I raise my palms up in a show of surrender. “Sorry.” I point to Arn. “I … I’m here for him,”

The guard relaxes his grip on the gun. “Ya got bail, pal?”

I inch up on my elbows so my head’s upright. The goose egg where my head hit the concrete throbs. “What’s the charge?”

The guard lets the gun barrel tilt to the floor and wipes a hand over the sweat dotting his bald head. “Owes for the goods he stole."

I glance at my stepfather, who’s upright but leaning against the wall for support. His left hand clutches his abdomen. There’s more wrong with him than a busted face.

“Dat’s a lie,” Arn mumbles as if his mouth’s stuffed with rocks. He spits dark brown flecks of dried blood on the cell floor.

The big guard, who reminds me of the bald guy from the cleaning bottles I saw in the general store, shrugs. “Don’t matter. Sheriff already done sentenced ya. Ya stay ‘til ya pay as the Sheriff say.” He guffaws loudly at his rhyme, his big lips crinkling up in a grin. He looks at me, hoping I’m in on his joke. I’m not. The smile fades from his mouth, but he’s decided I’m not a threat, either. He lumbers to the desk near the door and plops down in the metal folding chair. He lays the shotgun across the desktop and wipes more sweat off his brow. “So, you got bail?”

I ease up slow so not to disturb my pounding head. I give Arn a questioning look.

“Git outta here.” Arn coughs and spits again. This time the floor is stained bright red.

There’s no point in starting to obey Arn now. I pull myself up, walk over to the guard’s desk and dig out my gun slip. My fingers tremor as I lay the paper on his desk. “I got a gun to trade.”

The guard shakes his head and beads of sweat fling off the bald surface. “Can’t make the deal, Neil,” a goofy smile touches his lips, “but I can tell ya that ain’t gonna be enough.”

I put my hands on the chipped wood. “What about a four-wheeler in great condition?”

The guard shrugs. “Maybe. You gonna have to wait at this rate ‘cause he’s late.” He grins sloppily now, despite himself.

“Huh?” I ask.

The smile slips and he waves a dismissive hand at me. “Never min’. Sit there ’til Warden come.”

“Warden?”

“He’ll tell you yeah or nay on that quad. Should be back in tick.”

I sit on one of the dented folding chairs that are strewn haphazardly next to the cells. Arn and I don’t speak, but he keeps nodding toward the door. I shake my head. He sighs and slides down to the floor, wincing and running a hand over his ribs.

Seeing him like this kills me. Who hurt him? The only one around is the guard, though he doesn’t seem like the face-busting type. He’s too busy picking his nose and eating it.