Public Enemies

“Hell,” Raccoon said, bouncing down the road out of town. “I ain’t never seen coppers get themselves organized so fast.”

Owl stared past the sacks of bills and out the rear windshield.

“That was something,” he said, turning around and biting down hard on the rising pain.

“Where’d they all come from?” Raccoon asked. “Think someone tipped ‘em?”

Owl shrugged. They drove past pastures, empty of cattle, a cloud of dust kicking up behind them.

“Hey now,” Raccoon said, seeing Owl slumped against the door. He reached over, flipped his partner’s jacket away and saw the shirt soaked in blood.

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