Out of Range

TWENTY-FIVE

For ex-sheriff Bud Barnum, the morning started out on a bad note when Stovepipe, the man behind the counter at the city/county building, asked him to walk through the metal detector.

"You've got to be shitting me," Barnum growled.

"I ain't," Stovepipe said. "In order to enter the sheriff's office you've got to go through the machine and get a pass. The sheriff says no exceptions."

"Does it even work?" Barnum asked, knowing that the metal detector was often broken when he was the sheriff.

"It does now."

"This is bullshit."

Stovepipe shrugged in response.

"I hired you, Stovepipe."

"And I appreciate that, Bud, I truly do."

Barnum glared. Stovepipe had always called him "sheriff," not "Bud." As he stepped through the machine, the alarm sounded. Shaking his head, Stovepipe motioned for him to step back.

Barnum angrily did so, then emptied his pockets, took off his belt, and dropped his gold pen into a plastic bowl. This time, he made it through.

"I'll need to keep this stuff until you come back," Stovepipe said, handing Barnum a yellow pass.

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

"My pants …" Barnum said, feeling his neck get hot.

Stovepipe said, "I got string, if you need it." Barnum recognized the lengths of twine-they were what they gave prisoners in their cells so they couldn't hang themselves with their belts.

Stovepipe looked into the plastic bowl. "Hey, I remember chipping in on this pen for you. That's a nice one, all right. Looks like they ran outa room for the words though, the way they spelled 'service.'"

"Keep your fucking hands off it," Barnum said, turning toward the hallway and gripping the top of his pants so they wouldn't fall down around his ankles.

He expected to see Wendy at the reception desk. Instead, a matronly, dark-haired woman looked up.

"May I help you?"

"Where's Wendy?"

"She's been reassigned. May I help you?"

"Reassigned where? Who are you?" He was surprised he hadn't heard of the move, and hurt that McLanahan hadn't bothered to consult him about it.

The receptionist cocked her head in annoyance. "Back to dispatch, I believe. Now, should I know you?"

Deputy Reed had apparently heard the exchange because he poked his head over the top of his cubicle and said, "Donna, this is Sheriff Barnum."

"Oh," she said. Barnum caught the shadow of revulsion that passed over her face, and he was shocked by it.

"I'm here to see McLanahan," Barnum said, unable to bring himself to say Sheriff McLanahan.

Donna quickly looked down at a sheet in front of her for his name.

"I don't have an appointment," Barnum said, adding, "I shouldn't need one." He looked to Reed, expecting to see him smiling or nodding, but Reed had sunk back down behind his cubicle.

Donna picked up her phone, pushed the intercom button, and announced to McLanahan that "Mr. Bud Barnum" was here to see him.

"No," Donna said into the phone, avoiding Barnum's eyes and lowering her voice, "he just came in."

"Fuck it," Barnum spat, and strode through the batwing doors at the side of the reception desk. As he passed Reed he looked over, but Reed pretended not to see him. A new deputy-Barnum couldn't recall his name-watched him cross the office with contempt on his face. Barnum entered his old office and closed the door hard behind him.

McLanahan looked up and gestured toward a chair on the other side of his desk. My old desk, Barnum thought.

"So, what brings you here, Bud?"

Barnum sat down, grateful to be able to let loose his grip on the top of his pants.

"I was thinking about reporting something to you," Barnum said in his most gravel-filled voice, "but after the way I've been treated since I walked into this building, I'm starting to wonder why I'm wasting my time."

McLanahan smiled coldly, his eyes on his old boss. "We take security a lot more seriously than we used to around here, Bud. We don't have a choice about that."

"That son of a bitch Stovepipe took my belt."

"Sorry, but I told him no exceptions."

"Even for me?"

McLanahan raised his palms in a "what can I say?" gesture.

"Why'd you replace Wendy?" Barnum asked. "I promoted her to that desk job."

"Things change, Bud," McLanahan said, running his fingers through his thick hair. "As sheriff, I need to make hard decisions."

"Was it a hard decision to get your hair permed?"

McLanahan sat forward and narrowed his eyes. "Bud, I'm trying to be civil here …"

"What's that cost, anyway? Thirty bucks? Forty? You could just get your head wet and go stand in the wind for the same effect."

McLanahan looked away. "I'm kind of busy right now. Is there a point to any of this?"

Barnum sat silently, seething. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got.

"I groomed you for this job," Barnum said. "I overlooked your fuck-ups and taught you everything you know. Now that you've got the job, you've forgotten who got you here. What about some respect? A little acknowledgment?"

McLanahan finally turned his head back around and met his eyes. "Your exit wasn't exactly pretty. A lot of stuff came out. You're lucky I didn't pursue it after I got elected."

Barnum felt something inside him pop.

"What do you mean, pursue it?" he shouted.

"Bud, lower your voice or I'll have you thrown out of here," McLanahan cautioned.

"You'll have me … what?" Barnum hissed, scrambling to his feet. "I can't believe your disloyalty, you little prick."

The sheriff glared back, his face tight with anger. Barnum decided to try a different approach. "Look, McLanahan-"

"That's Sheriff McLanahan. Now get out."

Barnum's rage returned to a boil. He looked down to see that his hands were trembling. How easy it would be to dive over the desk and sink his fingers into McLanahan's windpipe, he thought.

"I'm leaving," Barnum said, his voice a whisper. "I came here to do something good, to tip you off about something. But it seems you know it all now. You don't need my help."

"If you came in to report a crime, sit down out there with Deputy Reed and give him the information. You know how the procedure works," McLanahan said evenly.

Barnum turned and walked out, feeling the eyes of Reed, the new deputy, and Donna on him.

Just let it happen, he thought. Just let the killing take place. Let McLanahan and his department of clowns try to figure it out. Maybe next time they'll show me a little more respect.

Back on his stool at the Stockman's, Barnum was still shaking. His anger had turned into self-pity. When Timber-man walked down the length of the bar with a carafe of coffee, Barnum gestured toward a bottle of Jim Beam on the back bar and said, "Double shot, Beam and water."

When Timberman stopped and looked at his wrist-watch, Barnum said, "And don't screw around. This isn't the only bar in town."