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“Hey, red,” he said, referring to Joa
Joa
He chose to ignore both. “What’s the matter, little lady?” Mr. Weight lifter asked with a leering grin. “Are Crackerjacks having a run on badges these clays?”
At five feet four inches tall, Joa
“No,” she said frostily. “As a matter of fact, this badge came out of a box of Wheaties right along with my Colt 2000, my Glock, and my handcuffs. Care to tell me where I can find Mr. Childers?”
The leer retreated slightly but it didn’t disappear altogether. “He’s not here,” the man answered. “He went into town to grab some lunch.”
“Do you know what time he’ll be back?”
Mr. Weight Lifter raised his hard hat and swiped a grimy forearm across his forehead, leaving behind a muddy track on a sweat-stained brow. “Probably not before two-thirty or so. He believes in long lunches.”
Joa
“The guy with the dog?”
Joa
Taking her card, the man stuffed it into a shirt pocket that was scarred with the round telltale brand of an ever-present can of snuff. “Hey, you guys,” he called back to his fellow workers. “Anybody here know where that deputy went-the one with the big dog?”
One of the other men tossed a soda can past Joa
“Up on the back forty,” he said. “Youse go straight up here and turn right at the barbed wire. It’ll take youse right to him.”
Dismissing her, the first guy ambled away. As he turned his back, Joa
He stopped, turned, and stared back at her disdainfully. “Are you talking to me?” he asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“It’s Rob. Rob Evans. Why? I notice you’re not wearing a ring. You interested in a date, maybe?”
Hoots of laughter erupted among Rob Evans’ fellow workers. Joa
Surprise spread over Evans’ face-surprise followed by dismay. He turned and looked down at his pocket, then back at her. “It’s not concealed,” he said.
“It is,” Joa
“My gun?”
“Either the gun or the permit, take your pick.”
For several long seconds, Joa
“It’s for protection,” Evans explained. “The job-site was attacked by rioters yesterday afternoon. We’ve got a right to defend ourselves. It says so in the U.S. Constitution-the right to have guns.”
Joa
“I’m familiar with the right to bear arms,” she said. “And while federal law allows for that, the criminal code of the state of Arizona specifically forbids the carrying of concealed weapons. Let me ask you again, Mr. Evans. Do you have a permit?”
“No,” he said, as his face turned beet-red. Seeing it, Joa
“How about a holster, then? Do you have one of those?”
“Sure. It’s in my truck.”
“Suppose you go get it,” Joa
Evans’ face turned that much redder. “It’s not here,” he hissed under his breath. “I came to work in a car pool this morning.”
While the other workmen watched in stony silence, Joa
“Tell you what, Mr. Evans,” she said. “Here’s the deal. You can have your gun back as soon as you show up at my office in Bisbee with either a permit or a holster. Until then, I’m keeping it.”
“You can’t do that!” Evans bawled. “That’s unlawful search and seizure.”
“I haven’t written you up yet,” Joa
Still grumbling objections, Evans dug out his wallet and handed over his driver’s license. While Joa
“As for the rest of you-” she told the gawking and fascinated onlookers, all of whom had long since given up any pretense of eating lunch. “I’m sure you all know from what happened yesterday that we have a pretty volatile situation on our hands. How many of the rest of you brought guns along to work today-for protection?”
No one raised a hand. Still, Joa
“After yesterday,” she continued evenly, “I’m sure tempers are ru
“Furthermore, for any of you who may have had run-ins with the law on previous occasions, let me remind you that guns are strictly off-limits for most convicted felons. In fact, in some circumstances, the very act of carrying a weapon may result in a one-way ticket back to the slammer. If that applies to anyone here, I won’t hesitate to help your parole officer ship you straight back to Florence.”