“Hey, boss! Did I wake you?” The voice of the ever-gloomy deputy sounded even more depressed than usual at three in the morning.

  Sheriff Steve glanced once more at the glowing digits on his bedside clock, then groggily spoke into the receiver:

  “What is it, Bill?”

  “Sheriff, you should probably come down to the Redheaded Patrick.”

  “Do we have a body?”

  “Uh… not in direct sight, but one should be around somewhere.”

  “Bill, don’t mess with me. What happened?”

  “Well, we got a few calls. First one said some bikers shot a guy near the Redheaded Patrick. Second one said someone retaliated against the bikers. Third said a group of Arabs were killing someone there. Fourth said someone beat up the Arabs outside the same bar.”

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  “…”

  “Steve? You there?” Bill asked nervously after a minute of silence.

  “Yeah, I… I’m just trying to process what I heard.”

  “So Riley and I didn’t wake you at first—we thought it was a prank. But we still headed to the bar. Found both the bikers and the Arabs. All unconscious. Lots of open fractures. Called the medics.”

  “And the body that’s supposedly missing?”

  “Well, according to random bystanders, the bikers shot someone, then the Arabs tried to decapitate the same guy. There’s blood everywhere, chief. But apparently, he took them all down and ran into the woods. We’ve called in the K9 unit. It’s gonna be a long night.”

  “Alright, Bill, I’m coming over,” the sheriff hung up, cursed, and began getting dressed—when the phone rang again.

  “Hey, Steve! Did I wake you?” This time it was Doc.

  “No, Doc. What’s going on?”

  “Sheriff, you might want to come down to the hospital with a couple of guys. We’ve got a body here.”

  “Gunshot wounds and severed head?” the sheriff asked, oddly specific.

  “Yep,” Doc replied without surprise.

  “On my way. Gotta pick up the boys,” the sheriff hung up and cursed again.