“No, thanks, Nicole, but . . .” Clayton paused. Nicole lifted an eyebrow. “. . . you could bring me two fingers of Knob Creek. Straight up.”
Nicole, caught off guard, narrowed her eyes at the sheriff. “Um . . . okay,” she said, and turned to get the bottle down from the mirrored shelf behind her. Big Joe Dooley dug his pudgy elbow into Clayton’s recently bruised ribs, causing him to wince with pain, but Joe didn’t notice. He pointed to Nicole up on a step stool reaching for the bourbon. The bright colors of the floral tattoo that covered the small of her back teased out from a sliver of skin above the low waist of her jeans.
“Now, that there is an ass. Right, Sheriff?”
Clayton said nothing and again avoided taking in an eyeful of the half-his-age ass in the air.
“I could sit right here and wait on a beer forever,” Joe said, “if I could watch her swing that shit-cutter around all night.”
That made the nerve above Clayton’s eye twitch. “Shut the fuck up, Joe.”
Big Joe crumpled his nose like he’d just taken a whiff of fresh dog shit and honestly searched his brain for a reason why another man would take offense to that statement.
Nicole stepped down, oblivious, and poured the whiskey into a clean glass in front of Clayton. He nodded a “thank you” and she winked a “you’re welcome.” A short narrow man who looked like he was carved completely out of seasoned leather waved a twenty-dollar bill at Nicole from down the bar. She held a finger up to Clayton and sashayed off toward her tip money. Clayton closed his eyes and held the glass to his nose. It smelled of oak, vanilla, and bad decisions. The moment ended abruptly with another shot of pain up his side. Big Joe landed another elbow to Clayton’s ribs, spoiling the sheriff’s first sip. Bourbon dribbled down his beard and spilled onto the bar. He put the glass down.
“I hate to see her leave,” Joe said, leaning across the bar, his eyes glued to Nicole’s backside. “But I love to watch her go.”
Clayton used his napkin to mop up the spilled drink and felt the heat rise under his skin. “I thought I told you to shut up, Joe. In fact”—Clayton turned all the way around into the big man’s face—“why don’t you get your fat ass up and find somewhere else to sit as far away from me and that girl as possible.” Clayton’s voice was louder than he’d intended, but that’s what happened when he drank. A few heads turned. A few conversations stopped. Confusion spread over Big Joe’s face like a rash.
“Goddamn, Clayton, I was just cuttin’ up.”
“Move your ass, Joe. Now.” Clayton sat up a little straighter and bowed his chest out. There wasn’t much to it, but it looked a lot bigger to most with that star pinned to it. Nicole came back and set a fresh beer in front of Joe. She looked as confused as he did. Joe picked up his frosted mug and gave Clayton a drunken half-assed toast, in the process managing to spill beer down the front of his shirt.
“Yessir, Mr. Sheriff, sir.” And off he went, sloshing beer on himself and the floor.
“What was that about?” she said.
“Some folks live their whole lives without an ounce of class,” Clayton said, and took a long pull of hundred-proof bourbon, letting it sit on his tongue. Nicole wiped up the spilt beer.
“Well, don’t worry, Sheriff, he’s harmless.”
“He’s an asshole.”
Nicole leaned in close to Clayton’s ear. “Hell, Sheriff, show me a drunk who ain’t.”
3.
Clayton was on his third drink when Special Agent Simon Holly took Big Joe’s vacated seat. He just sat there, smiling that shark smile of his, until Clayton came up out of his rocks glass and took notice. He squinted hard at Holly, either to focus his eyes or to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. Maybe both.
“Evening, Sheriff.”
“What are you doing here, Holly?” Clayton said, turning his attention back to his glass.
“My travel agent said this place was one of the top attractions to take in while visiting the mountain paradise of Waymore Valley, Georgia.”
Clayton just stared blankly, his eyes slowly disappearing into his face. He wasn’t up for cheery sarcasm.
“Sorry, Sheriff, I can see you’re in a mood. I’m staying at the motor inn across the street. I saw your deputy drop you off a little while ago, so I thought I’d come break some bread. Tough night?”
“Why?”
“Your face looks like shit.”
“Yeah, well, you can take a little responsibility for that.”
Holly put his smile away. “You spoke to your brother?”
“Well, we didn’t do much speakin’.”
“I take it it didn’t go well?”
“That’s one way to say it. Brother shit. I don’t think he’s going to listen to reason.”
“I have no doubt you will find a way.” Holly motioned for Nicole, who smiled even bigger than normal when she saw him.
“Well, hello there,” she said. “And just who might you be?”