Previously: “But if we lynch them—we won’t hear what they have to say,” Wyatt Earp IV laughed, and turning to the horrified hitmen, continued, “My name is Wyatt Earp the Fourth, a direct descendant of THAT Wyatt Earp—of the OK Corral in Tombstone Arizona. Luckily for you, I am not that Wyatt Earp—and this is not the OK Corral.”
The collective expressions on the faces of the hitmen was—priceless.
“Bag and tag their firearms and phones,” Sheriff Boomer instructed, “Then cuff them together and place them in the back of Cooper’s pick-up truck.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Sheriff, let’s take them to my jail.”
“Agreed, Wyatt,” Boomer replied, “Run some ballistic tests on their firearms…”
“… and have Doc McLean check their DNA—right?”
“That’s why you make the big bucks.”
Ralph Halvorson approached Sheriff Boomer and said quietly, “Come with me.”
After they were out of earshot of the hitmen, he said, “Mac and Merle are in Moosehead City—maybe it’s time for them to have a chat with the two spies in the Dive Bar…”
“Good idea, make it so.”
Meanwhile—back in Danger Bay…
Season 13—Adventure 4—Moosehead County—Episode 12—Scene 1… After touring the lower-level bedroom suites—Sarah brought Alphonso to the common area of the loft, “From left to right along the far wall are the kitchen, living room, and my office. On the left-middle, the dining table and chairs, and on the right another living area—perfect for mid-day nap.”
“A fine prison.”
“A fine prison.”
“Only until we’re sure you’ve thrown Mariucci off your trail—I wonder how that’s going—dad hasn’t contacted me at all and I’m worried.”
There was a knock on the door causing both to jump—it was after all a controlled access building…
Season 13—Adventure 4—Moosehead County—Episode 12—Scene 2… Inside the Dive Bar… The bar was empty—with the exception of Blanch Carlson, the owner, and the two Mariucci spies—it was that time of day. Mac and Merle each ordered a beer and casually walked over to the two men, “It MUST be beer o’clock somewhere, right fellas?”
“It MUST be beer o’clock somewhere, right fellas?”
“I reckon,” the spy in the brown cowboy hat and biker-jacket replied—and then fell silent as if to say “move along, we ain’t interested in conversation.”
“You’re not very friendly,” Mac rumbled—it was not a friendly rumble.
It was then brown-hat turned and looked up—way up at Mac & Merle.
Both were grinning in the “we’re looking for trouble and you’re our chosen victims” precursor to a bar fight manner, “Uh—sorry mister.”
“You may become even sorrier—Mariucci is wondering why you haven’t contacted him,” Merle’s voice—ominous.
“Finish your beers,” Mac added, “And then come with us—don’t make a fuss, that would not be healthy.”
To be CONTINUED…