Faded jeans. Washed-out rock concert tee (M?tley Crüe). Salt and pepper hair heavy on the salt brushing his shoulders.
Hix never knew if Becker wanted to blend into the scenery of Nebraska and/or his clientele or if he wanted it known he might live in a house that cost over a million dollars, but he was true to his roots of being raised in a trailer in a trailer park on the outskirts of Dansboro.
His glance wasn’t so brief on the woman sitting like she belonged there in the chair behind Becker’s desk.
If Becker looked the aging rocker, she looked the aging groupie. It didn’t take intense scrutiny to see, shave a couple of decades off her, she’d be a knockout. But it was clear she still took care of herself and held on to as much as she could of beauty that had once been immense.
It also didn’t take intense scrutiny or her proximity to Becker to understand she was bad news.
Her eyes were sharp on him.
He turned his attention to Becker who stood three feet away, pretending to be miffed Hix had dissed him on a hug.
“Congratulations in order?” he asked.
Becker gave him another ridiculously large smile.
“This is Tawnee. My new babe.”
He was a fifty-eight-year-old man describing a woman at least in her late forties as his “new babe.”
And again.
Priceless.
Hix turned only his head to her and dipped his chin. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
For some reason she smiled at him like she’d just heard an in-joke that Hix didn’t understand, and she liked the idea he was on the outside.
“Sheriff,” she purred.
Hix fought his lip curling.
“Tawnee, Hixon, Tawnee,” Becker stressed, like Hix should know who she was, and with that name, maybe she was an aging groupie. A famous one. Maybe an ex-rock-video-vamp. “Tawnee Dare,” Becker went on.
Hix grew still.
“That’s why you’re here, only you, Hix,” Becker shared and faked looking sad. “Sorry to say, I don’t know anything about this horrible story of the young ranch hand cut down in his prime leaving his family widowed. But Tawnee wanted a word with you, and I figured you’d want her to have that privately.”
“He was a foreman,” Hix forced out.
“Say what?” Becker asked.
“Nathan Calloway. He was foreman at the ranch where he worked.”
“Well, that’s impressive,” Becker remarked, but did it like he didn’t mean his words.
“And I’m here to talk about him.” He glanced through Tawnee Dare, obviously—her last name, her beauty so extreme years only dimmed it, they didn’t fade it—Greta’s mother. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Already told you,” Becker started, “I don’t know anything about this foreman. But,” he swayed his upper body back, wrapped an arm around his middle, resting his other elbow on it and his chin on his upraised hand, “seein’ as you’re fuckin’ Tawnee’s daughter, she thought she’d have a few words with you.”
“Yeah, Sheriff,” Tawnee said, gaining Hix’s focus. “Now, I figure you know my girl is a good girl, and you goin’ back for more, you know just how good. But thought, way I look out for my daughter and all, you also best know she’s connected here in McCook. She’s got family.” She smiled a smile the opposite of what her daughter could achieve. It did nothing to the rest of her face and eyes. It was just a movement of her lips she didn’t come close to meaning. “Family who looks after her, say someone thinks he can fuck her and then fuck her over.”
“So you wanted me out here so you could threaten me,” he said, and her eyebrows shot up feigning shock.
“Now, I wouldn’t do that. Though, won’t be no reason to, you don’t fuck my girl over.”
Hix looked from Greta’s mother to Becker. “You don’t have anything for me on Calloway I have no reason to be here.”
He gave Hix another massive smile. “Reckon not, since Tawnee said what she needed to say.”
“You’ve yanked my chain,” Hix stated.
“Say again?” Becker asked.
“You’ve yanked my chain.”
The roguishness sweeping clean from him, Becker studied Hix shrewdly and was wise enough to read Hix’s demeanor and keep his mouth shut.
They’d had barely any contact at all. Blatt had made it that way while Hix was his deputy and Hix had inherited that when he’d become sheriff. Becker didn’t really know him. Therefore, Becker didn’t know not to play games with him.
He’d just assumed since Hix had no choice but to fall in line with Blatt’s deal, this only because Becker never stepped over a line Hix could use to pounce, that Hix was someone who’d take a few not-so-friendly jabs aimed his way just for a meth man and his moll to enjoy some shits and grins.
“Friends don’t do that,” Hix educated him.
Becker got all business.
“Now, Drake—”
“Think on that, Becker,” he ordered, turned to Tawnee, dipped at the waist in a phony bow and capped it by touching his forefinger to his forehead and flipping it her way. “Ms. Dare. Pleasure.”
Then he turned on his boot and walked out of the room, out of the house and into his Ram.
He’d cleared Becker’s land and was driving down County Road 21 when he pulled out his cell and called Greta, eyes to the dash clock seeing it was after six at night.
“Hey, good timing. Just got done with my last client, everything cool?” she said in greeting.
“You gonna be home soon?” he asked.
“Yeah. You gonna be done early? Want me to pick something up or cook? Just to say, I have to leave for the Dew at around eight, but I might be able to push that.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“Okay, Hix, but is everything okay?”
“I’ll be there. Half an hour.”
It was hesitant this time when she repeated, “Okay, Hix.”
“Later, Greta.”
“Yeah, later, darlin’.”
Hix hung up and drove.
He didn’t park in her drive.
He parked at the curb.
He walked to the door that she had open by the time he hit her porch, her eyes to his Bronco at the curb before they came to him.
She pushed open the storm door for him but stepped back into the house the minute his hand went to it, her gaze never leaving him as he entered.
The storm door swooshed shut on a well-oiled hinge.
He didn’t fuck around.
“Met your mom,” he announced and watched the blood drain from her face.
Oh yeah.
“I think you can understand I can’t have any ties to a criminal element, Greta,” he stated the obvious.
She shook her head. “Hix, she has a record, but—”
Of course she did.
“You should have told me.”
“I didn’t think that—”
“During our conversation at the Dew. After one of the times you let me fuck you. Over breakfast. Your mother’s the moll of the only known drug pusher in the county. That’s somethin’ I need to know.”
Her eyes were huge. “Hix, I didn’t—”
“Now I got him callin’ me out to his fortress, thinkin’ he can fuck with me, standin’ there smilin’ as your mother threatens me, I don’t treat you right.”
She looked like she was going to move to him, saying, “Oh my God, Hix, I’m so—”
“This is over.”