Tyranny (4 page)

That would be a neat trick, Kyle thought, since he didn't have a sister. He was an only child—or rather, an only orphan since his mother and father were both dead.

Evidently G.W. had some young woman with him, though, and Kyle couldn't help but wonder who she was. His grandfather, who had been a widower since before Kyle was born, was long past the age when he could attract a hot young girlfriend, even one with serious daddy issues.

One way to find out, Kyle told himself. He stood up and went to the door in his stocking feet. They had taken his shoes and his belt along with everything else.

He'd tried to tell them that he didn't need to be put on suicide watch. He was a stubborn jerk, sure, but he wasn't crazy. But as usual with cops, they hadn't listened.

Chapman pointed along the hall and said, “Back the way we came in.”

“Gee, thanks, Officer Steve,” Kyle said with exaggerated politeness.

“Don't push your luck, Brannock. You already caught enough breaks today.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Vern Hummel decided not to press charges, and Ed Charlton told your grandfather that if he'd pay for the damages, he'd let it go, too.”

Kyle frowned and said, “Damages? What damages? We knocked over some jugs of Coke. Stack 'em back up and they're good as new.”

“Don't ask me, I don't have anything to do with that part of it. We could have charged you with assault and disturbing the peace whether Hummel and Charlton pressed charges or not, but the chief decided not to. Something about how he was friends with your dad?”

That was true. Ernie Rodriguez and Ted Brannock were friends from elementary school on and had played ball together in junior high and high school.

Ted, Kyle's father, had gone to college at UT in Austin, married a girl he met there, then gotten a job with a tech firm in the suburb of Dallas where Kyle had been born and raised.

Ernie had stayed in Sierra Lobo and joined the police force, and he was still here, only he had risen through the ranks to be the chief of the department now.

Several years earlier, Ted and Linda Brannock had been on Interstate 20, on their way to West Texas to visit Ted's father, when a drunk driver in an SUV had crossed the wide, grassy median and plowed head-on into their car.

According to the report of the state trooper who'd investigated the accident, tire marks showed that Ted had juked back and forth desperately as he tried to avoid the oncoming vehicle, but every time he'd zigged, the drunk had zagged, and they finally came together as if fate had aimed them squarely at each other. The drunk in the SUV had died, too, but that was no consolation.

That had happened during Kyle's one semester at college and was another reason he hadn't gone back after the break. There didn't seem to be any point anymore. G.W. had figured that Kyle would take a semester off and then return to school once the grief had eased some.

Instead, he'd joined the army, failed at that, too, and after being given a general discharge embarked on what seemed to be his true calling: being a drifting, homeless troublemaker.

Chapman opened another door that led out into the police station's small lobby. Kyle's grandfather stood in front of the counter, looking as stern and morally upright as ever. Behind the counter was the chunky figure of Chief Ernie Rodriguez.

Next to G. W. was the woman Chapman had mentioned. Kyle stopped short at the sight of her.

Even in casual clothes, she had the sort of classy beauty he wasn't used to seeing in Sierra Lobo. She pushed back a strand of blond hair that had fallen in front of her face, and he thought the gesture had plenty of grace and elegance to it.

“I'm obliged to you for seein' your way clear to doin' this, Ernie,” G.W. said to the chief.

“It's fine, Mr. Brannock,” Rodriguez said. “Kyle's just lucky no one else involved in the incident decided to press charges. If they had, I wouldn't have had any choice but to hold him until bail was set, and the judge wouldn't have come in for the hearing until Monday morning.”

G.W. grunted and said, “Spendin' the weekend in jail might not have been a bad thing for the boy.”

“It wouldn't have done any good,” Kyle said. “I've spent weekends in jail before, and I'm still me.”

“Listen,” the chief said. “Keep your nose clean while you're in Sierra Lobo, kid. If you wind up in trouble again, it won't go so easy for you next time.”

“I don't suppose it would do any good to mention that the loudmouth in the convenience store was the one who actually started it.”

“Vern Hummel? He told Officer Chapman that you threw the first punch, and the only witness agreed that that was true.”

So Stella had thrown him under the bus, thought Kyle. He supposed, technically speaking, he
had
struck the first blow, but Vern had had it coming, and the fight would have been over after that if he'd had the sense to let it go.

Once Kyle's possessions had been returned to him and the three of them were outside on the sidewalk, G. W. said, “How come you to show up in Sierra Lobo right now, boy? You comin' to see me?”

“I thought I'd stop and visit for a while, yeah.”

“Broke, are you?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well . . . I was raised to never turn away family.” Kyle's grandfather put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on. Throw that duffel bag in the back of the pickup and we'll head out to the ranch.”

“In a minute.” Kyle nodded toward the glamorous blonde. “Who's this?”

“I can speak for myself,” she said. “I'm Miranda Stephens. I'm your grandfather's attorney.”

“You brought a lawyer with you to get me out of a one-horse hoosegow like this?” Kyle asked G. W. with a frown.

“No, she was already out at my place when Ernie called, discussin' another problem I got.” G. W. sighed. “When you hear what all's been goin' on around here, Kyle, you may want to head for the hills.”

M
iranda had driven her own car back into town from the ranch, so Brannock didn't have to give her a ride. She said, “I'll call you later this afternoon or in the morning, G.W., after I've had time to look into things more.”

“Thanks. I don't know what you can do, but I wasn't raised to just give up.”

“Neither was I,” Miranda said. She lifted a hand in farewell and turned to walk toward her car.

Kyle watched her go and muttered under her breath, “I can think of some things I'd like to look into right now.”

Brannock resisted the urge to thump the boy on the back of the head. Instead, he snapped, “Quit oglin' that gal. Miranda's a nice girl.”

“She does mighty nice things for a pair of jeans, that's for sure.”

Brannock sighed and shook his head. He said, “Throw your duffel bag in the back of the pickup. Just because you don't have anything to do doesn't mean I don't.”

“Sure, sure.” Kyle reached over the pickup's side and deposited the bag just behind the cab. He opened the passenger door while Brannock went around the front of the vehicle.

“When are you gonna get a new ride?” Kyle asked as his grandfather slid behind the wheel. “I don't think this antique has power anything.”

“I can still push down a door lock button and roll down a window just fine. Folks did that for years and years and never thought anything about it. Anyway, look at these little vent windows. Best thing the automotive industry ever invented. Turn 'em around so the air's blowin' on you while you're drivin', and you don't need any air condi-tionin'. So what did they do? They got rid of 'em and call it new and improved. Bunch o' damn
engineers
. They ought to have to live with and work on all the crap they design. That'd only be fair.”

Brannock had started the engine, pulled away from the curb, and headed west along the street while he was talking. He glanced over at Kyle and saw that the boy was gazing out the window.

“You ain't listenin' to me, are you?”

“It's not like I've never heard that rant before,” Kyle said. “And all the ones like it, too. Everything was better in the old days. The world today sucks. That about sums it up, right?”

“And the world tomorrow don't hold out much promise of bein' better,” Brannock said. “So, you want to tell me your side of what happened back there?”

“No point in wastin' my breath. You'll just believe what the cops told you, no matter what I say.”

“Ernie Rodriguez is a fine chief and runs a damn fine department,” Brannock snapped.

“And I'm just the prodigal grandson.”

Brannock's callused hands tightened on the steering wheel. Kyle was his own flesh and blood, all he had left of his own son, and he loved the boy. But Kyle sure as hell didn't make it easy sometimes.

“I'd still like to hear your side of it.”

“All right, fine.” Kyle launched into a recitation of the events that had taken place in the convenience store around noon, then concluded, “I was just trying to help out an old friend.”

“Stella Lopez,” Brannock said. “Nice girl. I didn't know the two of you were ever sweethearts.”

Kyle scoffed and said, “I wouldn't go far as to call it that. We had a good time together once or twice.”

Brannock felt his lips thinning in disapproval and couldn't help it. He said, “Well, it sounds like you remember her fondly.”

“I suppose. And that guy Vern just rubbed me the wrong way.”

“The whole world rubs you the wrong way most of the time, doesn't it?”

For a few seconds, Kyle didn't respond. Then he admitted, “Yeah, I guess it does. Don't think I'm trying to fool myself, G.W. I know what I'm like.”

Brannock's foot pressed down harder on the accelerator as they reached the edge of town and the speed limit on the highway went up. The pickup surged ahead.

“You ever give any thought to callin' me Grandpa or Granddad or something like that?”

“Why? You've always been G.W. to me. That's what everybody calls you, including that sexy little lawyer of yours.”

“She's smart as a whip.”

“I don't doubt it. And she'd better be, if she's going to be taking on the IRS. Did I hear that right? Why are the Feds after you?”

“They say I figured my deductions wrong for the past ten years and I owe 'em a bunch of back taxes. To tell you the truth, 'most everything they say just sounds like a bunch o' gibberish to me. I can't follow it. That's why I got Miranda to give me a hand dealin' with 'em. She's pretty good at tax law.”

“And pretty easy on the eyes, too.”

“I don't reckon there's any disputin' that.”

“So how much are you gonna owe them if they get their way?” Kyle asked. “A few thousand dollars?”

“They say I got to pay nearly four hundred grand.”

Kyle's eyes widened and he let out a low whistle.

“That's a fortune,” he exclaimed. “You don't have that much, do you?”

“Not hardly. And that's not the worst of it. They say if they don't get their money, they're gonna take the ranch. They've given me until next Friday to settle up with 'em.”

“That's less than a week away!”

“Yeah, I know.”

Kyle leaned forward with a solemn look on his face and asked, “What are you gonna do?”

At least the news had knocked some of the snottiness out of him, for the moment, anyway, Brannock thought. He said, “I don't know. Miranda's gonna try to figure out somethin'.”

“Well, if there's anything I can do to help, I'd be glad to.”

Brannock glanced over at his grandson and asked, “Are you sure you want to associate with an ornery old man who's liable to wind up in some federal prison . . . or dead?”

“Dead?” Kyle echoed in alarm. “G.W., what's going on in that stubborn old brain of yours?”

“Stubborn's right,” Brannock said. “If those bastards come to put me off my land, they're gonna have a fight on their hands. They'll have to put me down before they put me off.”

“Now, don't start talking crazy—”

“There ain't nothing crazy about it,” Brannock insisted. “I'm right, they're wrong, and it don't matter how big and powerful they are, nothin's gonna change that.”

“Do you really think right and wrong actually
mean
anything in this world anymore? How can you look around at what goes on and believe that?”

“They mean something to me,” Brannock said softly.

Kyle sat back and shook his head.

“I hope that little blond hottie really is a good lawyer,” he said. “I think you're gonna need one. But from the sound of it, what you really need is an army, if you want to keep the Feds off your land.”

“Know where I can get one?” Brannock asked with a grin.

“If I did, I'm not sure I'd tell you. I get the feeling that you're spoiling for a fight, G.W.”

Brannock shook his head and said, “No, I'm a peaceable man, as long as folks leave me alone.”

“Yeah, that's what those movie cowboys you were always so fond of would say just before they beat the hell out of somebody.”

“They never beat the hell of anybody who didn't have it comin'.”

An uneasy silence fell between the two of them as Brannock drove on toward the ranch. Finally Kyle said, “I meant it, you know. If there's anything I can do to help, I will. I don't care if it gets me in trouble with the law, either.” He snorted derisively. “Hell, I'm used to it.”

“You never tangled with federal law, at least not that I know of.”

“No,” Kyle admitted. “I've steered clear of that sort of trouble. I've had my chances, too. Guys I knew in the army were mixed up in some sort of drug ring, and I could have thrown in with them. They promised me all kinds of money.”

“How come you didn't take it?”

“Honestly?” Kyle laughed. “Because I knew that if you ever found out about it, you'd kick my ass six ways from Sunday.”

“You got that right. Might even make it
seven
ways from Sunday.”

Both of them chuckled as Brannock drove on. He'd been upset to get that call from Ernie Rodriguez and find out that Kyle was in trouble again, of course, but now that he'd talked to the boy, Brannock's instincts told him that Kyle could still make something of himself.

With all the trouble looming over his own head, Brannock didn't know if he was in any position to give Kyle a hand with that job, but he would do what he could.

One way or another, he thought, it was time his grandson started growin' up.