “I know how to deal with a crime scene, newspaper boy.”

The sheriff used his foot to open the door. Michael got a little satisfaction out of this. They entered the building and walked around downstairs, finding nothing out of the ordinary. After searching downstairs for a few minutes, they found the stairwell and walked up the stairs.

They looked through most of the small rooms without finding anything. They split up to save time. Michael was entering one of the rooms near the back when he smelled something.

Michael got a little farther in and stopped, seeing something he would never have thought possible.