"If the cops are in on it," Jason said, "why would Maiden warn us?"
"He's not happy about being in on it, maybe. Oh, hell, I don't know. But it means that someone wanted Richard in jail for a reason."
A pickup truck pulled across the street in front of the little grey house that Shang-Da was camped out in. Four men jumped out of the back. There was at least one more in the cab. He slid out of sight, and they formed a semicircle at the base of the porch. One of them had a baseball bat.
"Well, well," Jason said. "You think if we bang on the doors and yell for police help, we'll get it?"
I shook my head. "Maiden did help us. He warned us."
"I'm all warm and cozy with the effort," Jason said.
"Yeah," I said. I started walking across the street. Jason followed a couple of steps behind. I was thinking as hard as I could. I had a gun and they might not.
But if I killed somebody, I'd be bunking with Richard. Myerton's legal system didn't seem to take to well to strangers.
Shang-Da stood on the porch, looking down at the men. He'd taken off the billed cap. His black hair was cut very short on the sides and longer on top. The hair was shiny with gel but squashed flat from the cap. He stood balanced on his bare feet, long arms loose at his sides. He wasn't in a fighting stance yet, but I knew the signs.
His eyes flicked to us, and I knew he'd seen us. The thugs hadn't yet. Amateur thugs. Didn't mean they weren't dangerous, but it meant you might be able to bluff them. Professional muscle tended to call a bluff.
A small, elderly woman came through the screen door to stand next to Shang-Da. She leaned heavily on a cane, her back bowed. Her grey and white hair was cut very short and permed in one of those tight hairdos that elderly women seem so fond of. She wore an apron over a pink housedress. Her knee-high hose were rolled down over fuzzy slippers. Glasses perched on a small nose.
She shook a bony fist at the men. "You boys get off my property."
The man with the baseball bat said, "Now, Millie, this has got nothing to do with you."
"This is my grandson you're threatening," she said.
"He ain't her grandson," another man said. He was wearing a faded flannel shirt open like a jacket.
"Are you calling me a liar, Mel Cooper?" the woman asked.
"I didn't say that," Mel said.
If we'd been someplace more private, I'd have just wounded one of them. It would have gotten their attention and called the fight off. But I'd have bet almost any amount of money that if I shot one of them, the mysterious sheriff would ride to their rescue. Maybe the plan was to get more of us in jail. I was too new on the scene to even make an educated guess.
Jason and I walked up onto the grass. Mel was the closest to us. He turned, showing a stained undershirt and a beer gut beneath the flannel shirt. Ooh, charming.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked.
"Well, aren't you just Mr. Smooth."
He took a menacing step towards me. I smiled at him. He frowned at me. "Answer the f**king question, girlie. Who are you?"
"Doesn't matter who she is," the one with the baseball bat said. "This isn't any of her business. Leave it alone, or you'll get what he's going to get." He motioned with his head at Shang-Da.
"I get to the beat the crap out of you, too?" I said. "Oh, goody."
Baseball Bat frowned at me, too. I had two of them puzzled. Confusion to my enemies.
The woman shook a bony fist at them again. "You get off my property, or I will call Sheriff Wilkes."
One of the men laughed, and another said, "Wilkes will be along. When we're finished."
Baseball Bat said, "Come down off that porch, boy, or we're coming up after you."
He was ignoring me. He was ignoring Jason. They weren't just amateur muscle. They were stupid amateur muscle.
Shang-Da's voice was surprisingly deep, very calm. There was no fear in it -- big surprise -- but there was an undercurrent of eagerness, as if under that calmness he was itching to hurt them. "If I come down off this porch, you will not enjoy it."