Chat - Archer Mayor [99]
As a result, on pure instinct, and seeing the other man’s gun starting to level in his direction, Mumford charged up the steps like a linebacker.
Checked Shirt was caught by surprise. Mumford tackled him around the middle, lifted him off his feet, and propelled him backward, flying into the cabin beyond. They both landed on the floor in a heap, with both of Mumford’s gloved hands anchored around his opponent’s gun.
As plans went, of course, it was short-term at best. Dan Griffis leaped to his feet at the violent intrusion, grabbed the back of his chair and swung it over his head in the same movement, and brought it crashing down onto the back of the deputy’s head.
Mumford let out a groan and stopped struggling. Checked Shirt wrestled free, scrambled to his feet, readjusted the gun in his hand, and took aim. Griffis smacked him across the mouth with the back of his hand, sending him staggering.
“Hey, genius,” Dan yelled at him, “why don’t you blow your own brains out instead? And ours, too, for that matter. You wanna kill a cop? Get the fuck out there and find out who’s with him. For all we know, he’s got the DEA with him.”
He then quickly knelt by Mumford’s slowly stirring body, pulled the man’s handcuffs from his belt case, and secured his wrists behind his back, commenting as he did so, “Always wanted to do that. Hope they’re too goddamned tight.”
Checked Shirt, for his part, angrily replaced his gun in his belt and sat in a chair in the far corner of the room, growling, “Up yours. I already been out there. There ain’t no raid.”
The third man in the room, sitting dumbfounded at the table, a glassine envelope still in his hand, finally spoke. “Jesus, Dan. What the fuck was that all about?”
Griffis looked up at him. “What was it about? What the fuck do I know, Charlie? How many times have you had a cop fly through the door and fall on your floor?”
Charlie seemed to consider the question seriously.
“We need to get out of here,” Griffis said. “Mike,” he ordered the man in the corner, “get your ass out of that chair and go outside. Humor me, okay?”
Without a word, Mike rose and stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
Griffis rolled the deputy over onto his back, removed his gun from its holster, and pointed it into Mumford’s face. Mumford blinked a few times, slowly regaining his wits. A large knot was already growing on his forehead where the blow from the chair had driven his face into the floor.
“What’s your name, cop?” Griffis asked.
“You know me,” Mumford told him.
Dan straightened and looked at him more closely, trying to put him in context. “Mumford!” he finally exclaimed. “You sorry son of a bitch. I should’ve let Mike kill you. What the fuck were you doing out there? You’re no drug cop.”
“I wasn’t here for drugs. Your stupid dog was barking.”
The gun was lowered, already half forgotten. Griffis rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand. “You are shitting me. You came for a dog complaint? What? From the neighbors?”
Mumford merely gave him a wilting look.
Dan stared back at him, muttered, “Up yours,” and got to his feet, adding, “Fucking Mike and his fucking mutt. I told him to shut it up. But, oh, no—he’s a good guard dog.” He began pacing. “Goddamned guard dog just about put us in jail.”
“Are we going to jail?” Charlie asked.
Dan kept going in circles. “You can if you want, but I’m never getting out. No fucking way I’m sticking around for that.”
Mike reentered the cabin. “Nothing,” he reported. “He was alone, just like I said.”
Griffis confronted him. “He was alone, Michael, because the neighbors called in a barking-dog complaint. I thought you should know that. Asshole.”
Mike laid his hand on his gun butt but otherwise remained silent.
“What should we do?” Charlie asked, at last putting the small envelope down.
Griffis addressed them both. “I don’t care. Me, I gotta get out of here, and I mean, way out. We need to put Deputy Mumford here back in his cruiser and squirrel it away somewhere where they won’t find it for a while, but after that, it’s every man for himself. You guys