Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 119935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Sweeney shot a look at one of the drawers in the kitchen, then turned back to him.
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’ve got a Ruger GP100 on my hip, and a Kel-Tec PMR-30, too. You know I shoot to kill, and I’m a damn good hunter. Got eyes like an eagle. Now, you take your chances with me if you want to, if you’re a gambling man, of course.”
Sweeney swallowed and sat straight.
“You just sit here and throw your life away, Jack. Who do you think anyone is going to believe? An angry park ranger who has ripped this town in two and treated us all like shit, or me, a police officer, now sheriff, in good standing? Your mother was a nutjob, just like you. Luckily, her heart gave out and she croaked. Your father was a bum who abandoned his family. I don’t blame him. Your brother was a weirdo. Thank God he moved away. You’ve got a manslaughter case under your belt, a dead drunk of an ex-wife who was a whore. Your best friend is a boozy Indian man who believes he can conjure the dead with a feather and incense, and now, you’ve got a nigger girlfriend who makes minimum wage, and is going around doing all that jungle dancin’ on stage for dead and missing Indian women who nobody gave a shit about in their own community, however they want everyone else to give a damn. Hell, they won’t even stay sober long enough to take their asses to work and stop blaming everyone else for all of their problems!
“They beat their women. Their suicide rates are sky high. They drink all day and get high all night. They cry and complain and moan and never put the blame where it is due. They have no leadership skills, either. I think they have bigger fish to fry than worrying about the one or two White men that have done them wrong. They need to look in the mirror! How ridiculous. What a sword to die on!” He laughed.
Jack grinned and cocked his head to the side. He got to his feet, and punched Sweeney in the face.
“Shit!” Blood sprayed from the heathen’s mouth. He brought a trembling hand up to his lips, his eyes danced, and a look of terror spread across his face.
“Watch your mouth. You know not to speak of a man’s mother or his woman like that.”
“Jack, you’re going down for this!”
Jack stepped back and reclaimed his seat. Sweeney spit out blood onto the table and floor. A tooth had been knocked out. The bastard’s eyes rolled as the pain slowly drove him insane. Unbearable.
“Sweeney, I’m glad to know what’s really going on in that tiny mind of yours. Regardless, what’s any of that got to do with your druggie, loser son raping women and killing my boy?”
“Brian raped nobody. He doesn’t have to rape anyone. Women throw themselves at him, and that Indian bitch was no different. Your son Chad was a piece of shit!” Blood-tinged spit sprayed out of his mouth. “He had no ambition. He was like a fucking hippie, and he should have been grateful that Beau and his friends even let him hang with them. Brian didn’t force himself on her, Jack. She wanted to have sex, and Chad decided to try and be some hero when it wasn’t needed. Just like his father… trying to help people who don’t want him around. Chad made a mountain out of a molehill, a fight broke out, and my son defended himself. End of story. You’re right. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”
“You know, Sweeney.” He drank from his mug, calm as can be. “When I went to the cabin again, I found a knife. It was bizarre. It shouldn’t have been there. Maybe you or someone else placed it there to try and screw up the case.” He shrugged. “Who knows, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s Beau’s… What’s even more odd is that it wasn’t even in the original photos of the crime scene. You protected your son at all costs, knowing he killed a man in cold blood. He was jealous of Chad.”
“Jealous of Chad? Are you listening to yourself?’
“I sure am. Chad had a father who loved him. Chad was naturally smart and gifted. Your son barely graduated high school and you were too busy to pay him any mind. Chad had a mother who worked hard to take care of him, too. Francesca barely touched a bottle before our boy was killed. Grief made her search for relief in all the wrong places. You, on the other hand, have been known to toss ’em back like you’re being paid for it, and you have the nerve to talk about anyone with a drinking problem. You’re in complete denial. All those DUIs that were buried on your behalf. All the times you’ve driven intoxicated, but it was never written up because well, you’re Sheriff Sweeney. I, and many others, know about your filthy secrets.