Take a Chance

by D. Jackson Leigh

  * * *

  Jamie cruised the highway, then steered her patrol car toward town. She had hoped to dream about little Amiga being reunited with the beautiful stallion, but flashes of the pup’s surgery mutated to bloody wounds in the desert, then Adder’s tormented eyes. She’d checked in with Toby and Pete, but Toby said last time they’d seen him, Adder looked real bad. She’d seen plenty of soldiers return with the ghosts from their tour of duty haunting them. They sometimes still haunted her. Like last night when she woke up shaking and sweating, a silent scream lodged in her throat.

  She shuddered and began to count. Ten utility poles, twelve, sixteen, twenty-three goats, ten, fifteen, twenty fence posts and a cat sitting on the twenty-first post. Three rural mansions, two ranch-style houses, ten houses on the first block as farms gave way to neighborhoods.

  Jamie was jerked from the distraction she’d learned to stave off those memories when Petunia barked an alert from the rear seat. She sighed when she spotted a gray-haired woman blatantly taking a hit from a one-shot pipe as she rocked on her porch. Grace had warned her to leave Old Lady Jackson alone and concentrate on the drug runners passing through to the interstate. She only smoked enough to ease her arthritis, Grace explained. She bought a bag of weed every six to eight weeks—depending on the weather—with money she made writing smutty romance novels. Nothing was gained by busting every artist, writer, or old farmer who self-medicated with what was once a common pain reliever for poor people. Jamie privately agreed, but rules were rules, and ignoring them didn’t sit exactly right with her.

  “Stand down, P,” Jamie said as her attention drifted to the other side of the street to a woman wearing fuzzy orange slippers and one of those thin, cotton shifts her grandma used to call a “housedress.” She was so focused on the huge, hideous flowers adorning the housedress and the ceramic angel holding a brightly colored “Thank You, Jesus” sign in the yard, she didn’t immediately realize the woman was waving both hands over her head in a frantic “stop” gesture.

  Jamie released her seat belt and reached to open the cruiser’s door as she steered over to the curb. “Do you need assistance?” she asked, slamming the car into park and jumping out onto the sidewalk with her hand on her service weapon.

  “It would take God’s army to save this town, but you can start by arresting that heathen over there—Agnes Teresa Marie Jackson. She sits there every day, using drugs right out in the open.”

  Jamie followed the woman’s pointing finger to Old Lady Jackson, who pointed back with her middle finger. “You’re just mad, Clarice, cause John White retired and that new pharmacist won’t refill your valium prescription that expired twenty years ago,” Old Lady Jackson yelled.

  “I need those pills for my nerves. You’re just a flat-out criminal,” Clarice shouted back. She turned pleading eyes on Jamie. “I can’t even have my grandchildren come to my house because I’m afraid the wind might blow some of that vile smoke this way, and next thing you know, they’ll all be in a drug rehabilitation program.”

  Petunia stuck her head through the open window of the cruiser and yipped her “need to pee” bark. Jamie sighed and released her from the car.

  “Lord almighty, what’s that smell?” Clarice drew a handkerchief from one of the large pockets on her housedress and flapped it in Petunia’s direction. “Don’t let that dog do her business in my yard.”

  Jamie didn’t answer. Petunia had been doing really well until last night when her flatulence problem had begun to resurface. MJ had admitted feeding Petunia a bit of the ice cream that Trip hadn’t cleared yet, so Jamie was hoping that was the cause. At the moment, she had a truce to negotiate between a crusader and drug offender. She crossed the street with Petunia on her heels. Old Lady Jackson took a deep drag from her pipe and looked Jamie over as she and Petunia approached.

  “Um-um,” Ms. Jackson said, her voice deep and a bit dreamy. “Grace must be doing the hiring these days.” She pushed off the arms of the rocking chair to stand, slowly straightening her legs and back, then sauntering smoothly to the top of the steps. She leaned casually against the white column that supported the roof. “Our police force is looking better and better.”

  Jamie smiled down at the brick sidewalk and shook her head. Old Lady Jackson wasn’t all that old, now that Jamie had a closer look. Age had sagged the skin some around her eyes, and the joints in her fingers were thick with arthritis, but her broad shoulders and surgery-scarred knees spoke of a former athlete. Her lazy grin and shameless flirting told Jamie this woman might have been a player in her prime. “I’m Deputy Jamie Grant, and I appreciate the compliment, Ms. Jackson. But I need you to cooperate with me a little.”

  “You can drop the Ms., Deputy Jamie Grant. My friends just call me Jackson, but when I was a teen some of the girls started to call me ATM and that stuck, too.”

  “Ah. Agnes Teresa Marie?”

  “That’s what I told my dear old mother, but the girls said it stood for All That and More.” She winked. “So, ATM Jackson at your service.” She shifted her gaze from Jamie to Petunia. “And so is my yard, if your partner needs to make use of it.”

  “Thanks.” Jamie struggled to keep her expression neutral. Seriously? Did lesbians Jackson’s age really pick up women with silly come-ons like that? She signaled release and Petunia jetted to the side of the house.

  Jackson laughed. “Grace told me she was hiring a deputy with a drug-sniffing dog, but that one is way off base if she thinks I’m growing something besides azaleas in that flower bed.”

  Jamie’s smile slipped away as her face heated. She didn’t like people who laughed at her dog. “She’s shy about relieving herself.” She crossed her arms over her chest and gave Jackson a hard stare. “And she already alerted to the marijuana smoke as we were driving up. I told her to stand down.”

  “Why, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Deputy.” Jackson held up a zippered pouch. I was just smoking a little of this special blend from the tobacco store downtown. It smells a little sweet, but it isn’t marijuana.” She pushed off the post she was propped against, spread her stance, and lifted her arms. “Go ahead, search me. It’ll be the biggest thrill I’ve had all month. Probably even top that morning last week when Clarice was chasing a cat out of her yard and the automatic sprinkler switched on.”

  Jackson’s cocky grin sealed Jamie’s decision. Petunia rounded the house and sat at Jamie’s heel. “P. Go find.”

  The little dog sprang up the steps, pausing to sniff Jackson’s legs, then nudging her hand before sitting and staring at it. Jackson held up the pipe cradled in her hand, and Jamie flicked her fingers in a silent command. Petunia went to the end of the porch and began to work her way back toward them as Jamie moved up the steps to watch her dog work.

  Petunia sniffed around the three rocking chairs lined up on the porch, then tracked to the railing at the front of the porch. She stood on her hind legs and scratched at the thick top railing that was mostly hidden from the street by large, blooming rhododendrons, before sitting, looking at Jamie, and giving several decisive barks.

  Jamie gave Jackson a sharp look, and Jackson shrugged.

  “I set my pipe there earlier. That’s probably what she smells.”

  Jamie stepped over to Petunia. “Good, girl, P.” She rewarded Petunia with an ear scratch before knocking her knuckles along the banister. When the solid sound turned hollow, she felt along the unusually thick board. There—a slight edge on the outside lower lip and perpendicular lines at either end of that edge. Jamie pressed against the underside of the top rail, then slid back the cover of the concealed compartment. A plastic bag of marijuana dropped into her other hand cupped under the rail.

  Jamie tossed the bag and Jackson neatly snatched it out of the air. “This was really too easy for her.”

  Jackson eyed her. “Are you going to arrest me?”

  “Nope. Sergeant Booker told me about you. I’m after bigger fish. The guys who pump this stuff and worse into urban ar
eas where people use it to forget their circumstances rather than treat their aches. But P enjoys the practice.”

  Petunia wagged her tail at the sound of her name, and a high-pitched “pssst” was followed by an eye-watering odor.

  Jackson coughed and stepped back, pulling the collar of her shirt up to cover her nose. “Damn, that’s foul. Did something die inside that dog?”

  Jamie glared at Jackson from where she’d moved to the bottom of the steps. “If you don’t stop antagonizing your neighbor, we’ll have to come back. I think P might like to sit with you on the porch for a while.”

  Jackson backed up against her front door. “No, not that. Please, Deputy. I’ll be good.”

  Jamie shook her head at Jackson’s clowning, then pointed at the empty flag pole holder nailed to the porch support. “I want you to put an American flag out and be nice to your neighbor if she comes over.” She slapped her thigh. “Heel, P. Let’s go smooth things over with Miss Clarice.”

  * * *

  “Well, I’m pretty sure what’s going on right now, but are you okay, Gracie?” MJ stood with her hands perched on her hips, eyes politely glued to the ceiling. Trip and Clay, however, stared while Trip reached behind MJ’s back to lightly punch Clay on the arm. Grace wasn’t missing. She was busy. Like Clay had been busy with River lately. Mmm. Trip frowned. Like she wanted to be busy with Jamie. Her mind jumped to their college locker room…no, the shower in the locker room. Jamie asking for her shampoo. The punch to her shoulder from Clay brought Trip back from naked Jamie to the bed in front of them where naked Grace and…holy crap! Was that Dani?

  Grace pulled the blanket tighter around her and Dani. “What are y’all doing here? It’s early and I’m…we’re busy.”

  Too busy. Trip had expected Dani to court Grace like she meant something. Not jump her like a softball tournament fling.

  “We’ve been calling your cell and no one in town has seen you since Wednesday,” MJ said. “What else could we do but launch a full-on search?”

  “What’s up, Grace?” Trip frowned. Something was off here. Had Grace drunk so much that she was still slurring her words this morning? In all the years they’d been friends, she’d never seen this happen.

  “Seriously, dude?” Clay apparently read the same tea leaves and was using her laser vision to burn a hole in Dani, the person she judged responsible.

  Dani jumped up, clad in boxers and sports bra. “I don’t know what you think is going on, but I’m pretty sure you’re wrong.”

  “And I’m pretty sure I’m smart enough to figure out what’s going on, and I don’t like it, not one little bit, sport.” Clay eyed Dani hard.

  Trip wasn’t so sure. If something was going on, Dani definitely lost points for still having clothes on…or maybe it was Grace who should lose points. There must be a lesbian Miss Manners rule book on all this.

  “Trip, Clay—”

  “Hold on, Grace.” Clay stalked Dani like a hunter on safari. “Did you or did you not throw Grace over your shoulder and haul her out of a bar Friday night in Savannah?”

  “Well, I—”

  Now they had Trip’s full attention. She should have listened while Clay talked on the way over instead of plotting revenge for the waffle theft. She moved next to Clay and they advanced on Dani.

  “Just answer the question,” Clay said.

  “Yes, but—” Dani’s escape route blocked, she raised her hands in surrender.

  “We spent the whole day together yesterday, and you didn’t say one word about…this.” Trip shook her head. That was it, wasn’t it? She’d liked and trusted Dani. Now, doubt was already creeping in. What else was Dani hiding?

  “I never pictured you as that type, Dani,” MJ said.

  “Stop it!” Grace screamed from the bed.

  They all turned to her.

  “I never figured y’all as the lynching type either. Get away from her.”

  Was that what they were doing? Jamie had assumed a lot of things about Trip. Was she doing the same to Dani? What Clay was insinuating didn’t match up with the woman Trip had been working with over the past few weeks.

  “I mean it. Move. Now.” Grace tried to stand up, then slumped back on the bed and grabbed her head. “Oh crap.”

  Trip and Clay instantly turned away—because Grace was naked—but MJ ran to Grace’s side and handed her a robe. Trip lost her focus on their conversation when Clay tapped her and jerked her head toward Dani, who had continued to stare at Grace. Did the woman have no decency? Had she been raised by goats?

  Clay was reaching to push Dani’s shoulder to twirl her around when a change in Grace’s voice broke through their preoccupation with Dani.

  “I’m not really sure what happened the other night myself, but I do know Dani is the only reason it wasn’t a lot worse,” Grace said.

  “What?” Trip grimaced. She and Clay sounded like a Greek chorus.

  Grace nodded to confirm it. “She basically rescued me from some pervert.”

  Dani pushed past them to pull on her jeans, grab her shirt and boots, and start toward the door. “That’s my cue to leave.”

  “No way, dude,” Clay said.

  “Maybe we should let Dani tell her side,” Trip said, ushering Dani and Clay out of the room. “We’ll wait out here until you’re ready. Take care of her, MJ.”

  On their way out of the room, Trip rested her hand on Dani’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze to let her know she wasn’t going to throw her under the bus. Then she thumped Clay in the back. “You owe me ten bucks, Cahill.”

  “Your sidekick here says nothing happened. You owe me a Hamilton.”

  “I need to wrap this up and go to work,” Dani grumbled.

  “Yankee-doodle-doo,” Harry called from the sunroom when he spotted Dani.

  * * *

  “Well, aren’t you going to arrest her?” Miss Clarice glared at Jamie, then across the street at Jackson, who wiggled her fingers in a flippant wave.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that, ma’am.”

  Miss Clarice put her hands on her ample hips. “And why not? She doesn’t even try to hide her drug addiction.”

  “She’s not an addict. She’s part of a government project, but it’s top secret.”

  Miss Clarice frowned. “Is that what she told you?”

  “No, ma’am. I’ve checked her out. But I can’t tell you more than that.”

  Miss Clarice squinted one eye. “Is she some special undercover cop or something? No. That can’t be. She’s lived here all her life. I don’t know that she’s ever held a proper job. Everybody says she runs one of those porn websites on the internet.”

  “No, ma’am. She doesn’t run a porn site. I can promise you that.”

  Clarice’s small eyes lit up. “There was that time she joined the military and went away for a while. They said she was one of those medics. When she came back, none of her family would talk about why she quit the army or why she didn’t ever get a job.”

  Jamie nodded. Got her. She let Petunia into the squad car, then lifted her hat to scratch her head like she was trying to make a hard decision. After a few seconds, she glanced back at Jackson, then stepped close to Miss Clarice and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Will you swear you won’t repeat a word of what I tell you? Somebody needs to know in case something goes wrong.”

  Miss Clarice leaned even closer. “Pinky swear.”

  Jamie almost burst out laughing at Clarice’s extended pinky finger, but the military had taught her how to remain stoic no matter how loud and how close the sergeant got to your face. “I could get into trouble for sharing top secret information. Will you swear on the Bible?”

  Miss Clarice’s eyes widened. “I don’t—”

  “I shouldn’t ask that.” Jamie stepped away. “Forget I said anything.”

  “No. Wait.” She pointed to the angel yard ornament. “With this angel as my witness, I swear on God’s holy word that I won’t repeat anything you say.”

 
Jamie squinted and studied Clarice’s face as if she were struggling with the decision. After a long moment, she stepped close and lowered her voice. “When Ms. …Major Jackson was in the army, she was part of a secret unit trained by the CIA to respond in the event of chemical warfare. There was an accident. I can’t go into details, but those who survived—Major Jackson was one—were medically retired from service.”

  “I suppose that could explain her, um, aberrations.” She leaned close and spoke in an even lower whisper. “She beds women, you know.”

  Jamie frowned at her. “You know that’s not abnormal, don’t you?” She knew it was a stupid question to be asking this woman.

  Miss Clarice stiffened. “The Bible says she’s an abomination.”

  “Major Jackson is a patriot.” Jamie scowled and turned as if to walk away. “I don’t think I can trust you with the rest.”

  “Wait. I’m sorry. God should strike me for judging another. Please tell me the rest.”

  Jamie crossed her arms over her chest, then relented. “Cannabis was used long ago as a poor man’s medicine, just like the original Coca-Cola contained cocaine and was sold as a headache remedy. Medical researchers already know the chemicals in marijuana can be used to treat seizures and a variety of illnesses. The military is exploring its potential for treating battle trauma and chronic pain from war wounds

  “The preacher said that’s just liberal propaganda.”

  “It’s not.” Jamie cast furtive glances as if checking to make sure no one was lurking behind a tree or in Miss Clarice’s azaleas to hear her next words. Miss Clarice’s eyes followed hers, then the two of them put their heads close together. “Now, they believe a buildup in your system might lessen the effect of radiation poisoning…you know, in the event of nuclear war. So, the CIA has recalled what’s left of Major Jackson’s unit to test it. If the researchers are right, she and the others might be the only people who will be able to man our defenses in the event of nuclear war.”