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“You seen Ted today?”

“Nope. You looking for him? Clay might’ve seen him. He’s in his office.”

Sizing up his body language, I ruled Pikeman out and picked up a tire iron as I passed the workbench. Without knocking, I walked into Peterson’s grimy office and with one swing the tire iron came down hard and broke his cheap desk in half.

Harlan jumped back and both dogs barked at the noise.

“Whoa. Hang on, Sheriff.” Peterson laughed like it was a big joke. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Warning call, Clay. Ted dies and so do you. You think you’re one of the tough guys? Ted’s one of my guys now and you must’ve forgot that. Big mistake, Clay. You have no idea who I am or what your drug buddies are dealing with.”

Clay jumped up from behind his desk and came at me with aGlock in his hand. “Don’t get in my way, Frost. You’ll be sorry you messed with me.”

“Think so?” I swung the tire iron and hit his gun arm with a deadly crack. Broke his arm and he had no choice but to release the gun. It dropped to the floor, and before Clay could reach for it with his good arm, my second swing connected with his mid-section and broke his ribs.

Peterson hollered loud and long as he dropped to the floor and laid there trying to draw a breath that didn’t cut him in half.

“Cuff him, Harlan. Attempted murder. Haul his broken ass to the squad.” I walked outside and lit up a smoke.

Harlan and the dogs dragged Clay Peterson outside and Harlan shoved him into the back of the squad. He howled and groaned in pain as Harlan secured him.

“I’ve got broken bones. You’ve got to call an ambulance for me.”

“Yeah? Like you called an ambulance for Ted?”

“Never touched Ted.”

“You lying scum. Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.”

Harlan jumped into the truck to follow Travis back to the station. He inhaled a couple of deep breaths realizing he’d just seen a side of Travis he didn’t know was there.

Wonder if Tammy knows what Travis is really like. Should I ask her? Maybe on the weekend when we’re alone.

“Holy fuck,” Harlan said out loud. “I so underestimated him. Travis ain’t no small-town sheriff. He’s in a whole different league.”

Sheriff’s Office.

Harlan parked Travis’ big Ford pickup behind the building and ran inside to help him with Peterson.

“Get me a fuckin doctor, you goddamned maniac.”

Travis was propping up a falling-down Clay Peterson in front of the backdrop for his mugshot.

“I’ve got him,” said Harlan. “Let me finish him up.”

“Thanks. I need a coffee.”

Travis disappeared into the break room and Harlan took over. He took the pictures, did the prints, and hauled Peterson into the run and locked him in a cell.

“Your boss is a nutcase. You know that, right?”

“He’s mad about Ted.”

As soon as Peterson was locked up, Harlan joined me in the break room and poured himself a coffee. “Guess the tag won’t do no good now.”

“Might. We’ll hear what Pikeman is saying to whoever the drug guys are while we’ve got Peterson locked up.”

“He’s lying on his bunk hurting bad,” said Harlan.