Keith is Good!: Deadly Drafts

RINGMASTER

Hardcastle surveyed the bongo hippies, time-wasters and looky-loos trampling the little park across from the Bakersville Library. His rough count estimated the Irregulars' story in the morning paper had drawn out the whole damn town. A crowd seethed behind yellow-tape, officers urging them backward. Lemuel longed for the solitude of his tree stand and a compound bow. Didn't these people have jobs? Kevlar and megaphone felt inadequate; he'd need a pith helmet and a goddamn bullwhip to tame this circus.

"Uh…," Hardcastle hemmed through his megaphone, uncertain how best to address a 6'4" Barbara Streisand. "You over there! Funny Girl! Off the sidewalk!"

Though generally peaceful and a firm believer in 'innocent until proven guilty,' Hardcastle longed to punch the Irregulars' noses for conjuring this clusterfuck. Christ, he was a go-karting Shriner and a Tilt-o-Whirl shy of a damn street fair.

Hardcastle turned and spat. Best to just do your job, he thought. The crowds will stay back. Get these assholes arrested and then get the fuck out. He walked across the Library Parking Lot—their Mobile Command Center—massaging the knot on his forehead.

"Chief Hardcastle, I hope you'll leave my Library as you found it."

Hardcastle turned to see Miss Leslie standing behind him, stunning in a white skirt suit and matching fur stole. The left sleeve of her jacket hung limp, arm slung to her chest, but otherwise she radiated immortality.

"Barbra, I—"

"That's Miss Leslie, please."

Hardcastle grinned. "Of course—Miss Leslie. Shouldn't you be in the hospital?"

"Pish-posh," Barbara Ann waved her good arm. "This is my library, Chief. I had to be here myself."

"And they just let you go?"

Barbara couldn't help but grin. "More or less."

Hardcastle stepped toward her, put a hand to her good shoulder, his headache losing its rhythm, "I'm glad to have you here with—"

"Blue Chevy, incoming!" a voice shouted from Hardcastle's shoulder com. He spun, eyes braced against shimmering snow, to see a teal streak shooting toward them. His heart practically leapt.

"Fucking finally," he strode toward the vehicle, popping the clip on his holster. "One way or another, this shit ends now."

Chapter Fifty-Two