The mayor rubbed the top of his head.
“Tell me,” he said, “does a ponytail really compensate for going bald?”
“Not much,” Crockett replied.
Underwood smiled and walked away.
Crockett turned to Smoot.
“He as big an asshole as he seems to be?”
“Naw. He’s a chickenshit. Just trying to get the bulge on you. He didn’t. Long as you don’t take any shit, he won’t give you more than you can take.”
“I’m gonna have to think about that statement for a while,” Crockett said.
Smoot grinned.
“Nice uniform. How’s your truck?”
*****
Crockett and Smoot spent the next hour or two jawing and going over things. Crockett got his ticket book, contact forms, complaint forms, field report forms, and other necessities. He found out that Dale’s call sign was Hart-one, and his was Hart-two. All the other cops would be designated by numbers three through thirteen. Unlike what Crockett had been used to, vehicle numbers were not used. Monday through Friday, Deputy Charlie Rogers, or Hart 5, and Patrolman Arkie (short for Arkansas) Bennet, or Hart 9, would be on duty until midnight. Weekends were rotated.
Crockett learned enough about the radio, computer and GPS equipment to get by, found out that dispatch was to leave him alone unless he offered himself for something, that he could go anywhere he pleased and work as late as he wanted to, and that ex-deputy Shorty Cantral was heavily pissed off.
“He didn’t do the right thing,” Smoot said, “so I fired him. Shithead started yelling at me and waving his arms. He doesn’t like you one little bit. Had spit on his chin.”
Crockett grinned. “Were you suitably intimidated?”
“I guess not. He’s supposed to return his uniforms and hardware this after…” Dale’s eyes traveled over Crockett’s shoulder. “I’ll be dammed,” he went on. “There he is now. I wasn’t sure he’d make it today.”
Crockett turned to see a red Chevy pickup with white stock racks slam into the curb, and Shorty bail out, a large green garbage bag in hand. He stomped up to the two of them and threw the bag to the sidewalk.
“There’s yer gawddamed uniforms an’ shit, Smoot!” he said. “An’ you kin shove ‘em up yer ass, fer all I care.”
Crockett grinned at Dale. “Shorty doesn’t seem very happy, does he?”
“An’ you, you sumbitch,” Shorty went on, pointing his finger at Crockett, “you took my fuckin’ job. A ol’ wore out plug like you!”
“Shorty. Shorty.” Crockett said, taking a half-step forward, “Settle down. You’re making a fool of yourself.”
“Fuck you, you gimpy ol’ bastard!” Shorty yelled. The veins were standing out in his neck.
Crockett smiled. “Hang on, Shorty. All I want to do is thank you.”
It took a beat for what Crockett said to settle in. Shorty peered at him.
“Thank me? Fer gawdammed whut?”
“Well,” Crockett continued, “you’re standing out on a city sidewalk, a public place I might add, waving your arms, slobbering, and shouting obscenities. Unless I miss my guess, Hartrick has a city ordinance against that kind of behavior. This is my first day. An arrest for disturbing the peace would look good on my record, even if it is only a misdemeanor.”
“A arrest?” Shorty shouted. “You think you’re gonna arrest me, motherfucker?”
“Of course,” Crockett continued, “you being so upset and all, you might resist that arrest. And, in the course of resisting, you might even hit me or something. Now we have disturbing the peace and battery against an officer of the court. That is a felony. A felony arrest would look really nice on my record. Especially on my first day. Pretty good, huh?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Shorty roared.
Crockett took a full step forward.
“I’m talking about folding you up like a taco,” he said. “You can get back in that truck and get the hell out of here, or you can keep slingin’ spit. Your choice. One way, you get to go home. The other way, you get to go to jail. Wanna play, Shorty?”
“I ain’t afraid a you!”
“Sure you are. You’re afraid of everybody. Make up your mind. I got things to do.”
*****
Smoot grinned at Crockett over a coffee cup at the diner. “Pretty good, the way you handled Shorty,” he said.
“If he’d charged me,” Crockett said, “I was gonna jump behind you for protection. Good thing he backed down. We might have both gotten hurt.”
“Snake in the grass,” Smoot went on. “Kinda shithead that’d sugar your gas tank for revenge.”
“He’s got a brother named Spud, doesn’t he?”
“Yep. Nasty bastard. Got another one named Jack. Owns a carwash here and in Liberty, some real estate and a store.”
“Pick of the litter,” Crockett said.
“Whole damn litter is a bunch a crossbreeds.”
“Satin told me a little about ‘em.”
Smoot looked at his watch.
“Hell with it. I’m goin’ to the house. Time for you to get your feet wet anyway. You goin on patrol?”
“Thought I would.”
“Where you goin’?”
“I don’t know. Hell, Smoot, I’m not even sure where I am.”
Dale grinned and laid three bucks on the table. “Go fight crime,” he said.
“Slave driver,” Crockett muttered.
*****
Crockett spent the next three hours cruising the county perimeter, trying to get some kind of an idea as to where he should and shouldn’t go. A little after ten, while driving down a two-lane blacktop called Beeler Road near the northern limit of Hart County, he passed a woman walking toward him on the opposite side of the street. He made a U-turn, passed her, and pulled over, switching on his official police lights. Hanging his badge outside his shirt pocket, he got out of the truck and approached the woman. She was wearing a ripped and badly soiled nightgown and holding her left arm across her body. Her face was awash in blood and tears.
“Police officer, miss,” he said. “I’m here to help. How badly are you hurt?”
She began to sag. Crockett supported her and allowed the woman to slink slowly to the shoulder of the road. One eye was beginning to swell, she was bleeding from her mouth and nose, and her left shoulder or collarbone appeared to be giving her trouble.
“My chest hurts most,” she said through her tears.
Crockett removed his pac-set from his pocket. “Hart-two, headquarters.”
“Go ahead, Hart-two.”
“I need an ambulance on Beeler Road for an injured white female. The last cross street I recall was Peters or Porter. Something like that.”
“That would be Peters, Two.”
“Ten-four. I’m west of there a mile or so. They’ll see the lights. This lady has facial and arm injuries and is complaining of chest pain.”
“Ten-four, Two. Ambulance will be on the way shortly for transport to Smithville.”
Crockett hustled to the truck and returned with a blanket and a couple of gauze pads from the first aid kit. He put the blanket around the woman’s shoulders and wrapped her upper body as best he could.
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Annette Boggs.”
“You live around here, Annette?”
“Yessir. Me an’ my husband, Larry, live down Peters a ways. ‘Bout a mile.”
“You’re married to Larry Boggs?”
“Uh-huh. That sonofabitch.”
“He do this to you, Annette?”
“Uh-huh. Him an’ his brother, Gary. Gary lives with us.”
“Why’d they hurt you, hon?”
“Those bastards,” she said, then choked for a moment before spitting a piece of tooth into her lap. Bloody drool followed the tooth, and Crocket gave her some gauze to wipe her mouth.
“Larry an’ Garry had been workin’
out in the shed and drinkin’ most a the afternoon. Come nine or so, I went to bed. Here they come into the bedroom wantin’ to, uh, you know. Wantin’ some attention?”
She stopped to swallow and groaned.
“Spit out the blood if you can, Annette,” Crockett said. “Swallowing it isn’t good on your stomach.”
“My chest hurts.”
“I’m sorry it does, sweetie. The ambulance is on the way. They’ll help.”
“I ain’t got no money for a ambulance.”
“Don’t worry about it. Everything’ll be okay. What happened after Larry and Gary came in the bedroom for some attention?”
“I tolt ‘em no, but Gary jumped on me anyway. I tried to fight, but he was too strong. When he got done, here come Larry, wantin’ some, too.”
“Larry’s your husband, right?”
“Yessir. I slapped at him to keep him offa me. That’s when he hit on my face. I got up an’ tried to run, but the two of ‘em sorta knocked me back an’ forth awhile, then Larry, he just throwed me out inna yard. Like I was trash or somethin’! He just throwed me away. I took to walkin’ an’ then you come along. I don’t know why they done me like that. Honest I don’t.”
“You said they were doing something out in the shed, Annette?”
“Yessir. I ain’t supposed ta tell but, the truth is, they make meth. Right out in that ol’ shed behind the house a ways.”
“You use drugs, Annette?”
“Nossir I don’t. An’ that’s God’s own truth. I ain’t never goin back to that place. Not even if I havta die, I ain’t never goin’ back there.”
“You won’t have to, Annette. We’ll find a way. Will you give a statement and sign a complaint against Larry and Gary Boggs?”
“I’ll do whatever you want me to do, mister. You been nicer to me in five minutes than they been in five years.”
“They have any dogs?”
“Not now. The old hound died over the winter. They left her out an’ she froze.”
“Okay, sweetie. You sit still. I’m going back to the truck to get you another blanket, then we’ll get you stretched out and more comfortable. All right?”
“Yessir. I ‘preciate it. My chest sure hurts.”
*****
After the ambulance departed, Crockett shut off all his lights and got on the radio. “Hart-two to Hart-five.”
“This is Five. Go ahead Two.”
“Charlie, get up here. You know where I am?”
“I’m on the way, Two.”
‘Hart-two to Hart-nine.”
“Go, Two.”
“Arky, I want you up at Smithville hospital ER as soon as you can get there. Annette Boggs is on the way there, now. I need her signature on a complaint. Get that first. Then get her statement. We’re looking at battery and forcible rape. Also, manufacture and distribution of a controlled substance. Make sure the hospital does a rape kit on her, get photos of her injuries, confirm her samples are witnessed and catalogued by the hospital. They’ll save ‘em for us. Keep the chain of evidence secure and let me know the minute that complaint is signed. Copy?”
“Ah, sure. Okay. Yessir, Two. On the way.”
“Ten-four, Hart-nine. Thank you.”
Crockett leaned back in the seat and tried to relax his back. His cell phone went off.
“Hello.”
“Smoot.”
“Hey, Dale.”
“Everything all right?”
“So far. Larry and Gary Boggs raped and beat Larry’s wife after, according to her, the brothers had been out in the little shed making meth.”
“No shit.”
“She seemed sincere. Of course, you know how that can go. I’ve got reasonable grounds to believe now, but I rather wait until Arkie gets her Hancock on a complaint. Then Charlie and I’ll go have a talk with the lads.”
“The Boggs boys, huh?”
“Looks that way.”
“You gonna push ‘em out in front of a train again?”
“Vicious rumor, Dale. Totally unfounded.”
“Want some help.”
“Nope.”
“Need some help?”
“Nope.”
“That’s what I thought. I’ll be awake. Let me know.”
Crockett grinned. “Ten-four, Sheriff,” he said.
*****
Crockett leaned back in the seat again and sighed. In a little less than five minutes, the radio crackled to life.
“Two, Five coming up behind you.”
“Ten-fo’. Sit tight, Charlie. We’re waiting for a complaint to be signed.”
“Ten-four.”
In his rear view mirror, Crockett watched Five coast in dark behind him and smiled. He wouldn’t have minded Charlie joining him in the truck, but that couldn’t happen yet. He needed to remain as much an enigma as possible for a while. He put his head back and waited. It took about twenty minutes.
*****
“Hart-nine to Heart-two.”
“Go.”
“Got the complaint signed, and some pictures. She’s getting’ some kinda scan right now, then they’re gonna do the kit, and I’ll be able to talk to her again.”
“How’s her attitude?”
“Ah, that’d be hurt and vengeful, Two.”
“Good. Hang around until you get the statement, then go to the head shed and write yours. I’ll get mine to you sometime tonight or tomorrow morning. She’s all yours, Arkie.”
“All mine?”
“Yep. You’re a cop. Dot your tees and cross your eyes.”
“Ten-four, Two.”
“Five, get up here.”
The passenger door opened and Charlie climbed in. “Yessir?” he said.
“You familiar with the Boggs brothers?”
“By reputation, sir.”
“According to our complainant, they live about a mile down Peters road back there. You familiar with it?”
“Yessir. It slopes down a little and just runs south. Goes past a little white house about a hundred yards in, then nothing until the place you’re probably talkin’ about. ‘Bout a half-mile farther on, it just peters out into bottom land. Maybe that’s why they call it Peters Road.”
“You know the place we want?”
“A little bit, sir. Sets off the road a hundred feet or so. Got one shed back behind it, and a barn that’s collapsed. Just the roof stickin’ up off the ground. I’ve never actually been there, though.”
“That’s okay. You’re lead.”
“Me?”
“Yep.”
“I’m lead?”
“Yeah. I don’t know where I’m going. I’ll follow you. Once we get closer, cut your lights and engine and coast in to a hundred yards or so. We’ll go the rest of the way on foot. I don’t want these assholes to know we’re around until were sitting on their laps. Deal?”
“I guess. Yessir.”
“Let’s go. Oh, Charlie?”
Yessir?”
“Relax. Stop calling me sir all the time.”
“How ‘bout Imperial Poohbah?” Charlie asked and slipped out the door.
*****
Steering the truck without any power was about all Crockett could do. Charlie met him beside the driver’s door and watched him collect the Bullpup.
“Jesus,” he whispered. “What the hell is that?”
“Encouragement,” Crockett said. “Lead on.”
*****
From the driveway, the house was dark. Light leaked out from under the door of the shed behind the house, and the strains of classic country music wafted on the night air. Crockett and Charlie eased their way to the edge of the building. A metal-edged scent of rotten eggs surrounded the structure, and the windows had been blacked out. From inside, they could hear occasional swearing and laughter through the music.
“Okay, Charlie. I’ll go first. No warning. I want you coming through that door on my heels. When we’re in, get on my left side. One of ‘em pops up with a weapon, shoot his ass. Other
wise, leave it to me. Got it?”
“Yessi…yeah, Crockett.”
“All right. One…two…”
He hit the door with his left shoulder, and it crashed open. Crockett entered the space slightly airborne with the shotgun in front of him. The brothers sat at a table about fifteen feet from the door and gaped at the apparition that had manifested in their midst.
“Move, and you die here tonight!” Crockett roared. They froze. “Face down on the floor, boys, right fuckin’ now.”
“Whodafuck are you?” one of them asked.
“Look at me,” Crockett said, “and think back to the night that train took your truck.”
“Oh, shit!”
At that point, a voice from an ancient Bakelite radio on a corner shelf announced some “old gold,” and Tammy Wynette began singing D-I-V-O-R-C-E. In the enclosed space, the thunder of Crockett’s shotgun blast was massive. Charlie levitated about six inches and both the Boggs boys hit the deck as shrapnel from the destroyed radio settled to the floor around them.
*****
Ten minutes later, amid threats and swearing, the brothers were handcuffed in Charlie’s back seat, while Charlie observed them from the front seat. Crockett, using a rag to cover his hand, began looking through the room. Amid the litter of plastic pop bottles, empty Sudafed blisters, rubber tubing, hydrogen peroxide bottles, stained coffee filters, jars and such, he found two plastic sandwich bags full of a white, powdery substance. In a drawer, inside a small metal box, he discovered a significant stack of cash. He counted out three thousand dollars which he stashed in his only empty pocket, put the rest back, and walked out to Charlie’s car.
“You doin’ okay, kid?”
“Fine.”
“Good. Sit tight. I’ll get somebody up here to take these shitheads off your hands and another warm body to help inventory the scene and collect evidence. Meantime, I’ll start working on a warrant for the house. This is your crime scene, Charlie. You’re in charge. Right now, though, you’re on your own. I’m going to the hospital to see the Boggs woman.”
Behind the Badge Page 5