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My brow furrows. “What’s going on? Who is Harry?”
Carl sighs like I’m the idiot. “Harry is a code of sorts. Dad was a lot more paranoid when I was growing up. Mom had to learn codes in case there was trouble because I couldn’t be much help. I guess he never taught you.” I don’t miss the pride beaming in my brother’s eyes. “Harry means shot gun.” He presses it into my hands and slips a handgun into the back of his jeans. “That’s Leroy, and this,” he shows me a small pistol, “is Loretta.”
“And what? We go marching out of here carrying guns to meet a guy claiming to be a federal agent?”
“You got a better idea?”
I glance around the living room. “You’re a good shot, right?” I shove the rifle back at him. “Take a knee and watch my back.”
Carl grins. “You’re not scared I’m gonna shoot you?”
“Well, I am now.” I pull the handgun away from him and tuck it into my jeans. “Don’t, okay?”
“I was only teasing.” Carl tilts his head to think about it. “Mostly. Mom would get mad. She seems to like you.”
I roll my eyes, never understanding his dark sarcasm. “Take up under that window. Stay trained on Murphy. If you see something off kilter, fire a warning shot.”
“What if I don’t see it?”
“Fine, if I raise my right hand, shoot five feet off of him for a warning.”
“Is your left hand the kill shot?” He puts up a hand to stop me before I yell at him. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”
I take the second handgun and tuck it in next to the other one, headed back out the door. Hearing me approach, Dad looks back, but annoyance sparks. I didn’t return with the rifle.
“You couldn’t find Harry?” His eyebrows lift as high as I’ve ever seen them go.
“No, but Leroy and Loretta were interested in helping.”
Agent Murphy’s eyes dart between the two of us, likely realizing something is at play. Before he calls us on it, Dad asks, “Can I see that badge again, Agent Murphy?”
The agent’s jaw tightens. “You’ve seen it enough. I’m going down to those cabins to search for my suspect.”
“No,” Dad steps in his path, “you’re not.”
The man’s eyes narrow to slits. “You’re willing to interfere with a federal investigation?”
Dad laughs to himself. “No, I wouldn’t be that kind of stupid, but since you’re not a fed, I’m not worried.” Cutting off Murphy’s reply, Dad continues, “See, Getty came back hollering about a federal agent looking for somebody and willing to tear the place apart. I got right on the horn and called the field office. They’ve got no record of you.” He points to where our unwelcome guest stowed his badge. “I had a pal who worked for the bureau. You know the number one mistake folks make when forging a badge, Everett?”
“No, Dad,” I follow along with his show, “what is it?”
His chubby fingers make a rectangle like he’s holding the badge. “They write FBI across the top of the badge in big bold letters. The real badges write the whole word out.” He winks at Murphy. “Better luck next time, kid. Now, get off my land.”
Fuming, Murphy reaches for his gun, but a shot goes off before he gets there. He didn’t need me after all. Murphy’s hands go up, but the fury remains. “You’re making a huge mistake. It’ll only get worse from here. You’ve confirmed that she’s here.”
Dad squints like the brute’s stupidity blinded him. “Ain’t done nothing of the sort. We just confirmed I hate liars throwing their weight around on my land.” He takes the gun I hand him and levels it at Murphy. “Now, we can hold you here to wait for the sheriff, or I can give you a five minute head start to get yourself out of the county and never come back.” Dad pulls the hammer back on the gun. “Because, next time you come around, I won’t be asking questions or calling law enforcement. I got a lot of acres and no one will ever find you.”
Murphy steps back, looking like he plans to take the second option. “It won’t be over. A girl like that, dangerous as she is, it’s only a matter of time before she turns on you.”
I swear Dad flinches, but his aim never falters. “Good thing she’s not here then, isn’t it?”
Cursing, Murphy takes another step back. He shifts, leaning into his right side. I send my left arm up and the shot rings out. Murphy jumps backward. Another shot lands two feet off Murphy. Like the coward he is, he starts running for his sedan. In a cloud of dust, he makes his exit.
Not backing down, eye still locked on the driveway in case he comes back, I glance at Dad. “How’d you have the number for the FBI field office?”
“I’ve got connections.” He frowns and tips his head to the right. “Also, I was bluffing. I never called anyone, but that badge looked fake. He confirmed it for me.”
For a second, I only stare. I never knew the old man had it in him.
