Please don’t do this, Eric. Step back. I know you’re making a point, one you need to make, but please, please don’t.
The only thing that stops me is seeing Phil’s index finger, held far from the trigger. I see that, and I see the gun, and a safety switch flicks on in my head, allowing my thoughts to zoom down another track.
Dalton stops in front of Phil. “There? Does that help? You wouldn’t want to miss your target when you shoot me for doing my damn job.”
“I—”
“That’s what I’m doing, Phil. The council is fucked. You’re here, and Val’s dead, and the council hasn’t gotten its shit together, and it seems in no hurry to do that. When we ask to speak to someone, we get some old lady who doesn’t even seem to have the power to make an executive decision. Meanwhile, we have a dead US marshal and a resident with a bullet in his fucking back—a bullet fired by your goddamned predecessor. So what am I doing here? Disobeying orders? No. The damned council hasn’t even told me what your position is, so I’m sure as hell not taking orders from you. I’m returning this doctor to the south—as promised—and I’m helping my detective pursue this case. That’s my fucking job. So if you want to kill me for doing it…”
“I’m not going to kill you, Eric.”
“You’re holding a fucking gun on me!” Dalton booms, loud enough to make Phil jump. My heart stops as I watch Phil’s trigger finger. That finger doesn’t move, though. If anything, it shifts further back.
“The intention of that weapon is to kill me,” Dalton says. “If you pull that trigger, it won’t matter if you’re shooting my shoulder or shooting over my shoulder, you are a dead man.”
Phil’s mouth opens. Then he follows Dalton’s gaze to me, standing with my gun pointed.
“If you fire, she fires,” Dalton says. “She’s not going to wait until she sees where you aimed.”
“Just ask Val,” I say.
Dalton winces at that, but it has the desired effect. All the blood drains from Phil’s face.
“You do not aim a gun unless you intend to shoot,” I say. “I will shoot. You know that.”
“Eh, don’t worry about it, Phil,” Dalton says. “Ignore that loaded gun aimed at your chest, like I’m supposed to ignore the one you’re pointing at mine. No big deal, right?”
Phil lowers his weapon. I do the same.
“There,” Dalton says. “Now we’re back to square one, where I tell you I’m leaving, and you tell me I’m not, and this time, I’ll ask if the council has spoken on the matter.”
“No, but they consider Casey’s sister a suspect. You’re putting me in a very difficult position here, Eric.”
“Yeah, get used to it. All the positions up here are difficult. All the choices are tough. We don’t wave guns around to get our way. If you ever see me doing that, feel free to take my badge. If you want, I can clock you.”
“Clock me?”
“Hit you. Jaw’s best. It’ll leave a mark, and we’ll tell everyone that’s what I did when you tried to stop me. Not your fault. I’m just an asshole.”
“I am not letting you hit me.”
Dalton snorts. “No, but you were willing to shoot me. You got a strange sense of priorities there, Phil. Fine. Play it your way. If you can stop me without resorting to gunfire, you’re free to do so.”
“I’ll stay.”
The voice comes from behind me. I turn to see April, the source of this argument, forgotten by everyone. She steps forward.
“I understand your predicament,” she says. “Casey and Eric promised I could leave, and they are attempting to make good on that promise. However, if they do so, they risk both disobeying this council and placing you in an even more precarious situation, Phil. Casey did attempt to warn me about the circumstances here. I thought she was exaggerating. I see now that she wasn’t, and furthermore, that no one could have foreseen this collision of events—my arrival coinciding with the arrival and murder of this US marshal. The timing of those events makes me a suspect, and if I were at home in this situation, I’d be told I cannot leave town until the matter is resolved. The same applies here.”
“You have commitments,” I say. “You’re needed in Vancouver.”
“Which makes this inconvenient, but emergencies happen. What I will ask, Phil, is that you allow Casey to go to Dawson to conduct her research and, at that time, she can make the appropri
ate calls, with excuses that will permit me another week here. I know I’m not guilty of any crime, and I’m sure a week is all you’ll need to determine that.” She looks at Phil. “Is that acceptable?”
“I need to check with the council.”
“Fuck the council,” Dalton says. “You know they’ll waffle, say they can’t guarantee anything. She’s asking for a promise, Phil. From you. She’s staying here, for what you and I both know is no damned good reason. She’s putting her professional reputation on the line to save your ass. We all know you’re screwed here. The sad truth is that Casey and I can’t afford to give a damn. April is throwing you a life jacket, but you’re going to need to swim a bit to grab it. You want to swim? Or just keep paddling and hope you stay afloat?”