Capítulo 6: Chapter 6

Zach considered whether or not he'd be forced to arrest himself if he murdered his father.

With the manners drummed into him by his mother and grandmother, he smiled around at the crowd and waved his hand. He hadn't yet told his dad he'd accept the job of deputy. Nothing had been mentioned at all about senior deputy. Wouldn't that go over well with the people he'd have to work with? Nothing like jumping straight to the top because you're the boss's son. Tomorrow, he'd have a talk with his old man about exactly where Zach would stand on the department totem pole. It wasn't going to be in the number two position - that was for damned sure. Before he did that, he'd pull up stakes and go apply to the Rangers or one of the big-city PDs.

"Hey, bro, ready to head out?" It seemed like hours later when Quinn came to rescue Zach from the handshakes and congratulatory pats on the back. "Jack at the Roadhouse has some pretty hot waitresses. Bet they'll be happy to welcome you back to town, too." He wiggled his eyebrows with a mock lascivious grin.

"Ooh, dibs on the redhead." Mick was there at Zach's other side, helping Quinn steer Zach toward the gate, where their hostess waited to say goodbye. "The new one, from Houston. She's smokin'."

Suddenly, it was as if they were all back in high school, conning some older kid into buying liquor for them and sneaking it out behind somebody's barn. Of course, at four years younger, Quinn wouldn't have been with them, but there was always someone around. Huh. As a deputy, he'd be the one busting kids for that kind of behavior. Funny how things came around. At least, back then, they'd done all their partying on foot. Now, as they approached Quinn's truck, Quinn quirked an eyebrow. "Who's the designated driver?"

"Not it," Mick called out, laughing like a kid. "Seriously. I hitched a ride with my uncle. You want me to drive, we need to go get my truck."

"Nah, I'm good." Quinn climbed into the cab of his pickup. "I can drink Coke and hit on waitresses while I watch you two get hammered. Though neither of you had better even think about hurling in my truck."

"That was over ten years ago," Mick grumbled as he crammed his long frame into the small backseat of the cab. "And I had the flu. Man, are you ever going to let that one go?"

Zach rolled his eyes. "And to think, I was missing this place. Maybe I should have stayed in Iraq."

Mick leaned up and slapped Zach on the shoulder, just enough to make the old dislocation ache. "Hell, man. It's good to have you back. Hawthorne hasn't been the same since you took off."

"I joined the Army, Mick. It's not like I ran away with no forwarding address." The truck bounced over the bridge crossing Shannon Creek, the small rivulet that bisected the hamlet, as they headed towards the Roadhouse, well outside of town near the freeway exit. West Texas had a lot of sprawling ranchland, dotted only here and there with towns like this. As they drove, Zach noted the things that had changed and those that had stayed the same.

"They say there's no place like home," Mick mused.

Zach shook his head. "It's the truth, pal, but I'm not sure that's a good thing."

Monday morning saw Zach sitting in his father's office with a pile of employment paperwork in front of him.

"You're setting me up to fail," he told his father for maybe the fourth time. "I can't start at senior deputy, not without paying my dues. I have to work with these people, Dad, hopefully for a lot of years. Don't make me start out with them hating my guts."

"You were an MP for eight years." Walt dug a bottle of antacids out of his desk drawer and swallowed a handful. "That counts. So does...whatever else you did for the military. Truth is, with Ralph retiring, I need somebody I can trust in the job. We've got Tim Carpenter and Lynn Jackson as shift supervisors, but if I move one of them into Ralph's spot, I'll need a third experienced officer to head swing or midnights, and they both like it where they're at. Mike Fitzgerald is my floating supervisor, but he wants to retire in another year. When I offered to put him in the chief slot, he didn't just say no, he said, 'Hell, no!' That's it, Zach. None of the other deputies are ready for management."

Zach could see his father's dilemma. Mike Fitzgerald was older than Walt's sixty-two, and Tim Carpenter wasn't far behind - late fifties, easily. Lynn Jackson had been one of the first women in the department, joining up just before Zach left home, but she wasn't much of a people-person. He looked down at the files and sighed. "How many deputies total?"

"Six on each shift - that's one supervisor, one detective, and four uniforms - plus four floaters, all uniforms, and Mike. So that's twenty-three plus me. Three full-time and two part-time dispatchers. One secretary. A handful of civilian deputies who pitch in for search-and-rescue teams and crowd control for parades and such - most of them are also volunteer firemen."

Zach nodded. That sounded about right for a county this size. "Okay then, here's my offer. For the month left until Ralph retires, you put me on as a floater, detective level." He'd done plenty of investigative work for the military police. He knew he could handle the job of small-town detective. "Two weeks on days, one on swing, and one on midnights. That exposes me to every shift, all the different people, all the different work. After four weeks, we talk again, and reassess - including my opinion on who should take Ralph's position, and if any of the other detectives are ready to move to senior. If I honestly think I'm the best man for the job, I'll own up to that, too. That sound good to you?"

Walt nodded slowly then held out his hand with a broad grin. "You're smarter than your old man, son. Welcome to the Maguire County Sheriff's Department."

"Thanks, Sheriff Shannon. It's going to be a trick not calling you Dad at the office."

"You'll manage." Walt stood up and pointed out to the bullpen, the main room outside his small private office. "Now, let's see if we can find you a desk."

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