Free Blanco County 03 - Flat Crazy by Ben Rehder

Ann, wouldn’t give a shit if he was gone. Probably throw a goddamn party. All because she’d heard that Duke was slipping it to a barmaid down in Blanco. Duke denied it, but Sally Ann didn’t want to listen. Of course, it was true, but she didn’t know that for a fact. Just like a woman to believe loose gossip instead of her old man.
    Anyway, Duke figured he and Gus could head up to Alaska and guide caribou hunters for a season or two. A man would be damn hard to find in a state that size—if anybody even came looking. But they damn sure couldn’t make the trip without some cash.
    Duke shuddered when he thought about his feeble-brained brother. He was the weak link in all this, the one who could blow it all and land them both in prison. And since the telephone account at the office was in Gus’s name, the cops would probably go to him first. Just this morning, Duke had sat Gus down and warned him the cops might be nosing around. “They’re gonna try and pin it on me, even though I had nothing to do with it,” Duke said. “So as far as you’re concerned, you never met Oliver Searcy. And for Christ’s sake, don’t tell ’em I took Searcy hunting.”
    Gus had responded with a prolonged giggle—not exactly a confidence builder. So Duke had given him strict instructions: “Just lay low for a while, okay? Hang out at the house—and whatever you do, don’t answer the goddamn phone or doorbell.”
    Rudi stuck her head back into Barry’s office. “Pack your bags, cowboy. We’re going to Texas.”
    Barry’s eyes snapped up from his computer screen. “What? Really? When?”
    “Right now. Tonight. We’ve got a flight in three hours.”
    Barry was standing now, excited. “You’re kidding! Chad liked it?”
    Rudi whispered, “At first, I pitched it like it was my idea—and he loved it! I showed him the Web site, and once he bought in, I said, ‘Oh, by the way, Barry found this.’ It worked like a charm.”
    Barry giggled. “Did he know you played him?”
    “Not a clue. There is one tiny bit of bad news, though. He wants to go with us.”
    Barry groaned. “To Texas? You’re shitting me.”
    “I wish I was. But we’ll have fun anyway. Now go home and get packed.” She tried a drawl: “We gotta skedaddle.”
    Something else Dr. King, the vet, had told Marlin the day after he had found Geist: “You got yourself a pit bull here, you know that?”
    The pup was back on her haunches atop a stainless-steel exam table, staring at Marlin with those large brown eyes. She gave him a somber look that seemed to say, Okay, now you know. Are we still friends?
    Up to then, Marlin had thought of her as a generic puppy. Gangly legs, wet nose, and a tail that wouldn’t stop wagging. He hadn’t put much thought into what breed she was. But a pit bull? No, Marlin hadn’t realized that. “You sure?”
    “No doubt. See the size of her head and how wide her jaw is? And through here, the broad chest. I would say she’s not even a mix. One hundred percent pit is my guess, but there’s no way to know for sure with a stray.”
    Marlin considered that. He’d never had a problem with a pit bull before, but then again, he hadn’t dealt with very many. He wondered if the media hype matched up with reality. Were pit bulls sweet and loyal right up to the minute they chewed your arm off?
    “Don’t look so concerned.” Dr. King laughed.
    “Well, no, I’m not, really.”
    “It’s all in how you raise ’em, John.” The vet tussled Geist’s head, and she immediately wanted to play tug-of-war with his fingers. Suddenly, Marlin became painfully aware of how much play biting the dog seemed to do. He wondered if that much aggression was normal.
    “She’s a sweet one,” Dr. King said.
    “Yeah, yeah, she is, but how big is she going to get?” Marlin asked.
    “Oh, maybe forty, fifty pounds. That’s about average. But some get up to seventy or eighty, sometimes even larger.”
    An eighty-pound pit bull? Marlin began to