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CHAPTER 1 (Excerpt 2)

Patrolman Dan Henning of the Texas State Troopers watched the rabbit crashing and sloshing away from him down there in the brush. Then he slid his pistol back in the holster on his hip and began wrestling with greed. And soon the deadly sin got the best of him. Opportunity knocking like this and the fact he currently hated his life providing all the motivation he needed to take a roll of the dice at Gamble Gulch Road.

Henning knew any freak desperate enough to rabbit off and leave his vehicle behind had to be carrying something illegal—and in all probability, something valuable. Most likely drugs, but you never know for sure. Henning had collared more than a few of these smart guys hauling dope and guns along his piece of highway, none of them ever attempting to drive through without license plates, however. Reason it surprised him when the burnout took off. Hard to imagine anybody running contraband without license plates. And sure, chances were good some beaners had, in fact, stolen the plates, and were now out lifting new ones in someone else’s territory.

One man’s bad luck becomes another man’s good luck.

Henning got up inside the van. Took him less than five minutes to find the stashed cash. Wasn’t necessarily a bad job of concealment but Henning was a pro, had seen more than a few of these deals in his time. The side panels hardly ever matched up perfectly once removed. Real difficult to make it look like original factory condition on an old vehicle. And shoddy work got you trouble, no matter what the job.

So there it was, a piss pot full of cash in wrapped bundles, Henning’s reward for busting his ass trying to keep this one small slice of the country safe. Up until now, for all his efforts on this lonely stretch of Texas asphalt, only thing Henning ever got was a couple of half-ass pats on the back from Captain Theodor and one mention in the newspaper. And—oh yeah—occasionally a congratulatory fuck from his wife, Cynthia, the woman sometimes seeming like she actually enjoyed it.

Cyn. If only she’d embrace a little more sin, maybe they’d have a chance. Skipping church one time for some Sunday morning action would be a start. It hadn’t happened yet.

And if that wasn’t enough shit to deal with, lately it seemed like the sonofabitch Theodor was trying his damn best to keep Henning down, keep him from rising in the patrol. Yeah, Henning had those pissy citations for reckless driving—off duty—and maybe he didn’t always follow the book to the nad, but lately it seemed everything good he’d done in the past had become worthless. Okay, sure, there were a couple excessive force complaints and this and that, and then that one damn time a do-gooder snapped a pic of him getting a blowjob in the back of the patrol car—but who was it made the best busts out here?

Fucking Dan Henning, that’s who.

But what the hell, all that would be far behind him in the not too distant future. Just look at all the cash the rabbit left behind. Stuff was shouting out Hasta la vista, baby, loud and clear.

(to be continued)