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Want to put money on it?

I smashed him in the face and knocked him a few steps backwards. He recovered rapidly and came at me, whipping a blade out of the sheath on his belt.

Before I could reach my knife in my boot, he’d cut a swath down my left arm from the elbow to the wrist and I was covering everything in my path with blood.

The pain in my left arm turned me into a madman and using my right arm, I grabbed Tibor in a choke hold and forced him down onto his knees. I could hear Glenda screaming but screaming did nothing to help me.

Tibor slashed around wildly with his blade until I managed to kick it out of his hand. Still holding him by the throat, I smashed his head against the corner of the nurses’ station two or three times and that was enough to daze him and slow him down.

Feeling him slump a little, I dropped him to the floor, rolled him onto his belly and kneeled on his back. Not good with only one hand, I couldn’t get the cuffs on him and Glenda had to help me.

“Glen, do up the cuffs. I can’t fuckin do it.”

“Travis, your arm,” Glenda was crying when one of the nurses appeared with a towel and wrapped my arm up tight and taped it.

“Thanks,” I gasped.

“Go down to Emerg,” said the nurse. “You need stitches right away, Sheriff. That’s a terrible laceration in your arm.”

“I’m going. Just gotta get him in the truck first. Help me get him to the truck, Glen.” I handed her my Sig. “If he makes a move and doesn’t walk straight to the fuckin truck, pull the trigger and shoot him.”

Glenda was steadier than I was as we headed for the exit. Blood was leaving my body at a rapid rate and I was feeling a little woozy and sick to my stomach by the time I stepped out of the front door of the hospital.

“Go get the truck, Glen.” I handed her the keys and she handed me my gun. She ran into the cold, dark Montana night searching for the Sheriff’s Bronco in the parking lot while I stood with my Sig resting against Garrison’s head. I would’ve liked nothing better than to squeeze the trigger and blow Tibor’s fuckin brains out.

Glenda came roaring into the drop-off loop and I managed to push Garrison into the back seat and hook him up to the D-ring.

Glenda jumped out to help me, but I was okay. I heard the click and let out the breath I was holding.

“Leave the truck running and turn the strobes on.”

“I don’t know how.” She was gasping for breath.

“Push that button, right there.” I pointed at all the extra stuff on the dash.

“Okay. I see it.”

“Max, Sarge, watch him.”

We left Garrison in the truck with the dogs and went inside to get me stitched up. My arm was a mess and one of my favorite tats was ripped down the middle.

“I’m pissed about the tat. When my arm heals, it’s gonna be fuckin wrecked.”

Glenda nodded. Her eyes were wide and glassy as she stood next to the examination table and watched the doctor inject freezing into my arm in four places. He stood around chatting for a few minutes waiting for the freezing to take and then he was ready to sew up my arm.

“It’s a bad one, Sheriff. Gonna take time to heal. You’re gonna need constant care and new dressings every day.”

“I can change the bandages,” said Glenda. “We’ll need to get supplies at the drug store.”

“Yeah, I guess we’ll need a lot of stuff if we’re changing it every day.”

When the doctor finished putting in the stitches, a nurse came in and did a stellar job of bandaging my arm. She laid a sling on the table beside me and handed me a vial of white pills. “Take two of these every four hours for the next forty-eight, and then you can ease off.”

Glenda took the vial and shoved it in her purse, then picked up the sling. Her mascara had run and she had racoon eyes. No time to fix it.

I took a deep breath, then stood up and carefully shoved my left arm into my coat. Glenda was there to guide my right arm in and I was ready to go. As we walked to the door, I had a bad case of the dizzies.

“I’m gonna puke.”