Memphis Legend

by Brian Crawford

  “Boyd, it’s time to get you home. I don’t have to work today, so why don’t we pack you up and I’ll drive you back to Huntsville.”

  “You’re forgetting something.”

  “What?”

  “Brent and Daryl.”

  “Crap, I forgot all about those two douchebags. I guess we’ll give them a ride down to Tupelo. Seems like the right thing to do. Man, they are going to stink to high heaven.”

  Boyd and I both laughed at the image of Brent and Daryl stuck inside a panel van with a bunch of power bars, bottled water, and a smelly five-gallon bucket. My smile disappeared as I contemplated the thought of cleaning up the van before returning it to LeClair. If they tipped over that bucket, I might break their fingers after all.

  It took a little over an hour to shower and pack Boyd’s stuff into the Mustang. While locking my door, I heard my phone ring. I almost decided not to answer it. I was glad I did; it was Chief Parker again.

  “Doc, I’ve talked to Jackson. I told him about the tape you have of him and Junior. It didn’t scare him at all. He knows it is worthless, legally speaking.”

  “Okay, so Jackson is smart. Be smarter, Chief, and remember you got the law on your side.”

  “I wasn’t finished, McCain. It’s worse than you think. They have decided to stop implicating Raymond, and are going back to framing Eric. Somehow, I don’t know how exactly, they have planted Eric’s DNA on the gun used to kill Paul Deland. They have hidden the gun and are going to call the State Police and tell them they saw Eric burying it. We are right back where we started. They can mess up my son’s life real bad.”

  “Why do I get the impression there is a great big ‘but’ at the end of this?”

  “They are willing to call a truce. If I give them $15,000 to give to Strasser to keep him off their back, they will tell me where they buried the gun.”

  “That’s a stupid plan. Once you have the gun, there’s nothing to keep you from going after them again.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You said Jackson is smart. He knows how fond you are of taping things, so he wants both of us there when he tells us where it’s at. He also wants you to tape the entire conversation and give him the tape.”

  Well, shit, Jackson might be smarter than I thought. He was up to something. He was probably planning on directing the conversation in such a manner that we might say something that could implicate us in criminal activity. We could take him down, but he would make sure he could take us down as well. Mutual annihilation can be a wonderful deterrent. The United States and the Soviet Union both based their nuclear weapon policies on the same prospect.

  Of course, I could just avoid the problem by not meeting with Jackson. The problem was that if I sat out on the meeting, Jackson would make sure Eric was framed for the crime. Eric’s DNA was already on the tee shirt used to tie Paul to the steering wheel. And now they had DNA evidence linking the gun used on Paul to Eric as well. I was faced with a dilemma. Promises had been made to John and Chief Parker to find the killer, which naturally implied the killer would be brought to justice, not someone else taking the blame for something they didn’t do. I was not sure I was willing to take more chances, make more sacrifices to the cause.

  CHAPTER 38

  In the end, I decided to go along with the Chief to meet with Jackson, but I was adamant about picking the time and the place. No one in their right mind should ever agree to meet with someone they don’t trust on their terms. Control the time and location. One of the things they taught me in Naval Intelligence. And if you can’t control both, then at least control the location. We had decided to meet at the Chief’s cabin at 7:00 p.m. Chief Parker called back later and informed me that Jackson agreed to both. I know I should have been happy about that, but, truth be told, it left me a little unsettled.

  Boyd, on the other hand, seemed almost happy we were back in the fray of things. He kept insisting he had a good feeling about today. I did not share his optimism, and neither did my inner voice. It’s a trap. I kept hearing the words over and over inside my head. I was of the same opinion; I had learned long ago not to argue with my inner voice.

  Boyd was already packed, so preparations for the evening were easy. I grabbed both Glocks and the extra magazines and jumped into my Jeep. Boyd followed me in the Mustang. An hour later we pulled up to the Chief’s cabin, seven hours before my scheduled meeting. The U-Haul panel van was still parked in the shade. The log chains holding the back lift door were still in place.

  I motioned for Boyd to cover me while I unlocked the lift door. “Brent, Daryl, I’m letting you guys go, so don’t try anything. Graham will have a 9mm trained in your direction just in case. Please acknowledge.”

  Brent answered, informing me that both of them were away from the door. As expected, the horrific smell of human feces and ammonia hit my nostrils like a freight train as I lifted the door. Brent and Daryl were sitting near the front of the truck away from the door squinting as their eyes tried to acclimate to the overabundance of light. I suppose I should have pitied them. I didn’t.

  The two men staggered towards the front of the truck. They were stiff, their movements slow and guarded. Spending two days and nights in the back of a U-Haul was not like staying at the Ritz. Both men plopped out of the back of the van onto the awaiting ground, their eyes still acclimating.

  “You’re really letting us go?” Daryl must have learned to keep his mouth shut around me; he was letting Brent do all the talking.

  “Yep, with your fingers still intact. Your boss and I have called a truce. Not only that, but Graham is going to give you a ride down to Tupelo and drop you off at the front door of that horrible looking bar. Now, I need both of you to look at me for a second. Brent Stephens of 649 Oriole Street, Daryl McGregor of 181 Route P, I never, ever want to see either of you again. I don’t want to accidentally run into you two down on Beale Street having a good time. I don’t want to pull over to help a stranded motorist and find out it’s one of you two douchebags. I don’t want to be vacationing on Borneo and see you playing in the surf. If you’re going to retrieve your car, send someone else to pick it up for you. You catching my drift?”

  Daryl nodded, Brent answered in the affirmative.

  Boyd and I let them stretch their legs while I contemplated how I was going to restrain the two men in the back of the car. Life in the back of a van for two days had been pretty hard on them, so I tried to find a comfortable arrangement for them. However, with no partition separating the front from the back, I eventually settled on lots of zip ties in numerous places. Safety first, I always say.

  Once I finished restraining the men inside the Mustang, Boyd took me out of ear’s reach and argued against meeting with Jackson alone tonight. I reminded him that the Chief would also be there, which did little to allay his concerns. Boyd reminded me that Tupelo was only about an hour and a half away; he could be back in plenty of time to watch my back. I told him to go home. He had done a fantastic job. One worthy of praise. He really should look into being a private investigator, especially if the company he worked for would still let him play with their wonderful toys. It was not an easy argument, but one that I won in the end.

  Another thing they taught during my time with the Office of Naval Intelligence was to arrive early to any meeting location and properly scope it out ahead of time. I had over six hours until the meeting. More than enough time.

  Chief Parker’s cabin was, in fact, a log cabin. It looked like the real thing. A thick, sturdy, attractive one story cabin with plenty of windows and an inviting front porch. The cabin was large for a weekend getaway hunting cabin, probably 1600 square feet, with electricity running to the cabin. A TV satellite dish sat atop the building. Chief Parker had splurged and went in for gray sheet metal roofing that added a nice touch. The cabin sat on flat ground surrounded by forest on all four sides. On the west side, the ground rose slowly, yet substantially, forming a large, long hill. I walked off approximately 40 yards of clearing
around the house on all four sides. If my math was correct, that meant the cabin sat in the middle of a little over an acre and a quarter. One small building sat around the back of the cabin that I assumed was the well house. There was only one entrance, a quarter mile long, winding, sparsely graveled driveway cut through the forest on the front. I’d never hunted a day in my life, but if I did, Chief Parker’s cabin looked like the way to do it right.

  My reconnaissance took a little over 45 minutes. Not even two in the afternoon yet. I saw no reason to sit for over five hours, so I drove into town and grabbed lunch at Ray’s diner. If all went well, it would be quite some time before I came to Emmettsville again, and I looked forward to seeing the pleasant gentleman once again. I took my time. Ordered another apple pie and ice cream. Drank three large teas. And I still got back to Chief Parker’s cabin by four. Three hours to kill, which I spent cleaning out the back of the van. I even found a hose around the back of the cabin.

  ***

  Boyd did not like anything about L.T.’s plan, which involved sending him home before his meeting with Jackson. The Estes brothers were backed into a corner trying to fend off a three-pronged attack. It appeared to Boyd that they might have fought off the Chief for now and were maneuvering to get Strasser and L.T. off their back as well. They were desperate, and desperate times call for desperate measures. That’s what worried Boyd. Even a cornered mouse will try and fight when it’s left with no other options.

  L.T’s solution to the problem: have him deliver the Stinky Brothers, Brent and Daryl, back to Tupelo. Screw them; they could find their own way home. Boyd had half a mind to ignore L.T.’s orders and let them out right then and there and let them hitch it the rest of the way. Of course, who in their right mind would pick up two scruffy, stinking rednecks.

  He was roughly 15 minutes outside of Tupelo when he heard Daryl whisper, “Where the fuck do you think they’re going?”

  Brent answered, “Shut up, man. I don’t know. Who cares? We’re almost there.”

  Boyd said, “What are you two talking about? Who did you just see? Someone in those two cars I just saw?”

  Daryl said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t see anyone.”

  “Yeah, right. You’re a terrible liar, dipshit. How about you, Brent, you standing by your dimwitted friend’s answer? Remember, 70 kills, Brent Stephens.”

  Boyd allowed Brent a few extra seconds to ponder over his last statement

  “Those were our guys that just passed us goin’ the other direction. The second car was Strasser’s.”

  Boyd looked at his watch and checked the time. “See, that wasn’t so hard. As a reward, I’m going to take you guys all the way to the bar instead of making you walk the next 15 miles.”

  Strasser’s parking lot was empty when Boyd arrived 15 minutes later. He snipped Brent’s right hand loose with a pair of diagonal cutters, then handed him the pliers. “Cut yourself loose. Then cut your idiot friend loose. Then get the hell out of my car. Remember, what Dr. McCain told you; he doesn’t want to see you ever again. Me, you won’t ever see me again, because if I see you, then I’ll make sure you never see anything ever again.”

  L.T. had told them that Boyd was a contract killer. It seemed like a good idea to keep the legend going. It took over five minutes for Brent to cut both of them loose. Boyd’s fixed his SIG on them as they slowly exited the car. Once they were away from the car, he jumped in the Mustang and sped off toward Emmettsville. Sometimes a Sergeant has to disobey his Lieutenant; this seemed like one of those times.

  ***

  Cleaning the U-Haul was dirty work. It reminded me a visit to my grandfather’s farm as a kid. Smelly. I was cooling off resting on the porch swing sipping from one of my water bottles when Chief Parker arrived in his official Sheriff Department vehicle. He was in uniform. Crisp creases in the olive colored pants and khaki shirt. No tie or hat, but otherwise real official looking. Usually, he just had on dark jeans, a khaki shirt, and his badge. Another new feature was his duty belt. It was the first time I had seen him wear one. The duty belt was simple. There was no baton, no chemical spray, no flashlight, no radio, no taser. Just a black leather belt equipped with two sets of handcuffs and a couple of Speedloaders for the Smith & Wesson .357 N-frame revolver he was wearing. The .357 was a surprise. Especially since a man of his slight build was carrying the large N-frame. Regardless, it was a great gun. I did not own any revolvers, but if I did, a Smith & Wesson N-frame .357 would have been my second choice, right after the Colt Python.

  “First time I’ve seen you with a gun, Chief. You thinking this might go poorly?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what to expect, other than expecting the unexpected seems like a good rule of thumb. Remember, until a couple of days ago I didn’t even know we had organized crime in our town. By the way, you’re early.”

  “You have no idea, Chief. I was here at noon.”

  “Holy cow, I thought a half hour was early.”

  “Navy spy, remember. By the way, I’ve seen nothing suspicious in the whole time I’ve been here. No sign of the Estes A-holes. Or anyone else for that matter.”

  Chief Parker pulled out a key and opened the front door of the cabin. “I would offer you a drink, but you don’t look like you need one. Need to use the facilities?”

  “No, I’m good. I’ve been watering your lawn all afternoon.”

  “Glad to know it was only watering. Give a quick tour, then?”

  “Sure. Nice looking place on the outside; it would be nice to see what the inside looks like.”

  Chief Parker escorted me in and gave me a guided tour. It was an attractive three bedroom, two bath log cabin. Rustic decor, fireplace, elevated ceilings. I liked it. Right up until I heard the unmistakable sound of a revolver hammer being cocked into place while I was examining the kitchen. Maybe I should have been surprised, but with all the twists and turns of the last few days, the whole thing seemed almost natural. I turned to see the Chief pointing the .357 directly at me. The hammer was cocked. His finger was on the trigger.

  “This is how it’s going to play out, huh, Chief? So my original assumption that you were a dirty cop was…?”

  “False.” The look on his face said it all. Sorrow mixed with fear. He was not a dirty cop, but he was a desperate man. “You don’t have kids. You don’t know how it is. What lengths you will go to, to keep them safe.”

  “Whatever is going to help you sleep at night, Chief. You won’t get away with it, you know. No offense, you just lack the temerity and expertise to pull this off without getting caught, even if you are a good liar. Plus, you have to realize by now, since you talked with both Strasser and Jackson, that I have not been acting alone.”

  “What makes you think I’ve been talking to Strasser?”

  “You knew I taped Strasser’s men talking with Junior. I never told you that. Jackson didn’t know either. Care to tell me how this is going down?”

  “Sure, I guess. After you and your friend shot up Jackson’s car last night, they were stranded. Strasser and his men were planning on coming into Emmettsville and finishing them when they came across them just sitting by their car. Instead of a firefight, cooler heads prevailed, and they reached an agreement. They were no longer going to attack each other and instead were going to focus everything on eliminating you. The only problem was that they weren’t exactly sure how. You kept outsmarting them.”

  “Yeah, I’m smart, they’re dumb. Can we just fast forward to why you’re pointing a gun at me?”

  “I’m here because they aren’t as dumb as you think. Jackson approached me telling me that they had the DNA evidence I told you about earlier. If I didn’t go along with setting you up, then Eric would be framed for murder. Plain and simple. Sorry, but family is family, and my son is innocent. I can’t let him take the fall for something he didn’t do.” He actually looked remorseful.

  “They will own you, Chief. You will be their bitch from here on out.”

&n
bsp; “I don’t care. It’s all about my son.”

  “Well, shit. You sound convinced. Do it, then.”

  Chief Parker still had the gun extended in his right hand. It had been for the last couple of minutes, which meant it had to be getting tired. And tired makes for sloppy. I could already see the front end of the gun dropping a little.

  “Not here.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Chief. You’re going to have to shoot me right here in your own damn kitchen. No way am I going to make this easier on you. Forensically, you’ll never get the blood out of the cracks in this floor. If you were going to kill someone in your kitchen, you should have put down tile.” The Chief’s confidence was slipping. “And before you say, no big deal, remember, I still have associates who know I’m here, and I’ve been keeping Special Agent Sande abreast of my comings and goings.”

  It was a lie; however, it was a good one. Whatever confidence remained inside Chief Parker was completely eroded at the mention of Agent Sande. His head hung low, possibly in shame. The front of the gun dropped a little further.

  Without warning, I sprung into action, stepping forward with my left foot while pivoting and ducking at the same time to add both a vertical and lateral component to my evasive maneuver, making it twice as hard for the Chief to track me with his revolver. For a split second, my back was to the Chief as I was closing the 15-foot gap between us. When I spun back around, now seven feet closer, I noticed the Chief had reflexively raised his right arm. His tired right arm over compensated. His aim was too high. Plus, I was still ducked. The high-pitched crack of the .357 reverberated through the cabin stinging my ears. His shot was not even close. Bewilderment spread across his face as I grabbed the revolver with my left hand and pushed the revolver even further away from my body. The Chief’s left hand came up to help wrestle with the gun. Just like Tom Harty, all his attention was focused on the gun.