Christmas at Sinners Part 3 of 3 by Rolynn Anderson

Christmas at Sinners Part 3 by Rolynn Anderson

Sable cocked her fist at Mitch's suggestion about the bed, but decided to treat his comment as a joke. She could use some back-up to collar two criminals, and this guy had the build of a wrestler. His blurt about the sister's medical bills gave her pause, but his strategy for vetting the guys in the bar made sense. What she didn't understand was the sadness she saw in his eyes when she smiled at him and the distance he kept between them.

Mitch’s eyebrows were up, waiting for her answer.

A throat clear. “We’ll try your way, Mitch. Don’t know if you can detect an eye-twitch from your position, but maybe you can watch for other tells.”

Mitch nodded. 

“I want you to come over and put your arm around me to show the guys I tried to worm a room out of you, regretful you didn't have one to give.”

“O...okay.” He rose from his stool and gave her a quick side hug before he moved away. His expression was wistful when he said, “I like you Sable Chisholm and you smell good. Don’t forget to smile. Big. They’ll do anything for you when you smile.”

Sable surveyed the bar, wondering where to start. Something about the guy smack in the middle, head down like he was drunk, but neck held too stiffly to signal inebriation, drew her. Another man, black hair and mustache, staring into space, sat at the same table. The vast distance between them clarified they weren’t mates.

She graced them with a small smile. “Gentlemen, may I sit for a moment?”

The pretend-drunk shot her a side look, his alertness no surprise. He was a broad-shouldered fellow, square-jawed, dark brown eyebrow shooting up to his short brown hair. A good haircut. Jeans and a jeans jacket. Shirt looked tailored. Did his eye just twitch? Was he medium height? She couldn’t tell.

The mustached guy said “Take a load off,” so she stuck out her hand. “Thanks,” she said, sitting. “Sable. I won’t take much of your time. Promise.” Sable worked on a grin until their eyes focused on her. "Names?"

“Burke,” said the not-drunk guy.

“Ken.” The mustached guy squirmed in his seat. 

“Tough we have to spend Christmas Eve here when we should be with our families." 

Ken stroked the hair under his lip. "We’re stuck, for sure. Buy you a drink, ma’am?” The man dipped into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “Name your poison.”

When she waived off the offer, Ken said, “Snow’s stopped. Storm’s over.”

“How did you learn that? The internet’s down.”

He shrugged.

“But they’re out of rooms.” Sable said plaintively. “Are you guys going to sleep in this bar tonight?”

Burke scoffed. “Not me. I bought a room off that guy over there." He pointed to the far left of the bar. "And I’m about to crash. You looking for a sleeping partner tonight, ma’am? Why don’t I buy a bottle of champagne and we can retire to my place.” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively.

Sable ignored his offer. “I heard the road’s closed at Rainier because of snow. Customers are stranded up there.”

“Hell of a bad stretch. Those folks at Rainier won’t get out of there for days.” Burke smiled as he fingered a hundred dollar bill. “Now about that bottle of champagne?”

She waved away his offer a second time and zeroed in on Ken. “Do you have a room I could buy from you, sir? You look like you’d prefer to spend the night out here, anyway.”

Ken shook his head. “No room at Sinners for me.”

Frowning, Sable stared at Ken’s finger, the one he used to rub his forehead. She stood and walked over to the man. “Sir, you’ve cut yourself on your cheek. Right here.” She swiped her thumb on the place. With a quick pivot, she turned to Mitch, and hidden from the Ken’s view, she showed her finger.

Mitch jumped off the bar stool and approached the table. “Am I hearing a ‘ho, ho, ho’ from over here, Miss Sable? Did you find a room?”

“Better. I’ve got a 10-32.” Burke looked confused. Mitch’s smile disappeared. Ken stood abruptly and stared at Sable. 

She walked behind Burke, put her hands on his shoulder, and bent her head close to his. “Looks like you’re about to gift me with your bed for the night.”

The man leaned back to take advantage of her caress. In the next second, he jerked up and yelled, “What the hell?”

Sable held the gun she’d taken from Burke’s belt, dangling it by one finger to save fingerprints, and setting it on the floor well away from the table. She flipped a nylon tie out of her pocket and had him cuffed before he could stand. The pressure she applied to the back of his neck immobilized him. He groaned in pain.

"Witnesses at Mt. Rainier ID'd the gun you waved, 'Burke.' Extruded green plastic. Homemade." She Mirandized him.

“Mitch, come over here, will you?”

With a puzzled look, he approached Sable.

“Closer."

He complied, reluctantly.

"You’re bleeding on your nose, my friend.” She reached out and swooped her thumb over the spot and examined her finger. Sable turned to Ken and asked, “You on the job?”

The man’s shocked expression was almost comical. She smiled. “See this finger. Make-up. Got cuffs?”

Ken nodded slowly.

Sable gestured to Mitch. “He’s your man. In disguise.” She raised an eyebrow at the imposter. “Mitch, bounty hunters memorize cop codes. You didn’t know what a 10-13 was. Weather. A 10-32 means person with a gun.” She tsked. “Maybe you don’t care a 10-24 means ‘assignment completed.’ God we love our 10-24’s.”

She watched as Ken finished cuffing Mitch. “Your second mistake was giving me the make-up and disguise idea.” Another tsk. “Using me to find you a tow or a place to hide until morning, wasn't the smartest, either.”

Mitch stayed quiet, head down.

When she surveyed the bar, few customers seemed interested in the arrests. Too many troubles of their own. She winked at Ken, all six foot five feet of him. Definitely not drunk. Definitely interesting. “We’ve got a room, partner. Mr. Mustache shelled out big bucks to procure one for our benefit. I’ll report in, and we’ll take these bastards to the room, tie them up tightly and get some sleep. We’re about to make the local cops and Rainier’s rangers very happy because they can go home to enjoy Christmas Eve.”

Ken glanced at Burke, then at Mitch. “I thought the mustached guy was my man.”

“Nope. He bought a room from a guy in the bar, which seemed like the action of someone newly wealthy. Plus, my smile dazzled him and he straightened up in the chair. At my refusal to go to bed with him, he slumped over and I saw his jacket catch on his gun.”

Spike lumbered over to their table with a key card and a Buddha smile. “Chisholm, I watched you in action and I have to admit I’ve never seen a smoother operation, with not one bit of damage done to my bar. Here’s the key to his room. I’m having two steak dinners and a bottle of wine delivered. I know a professional when I see her.”

As the big guy spoke to the bartender, Sable cast a sympathetic look toward Mitch. “In the spirit of Christmas, I'll mention in my report you surrendered peacefully.”

She put more of her weight on the back of her collar and spoke to Ken. “So we’ve opened two big gifts this Christmas Eve. I've risen a notch or two in the eyes of my colleagues; you’ve earned a bounty.”

“Add dinner and wine and a bed,” said Ken, looking hopeful.

“You realize we’ll have to spell each other all night so these two don’t rabbit on us.”

Ken clicked his tongue. “It’s not perfect, this Christmas Eve at Sinners. A ranger and a bounty hunter, spending the night with two thugs.”

“Unless…” Sable said.

“Unless what?”

Sable smiled big at Spike. He rolled his eyes and stalked to the front room, returning with the goofy tree. When he handed it to Sable, she thanked him.

To the room of men, now alert and watching her, she raised the blinking tree. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

Thanks for reading my story. Sable Chisholm is the main character of my mystery series, kicked off with FIRE IS NICE, now in pre-order. Save a dollar on this e-book until its release Dec. 4. 

Amazon: http://a.co/d/iOgLJuw

Smashwords : https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/902286

Tomorrow, enjoy Alison Henderson's short story: "A Very Un-Merry Christmas"

Christmas at Sinners Part 2 of 3 by Rolynn Anderson

Christmas at Sinners Part 2, by Rolynn Anderson

Mitch Newton's mood improved as soon as the woman strolled into the bar. Tall and model-slim, she wore a filmy t-shirt, tucked into long, baggy khaki pants. Her carelessly trussed-up hair and casual clothing had Mitch imagining she'd arrived for a quirky photo-shoot. Every single man in Sinners watched her enter the saloon and slip into a chair at the bar, guessing she’d order a chardonnay. When the bartender delivered a highball with an inch of amber liquid in it, Mitch had to smile. She sipped her drink and observed the people in the room by looking into the mirror behind the bar, surprising him further. To say she didn’t belong in Sinners was an understatement; the fact she seemed unfazed by not fitting in intrigued the hell out of him.

Better? Her presence gave him the hope he’d been seeking for hours.

“I was praying for a distraction,” Mitch said, climbing onto a stool two seats away from her. “And you are definitely a distraction, ma’am.”

She said nothing, but waggled her finger at the bartender for water.

“In the Samaritan spirit, I’ll sit here so you don’t get hit on by nineteen guys.” He took a swallow from his bottle of beer. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a room.”

“Nope. No vacancy. Internet and phones are down. I need a tow more than a room. You?”

“Same. I got stuck about a quarter mile down the road.”

“Did you try to get help from the men in this bar?”

“Yup. No luck.” Mitch squinted at her. “There’s more to your story.”

“I’m marooned by the storm.” She stared at him with enormous doe-brown eyes, luminous in the subtle light of the lounge. 

“You going to tell me what else you’re doing here?”

She sipped her drink.

“You’re wearing the wrong shoes. Service grade. Built for kicking a perp in the balls. Your pants are regulation ranger. Bet you have a gun in your sock.”

Her cheeks reddened, charming him. He pointed to her belt. “You’re in the habit of touching the place where your holster should be.”

She glared at him. “As if your ‘tells’ aren’t obvious. It’s plenty warm in here yet you’re wearing a jacket. I presume your gun’s in a shoulder holster.”

“Touché.”

She swallowed water and tapped his arm. “Takes one to know one. I’m a new L.E. at Rainier. Low on the totem pole, pulling the holiday shift. Why are you in Ashford on Christmas Eve? You local law? I’m told they’re helping us with our case.”

With the shake of his head he said, “Washington’s my territory. Private Investigator-bounty hunter.”

“Your perp’s in here?”

“Maybe. Told someone he was ‘going to paradise.’ My take was Paradise Road, highway 706. Name’s Freddy Canto, a small-time crim whose bail-jump made his capture worth $10,000. Money I need for my sister's medical bills.

“Noble cause.”

“I heard Canto was hanging out in Enumclaw, heading south to look for easy money and a lay, so that put me at Sinners. I have a fuzzy surveillance pic of the guy, but he’s known to use disguises. I’ve talked to everyone who might fit his description, but I don’t think he’s in this bar, damn it.”

“I’m looking for an armed robber. A 10-32. Maybe an 11-24. He grabbed a couple thou at Mt. Rainier visitor center.”

He nodded, eyes on his beer bottle.

“Is Santa lurking nearby?”

He blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Just think, if you and I are after the same guy and we catch him tonight, Santa says we’re nice.”

Mitch shook his head. “Need the money more than the kudo.”

“Obligations.” She scanned the mirror. “You have a dossier on your man? We could help each other.”

“My perp's medium height and medium build. Barely a southern accent and a right-eye-twitch when he’s tense. Bright fellow and a good actor. Meticulous about changing his look, including clothes, hair, mustache. He’ll wear make-up and he favors old guy disguises.”

“Better intel than I have. My UNSUB wore a mask and a hoodie. Careful not to show anything. He could be most men in this room.”

“Half of the guys here could be Canto.”

“You know his ride…his car make?”

“Nope. What are you looking for?”

“A Camry. Covered in snow somewhere.”

Mitch drew in the strawberry scent of her. Eyes the color of jasper, mesmerizing. Her focus and fearlessness pleased him…and made his gut hurt. “We’re a team, then?”

She smiled for the first time and her face was transformed. Mitch gaped at her beauty, his words gone. Hope gone. He wasn’t a match for this woman.

Her expression morphed to irritated and Mitch swore the temperature around them dropped a few degrees.

“A strategy, Mitch?”

“Uh. I…” What was he thinking? Partnering with a woman like Sable was a pipe dream. 

"Mitch?“

He struggled to offer a plan.  Any plan. "Uh...I..." Thoughts of her smile helped him find the words. "One by one, you visit the men in this room. Smile first, explain your plight, ask for help.”

“What kind of help?”

Taking a swallow of beer, Mitch said, “You need a bed for tonight.”

Sable jerked back on the stool. “Instead of a tow?”

“You're looking for a conversation starter, not a stopper. Even if they could tow you, not one of these guys is foolish enough to try it until the morning plows come through.”

"True."

“Ask for a bed. No strings. Kindness of their hearts. As you beg, you're alert to guilt and disguises.”

She frowned. “And what are you doing while I look for your twitchy, disguised guy? What about my UNSUB?”

Mitch shrugged. “I’ve got a description for my man; might as well start with him. And like you said, we may be looking for the same guy. I’ll sit here, drink my beer, and use the mirror to watch for the reactions of each man you question. My smile isn’t nearly as powerful as yours.”

Sable was quiet.

“Do you need an incentive?”

She scoffed. “I’m a ranger. It’s my job to catch criminals.”

“Let's fatten the pot.”

“With what?”

Mitch grinned as he scrubbed at his forehead. “If we work in tandem, we'll collar a bad guy and snag us a bed for the night.”

Thanks for reading Part 2 of my story. Tomorrow comes the conclusion for "Christmas at Sinners."  

Christmas at Sinners Part 1 of 3 by Rolynn Anderson

Christmas at Sinners-Part 1 By Rolynn Anderson

She peered through the snow-spattered windshield at the neon sign and hoped like hell there was room at the inn. Did the sign say ‘Inn’? Maybe. The snow fell so thickly that her windshield wipers stalled and she could barely distinguish the road from the shoulder, much less read snow-draped marques. Worse? She’d only made it to Ashford, Washington, when her destination was Elbe.

Looking for an UNSUB, an unknown suspect, in a surprise snowstorm, was a challenge for L.A. native, Sable Chisholm. She was a Law Enforcement Ranger at Mt. Rainier National Park, a newly assigned L.E., and her first job in terrible weather was to find a guy who’d robbed the tourist center. A masked man waved a gun at two terrified clerks, took money, but didn’t fire his pistol. Might have taken off in a gray Camry. No license number. Where the hell did he go?

Since it was eight o’clock on Christmas Eve, only a few rangers were on duty. Chief Randle had sent Sable and four other L.E’s out before the storm hit, singly in their Tahoe trucks, each assigned different towns in search of the gray sedan. Local cops were on the hunt, too, but they were understaffed this holiday season. Now stuck in traffic in Ashford, Sable got orders via her car radio: “Stand down. 10-13. Wait out the storm. Report your location.”

Sable was not an agent who liked to wait, and she wasn’t afraid to skid down slick roads looking for a criminal. In fact, if her boss hadn’t ordered her to desist, she would have continued her pursuit, because an on-duty brain injury made her a relentless ranger. She’d been poisoned a year ago by carbon monoxide seeping into a motel room where she and her partner ran a stakeout. Billy had died; Sable’s amygdala, the part of the brain controlling fear and flight/fight responses, was damaged. Weeks of acting out, absent fear, had ruined her reputation in L.A. Months of work with a therapist got her back to active duty and assigned to Mt. Rainier.

The chief’s orders were firm and since a layer of ice under the snow-pack was yanking her car all over the road, she gave in. She might be alarmless, but she’d learned how to check recklessness. “If I’m stopping; let’s hope the perp will do the same.” Sable turned right, sliding through the parking lot to a slot in front of the motel. Other cars, swathed with snow so they looked like moguls on a ski slope, rested in silence on her right and left. Was one of the autos a Camry belonging to the robber? No way to tell.

She pulled on boots and plowed through two feet of snow. Even though she kicked piled-up snow away from the door, opening it took all her strength. As she shook flakes off her ranger hat and brushed off her shoulders, she was surprised to be standing in a dark vestibule, walls painted black, the room lit with a giant pink neon sign: ‘SINNERS.’

“Oops,” she said at the same time a burly guy emerged, his shiny baldhead colored peach by the neon.

“Ranger,” he said in a not-happy-to-see-her tone. “What’s up?”

“Law Enforcement Ranger Chisholm. You are?”

“Spike. Taylor. Partner of Sinners.”

She winced. “I thought there might be room in the ‘inn,’ until I read the whole title of your establishment. I suspect this is more than a motel, or…perhaps, less?”

“No vacancies at Sinners.”

She peeked behind the entry wall. A smoky bar, full of men. The smell of French fries tinged with beer and Pine Sol wafted her way, reminding her she’d skipped dinner. Her stomach growled and Spike’s eyebrow went up at the sound.

“Where are the women?” Sable asked.

Spike’s expression tightened. “Asleep? Watching The Christmas Story in their rooms?”

“We’ve got a criminal on the loose, with a gun,” she said. “Nobody can drive these roads, not even a desperate man. Which guys came in recently?”

“These men are here for the same reason you are. All but a couple regulars showed up in the last hour.”

She surveyed the foyer and considered the lounge she’d seen behind the wall. “You retrofitted the motel caretaker’s house into a bar, motel rooms attached.”

“Full service on Highway 706.”

“Right now I don’t care what’s going on in your motel rooms unless my guy’s in one of them. He robbed the park visitors’ center, armed.”

He stared at her.

Sable was quiet for a moment, considering her options. She couldn’t leave the premises because of the crappy weather and neither could the criminal if he was hanging out in the bar or in one of the rooms. Her cop feelers hinted her UNSUB was here, but how was she going to find him?

A small Christmas tree artfully designed out of coat hangers, stood on the counter, its tiny lights blinking green, urging a soft strategy. She stuffed her hat on a shelf under the tree. Next came her Kevlar vest and equipment belt. Once she’d tucked her gun into her sock, she said, “Don’t touch my belt.”

“Wait,” Spike said, eyes rounding when she began to unbutton her ranger-issue shirt.

Sable threw the shirt in the shelf and straightened her t-shirt. “You keep your mouth shut about who I am or I close your business for months. Today, I don’t want you, I want my gun-toting UNSUB.”

Spike nodded slowly, open-mouthed.

She swept up her shoulder-length hair and crunched it into a hair clip. “I’m going in there. Story is: My car’s stuck in a snow bank and I need a tow.”

He nodded again. “I won’t say who you are, but I’m not going to save your ass in there.”

“No problem.” A smile, then: “Let’s see what songs a room full of trapped drunk men will sing.”

Spike flipped a hand at her. “Have at it, ranger.”

Thanks for reading Part 1 of my Christmas story. Part 2 comes tomorrow...stay tuned!