A commotion erupts outside, and we hurry out to hear voices.
“Get that fucking gun out of my face or you’ll eat it,” a voice booms. “I’m here to see your fucking sheriff, and if you stop me, you’ll find out why that’s a fucking bad idea.”
We see Anders is on his way back with lunch, and he stops short and looks toward the porch, as if Dalton is somehow projecting his voice down the road.
True, the profanity is classic Dalton. As is the second threat. But the booming voice and the first threat clearly aren’t our sheriff’s style. I know who it is, though, and Dalton winces as he realizes it, too.
Dalton heads down the steps. He’s not rushing but not dawdling either. That could be dangerous for whoever gets in the newcomer’s way.
We round the station to see Tyrone Cypher striding into town. Paul follows with his gun still out, as if trailing a bear, waiting to see if it’ll need to be put down. It’s an apt analogy. Cypher looks like a massive grizzled brown bear stalking in from the forest. People spill out of homes and businesses to watch, and from the way they stare, I wonder how many thought the “people in the woods” stories were fairy tales meant to keep them inside town borders, those wild men no more plausible than the trolls and witches of the brothers Grimm.
“Finally,” Cypher says when he spots Dalton. “Would you tell this fucking yahoo to put his gun down or I’ll stick it where he ain’t ever going to get it unstuck.” He wheels on Paul. “And inform him that’s no idle threat.”
“It’s fine, Paul,” Dalton says. “He’s a former resident.”
“Former fucking sheriff, you mean,” Cypher says.
Anders falls in beside me and whispers, “Oh, this explains so much.”
“This is Tyrone Cypher,” Dalton says. “He was the sheriff before my father took over and a deputy after.”
Cypher’s lips tighten, annoyed by the reminder of his demotion, but Dalton continues as if he was just being thorough with the introduction. “Ty is permitted in Rockton, but only if I’m informed of his arrival.” He looks at Cypher. “And only if he remembers he’s no longer the sheriff.”
Cypher snorts. “You like that, don’t you, jungle boy?”
I step up to Cypher and say, under my breath, “No.”
He raises his brows.
I meet his gaze and say again, “No.”
There’s a moment where he studies me. Then he claps me on the shoulder and says, “Get your back down, kitten,” and turns to Dalton with “Eric, I’ve got something for you.” He emphasizes Dalton’s name, telling me he understood my message and might even comply.
Dalton jerks his head. “We’ll take it inside.”
“We were just about to have lunch,” I say. “Looks like we have enough for four.”
I glance at Anders, which prompts Dalton to say, “This is Will Anders, my deputy. Will, Ty Cypher.”
Cypher looks Anders up and down and then flicks a glance at me. “Can’t escape that minority hiring quota shit even up here, huh?”
“Nah,” Anders says. “After you, the council just got really skittish about hiring dumb-assed white dudes. It’s actually just the dumb-assed part that was the problem, but you can’t blame them for being overly cautious.”
“See?” Cypher says to Dalton, pointing at Anders. “He knows how to make a proper comeback.”
“I just have a lot more experience dealing with dumb-asses. And racists.”
“Hey, who you calling racist?” Cypher points at the boxes of food. “I’m not the guy who sent the black dude to fetch his lunch.”
“Actually, I volunteered—”
I cut Anders off with a wave. “Don’t even bother. Tyrone is still convinced I’m Aboriginal.”
Cypher screws up his face. “What?”
“First Nations,” I say.
“First…?” He rolls his eyes. “Oh, fuck. Are you offended ’cause I called you an Injun? Fine. Are those the currently fashionable terms? First Nations? Aboriginal? I’ll use those, then. Happy?”
Anders looks at me, one brow cocked. “Then I should warn you about lunch, Case. It’s probably not something you’ve tried. Chicken chow mein. Chinese. But it’s pretty good.”
“I’ve heard that.”
Dalton shakes his head and escorts Tyrone into the station.
FIFTY-ONE
Cypher has found Roger. Found his camp, at least.
“I’d have brought him in,” he says as we eat. “But he knows something’s up. He’s hunkered down in an open patch right up against a cliff side. No way of getting close without him seeing me coming. I’m no fucking good at subtlety.”
Anders snorts under his breath. Cypher doesn’t catch it and continues, “I considered waiting for nightfall, but I figure I’m about as likely to spook him as to bring him in. If I spook him, he’s gone. Seemed safer to just come and get you folks.”
I thank him for that. Then Dalton and I exchange a look. While it’s a sensible decision, it’s also worrisome. I’d have kept my suspicions to myself. But Cypher isn’t the only one in the room who lacks subtlety.
“You setting us up, Ty?” Dalton asks as he reaches for another helping.
“What?”
“You heard me. I appreciate that you didn’t risk spooking him. It’s the right move. Not a Ty Cypher move, though.”