The Sixteen Dollar Shooter (A Rockabye County Western Book 1)

by Edson, J. T.

  ‘We’ve been working on it, but the Day Watch ended at four o’clock and it’s near to six right now.’

  ‘But you should be working on it,’ Noreen protested, adopting the kind of tone which she felt sure would produce the required response. ‘After the way you took the Boyers, you’re the best team for the job.’

  ‘It’s being attended to by a team from the Office right now,’ Brad assured her. ‘Hey though! There’s a real good movie playing at the Bijou. Why don’t you and me go catch it together?’

  ‘I’m still on watch,’ Noreen stated, digging her long fingernails into the leather of the bag in her annoyance at his refusal to say anything which she could use. She noticed that her tone was growing gritty with irritation and tried to change it as she continued, ‘And you should be, too. Damn it, there’s a cop killer on the loose. No peace officer worth his salt should rest until the son-of-a-bitch’s dead.’

  ‘Like I just said, it’s six o’clock and the Day Watch ended at four,’ Brad drawled and saw his partner entering. ‘Over here, Tom!’

  While calling out the last three words, the big blond rose quickly as if meaning to signal for the stocky deputy to join them. Instead, his thighs caught the edge of the table with sufficient force to precipitate Noreen’s bag to the floor.

  ‘Damn it to hell!’ Brad ejaculated, as the woman thrust herself to her feet with an angry exclamation. ‘Lord, how could I be so clumsy? Let me pick it up for you. I sure hope I haven’t damaged anything in it.’

  Making the apology and offer, the big blond started to extract himself hurriedly from behind the table. Such was his apparent eagerness to make amends for his clumsy behavior that he increased it. Catching his foot against the leg of the table, he stumbled and, in trying to regain his equilibrium, stepped on the bag. There was a crunching sound, mingling with Noreen’s furious screech, as his weight crushed down on it.

  ‘God damn it!’ Brad growled in exasperation, removing his foot and scooping up the bag. Conscious that every eye in the room was turning his way, he started to open it and continued, ‘Lordy lord. You must think I’m accident-prone.’

  ‘Give it to me!’ the reporter demanded, barely able to control her temper as she lunged forward and snatched the bag from the big deputy’s hands. She glared at his face, wondering if he had done it on purpose. However, that would mean he knew who she was and she refused to even consider that he might have been smart enough to see through her deception.

  ‘I sure hope nothing’s broken,’ Brad said, looking the picture of contrition and watching her open the bag. ‘I thought that I heard something scrunch—’

  ‘You didn’t!’ Noreen gritted, staring with bitterness at the crushed front of the tape-recorder and realizing that, if not ruined, it would require some costly repairs. To make matters worse, it was her personal property and she doubted whether the editor of the Mirror would reimburse her when he learned of her failure. Closing the flap, without giving the big blond an opportunity to find out that she had lied, she spat out, ‘I think I’ll go before something else happens.’

  ‘That looked like the end of a beautiful friendship,’ Tom commented as he joined his partner and watched the reporter stalking angrily out of the Diner, ‘There’s something familiar about her. Do I know her from someplace?’

  ‘Reckons she’s with the B.W.O. and works out of Traffic, although I’d’ve thought Communications’d’ve been her scene,’ Brad replied. He had already sat down and was returning the packets of salt and sugar which had been spilled during the mishap to their respective containers. ‘Anything doing back on the farm?’

  ‘I snuck out, just in case there should be,’ Tom replied, which the big blond knew to be untrue. Grinning amiably at the waitress who was bringing their order, he went on, ‘Now that’s what I call timing, Laura.’

  ‘Only the best for you, Tom,’ the plump, jovial-looking woman replied. ‘I’m a pushover for men in uniform. Seems like you had a mite of trouble, Brad.’

  ‘Why sure,’ the big deputy conceded. ‘She allowed that nothing was damaged, but I don’t reckon she’ll ever speak to me again. Oh well, there’s always you, Laura.’

  ‘No way. I’m true to Tom,’ the woman warned, setting the well-filled plates in front of the men. ‘He’s a big tipper.’

  ‘Damn it!’ Tom snorted. ‘Now I’ll have to be, or lose you.’

  ‘Hey Tom,’ Brad remarked, after Laura had departed. ‘I’ve been trying to remember what 429 covers.’

  ‘Article 429 of the Offenses Against Public Justice Section?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘It covers what they call “False Personation of an Officer”,’ Tom explained, studying his partner. ‘Why?’

  ‘No real reason, I was just wondering about it is all,’ the big blond drawled, taking up his knife and fork. ‘Boy, this steak looks good enough to eat.’

  ~*~

  ‘This’s Captain Zandis, from the Bureau of Public Relations, gentlemen,’ Sheriff Jack Tragg introduced, indicating the tall, slender, well-dressed, but worried-looking man who was standing by his desk. ‘Deputies Cord and Counter, captain.’

  For all his question, Bradford Counter had not displayed any further interest in Article 429 of the Texas Penal Code during the meal. Nor had Tom Cord continued to press him about his reasons for mentioning it. Although each had guessed that the other had it on his mind, they had not discussed the work which might lie ahead of them. Instead, they had talked about general matters while eating.

  On returning to the Deputies Squad Room, Brad and Tom had been told by the Night Watch Commander that they were to report immediately to the sheriff in his office.

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ Captain Zandis greeted, in the polite but impersonal manner which Brad had noticed was cultivated by most members of the Bureau of Public Relations. ‘Shall I leave, sheriff?’

  ‘I think you’d better stay,’ Jack replied and turned his attention to the two deputies. ‘Gusher City South have had men out checking. They’ve found that three other houses on their list have been burglarized.’

  ‘When?’ Tom inquired, having an idea what had brought Zandis to the Sheriff’s Office.

  ‘Between Friday and today,’ Jack answered. ‘That’s when their owners went on vacation.’

  ‘Anything on the burglar?’ Tom wanted to know.

  ‘Not as yet, but the M.O.’s about the same as the Beagan place. Each house’s a similar kind out of sight of its neighbors. So far, the investigating officers haven’t come up with anything. None of the neighbors saw or heard the vehicle or the burglar.’

  ‘They’d have reported it if they had,’ Tom commented.

  ‘Huh huh,’ Jack grunted. ‘Now, about Stiffkey. He’s been employed as a mechanic in the Division’s garage for the past three months. Which means he hasn’t got a record, or he wouldn’t have been hired. Although his age, height and build tally with Mrs. Coyle’s description, he has short blond hair, brown eyes, a snub nose and even teeth.’

  ‘I said that he might have been wearing a disguise, sir,’ Brad pointed out.

  ‘You did,’ the sheriff agreed. ‘Inspector Parrish tells me that Stiffkey’s been on the range a few times with the local officers and they reckon he’s a pretty fair shot with that big Colt of his. On top of that, he’s the only one with a .45 who hasn’t accounted for what he was doing at the time of the killings.’

  ‘But he might be able to,’ Zandis put in.

  ‘What does he say about it, sir? Tom asked, directing the words at Jack and apparently ignoring the captain’s comment.

  ‘He didn’t turn in for work this morning,’ the sheriff answered. ‘Called the House and said that he’d not been feeling too good and was going to see his doctor.’

  ‘Has he been picked up yet?’ Brad inquired.

  ‘No,’ Jack admitted. ‘Gusher City South are leaving it to you.’

  ‘We thought that it might be advisable to leave the matter in your Office’s han
ds,’ Zandis supplemented. ‘Feelings are bound to be high among the local officers on account of what happened—’

  ‘And you reckon that, with Mano Segovia and Gus Enright having been wasted that way, some of them might not be too choosy about how many pieces of him they bring in, huh?’ Tom challenged, when the captain’s words trailed to an uneasy end. ‘Those two patrolmen were friends of mine, comes to that.’

  ‘Contrary to what you may think, I sympathize with the local officers’ and your feelings,’ Zandis stated, his cheeks reddening and voice taking on a bitter tone. ‘But I have a job to do. I’ve already had a reporter from the Mirror asking if there is any special significance in you and Deputy Counter having been assigned to the case. You know what his newspaper’s line will be in the matter.’

  ‘I’ve a fair idea,’ Tom admitted.

  ‘I want you and Brad to pick Stiffkey up for questioning, Tom,’ Jack Tragg put in, before the stocky deputy could say any more. Opening a drawer, he took out a document which his men recognized. He darted a glance at Zandis, who was moving restlessly, then continued, ‘Here’s a search warrant. It gives you the legal right to enter his premises and examine, or take possession of his property; but you still have to serve it on him. What back-up units do you want, either from the Office, or—’ Once again he met the captain’s eyes, ‘—from Gusher City South?’

  ‘I reckon we can handle it best without help,’ Tom decided, seeing a flicker of relief cross Zandis’s features. ‘Don’t you, Brad?’

  ‘I’m with you, Tom,’ the big blond agreed. ‘It’s my guess that Stiffkey’s so sure he’s fooled everybody, he won’t be expecting us to arrive.’

  ‘Go to it, then,’ Jack authorized and, although addressing the deputies, he was looking straight at Zandis. ‘I’d like to have him brought in alive and unmarked, if possible. But, no matter what the Mirror or any other cruddy leftist rag might say, I figure your lives are of far more use to the community than that of a thief and double murderer. So do whatever you have to do.’

  ‘Yo!’ Tom drawled.

  ‘They’re my instructions, captain,’ the sheriff stated. ‘If you want them repeated in writing—’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Zandis answered stiffly. ‘I’m only trying to do my job and, in my own way, to make things better for all peace officers. Good luck, gentlemen. I’ll be in my office if you need me.’

  ‘There’s one thing, captain,’ Brad said, before the other could move. ‘Who’s handling the story for the Mirror?’

  ‘Anthony Vassel called me,’ Zandis replied and his worried look returned. ‘Why, has he contacted you?’

  ‘Nope,’ Brad replied. While he had not yet met the man in question, they would come into contact officially later in his career as a deputy sheriff. [xxv] ‘Do they have a good looking brunette woman in her late twenties, about five seven, one hundred and twenty pounds?’

  ‘That sounds like Noreen Prentice!’ Zandis interrupted, exhibiting alarm. ‘Have you been talking to her?’

  ‘You might say that,’ the big blond admitted.

  ‘Where?’ Zandis demanded.

  ‘At the Badge Diner,’ Brad replied, conscious of his partner’s scrutiny as well as the other two men’s eyes being fixed on him.

  ‘Did she ask you any questions?’ the captain asked.

  ‘No,’ Brad answered in a reassuring manner.

  Watching Zandis, the big blond felt a touch of remorse and sympathy. Working in the Bureau of Public Relations, he faced problems which the average peace officer never encountered and only rarely appreciated. With so much of the entertainment and news media dominated and used for propaganda purposes by left wing activists, men like the captain struggled to portray the law enforcement agencies as necessary and beneficial organizations. They were up against the Western World’s freedom of speech, which the left wing elements misused blatantly and would not hesitate to suppress if they gained control of the country. To add to their difficulties, there were peace officers who made comments which could be twisted into an entirely different meaning and used to damage their image.

  ‘Are you sure ?’ Zandis insisted. ‘She’s damned clever. Always carries what looks like a Pete Ludwig policewoman’s shoulder bag, with a tape-recorder hidden in it. Her game is to get you talking like you would to another officer in the Squad Room, or at the Diner. With the editing she does, even what look like harmless statements can be made to sound very different.’

  ‘She didn’t get anything from me,’ Brad declared. ‘I’d seen her sitting in a car on the other side of Randall Street as I left the Building, then again while she was following me to the Badge. You’re right, though, she is good. If it hadn’t been for that and noticing her fingernails were too long to meet the B.W.O.’s Regulations, I’d have accepted her as a policewoman.’

  ‘What did you say to her?’ Zandis wanted to know, deeply concerned about the kind of comments an inexperienced young officer—especially when he was Deputy Sheriff Bradford Counter, who had already killed once in the line of duty—might have made.

  ‘Not much of anything,’ Brad answered. ‘Every time she tried to steer me into talking about the Boyers, or the Sandford Road case, I backed off and covered up.’

  ‘Can’t you remember exactly what you said,’ the captain persisted, scowling at Brad and taking no notice of Tom.

  Having observed the expression on the stocky deputy’s face, the sheriff was losing most of the concern which he had been sharing with Zandis. However, Jack kept quiet and allowed the interview to continue without interference.

  ‘No. At least, not word for word,’ the big blond confessed. ‘But I’m betting that she can’t either.’

  ‘But she’ll have it all on tape!’ the captain pointed out in exasperation, glaring at the sheriff as if he was about to ask how Brad had been allowed to become a deputy.

  ‘I wouldn’t count on that,’ Tom put in with a grin, before his partner could answer, then told what he had seen happen at the Badge Diner.

  ‘Y—You mean that you deliberately knocked her bag off the table and trod on it?’ Zandis groaned, staring aghast at the big blond.

  ‘Now that’d have been a real mean thing to do,’ Brad answered evasively, ‘apart from coming close to being illegal.’

  ‘God damn it—!’ Zandis began.

  ‘Has she made any complaint about it happening yet?’ Jack inquired.

  ‘Well—no,’ Zandis admitted, showing that he was puzzled by the omission.

  ‘And I’m betting she never will,’ Brad drawled. ‘If I know anything about her kind, and I saw a fair number of them around the University of Southern Texas, she’d rather accept that I’m a dumb, clumsy badge and did it accidentally. Because, if she doesn’t she’ll have to admit that a fascist symbol of the Establishment’s authority had out-smarted her all along the line.’

  For a good thirty seconds, there was no further conversation. Then, slowly, a change came over the captain’s face. Its anger and anxiety was replaced by a grin which grew broader until matching those of the sheriff and deputies.

  ‘By all that’s holy, you’re right!’ Zandis ejaculated, slapping a hand against his thigh in delight. For all his work in the Bureau of Public Relations, he was a peace officer at heart. So he found satisfaction in knowing that a vicious, unscrupulous woman had been in part repaid for all the damage she and her kind were doing to the law enforcement agencies of the Western world. ‘It would screw up her image and the other left-wing scum-bags would never let her live it down. Congratulations on behalf of every officer she’s helped to smear—but please don’t make a habit of doing it.’

  ~*~

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ Deputy Sheriff Tom Cord said, showing his open wallet—with his badge and identification card—to the man who had opened the door in answer to his knock. ‘Can we come in and talk to you, please?’

  With the interview in Sheriff Jack Tragg’s office concluded and Captain Zandis satisfied that there would be no
repercussions over Bradford Counter’s handling of Noreen Prentice, the deputies had set off to attend to their duties. They had in their possession a search warrant and the address of the man they were seeking. However, they had not travelled in the black and white Oldsmobile. At Tom’s suggestion, they had used his own Chevrolet four-door hardtop; a vehicle which gave no sign of its occupants being peace officers. Not only that, they had changed in the deputies’ locker room and now wore civilian clothing, carrying their weapons in concealment. For communications they would be relying upon two-way transistorized pocket radios.

  Arthur Stiffkey was living at the Rutland Apartment Building, in downtown Evans Hill and about half a mile from where the deputies had dealt with the Boyer brothers. It was a fair-sized, three-storey, brown-stone structure with old fashioned iron fire-escapes leading to an alley at the western end and the building’s parking lot on the east.

  Leaving the Chevrolet in the parking lot, the deputies had looked for the British Land Rover which the Department of Motor Vehicles had said was registered to Stiffkey. It was not there, nor had there been any response when Brad had knocked on the door of his apartment. However, a woman who lived opposite had come out and informed them that he was not at home. According to her, she had seen him earlier and had asked if he could take her to visit her mother in Lasher Division. He had refused, saying that he had some business to which he must attend and would not be back until late that night. Without having enlightened her about the real reason for visiting Stiffkey, Brad and Tom had gone to see if they could find the means to enter his apartment.

  From his first sight of the Building’s superintendent, Tom felt sure that they would receive cooperation. Tallish, thickset, white haired and amiable-looking, he had none of the hard slyness which was the rule rather than the exception in the less salubrious parts of the city.

  ‘Sure,’ the man replied, with the easy calm of one whose conscience was clear. He stood aside and allowed the deputies to enter a clean, tidy and comfortably furnished apartment. ‘Sit down, gents. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Not while we’re on duty, Mr.—’ Tom replied, accepting the other invitation.