Behind the Badge

by David R Lewis

  “Whatcha got?”

  “I’m not sure. Box a stuff from the old days. I been dragging it around for years.”

  He put the box on the floor in front of the couch and sat down. Satin joined him, kissed his cheek, and passed over a cup of coffee. Crockett ripped the tape and pried the top of the box open. Inside was an insulated dark green nylon flight jacket with a faux fur collar.

  “My God,” Crockett whispered, shaking out the coat. Near the top of each sleeve was sewn a Champaign Police Department patch.

  “Think it’ll still fit?” Satin asked.

  “Fat chance,” Crockett replied, laying the jacket aside.

  Beneath it was a battered Samsonite brief case. Crockett put it on the floor and peered into the box. “Ha!” he said, and lifted out a cheap Rohm .22 revolver. “Leotis Washington tried to shoot me with this thing one night at the University Elks,” he went on. “Got the hammer hung up in his pants pocket and popped a round into his right foot instead. Wanted to sue me for police brutality ‘cause I made him shoot himself.”

  Satin laughed. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Old Leotis was not the brightest bulb in the marquee.”

  Next came a silver knife.

  “Look at that,” Crockett said. He pushed a button on the side of the handle and a four-inch blade snapped into the open position. “This is solid stainless steel. Best switchblade I’ve ever seen. Kid named Paco Martinez stabbed me with it behind The Red Lion Inn one night.”

  “He stabbed you?”

  “Not exactly. He stabbed the cartridge case next to the buckle on my gun belt. The case stopped the knife. Paco’s hand slid up the blade. Cut the hell out of himself.”

  “He try to sue you, too?”

  “No, but all that blood sure ruined a brand new uniform.”

  “Jesus, Crockett.”

  “Life in the big city, my dear.”

  Continued exploration revealed a pair of stock grips from Crockett’s Ruger .357 service revolver, an old magazine from the M1 Carbine he used to have, a spring loaded sap he’d owned but never carried, an untrustworthy half can of Mace, and other odds and ends from days past. Finally, he opened the brief case. Inside was a bundle of zip ties, a couple of half-used old traffic ticket books, a hat badge with a broken clasp. A pair of black leather gloves caught his attention. He smiled and put them on the end of the coffee table. Satin picked them up.

  “These are heavy,” she said.

  “Sap gloves,” Crockett replied.

  “What?”

  “Sap gloves. Put one on.”

  Satin did.

  “Wow,” she said.

  “Twelve ounces each,” Crockett went on. “Pouch of lead dust sewn in across the knuckles and another on the palm. Punch through a wall and not hurt yourself. Leave those out.”

  More briefcase inspection revealed two pairs of Smith and Wesson handcuffs, several loose rounds of old Super Vel .357 ammo, various unused complaint and contact forms, and finally, a picture of Crockett and a young fellow officer on their day of graduation from the Police Training Institute.

  “My God, Crockett,” Satin breathed. “Look at you. You were so young.”

  “Twenty-one years old,” Crockett said.

  “You were just a baby. Just a baby. And look at the world you stepped into.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “But being that young had its advantages.”

  “Like what?”

  “I didn’t know any better.”

  They were silent for a moment, then Satin spoke up.

  “Who’s the other guy?”

  “His name was Paul Case,” Crockett said. “He didn’t make it.”

  Satin went to the kitchen and left him alone to repack both the box and the memories.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “So,” Satin said, “are you gonna wear a uniform?”

  They were sitting at the breakfast bar the next morning, finishing Crockett’s concoction of scrambled eggs with additives of suspicious origin.

  “Yeah. I thought I’d use the one from my old Cub Scout days. It’s a little snug, but I think I can have it altered.”

  “I assume that’s a no.”

  “Yes, it is. Dale told me straight up front that he doesn’t want a uniform on me. From the way he talked, he wants me to stay a little distant from the regular troops. Let ‘em know I’m there, watching their backs and shit, but not exactly as an equal. Not superior either, though. That’s his job. Hell, I don’t know what he wants. I’m not sure he does. He’ll have a senior patrolman and a head deputy. Those jobs are filled. I wouldn’t want one of them, anyway. To tell you the truth, I’d like a better idea of where I stand in this whole thing.”

  “Sounds like he wants you set apart a little. Makes sense.”

  “It does?”

  “Sure. His regular guys need a chain of command and stuff, like the service. It gives them a structure to depend on. That kinda thing would just irritate you.”

  Crockett grinned.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I take orders from you pretty well.”

  Satin preened. “That’s because I hold the power of providing pleasure. You guys are so easy.”

  “Works well for us. I got no complaints.”

  “You and I function on a level playing field, Crockett. You can’t do that with these guys. Neither can Dale. He has to outrank them. That’s his job. He has to tell them what to do, establish policy, attend to the operation of the group, things like that. But not you. Your job will be more like Lawrence Taylor.”

  “Who?”

  “Lawrence Taylor, you know, L.T. The football guy.”

  “Yeah, I know who he is. I loved to watch him play. ‘Crazed dogs on the field’ and shit.”

  “He was a member of the team,” Satin went on, “but he did his best work when he was independent of everybody else. He played the ball. He didn’t stick to an assigned position; he didn’t have a specific job. He went where he thought he should and did what he needed to do. The result was, he drove the opposition crazy. He broke plays, he created confusion, he sacked the QB, he ruined passes, and he did all kinds of things to create chaos in the offense. Then, when everybody else did their job, the whole defense benefited because he went his own way. See?”

  “In a twisted kinda manner, I think I do. Football? You like football?”

  “It’s okay. I sorta lost interest in it a few years ago.”

  “Lawrence Taylor, huh?”

  “That’s not how you’ll be perceived by the troops, though. They’ll see you as some old guy, a friend of Dale’s just hanging out to make a buck. They’re used to that kind of arrangement, especially the deputies. They won’t have much respect for you or want much to do with you. They’ll be jealous and suspicious. Dale won’t tell them shit about you or your background. He’ll let ‘em wonder and be pissed off and all the rest of that. It’ll be up to you to change their minds. As long as you don’t give a damn about changing their minds and just be Crockett, it won’t take them too long to come around.”

  “That’s what you think, huh?”

  “Dale Smoot is no fool.”

  “He told me to just do whatever I wanted to do.”

  Satin smiled.

  “He knows that he’ll get better results from you if you manage yourself. But you know that. Anyone that thinks he’s working for anybody but himself is a fool. Lotsa fools out there.”

  “How’d you get so smart?”

  Satin leaned across the counter and kissed his cheek. “I hang around with smart people.”

  *****

  Shortly after lunch, as Crockett stood on the dam in a light rain and watched the stippled surface of the pond, his cell phone beckoned.

  “Crockett.”

  “Smoot.”

  “Hey, Dale. ‘Sup?”

  “What are you doing around three this afternoon?”

  “Whatever you’d like me to do.”

  “You got a great attitude, Crockett. You just
got a fifty cent an hour raise.”

  “Terrific. Now I can put in the bowling alley I’ve always wanted.”

  “Meet me at the café around two-thirty. We’ll chat and then you can meet the cops.”

  “Be still, my beating heart.”

  Smoot disconnected.

  *****

  A little after two-thirty, Crockett caned his way to the usual back booth. Smoot looked him up and down.

  “Cane’s a nice touch,” he said.

  Crockett bumped his eyebrows. “I thought so,” he replied. “May as well get the suspicions and resentment started as soon as possible.”

  Smoot smiled. “Getting a grip on the thing, are you?”

  “Satin says I’m Lawrence Taylor,” Crockett replied.

  Smoot thought a moment, then laughed. “You sure she didn’t say James Taylor?”

  Crockett chuckled.

  “I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain, but I’m pretty sure she said Lawrence.”

  “That gal’s smart enough,” Dale went on. “She’s got it. Fuck the playbook. You go where and when you want to. Use your instincts. These kids’ll come around after a while. Lawrence Taylor woulda never been Lawrence Taylor if he had done it like everybody else.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s a lot bigger than I am,” Crockett said.

  Smoot lifted a brown envelope to the tabletop. “Here’s your county commission,” he said, handing Crockett a laminated piece of paper slightly larger than a business card. “You can put it in your billfold with that one you got from the Justice Department.”

  Crockett looked at the card and slipped it in his shirt pocket.

  “Here’s your badge,” Smoot went on, sliding a black single-fold case about two-thirds the size of a wallet across the table.

  Crockett flipped it open. One panel contained a copy of his commission. Recessed into thick leather on the other panel was a filigreed gold six-point star. In the center was a colored enamel seal that read Hart County Sheriff’s Department. Above the seal was a silver banner that contained one word. Crockett. Below the seal was another silver banner with one word. Enforcement. Crockett peered at it for a moment, then locked eyes with Dale.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said.

  “The only one like it.”

  They were both silent for a moment, then Smoot cleared his throat.

  “So do you swear to uphold the laws of the county of whatever and wherever,” he asked.

  “Sure,” Crockett said.

  “Okay, that’s it. As of right now, you’re official. Let’s go meet the troops.”

  “Can it wait?” Crockett said. “I think I just saw a lady jaywalk over to the Post Office.”

  “Oh, hell,” Smoot grunted and headed toward the door.

  *****

  The meeting was held in the small squad room of the Sheriff’s Office, next to the dispatch cubicle. There were ten men waiting for them. Four of them were wearing uniforms. Two, the light and dark blue of Hartrick. Two more, the tan and dark brown of Hart County. In the dispatch cubicle sat an overweight woman in sweat clothes. She and one of the cops in civilian clothing appeared to be in their middle forties. Nobody else looked over thirty. Crockett caned his way to a side wall and leaned against a file cabinet. He avoided eye contact with anyone.

  “Thanks to all of you for coming out this afternoon,” Dale said. “This Monday I’ll take over as interim County Sheriff. I will also continue as Hartrick Chief of Police. To avoid having to carry two guns, wear two uniforms, and drive two cars, I am going to depend on my senior patrolman and my head deputy to help pick up the slack. I’ll talk to the two of you at a later time about what I need from you and what you’ll get from me in return. My office will be in this building. My old office will go to the gentleman you see over at the file cabinet. His name is Crockett.”

  Heads turned. Crockett nodded and resumed looking at Smoot.

  “Crockett lives out in the county. Some of you have seen him around town from time to time. As of about ten minutes ago, he carries a badge and commission. He is not a deputy, he is not a patrolman. He is, however, a law enforcement officer. He is not senior to any of you, he is not junior to any of you. He will work inconsistent hours on a variable patrol. He will not drive a cruiser. He will report to, and work closely with, me. He will not work traffic crashes, except to hold the scene for one of you. In the event he makes an arrest or arrests, he will provide the necessary statements needed for the court. The balance of the processing and investigation, unless he deems otherwise, will be handled by one of you. Crockett’s business will be his business. From time to time, it is possible that your business will become his business. Should that occur, you will defer to him if he deems it necessary. If you have a problem with that, you will bring that problem to me. Are we clear?”

  The room was silent.

  “Good. This is not a permanent job for me. When the next election happens, I will not run for the coveted position of County Sheriff. Nor will I continue as Chief of Police. I will be out of here, ladies. If possible, I would like to leave a quality small police and sheriff department behind me when I go. I would also like to see one of you hold the office that’s been thrust on me. I expect you to be cops. Barney and Andy don’t live here anymore. Mayberry no longer exists. I demand that you be committed to the badge and work the job to the very best of your ability. We, each and all of us, will enforce the law in a prudent, reasonable, and just manner with understanding and dedication. We will conduct ourselves with honor, gentlemen; and we will not play favorites. I repeat, we will not play favorites. If you have a problem with that, I’ll be more than happy to accept your resignation Monday morning. I’ll be here at seven.”

  The room remained silent.

  “Okay,” Smoot went on. “So much for the pep talk and carefully veiled threats. Any questions about anything?”

  A hand went up from a blond kid in a Hart County deputy uniform.

  “Yeah, Charlie?”

  “Ah, Chief, I mean, Sheriff, uh…oh hell. Dale, what do we call him?” He nodded in Crockett’s direction.

  “Good question,” Smoot replied, giving Crockett a tiny smile. “What do they call you?”

  “I’ve always liked Imperial Poohbah, Charlie,” Crockett replied. “But the badge wasn’t wide enough to get it all on.”

  Nervous chuckles filled the room.

  “Crockett will do fine,” he went on. “Just Crockett. Nice to be working with you guys, but Dale has so inspired me that I have to leave now and go write a ticket. I think my mother is double parked down by the beauty salon.”

  Laughter followed Crockett as he caned his way out of the room.

  *****

  Ten minutes later, Dale found Crockett back in the café.

  “Well?” Crockett said.

  “Not bad. Good job with the joke as you vacated the area. Nice way to be friendly and yet keep your distance. You’re the hot topic. They’re curious as hell.”

  “That older deputy the one that’s leaving?”

  “Yep. Shorty Cantral.”

  Crockett grinned.

  “When you hit that no favoritism chord, the guy actually flinched.”

  “Yeah. If I don’t have his resignation by eight, Monday morning, he’ll be fired by eight-thirty. It’ll be your fault that he’s out of a job. At least, that’s the way he’ll see it.”

  “His problem,” Crockett said. “You figure any more will leave?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. This is gonna be harder than what most of ‘em are used to. Couple a my guys are gonna think I’m power mad before this settles down.”

  “Hell,” Crockett said. “I think you’re power mad now.”

  “Imperial Poohbah, huh?”

  “Had to try something, honey. You were so serious.”

  Smoot looked at him for a moment. “You buy me a piece of pie, maybe I won’t fire you.”

  “Waitress,” Crockett called. “Oh, waitress!”

  *****

>   The next morning, Crocket was bopping at the kitchen counter as he and Satin finished poached eggs and home fries.

  “You’re vibrating,” she said.

  “I am?” Crockett replied, realizing he was and trying to settle down.

  “Getting psyched up for the new gig?”

  “Maybe. Christ. Am I nuts or what?”

  “How long has it been since you had a regular job?”

  “I’m not sure this job is very regular.”

  “How long?”

  “Now that I think about it, over twenty years.”

  “This is a helluva step for you. The nervousness, the anticipation, the old memories, the new responsibilities, being a cop again…all that’s stacking up right now. You’re like a racehorse in the gate.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Do something about it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like go away. You’re giving me cramps.”

  *****

  An hour and a half later, Crockett was at Cabelas. In the men’s clothing section he picked up four pairs of medium gray cargo slacks, six light gray t-shirts, six dark gray t-shirts, and two safari style shirts, one black and one gray, that he intended to wear as overshirts or lightweight jackets. He also found a black buffalo hide belt, two inches wide and heavy enough to hold the Beretta .45 and handcuffs. Unable to locate a ball cap in any color that did not sport some kind of company logo, he left the clothing area and journeyed up to the camping section. There he found a surprisingly small, re-chargeable flashlight that generated nearly 400 lumens. Back downstairs in the gun department, he picked up an all-in-one gun cleaning kit, several different solvents, oils and cleansers, a bore snake for each of the three weapons Clete was sending, a Tipton gun vise, a target stand, a wide assortment of Shoot-N-C targets, and a fountain pen sized container of pepper spray. He topped his purchases off with a Buck folding hunter in a black leather belt case.