Carved in Bone

five hundred.” Damn, I thought, if only the TBI had already bugged the helicopter . Maybe they’d have it done by his next trip.
    “I know, Orbin, and I tried, but I just ain’t got it till I get this crop in. Weather stays good, I’ll get another week’s growth. That’s an extry couple thousand. You got to cut me some slack here.”
    There was a pause. “ What did you say to me?”
    “You…you got to work with me, Orbin.” Vernon’s voice quavered. Sensing his distress, the dog squirmed, but Waylon held tight to his collar.
    I saw the deputy backhand Vernon, but it took a fraction of a second for the sound to carry to us. “You listen to me, you little pissant. I don’t got to do nothin’ with you. I don’t got to give a rat’s ass about you or your snotty-nosed sick kid or your crippled grandmother or any other sob story you got. And you can cry all you want to, but it don’t make a damn bit of difference to me. Are we clear on that?” I saw Vernon’s head nod slightly. “I can’t hear you. Are we clear?”
    “Yes. We’re clear.”
    “Good. When I come back in two weeks, that harvest moon better be shining, and you damn well better have me a thousand dollars in your hand.”
    “I…I just give you two hunnerd, Orbin. Means I’ll owe you eight hunnerd next time.”
    “Shut the fuck up. Penalty for late payment. Thousand dollars, and be grateful I ain’t rattin’ you out to the DEA or burning you out my own damn self.”
    Beside me, I heard Waylon draw in a long, angry breath, then exhale slowly through his mouth. His breath, warm and redolent with tobacco, wafted directly into my face. With a sense of impending doom I clenched my jaws tight, but there was no holding it back this time, and I began to vomit. Up came the Kentucky Fried Chicken I’d consumed at eighty miles an hour. Right behind it came the mashed potatoes, biscuits, and gravy. Duke yanked free of Waylon’s grip and began slurping up my lunch. As my retching and coughing continued, Orbin’s head snapped in our direction. “What the hell is that?” demanded Orbin. “Vernon, you got somebody over there waitin’ to bushwhack me?” Waylon clapped a hand over my mouth, and Vernon squawked a desperate denial. “I swear I’ll shoot you both, you son of a bitch.” I could hear angry footsteps crashing toward us.
    “Wait,” Vernon yelled. “It’s just my dog. He ate a dead coon this morning—been thowin’ up all day. Duke, come here, boy. Duke! Git over here!” Vernon’s command was directed as much at us as at Duke. Waylon reached down, tore the dog from my spattered lunch, and flung him away from us. Duke stumbled out of the brush and loped into the clearing. “There you are, Duke.” Vernon sounded a little less scared. “You still sick, buddy? I hope you done learnt your lesson ’bout eating roadkill.”
    Crouching behind the fallen pine, I heard Orbin shout. “Hey! Git, dog! Git, goddamnit!”
    “Aw, he ain’t gonna hurt you,” said Vern. “He just wants to—”
    “Git!” I heard a dull thud, the sound of a boot hitting flesh and bone. A yelp of pain and confusion split the air. I peered over the trunk.
    “Damn you, Orbin Kitchings, you had no cause to kick my dog.”
    I saw the deputy strike Vernon again, knocking him flat this time. When he did, it was as if a circuit was completed deep within the dog’s instinctual brain. The gentle, dopey hound began to roar and snarl, lunging and snapping at the deputy. Orbin launched a series of flailing kicks, which the dog met with flashing jaws. Suddenly the big dog hurtled backward, twisting in midair, as the crack of a gunshot reached us. Duke crumpled to the ground, and after a moment’s shock, Vernon scrabbled over and threw himself onto the animal’s body, sobbing. The deputy stood over him, the gun pressed to Vernon’s head now.
    Beside me, I felt Waylon stir and start to rise. His face was purple with rage. I grabbed his arm, but he shook me off and stood, drawing a pistol from his combat pants. I scrambled up and hissed in his ear, “No, Waylon. He’ll shoot Vernon. Then he’ll shoot us.”
    Waylon turned a murderous gaze on me. “He’s got to die,” he muttered. “I’m gonna kill that black-hearted, bottom-feeding cocksucker.”
    “You can’t! ”
    “You watch me, Doc.”
    “Wait,” I whispered. “Do you want Vernon to die? Even if you could hit him from here, you can’t be sure he won’t pull the trigger.”
    Waylon clenched