The speaker was an older man, tall, and distinguished. His salt and pepper hair was cut in a high and tight that suggested military service. 

“Marshals are here to pick up Huffman,” Bergman said. “Hunter decided to be himself, and they took offense. Sorry, Sheriff, I tried to-”

The Sheriff strode into the center of the room like he owned the place, which to be fair, he kind of did, in a custodian of the people sort of way. He looked at his offers, and over to Thomas and Greg, and shook his head in disgust. 

“I’m sure you did you best,” he said reassuringly. “Hunter? If you don’t get your hand away from your piece, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Can’t do that, Sheriff,” Hunter snarled. “Ain’t about to let my little cousin go with-”

Before either Greg or Tom could react, the Sheriff drew his Glock 17 and socketed it neatly underneath Hunter’s chin, hard enough to click his teeth together. 

“That wasn’t a suggestion, boy,” he said coolly. “I don’t care who your daddy is or how much he donates to my campaign. I realize you’re young and dumb, but those Deputy Marshals, they’re stone-cold killers. I won’t risk good folks over your spoiled ass. Bergman? Cuff this little idiot before he does something truly stupid.”

Bergman levered himself out of his chair and complied. Greg noted with no small amount of satisfaction that he was none too gentle about it, either. Hunter didn’t dare complain, not with his jaw clamped shut by the barrel of a gun. Only when he was safely restrained did the Sheriff lower his piece. 

Greg took a deep, cleansing breath, forcing the tension out of his muscles. 

“Sorry about that, gentlemen,” the Sheriff said. “If it had just been Hunter, I might’ve let you ventilate him just to get him out of my hair, but I couldn’t let you take good men down with him.”

“S’all good, Sheriff,” Greg said. “Shit happens.”

“That it does,” the Sheriff agreed. “So, what brings you out my way? I overheard something about the Huffman kid?”

“The FBI suspects that she may be involved in terroristic activities, based on her Internet postings,” Thomas said, stepping forward smoothly. The Sheriff was not a good old boy, and there was a decent chance he’d respond better to someone with a little more polish. “We happened to be in the area, so we agreed to swing by and pick her up.”

“Well, I can’t say I blame her,” the Sheriff said. “Between you and me, her father’s about the biggest piece of shit in the county. Fire and brimstone on Sunday, moonshine and methamphetamine throughout the rest of the week. Shame he’s a Presbyterian. The jokes about Crystal Methodists just about write themselves. The kid will be out shortly. I’d, uh, take it as a kindness if you don’t bring her back. Probably best for all involved.”

“Assuming the FBI doesn’t want to press charges, we’ll see to it that she gets a good social worker,” Thomas lied. “Now that she’s on our radar, I’m not inclined to send her back into the environment. If she wasn’t bad before, she will be, given enough time.”

“Thank you,” the Sheriff said. “Name’s Sam Freidman, by the by.”

“Deputy Marshal Brooks,” Tom said, offering his hand. “This is my partner, Deputy Marshal Givens.”

“I bet they gave you all kinds of hell in training,” Sheriff Freidman said. He shook Tom’s hand, then traded grips with Greg. 

“More’n a little,” Greg replied. “Go figure, Elmore Leonard is popular among our folks. Least they ain’t made a TV show yet. I’d never hear the end of it.”

It didn’t take long for someone to bring Huffman to the front. Greg had no idea what he’d looked like pre-transition. Short, painfully skinny, that much was nothing new. More girlish than he remembered, but there was stuff for that. Archie was dressed in a simple dress made from what looked like denim, with a white T-shirt underneath. He’d apparently tried to cut his hair at some point, probably with a knife, judging by the roughness and unevenness of the ends. 

He also had a massive black eye, and cuts and scrapes all over his bare feet. 

“The hell happened here?” Thomas demanded. “You know we’re supposed to take inventory of the prisoner, right?”

“We picked her up like that,” the Sheriff said, apologizing. “Apparently, her daddy had some words after she cut her hair and she took off. Caught her trying to break into the library.”

Archie bristled at being called “her,” but wisely kept his mouth shut. 

“Got anything we need to sign?” Greg asked. 

“Nah. Not gonna charge the kid, not if she’s got Federal trouble on top of anything else. You want us to keep her cuffed?” 

“We’ll be fine,” Greg promised. “How about it, kid? You gonna run off on us?”

“You here to take me back to my daddy?” Archie asked, chin thrust in the air defiantly. 

“No, we definitely are not,” Thomas replied. 

“Then no sir, I am not.”