"For what?" Riley asks.
Cole snickers into the pitcher. "Let’s just say he fucked up big time, I found out and saved his ass—and his career. He'll be doing me favors for a decade."
"Aw, c'mon," Riley says, throwing a shelled peanut at Cole. "Details, bitch!"
"What is this, real housewives?" Cole asks, flipping the peanut back at Riley. "It was official police business. I ain't tellin' you shit."
Riley hucks the peanut clear across the bar, nailing Brian in the face—a reminder that before he went to prison, he had full-ride offers from no fewer than eight Big Ten universities. His QB records still stand at Three Rivers High. "Yo, B!"
Brian frowns, stuffs a slip of paper in his book to hold the place, sets it on the chair, and ambles this way. "Crowe boys. Sheriff. What's up?"
Riley cracks a peanut open and tosses the halves in his mouth. "What'd you do that you owe Manny-boy a decade's worth of favors? His ass has clammed up."
Brian—all six-six and three hundred pounds of him—frowns at Riley. "You'd have to get me drunk to tell that story, and I don't drink."
"That's what Cole said," Riley says. "Never?"
"Let's just say the last time I got drunk, I decided to have an impromptu rodeo with my Uncle Roy's prize bull."
Riley snickers. "How'd that go?"
"Stayed on." He shrugs. "Had to rebuild half the barn, though."
"I…" Riley frowns, trying to picture what happened. "Um. What?"
Brian shakes his head. "Problem with an impromptu rodeo is that there wasn't no arena and there wasn't no clowns. If I'd'a let go, he'd've killed me. So I stayed my ass on while he tore up the fence, the chicken coop, flipped over the Gator, and wrecked most of the barn."
Riley blinks at him. "Jesus. And you survived?"
Brian just shrugs. "Got a hard head, I guess." He nods at Cole. “Ready when you are, boss, but no hurry. Lisa's at a girl's night with her cousins, so I got nothin' better to do."
Cole just nods back. "Thanks, Brian.”
When Brian goes back to his post, Riley bursts into laughter. "What the hell?"
Cole grins. "Brian's one of a kind. Was on a domestic call with him once, year or two back. Some ol' boy was whalin' on his woman, neighbors called it in, we show up thinkin' it'll go how most domestic calls go. Well, no, not exactly, it turns out. Motherfucker came at Brian with a Louisville Slugger. Cracked him clean across the back of the head. Brian didn't so much as flinch. I'm dead-ass for real. Bleeding like a stuck pig, that big motherfucker didn't so much as twitch. Clocked the bastard in the nose, dropped him, and hauled him off to jail for assaulting an officer. Sixteen stitches and a concussion. Woulda killed most people." He glances at Riley. “Reminds me of your boy Bear, actually. Just…less scary."
I grin, laughing. "No one is as scary as Bear." I shrug. "When he's pissed, at least."
Cole widens his eyes. "I'll never forget that call, man. I thought for sure I was rollin' up to a murder scene."
"If it wasn't for Noelle literally climbing him like a tree and making him stop, it would’ve been," I say. "That girl has some serious cajones."
Cole nods. "No shit. I was tryin' to figure out how I was gonna stop Bear without hurting him. I doubt a taser would do much."
Riley pulls out his phone. Dials. Puts it on speaker—Bear answers. "Yo, Rye. What's good?"
"Hey, Bear. You ever been tased by cops?" Rye asks.
Bear chuckles. "Hell yeah. Few times.”
"Did it drop you?"
He barks a laugh. "Hardly. Not gonna go so far as to say it tickled, but no, it definitely didn't drop me."
"Guess I'm gladder than ever that your girl was there that day, then," Cole says.
"That the Sheriff?" Bear asks.
