Sawyer turned away: “Fuck you.”
“The only thing you’re gonna be fuckin’ is some hairy-butted old biker in the state pen,” Letty said.
That made Sawyer laugh. “I like your style,” he said. “And your gun, though it’s not exactly a target shooter.”
“I got a Staccato XC for that,” Letty said.
Sawyer’s eyebrows went up. “No shit? I’d like to see that. You got an optical on it?”
“Leupold Delta Point Pro.”
“Oh, man. Listen, when I bail out—you guys got nothing on me—why don’t you come down and let me try that out? If you’re in the neighborhood?”
They talked guns, Sawyer testing her on the details, then Letty nodded up the street, where a white Monahans cop car had turned the corner. “Here comes your ride. I understand the Texas state government is trying to make its prisons more comfortable. You can relax in the sunshine, get free eats and free medical, it’s almost like a vacation. When you’re not spending time with that biker.”
“You can be a mean little bitch,” Sawyer said. “Even if you’ve got good guns.”
“Maybe I’ll see you again sometime,” Letty said.
“Bring your guns,” Sawyer said. A threat.
She pushed it back at him. “I will.”
Sawyer smiled and nodded. “Looking forward to it.”
* * *
The Monahans patrol car pulled over and a sunburned cop got out. He stepped over the body of the dead dog at the gate. “I understand there was a gun involved,” he said to Letty, while ignoring Sawyer.
Letty pointed her finger at the pistol still sitting on the burnt grass. The cop looked at it, then asked, “Will you be around?”
“I’m waiting for a ride,” Letty said.
“Could you wait until Casey gets back? I’d want her to take charge of the gun. I’ll take the subject here to the lockup.”
“Might check him for weapons—nobody’s done that yet, they didn’t have time,” Letty said.
“Bad bite?”
“Yeah, Tanner was bleeding hard,” Letty said. “Haven’t heard anything yet. He’s an investigator for Midland.”
“Oh, sure, I know him, Dan Tanner. Too bad.” He turned to Sawyer. “You gonna give me a hard time?”
“No, but I want to lock up my house and I want a receipt for the Gold Cup,” Sawyer said.
“You’ll get it. Where are your keys?” the cop asked.
“In the house, on the stove.”
Letty said, “I’ll get them.”
She picked up the chair Sawyer had been sitting on, carried it inside, saw the keys on the stove, picked them up, closed the front door as she left the house, made a show of locking it while not actually locking it. Sawyer was on his way to the backseat of the patrol car, his hands cuffed behind him, and she caught up and said, “I’ll slide the keys in your pocket.”
He turned his hip toward her and she slipped the keys into his pocket. “That 938 doesn’t print on your jeans at all,” Sawyer said.
“Got a Sticky Holster,” she said.
“I seen those at gun shows, never had one,” Sawyer said. “Maybe I’ll check them out. Don’t even print on skinny jeans.”
The cop said, “Watch your head,” and put him in the backseat of the patrol car. To Letty, he said, “I’ll call Casey and tell her you’re waiting, watching the gun.”