Above the Law Read Online Free Page A

away. The conscientious ones had listened to the weather station and had been warned that the storm was coming. Like the girls and me, they were grateful to have found a refuge where they could wait out the storm in comfort.
    I approached the bartender. “Pay phone?” I had to call Riva, let her know I was all right.
    He shook his head. “Phone lines are out. Got a generator and a propane backup in case we lose our gas and electric, but no phone. I’d let you use mine, but it’s dead, too. Sorry.” As if to make amends for my disappointment, which he had nothing to do with, he plunked an old-fashioned glass on the counter. “First one’s on the house. Name it.”
    After what I’d been through, a drink was what the doctor ordered. “Johnnie Walker Black?”
    “Ice?”
    “Neat’s fine.”
    He took down a bottle from the back bar, poured generously. I sipped—it burned going down, the good burn. I raised my glass in toast.
    The girls, having changed their tops and generally freshened up, emerged from the bathroom. They flopped into one of the free booths. Marilyn patted the empty seat next to her, an invitation to sit down.
    “I’ve got to get something out of the truck,” I said. “Order me …” I glanced at the menu. The specialty of the house was chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes, country gravy, and choice of two veg. Not today. “A western omelet easy, hash browns, sourdough toast. And coffee.”
    “You’re going back out? That’s crazy,” Marilyn said.
    I swallowed the rest of my drink. “If I’m not back in an hour, send the St. Bernards.”
    The wind was howling as badly as it had been earlier, maybe worse. Large drifts were forming against the sides of the restaurant and the vehicles. Even bigger ones were pyramiding in the parking lot and on the highway, creating sand dunes.
    I fought my way to the truck, yanked open the door, and grabbed my cell phone out of the glove compartment. Dropping it into my pocket, I fought my way back to the safe harbor.
    The highway was shut down. Nothing was going to be moving until the storm was over and the road was cleared; at least overnight, maybe longer. We were stuck in Brigadoon, home of the high desert’s best chicken-fried steak.
    Riva’s voice on the telephone was thick with relief “I’ve been worried sick. This storm’s all over the news. Is there a television where you are?”
    “Yes.” I hadn’t paid it any attention. Looking up at it, from where I was standing at the bar, I could see pictures of sand blowing. If I didn’t know the storm was right on top of me, I would have thought they were shots of the Sahara.
    “They say it’s the worst sandstorm ever recorded in California,” she said. “It’s not supposed to stop until late tonight or tomorrow.”
    “I believe it.” Looking outside, I couldn’t see anything, not the cars in the parking lot, the highway, it was all sand. It was evening now, but it could have been high noon, there still wouldn’t have been any sunlight. I explained where I was, the circumstances of getting here, a quick description of the Brigadoon and my fellow stranded pilgrims.
    “Sounds like you’ve got it made.” In the background I could hear Bucky making impatient noises. It was dinnertime, she had been in the middle of feeding him when I called. “Three college babes hot for your bod and a well-stocked bar.”
    “This is true.”
    “Keep your hands to yourself and don’t get too drunk.”
    “I can do that.” That was the last thing on my mind, either of those possibilities.
    “Here, talk to your son.”
    Bucky’s voice sang to me. “Daddy, when are you coming home?”
    “As soon as I can.”
    “I love you, Daddy. Come home now.”
    “I love you, too, sweet boy. I’ll be home just as fast as I can.”
    Riva came back on. “It sounds like you won’t get home until tomorrow, if then.”
    “I guess. Even after it stops, the roads’ll have to be cleared.”
    “Don’t push it. Be