Behind the Badge

by David R Lewis

  “I think you attract trouble.”

  “Now and then.”

  “I also think that you are the most capable man I have ever known.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Here’s the deal,” Satin went on, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t want a scanner. I don’t want to know what’s going on out there until it’s all over. I want you to wear one of those vests, I want you to have eyes in the back of your head, and I want you to have a purpose other than me and that pond.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I do not want you to be careful. I want you to be full-bore and balls-to-the-wall. If you do that, you’ll come home. I always want you to come home, Crockett. Every goddamed time.”

  “You gonna cry?”

  “Yes, I am. Once.”

  “Fair enough,” Crockett said.

  *****

  At eight the next morning, Crockett sat in the customary booth across from Chief Smoot. Dale smiled at him.

  “Well?”

  “I have some conditions.”

  “I’m shocked,” Smoot said.

  “I’ll use my truck. I want gas and oil on the county, plus fifty cents a mile.”

  “Okay.”

  “I want a radio and the minimum necessary other equipment that you guys have in your cars.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I don’t want a light bar or something like it on the roof of my truck.”

  “We have alternatives. Anything else?””

  “Yeah. Satin wants me to have a vest.”

  “Wrong. Satin wants you to wear a vest. She phoned me this morning while you were driving in. Issued a few threats as I recall.”

  “She’s good at that. When do I start?”

  “’Bout a week. Tomorrow I’ll make arrangements at Morton’s garage to get your truck set up, and you and I’ll talk things over. There’s a lot you don’t know about this county.”

  “There’s everything I don’t know about this county.”

  Smoot smiled.

  “Just right,” he said.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Late the following morning, with Satin gone to Liberty to do some shopping, Crockett met Dale at Morton’s Garage on the eastern outskirts of Hartrick. As he climbed out of his truck, a small chubby man with a dirty ball cap and dirtier hands met him by the fender.

  “Gotcher keys?” he asked.

  “In the ignition,” Crockett said.

  “You the new cop?”

  Crockett smiled. “I look new to you?”

  The guy grinned. “Not very,” he said.

  “I’m the latest addition.”

  “City or county?”

  “Is there a city around here?” Crockett asked.

  “He’s both,” Smoot said, stepping from the open bay door. “Crockett, meet Albert Morton.”

  “Nice to meetcha,” Morton said. “I cain’t shake. Hands are too dirty. Call me Jelly.”

  “Jelly?”

  “My grandmamma was old enough to remember listening to Jelly Roll Morton records when she was a kid. Always called me Jelly Roll when I was little. Jelly stuck.”

  Crockett grinned.

  “It usually does,” he said. “Good to meet you, too, Jelly.”

  “You got a burglar alarm on that Ram?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll fix ya up with one a them, too. Give ya a white strobe where your bed light is, put a blue lens on the right of it where the red lens is and put another strobe under each side. That’ll give ya good red an’ blue police lights to the rear to go with the strobe. In front, we’ll put a six-inch red an’ a six inch blue behind yer grill, and strobe out your high beams. That way when ya flip the switch you’ll have red, blue, and strobes flashin’ front an’ back. Yer low beams’ll still giva ya headlights. Siren’ll go under the hood on a wheel well with the speaker behind the grill between the lights. It’ll work as your outside speaker an’ bullhorn, too. We’ll drop in a bigger alternator and add another battery. That okay with you?”

  “Ah…sure.”

  “How’s that truck handle?”

  “Like a truck, I guess. Ride’s pretty good.”

  “Maybe we oughta double shock it an’ go to fatter 35 inch tires. Whatcha think, Chief?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Smoot agreed.

  “Wait a minute,” Crockett said. “I’m not going to the mud races, for chrissakes!”

  Jelly grinned.

  “Ya never know ‘bout somethin’ like that. You might.”

  “Dammit, Jelly, you’re havin’ too much fun.”

  “Ain’t my money. I’ll git it an’ the rest a your stuff together in a couple a days, an’ finish yer truck by the end a the week. Nice to meetcha, ah…I call ya officer or dep’ty?”

  “Call me Crockett.”

  “Suits me. See ya in a few days, Crockett.”

  *****

  “I’ll get out at the cop shop and take a cruiser. You can have my truck until yours is finished,” Smoot said as he pulled out of the lot. “Jelly is good people. His father started that garage back in the seventies. Jelly took it over after he got out of the service back in the early nineties. Was in the mechanical support business for the Army. Worked on tanks and shit. We called it the motor pool in my day.”

  “He’s sure got plans for my truck. I get to keep all that stuff when I quit next month?”

  “Some of it. There’ll be a radio, too. And a phone. If you’re out at night after midnight, you’ll be the only cop out there. All calls to dispatch will come directly to you. You need help, you’ll have a direct line to me. I’ll get anybody else we might need.”

  “I’ll be the only one?” Crockett asked.

  “Yep. After midnight there probably won’t be any state police within thirty minutes of you either. Welcome to the country.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “You’ll also have a little bitty computer and GPS. Type in an address, and the machine’ll show you how to get where you need to go. Type in a plate number, and you’ll get registration information, warrants, whatever. Same with a name and D.O.B. I’ve got a radio at the house, and you’ll also carry a little pac-set for when you’re away from the vehicle. Now, what else do you want, and what do you not want?”

  “I don’t want to write speeding tickets or work traffic crashes. Let the kids do that shit. And I want a shotgun.”

  “What kind?”

  “I’m not sure. Something short with a good light. Black. Twelve gauge. Seven or eight shot. I’ll get the gun and the light. The county will, of course, cover my expense.”

  Smoot smiled. “Of course,” he said. “You want some kind of dashboard lock for that?”

  “Nope. I want it short enough to hang on the driver’s door. I’ll figure a way to mount it. Or, Jelly will.”

  “Serious weaponry, Crockett.”

  “If I’m gonna be out here all by myself, I want to make my ten percent as fat as I can.”

  “What ten percent?”

  “The ten percent chance I’ve got if somebody really wants to kill my ass.”

  “Oh,” Smoot said. “That ten percent.”

  “This is costing a lot of money, Dale. Where you getting the cash?”

  “Got our county federal funding for the year. Phillips was gonna use it to fix the jail up. Spread the wealth. His brother-in-law is a contractor. Instead, I believe that money’ll go for equipment and two new deputies. You, and whoever I get to replace that shithead, Shorty Cantral. Your ass is worth a lot, Crockett. Satin made that real fucking clear. I’m a little scared of her.”

  *****

  Satin was home when Crockett arrived.

  “Oh!” she grinned when he walked in. “It’s only you. I thought Dale Smoot had come to call while you were out again. Imagine my disappointment.”

  Crockett returned her grin and they hugged for a moment.

  “Dale said you called him.”

  “I thought I might as well make some things clear
. Did it work?”

  “Seemed to.”

  “How come you’re driving his truck?”

  “Mine’s getting a bunch of official police equipment installed. By the time Jelly’s finished with it, it’ll be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.”

  “Jelly is a hoot, huh?”

  “Yeah. He’s all right. What can you tell me about Shorty Cantral?”

  “Where’d you run into that asshole?”

  “I didn’t. Dale’s gonna fire him.”

  “That figures. Only reason he’s on the country is because him and Sheriff Phillips are cousins or something. Crazy little shit. Shorty’s got two brothers, Spud and Jack. Spud is a real shithead. Did prison time for aggravated battery or something. Beat a guy almost to death, I hear. Got a bad reputation. Been in county jail a bunch a times. Resists arrest. Takes two or three cops to bring him in. Drinks a lot. Rawboned sonofabitch. A little taller than you are. Around forty. Almost everybody is afraid of him. Works off and on for the third brother, Jack. Jack owns the car wash in Hartrick and two or three buildings and a couple of houses he rents out, plus a large appliance store in Liberty and another car wash out by the Home Depot.”

  “Nice to know. Am I likely to run across Spud?”

  “Only if you’re alive.”

  “Oh, joy.”

  *****

  That evening, Crockett called Clete.

  “Son!” said the Texican, “how the hell are ya?”

  Crockett grinned at the sound of that voice.

  “Great, Cletus. How’s everybody?”

  “Finer’n frog fur, I reckon. When you an’ ol’ Satin commin’ up this way? I speck Goody’ll fix some a them blueberry scones she likes so much.”

  “Thought we might visit this fall,

  sometime, after I get a load or two of fish in the lake.”

  “Stitch can be there in the helo in three hours, Crockett.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m sorta busy. Actually, that’s why I’m calling.”

  “Aw, hell. What are ya into now?”

  “Nothing serious. I just need some supplies and an invoice to the Hart County Sheriff’s Office.”

  “The what?”

  Crockett chuckled. “Your ears going bad, Texas?”

  “Shit! The Sheriff’s Office?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “What in the hell are you doin’ with a Sheriff’s Office?”

  “I’m employed.”

  “Employed? You a law, son?”

  “Will be in about a week.”

  “Jesus Christ! Have you looked at yer birth certificate lately, Crockett?”

  “Never confuse longevity with ability.”

  “I ain’t the one that’s confused, ya old fart! You mind is gone, son. I believe you got a case a that oldtimer’s disease. Can ya remember whatcha had for breakfast?”

  Crockett pretty much lost it then, laughing into the phone. After a beat or two, Clete joined in the giggles. When they settled down, the Texican spoke up.

  “Whatcha need?”

  “I need a Beretta PX4 Storm, full size in .45 auto.”

  “A Beretta? What about that ol’ Smith wheel gun you sleep with?”

  “My 686 is fine. I just want something a little easier to carry without having to wear a big-assed gun belt.”

  “What else?”

  “A right side pancake holster, a couple of extra mags, and a case for ‘em.”

  “Okay.”

  “And a shoulder holster. A real one. Not one a those contraptions that snap the muzzle down by your belt. Something high and tight. An upside down clamshell or some such.”

  “Okay. Ammo?”

  “Whatever you think is best.”

  “I’ll gitcha three or four hundred rounds a good practice stuff, and a hundred rounds a some a them Hornady Critical Defense loads. Nasty bastards, Crockett. At least as good as them Black Talons you got for that Smith. What else?”

  “A Beretta 3032 Tomcat.”

  “That little feller? The thirty-two?”

  “Yeah. With whatever kind of holster you think will work best for the small of my back.”

  “Hell, you can carry that little shit in your pocket, son.”

  “And shoot myself in the knee. Nope. Want a holster so I can shoot myself in the ass.”

  “Okay by me. I’ll send ya some shells for it, too. Nothing special. I don’t know of any hotloads for a thirty-two. Better off if ya just throw rocks, anyway. Buffalo Bore or somethin’ similar might do. That all?”

  “One more thing. Could be hard to find.”

  “What?”

  “A Mossberg Bullpup 12 gauge.”

  “Hell, Crockett, they ain’t made them things in years.”

  “I know. I had one once. Bought it for two-hundred bucks. Sold it a couple of years later for twice that. Wish I’d kept it.”

  “Them things is goin’ for eight-hundred or more now, if you can even find one. I’ll talk to Goody. Shells for it?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Winchester’s got some personal defense stuff out there. Shoots a one-ounce slug an’ three rounds a double-ought buck outa each shell. Should do the job.”

  “Great. I yield to your expertise.”

  “’Bout goddamed time. There a woman behind all this?”

  “Nope. Just a friend and the fact that I need something to do.”

  “Why the hell doncha take up bungee jumpin’ or skydivin’ or bull fightin’? Shit. If ya got a death wish, just go lay down on the tracks. Southbound freight’ll end yer problems for ya.”

  “It warms my heart to know you care, Cletus.”

  “Care? I doan give a damn. I just hate to see ol’ Satin upset for a whole afternoon. Then again, that might not be so bad. Could be she’d require some compassion. Maybe I’d hafta console her a little bit, if ya git my drift.”

  “You’re so fulla shit, Clete.”

  “Yeah, well, you just watch yer ass, pard. There’s a lotta injuns out there in them weeds. I’ll git the stuff together for ya, as much as I can find.”

  “Thanks. Just send it to me, in care of the Hartrick Police Department, and enclose a bill to the Hart County Sheriff’s Department. No, wait. I’ll pay for it myself. No point in having to give it all away when I leave the job. Thanks, Clete.”

  “Yessir. You just tell Satin that I’ll be down right after the funeral with a big bottle a scotch. So long.”

  Crockett poured himself a cup of coffee and headed out to look at the pond.

  Ah, the simple life.

  *****

  Crockett met Dale Smoot at the café the next morning. The big man was sitting in the customary back booth grimacing at a cup of coffee.

  “I been drinkin’ this stuff for eight or nine years now,” he complained. “Don’t seem to be able to get used to it. I think they grind the beans with their feet.”

  “Morning, Dale. You seem cheery.”

  “Been arguing with the city and county fathers already this morning. I won, though. We’re gonna have just one dispatch for both the city and the county. It’ll be in the Sheriff’s Office. Should have done it that way years ago. My office’ll be where the Sheriff’s Office has always been. Your office will be in the city cop shop.”

  “My office?”

  Smoot grinned.

  “Yeah. Used to be mine. Now it’s all yours.”

  “What the hell do I need an office for?”

  “Because you’re my go-to guy. Second-in-command. Super trooper.”

  “Oh, hell! What have I done?”

  “Relax, Crockett. I’m still gonna have a head deputy and a senior patrolman to take care of the bullshit. I just haven’t come up with a title for you yet.”

  “How ‘bout Chickenshit?”

  “Not assertive enough.”

  “How ‘bout Head Chickenshit?”

  “Better.”

  “What the hell am I supposed to do, Dale? What’s my job?”
/>   “You’ll figure it out.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I want you out there, Crockett. Mostly evenings and nights. Not all night, for chrissakes, just ‘til around midnight or one in the morning. Cruise, look things over, watch stuff, see what’s going on. I need your eyes and your experience. You’re a smart man and a tough guy. You’ve been through a lotta shit that I may never know about unless I get you drunk. You’ll notice things. I need that. If I’m gonna do this job, I gonna do it the best way I can. Most of that will come from the people I work with. You, for instance.”

  “Me.”

  “You. I got three city patrolmen and six county deputies, after I replace Shorty. They’re babies. Maybe you can’t run the hundred in eleven flat anymore. Maybe you can’t still vault fences or dive through windows. That’s what these kids are for. Knowing you are out there will keep them on their toes. Knowing that you’re slippin’ around in the dark if they need you will help their confidence. I’ll take ‘em from seven in the morning ‘til five or six in the afternoon. “You take ‘em from then ‘til midnight or one in the morning. Hell, you can sit at home half the time, I don’t care. Just so you’re available, just so they know somebody has got their ass. Be there for ‘em, but keep your distance. You are not their friend. You have to be more than that.”

  “Shit. You’re dead serious about all this, aren’t you?”

  “You betcha.”

  “Okay. Lot of responsibility.”

  “I know it is, Crockett. In some ways your job will be tougher than mine. That’s why, if there is ever a problem with the city or county fathers and politicians, I’ll deal with it. You just do what you think is right. You take care of the job. I’ll take care of you.”

  “Thanks, Dale. That means a lot.”

  Smoot smiled. “Pass it on,” he said.

  *****

  When Crockett got home, he retrieved a box from the storage shed and lugged it inside. Satin was in the kitchen.

  “Where ya been?” she asked.

  “In town talking to Dale.”