Free Justice for None: Texas Justice Book #1 by JM Harvey Page B

were smeared with grease from the tow truck’s towing rig and stained by rust from the rebar. He probably had it on his face too. But he wasn’t there for fashion advice from a teenage felon.
    “Call Garland and tell him Valentine Justice is here to see him,” he said. Despite pressing Zeke with more questions on the way to Talty, Val still had no idea what Garland wanted, though he doubted it was to hoist a few beers and relive old times. That made him happy for the .25 caliber pistol in his pocket. Not that he expected a shootout; Garland was cultivating the image of a reformed man. A lay preacher with a prison ministry. Of course, Garland’s conversion was absolute bullshit. Just one more con. He might just shoot Val and bury him out back. In pieces.
    The kid dug a cell phone out of his hip pocket, turned his back on Val to make the call then spoke too quietly to be overheard. In less than a minute he broke the connection and turned to his buddy.
    “Open the gate, Olly,” he said then looked back at Valentine. “Pull up to the clubhouse. Someone will meet you there.”
    Val turned back to the truck. He was climbing up on the running board when the shorter kid called out to him.
    “You have a nice day now, officer.”
    “Keep up the bad work,” Val replied as he ducked behind the wheel.
    “You too,” the kid said and laughed.
    Val drove through the gate and across the gravel parking lot then made a tight turn in front of the clubhouse, aiming the tow truck back at the gate. He parked, and climbed down. Zeke followed without prompting.
    Zeke watched morosely as Val lowered and unhooked the Rover. Val had just finished stowing the safety chains when the clubhouse door opened behind him and a tall, slender man with long, dirty-blond hair leaned out into the sun. He squinted in their direction. His gaze took in the Rover then moved past it to Val and Zeke.
    “My, my, you are looking a little worse for wear, Zeke,” the man said, his lips curving into a grin, revealing tiny gray teeth. The man was tall, probably six-six in his snakeskin boots, and broad shouldered with oversized hands that were all knuckles. He had an old fashioned hearing aid wired into one ear, the amplifier clipped to his belt.
    “Quit riding me, Deaf,” Zeke said petulantly. “Can’t you see this asshole wrecked daddy’s truck? Broke my hand too.” He held it up gingerly. It hung like a dead bird from his wrist, but it got no sympathy from Deaf.
    “No harm meant, Zeke, I’m just funning with you,” he said cheerfully as he rotated his head toward Valentine.
    Val recognized the man as Jasper ‘Deaf’ Smith, a shot caller in the Dirty White Boys prison gang. Smith had been Lamar Sutton’s cellmate in Huntsville State Prison. At the time, Smith was serving a twenty year sentence for a pair of barroom homicides that had been pled down to manslaughter in the second degree. Smith, who was openly and antagonistically homosexual, liked to prowl the goat-roper bars looking to provoke a confrontation that would leave some poor redneck maimed or dead. If the stories could be believed, he’d killed more than a dozen men, inside and outside of prison.
    “Why, I recognize you!” Smith pointed a finger at Val and narrowed his eyes in thought. “Killer Christmas, right? Or is it Evil Easter?” He frowned. “Horrible Hanukah, maybe?” He threw his head back and laughed.
    “What are you doing out of prison, Jasper?” Val replied, unamused. “You tunnel under the wire or rat somebody out?” Years behind a badge and gun had taught Val not to play nice with men like Jasper. True psychopaths couldn’t be treated like human beings. You’re best bargaining position with them was with your boot on their throat. Fear was the only emotion they understood. Their only motivator.
    But Jasper wasn’t afraid. He cocked his head and kept grinning. “The way Garland tells it you’re lucky that you didn’t get a bus ticket to Huntsville your own