Chet eyed the old woman. She looked familiar, somehow, and while he couldn’t be sure, he thought he’d seen her in the bank when he went in to apply for his loan.

“She can suck the chrome off a trailer hitch,” Shaved Head promised.

The woman smiled proudly.

“No, no. I’m good,” Chet assured them. There was a short pause in the conversation, and he jumped in. “Well, I’d better get going. It’s been a long night.” He took out his key, moved toward the Jeep.

“Reason we’re here,” Duck Dynasty said (he seemed to be the leader), “is cuz we’re members of your army.”

“Excellent,” Chet replied.

“And we were thinking that maybe it’s about time we became a real army.”

Chet stopped. A real army. He had to admit that the idea was appealing.

“Hell yeah!” Shaved Head declared.

An actual armed force? It wasn’t unheard of. There were citizen militia groups who patrolled the border. He didn’t see any reason why they couldn’t have such a group patrolling Montgomery, doing the job that worthless sheriff should be doing. It might even make the sheriff toe the line a little.

Duck Dynasty seemed to be reading his mind. “There’s a lot of bad hombres out there, and that pussy sheriff ain’t doin’ shit about it. Instead, he’s killin’ innocent people like your brother, lettin’ people be crucified in the middle of town. What kinda lawman’s that?”

“A worthless one,” the twin on the left said.

“We all have guns. Ain’t no reason we couldn’t be out there protectin’ the town.”

Chet looked at the old lady. Had she somehow put this idea in their minds? He wasn’t sure where that notion had come from or what had made him think it, but these four weren’t the brightest bulbs in the box, and the knowing expression on her wrinkled face made him think it could be the case.

Had the bank put her up to it?

That was a definite possibility. Technically, in lieu of interest on his loan, all he had to do was provide the bank with free air time for commercials—which he had already done tonight. That quid pro quo was the only agreement stipulated in writing. But implicit in the banker’s approval of this arrangement was the idea that he might be called upon to provide extra favors.

How was this a favor to the bank, though?

“I don’t see that fuckin’ sheriff crackin’ down on illegals,” Shaved Head offered. “Half my kid’s class is brown. When I was growin’ up, there was none of that shit. Where did they all come from? That’s somethin’ a private army could do somethin’ about.”