Free The Devil’s Share by Wallace Stroby Page A

away.
    â€œMa’am, I couldn’t help but notice you’re all by yourself out here.”
    She looked up. The man was in his fifties maybe, thin, wearing cowboy boots, a Western shirt with snap buttons, a belt buckle in the shape of a pair of dice. His hair was combed back and cut with silver, and he held a black felt cowboy hat at his side. Being a gentleman.
    â€œWhat I’d like to do,” he said, “is buy you another glass of whatever it is you’re drinking there.”
    â€œThank you. But I’m just about to call it a night. Maybe some other time.”
    â€œNot even one glass? It’s still early, and I’d hate to have to drink alone.”
    â€œThanks, but no.”
    â€œWell, allow me to introduce myself at least,” he said. “My name is—” He started to draw out a chair. She hooked a foot around one of its legs, stopped him.
    â€œDrift,” she said.
    He met her eyes, saw something there he wasn’t used to. He straightened, looked down at her, his smile gone. He gave a slight bow, turned away, said, “Dyke,” under his breath, and went back down the hallway and through the saloon doors. She watched him go, wondering if he was staying at the motel, if he might be a problem later.
    Her cell buzzed. She pulled it from her jeans pocket. Hicks’s number.
    â€œWhere are you?” she said.
    â€œStill in L.A. Can’t get a flight until tomorrow.” His voice flat, tired.
    â€œEverything okay?”
    â€œEverything’s fine. I just had something to do last night, and a long drive afterward. It’s all straightened out now.”
    â€œI’ll pick you up at the airport,” she said. “Better to have just one car when we go out to the site; it’ll attract less attention. Call me when you have your flight info. I’ll get you another room where I’m staying. It’ll be easier.”
    â€œWe coming back here afterward? To L.A.?”
    â€œYou are,” she said. “Not me.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œThere’s somebody I have to go see first.”
    *   *   *
    Hicks walked down the center of the road, put his hands on his hips, turned slowly, squinted back to where she stood by the boulder, the Nissan parked out of sight behind it.
    â€œYou’re right,” he said. “It could work.”
    He started back toward her. He looked tired. Hungover, she guessed, the faint scent of alcohol and sweat coming from his skin.
    â€œStill,” he said. “A straightway like this, vehicles build up some speed. A curve in the road would make it easier to stop them. Especially three vehicles at once.”
    â€œThere’s ways to do that. We don’t need a curve.”
    He looked north. “Closer to Vegas than I’d like.”
    â€œIt’s the best place for what we’re talking about.”
    â€œLots of open country. That convoy could go off-road, haul ass across the flat. Be hard to chase it.”
    â€œThey won’t have the chance,” she said. “We’re going to box them in.”
    â€œHow?”
    She pointed at the mountains to the north.
    â€œThat’s the way they’ll be coming. There’s a turnoff way back there, at the base of those hills, that goes up into some rocks. I already checked it out. We can hide a vehicle there. When the tail car goes by, our car swings out after it, keeping enough distance so no one gets nervous. They follow it all the way here. When we stop the convoy, our car comes up close behind the tail car, blocks it in. We do it right, all three vehicles will be bunched together. They won’t be going anywhere.”
    â€œAnd how do we stop them? Spike strips? Pull another vehicle out in the middle of the road, block it off?”
    â€œNeither,” she said. “We can’t take a chance with either of those. If there’s a collision, and one of our own cars gets disabled out