Page 46 of Backtrack

“Oh, is that right?” the lady said. “Because it looks to me like you’re in the middle of ordering a pizza! All I’m asking for is a little guidance.”

“And I’ve given you the number for Dispatch,” Johnson said, a little glib to Cutter’s way of thinking.

The lady’s voice began to quiver, like she might start to cry.

“Destroying someone’s mailbox should be a federal crime—”

Cutter stepped up to the table. “It is a federal crime,” he said. “May I help you, please, Ms. … ?”

“Hackenbush,” the woman said. “Mrs. Sharon Hackenbush.”

He took off his hat and held it to his chest. “D Wayne Cutter. I work for Sheriff Langford.”

“And I suppose he doesn’t?” She glared at Johnson.

“He does.” Cutter took a business card from his shirt pocket and wrote his number on the back before giving it to her. “We’ve had a rash of mailboxes damaged over the past few weekends, Mrs. Hackenbush. Kids with baseball bats, we’re thinking. Deputy Garza is handling all the cases with the US Postal Inspectors out of Fort Worth. I know he’s working on it, but please feel free to give me a call at my desk if you don’t hear back from him in a day or two.”

“Thank you, young man,” Mrs. Hackenbush said. “I will do just that.” She gave Johnson one more withering side-eye before gathering up her enormous handbag and breezing out the door.

Cutter put his hat on the chair beside their table, crown down, and took a seat across from Johnson.

The younger deputy looked at him forlornly and shook his head. “What?”

“Think you might have handled that a little better?”

“We are working an important—”

“In this job,” Cutter said, “you’re going to spend an inordinate percentage of your time being a hard-ass. It’s a good idea to be on the lookout for opportunities when you can be nice.”

Johnson nodded.

“Look at it this way,” Cutter said. “In Mrs. Hackenbush’s universe, somebody else’s robbery is important, but not as important as her mailbox. She holds that small hunk of metal at her front gate above all else that doesn’t affect her directly. Of course an armed robbery and homicide investigation takes priority over property crime. But those priorities are ours, not hers. Don’t forget that your Uncle Bud is an elected official, and like it or not, politics come into play in this job.”

“You’re right,” Johnson toyed with the Parmesan cheese shaker. “I told my mom about the things you’re teaching me.”

“Is that right?” Cutter suppressed a groan. He didn’t like the idea of the boss’s sister even knowing his name.

“She said I should start writing them down in a little book, so I don’t forget.”

“Funny,” Cutter scoffed. “Remember what I said about watching your windage and elevation. That includes putting too much stock in the bullshit I spew.”

Johnson laughed, then set the cheese shaker on the table and leaned back in his seat.

“I’m still trying to figure out why our robbers were rifling through Ray Gene Bryant’s house. You think they were looking for a copy of his report?”

“Could be,” Cutter said. “But not likely. Breaking into a Texas peace officer’s house is a good way to get your head blown off. Whatever these boys were after, it was something worth taking that kind of risk.”

The girl behind the counter called the queen of hearts.

“Pretty sick that they killed their own guys,” Johnson said, standing up to go get the pizza.

“These are dangerous men,” Cutter said. “I’m especially concerned about this Man Cub. Young people’s brains just aren’t completely formed. It can be hard for them to visualize the consequences. That very youth makes them prone to poor judgment and rash decisions.”

Johnson stood there holding the queen of hearts. “Are you talking about Man Cub or me?”

“Remains to be seen.” Cutter grinned. “But I will tell you what my grandad told me.By the time you reach forty, if you can’t look back on your twenties and see what a bonehead you were, you’re likely still a bonehead.”

CHAPTER 16