The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set Ernest Dempsey (top 10 books of all time txt) 📖

he had more than he could have ever imagined, he found it odd how people simply fell in line around his desires—even law enforcement.

"Then why do you insist on continuing to make trouble for me?" Sanders' leathery face sagged with a condemning scowl. He shook his head, barely moving the short, thinning grayish brown hair on top. Calculating blue eyes glared back at Tyler, full of unspoken accusations.

"I don't insist, Sheriff. Me and the boys were just having some fun. No one got hurt."

"How long until that happens, Tyler? What you were doing was irresponsible."

Tyler wanted to jump across the desk, grab the sheriff by the collar, and pound his face into the hard metal surface until he blacked out—or worse. Who was this idiot local to tell him what was irresponsible? If Sanders knew what he'd done, the people he'd killed, the way he'd killed them, he would think twice before offering a rebuke of any kind.

The cop may as well have been talking to a venomous snake sitting in that chair, trying to convince it to be a cuddly teddy bear.

Irresponsible. What a joke.

"Thanks for the tip, dad," he scoffed. "Now give me my rifle so I can get out of here."

The sheriff swallowed and shifted in his chair. "I'm the law around here, Tyler. Don't you forget that. What I say goes."

Tyler sat up a little straighter and leaned forward. "That's right, Sheriff. You are the law around here. You got yourself a cushy job." He played his hands out wide at the modest office. "A good paycheck. People respect you. What you say goes. But it would be a shame if word got out that you were taking money to turn a blind eye to certain things. Wouldn't it?"

Sanders' breathing quickened. "Are you threatening me, son?"

"We both know I am, Sheriff." Tyler's voice brimmed with rage, like a charging bull staring at a red cloak. "Like you said, perception means a lot these days."

He stood up and inclined his head. "Get a leash on your deputy before something bad happens to him. You understand?"

The sheriff nodded reluctantly, though he never locked eyes with the visitor. "Yeah."

"Good. Now give me my rifle."

Five

Cuchara

Dak did his best to not ravenously consume the bison burger and fries he'd ordered. His military background begged him to down the entire plate in a few minutes, as he'd grown accustomed to doing during basic. That habit had been reinforced during his various deployments.

Eating slowly gave him cause to linger at the restaurant and bar for longer without facing too many questions, though he knew he'd have to keep ordering beers now and then to prevent Merrick from getting annoyed. Servers depended on their tables for a constant influx of money during their shifts and there was nothing worse than a group of people sitting around chatting it up for an hour or more while new customers were sat at other servers' tables. Dak knew as long as he kept spending money, Merrick wouldn't mind. Plus, he'd leave a big tip—especially if he could ply the young man for more information.

After sitting there for thirty minutes, the waiter came by a third time and asked if he could get him dessert or another beer.

"This is good lager," Dak said. "I'll definitely have another one. Sorry if I'm drinking them slow. Don't want to catch a buzz."

"Well, if you like we can get you a cab back to wherever you're staying." Merrick risked asking the obvious question. "You at a cabin in the area?"

"Yeah," Dak said with a single nod. "Not far from here. Took about eighteen minutes, but I don't think it's more than three or four miles away. Had to take it slow with the dusting of snow y'all got."

"Smart," Merrick offered.

"Don't worry," Dak said, tilting the nearly empty beer glass. "I won't hang around too long." He looked out over the room, noting how it was beginning to fill with more patrons. "I'll just have one more and be on my way. I know you guys need these tables."

Merrick twisted his head around, looking out over the bar. "I'm not too worried about it. You take as long as you want. And you did say you want another lager, right?"

"Please."

"I'll get that right away for you."

He made a beeline back to the bar and asked the bartender for another lager. Dak noted that this time, the young man didn't enter the drink in the computer before he retrieved the full glass and brought it back.

"This one's on me," Merrick said.

Dak furrowed his brow, surprised. "For what?"

The server rolled his shoulders nonchalantly. "For understanding. And being cool. Most people would sit around and take up a table for an hour or more and not think twice about it. You're considerate and I appreciate that."

"Likewise," Dak said. He tipped the glass to the young man.

The front door barged open and swung around so hard it nearly slammed into the doorstop. The dim light of dusk poured into the bar as three young men, probably in their late twenties at best, sauntered in.

Merrick swiveled around. His head drooped visibly upon seeing them. "Oh great," he mumbled.

"Friends of yours?" Dak pried.

The server retreated a little with his downtrodden attitude, knowing that it was inappropriate to show such emotion in front of a customer. "No, they're just... locals. That's all."

"I see." Dak didn't need to get the full story. He could fill in the blanks from the newcomers' body language—the way they walked in as if they owned the place, snickering and making snide comments about some of the customers as they made their way to one of the tables on Dak's side of the room.

They plopped down in the booth and started looking through the menu. One of them—the average-sized one of the group—slapped his hand on the table and waved his hand, calling out for Tanya.

"Not your table, huh?"

"No, fortunately for me. Not so fortunate for Tanya."

Dak took a long sip of the remnants