“I will give you details, Sheriff. Descriptive details that will allow you to bring me a subset of people, and one of those will confess to being Pat. Trust me on that.”
“I don’t trust—”
“Neither do I.” He looks at Dalton. “I don’t trust you, Sheriff. Like you said, we don’t know each other. You might very well realize what kind of lowlifes you have here, the wolves among the sheep, but someone is paying you to keep the entire flock safe. If that’s the case and I give you a description, you’ll tell me to just wait here while you go round up the people who match it … and you’ll make damned sure I don’t see the one I’m looking for. Sorry, Marshal, but Pat doesn’t seem to be here.”
Dalton’s cheek tics, his jaw flexing. This hits a little too close to the mark.
We do indeed know about the wolves among the sheep, and I think, in some ways, it would be easier if we were mercenary shepherds, happy to protect the entire flock for the right price. But there is no price. And we are not happy. We’re just trapped.
“Nice speech,” I say. “You know what ruins it? Not even being willing to tell us the gender of the person you’re looking for. There is no way in hell you can argue your point that far.”
“I’m not trying to. I don’t want you to parade your town before me. I will provide you with details after we agree to a process. You three are the only ones who know I’m looking for someone. Therefore, if you want me to trust you, you will not leave my sight until I have Pat.”
“We agree to stay where you can see us, so we can’t sneak off and hide Pat, and then you’ll give us a complete and full description, along with proof.”
Garcia looks over. “Proof?”
“Of Pat’s crimes,” I say. “You don’t honestly expect us to hand over a resident on your say-so. You provide a description and proof—”
“Proof is for a court of law. You know that. I’m arresting someone, not sentencing them.”
“By removing them from our protection you are sentencing them. I’m not asking for irrefutable proof of guilt. I’m asking for a warrant.”
He starts to laugh. Then he sees I’m serious.
“You say we’re fellow law enforcement?” I continue. “Then as the sheriff said, treat us like it. Give us the warrant. The proof that Pat is a fugitive, whom you have been sent to retrieve.”
“Yeah, that didn’t make it into my luggage.”
“Would you expect a sheriff in the States to hand you over a federal fugitive on your say-so?”
“Actually, yes. The badge is usually enough.”
“Not here. Not with people who’ve never seen a USMS badge. For all we know, you bought that online.”
“So it appears we’re at an impasse.”
“Seems that way.”
He gets to his feet. Crosses the room and picks up his backpack. Then he turns to Dalton. “Gun or phone. Give me one.”
“What I’ll give you is a chance to explain yourself,” Dalton says. “In detail. And then we will fly you to Dawson. You’ll provide a warrant. You’ll provide proof.”
“How the hell would I get that in Dawson City?”
“It’s called the internet.”
Garcia shakes his head. “You’re being unreasonable, Sheriff.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” I say.
Garcia’s jaw clenches. It lasts only a second, but it’s enough to shatter the good-ol’-boy persona.
“You’re making a very big…” He trails off before finishing that cliché, and his jaw tightens again. Then he hefts his backpack. “I’ll give you time to think about it, Sheriff. It’s late. You’re tired. You’re not thinking this through. So take your time. I’ll call again in the morning.”
He heads for the back door.
“Eric,” I say, leaping to catch Dalton’s arm. “Let him go.”