Crockett turned away, and he and Charlie walked toward the door. Red-faced, Shorty maintained his position in the hall.
When Crockett got outside, he noticed a red Chevy pickup with white stock racks parked across the street. He walked over and looked in the passenger side window. On the floorboard lay a gun belt with pepper spray, handcuffs, and a large Smith and Wesson revolver with about an eight inch barrel attached.
“What do you think, Charlie? Three-fifty-seven or a forty-four?”
Charlie peered in the window. “Forty-four,” he said. “Shorty brags about that gun all the time. Compensation probably.”
“Probably,” Crockett replied, dragging out his cell phone. He punched in a number.
“This is Crockett. Across from the courthouse there’s a red Chevy truck with white stock parked on the street. The truck, I believe, is the property of Shorty Cantral. Very soon, Mister Cantral is going to leave the area in that truck. On the passenger side floorboard of the vehicle is a gun belt containing what, I can almost guarantee you, is a loaded forty-four caliber handgun. That is, as you know, against the law. If one of your fine staff of law enforcement officers were to stop said vehicle while it is under the control of Mister Cantral, I believe they could make a valid arrest…thank you so much. Yes, it was good of me to call, wasn’t it? Just a concerned citizen. ‘Bye now.”
Charlie was grinning at him. “Lovely,” he said.
“Cup of coffee, Charlie? On me.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Charlie said. “Just lovely.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Spud Cantral didn’t go to trial. Once the prosecution’s case was given in full disclosure to the defense, the defense folded and went for a deal. The deal included sixty days in the county jail, followed by one hundred and twenty hours of community service, and a two-year suspension of Spud’s driver’s license. The license suspension was challenged and reduced to two years restricted driving, outlining only specific hours during which Spud was allowed to drive, and specific routes he was allowed to travel to get to work or to buy groceries and such.
Over the next few weeks, Crockett brought the cameras inside from time to time and Satin checked the images, capturing the routine passing of cars and trucks, a couple of motorcycles, an illegal four-wheeler or two, one skunk, a few deer, and a family of raccoons. One repetitive vehicle caught her attention.
Crockett was getting ready for work when she called to him. “C’mere and look at this.”
He walked back to her office. Her computer monitor displayed a picture of a red Chevy pickup with white stock racks moving past the mailbox.
“I’ll be dammed,” he said.
“That’s the third drive by of that truck in the past week,” Satin said. “There are others that are more frequent, but they come at various times of the day. This one only shows up around six-thirty in the evening.”
“Shortly after I go to work,” Crockett said.
“Right. And only on weekdays. Now look at this.” Another picture came on the screen. This one was from the opposite direction and had better lighting from the sun. The driver’s face was plainly visible.
Crockett grinned. “Shorty Cantral,” he said.
“Yep. Shorty lives in Hartrick, doesn’t he?”
“I believe he does.”
“What’s he doing out here?”
“Making sure of my routine, checking me out. Feeling powerful and important.”
“You think he’s the one that mangled the mailbox?”
“I don’t know. Could have been an accident. We’ll see. I’ll put the new one up tomorrow.”
“We’ll get our mail back out here then.”
“Not yet. Soon, though. Both those pictures show the license plate of the truck?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good. Sometime this evening, print ‘em out for me, will ya?”
*****
Crockett was sipping his iced tea in the usual back booth of the café when Dale Smoot joined him.
“Shorty Cantral lives here in town, doesn’t he?” Crockett asked.
“Yeah. Across the road and down a little ways from the fertilizer distributor. Why?”
“He’s been driving by my place pretty often. Any reason you can think of for him to do that?”
Smoot cogitated for a moment. “Several,” he said. “None that I care for. What do you think?”
“I think that somebody knocked the hell out of my mailbox a few weeks ago.”
“That’s why your mail comes to headquarters.”
“Yeah. I’ve got a new mailbox; I just haven’t put it up yet.”
“Well, a fella doesn’t wanna rush into something like that. You think Shorty trashed your box?”
“Might have. Shorty doesn’t like me very much.”
“No!”
“Even less since I got his ass busted for a loaded firearm in a motor vehicle.”
“And punched out Spud.”
“There’s that.”
“Family’s important,” Dale said. “What are you getting ready to do?”
“I’ve got a couple of those game cameras sighted on where the mailbox’ll go. That’s how I know Shorty’s been driving by. I think it might be time to put the new box up.”
“You’re about a sneaky sumbitch, aren’t you?”
“Just availing myself of the benefits of modern technology.”
“Uh-huh. Not that it’ll make any difference, but watch yourself. That Cantral bunch don’t know what year it is. Those web-footed ridge-runners are as bad as the Hatfields and McCoys; and Shorty has a real self-esteem problem.”
“Just doing my official duty, Dale.”
“Yeah. And you’re still pissed that Shorty threw you off the lot up there at that construction sight.”
“Damn right I am. That’s temporary, though. As soon as that joint’s open for business, he can’t keep me out without a restraining order or something. I plan on becoming a fixture at that place. Maybe even on my nights off. Satin doesn’t get out much. She might enjoy some live music and the company of like-minded individuals.”
“I worry ‘bout you a little, Crockett. Getting Satin involved in this scares the shit out of me. That’s a powerful woman. She doesn’t go armed, does she?”
Crockett grinned. “She will if I deputize her.”
*****
Later that evening, Charlie Rogers took a call of somebody raising hell with various patrons at the Dew Drop Inn in Clayville, a small town about fifteen miles east of Hartrick. Crockett arrived as backup about a minute after Charlie entered the building. He flipped out his badge, put on his sap gloves and went inside. The room was dark, long, narrow, and tall. Smoke thickened the air, not quite covering the scent of sweat, stale beer, and a marginally efficient toilet in one of the johns. Charlie was in a heated discussion with Spud Cantral at the far end of the bar. Spud saw Crockett coming, shut up, and sat back down on his stool.
“Hey, Spud,” Crockett said. “What’s going on?”
“Nothin’,” Spud replied, staring at the top of the bar and swaying a little, his hands balled into fists in his lap.
“When did you get outa jail?”
“Yesterday.”
“Stabbing trash along the roads is good exercise, Spud. Getcha back in shape after being so cooped up. When are you supposed to start your community service?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Okay. I was just curious. I’ll drop back by, in fifteen minutes or so, just to make sure everything’s all right. C’mon, Charlie.”
On the way out Crockett spoke with the bartender.
“How much as Spud had to drink?”
“Two shots a Jack. He was lit up when he come in here. Somebody else bought him the first drink. I wadden gonna serve him, but I was scared he’d kick my ass. You know how Spud gits. I called you folks when he come in the door.”
“Thanks,” Crockett said. “We’ll be close.”
“What are we doing?” Charlie
asked when they were free of the building.
“About what?” Crockett replied
“We can’t just leave Spud in there like that. Hell, he’s drunk now!”
“He won’t be in there very long, Charlie. You park down that way a block or two, I’ll stop a block or so down the other way. You remember that beat to shit old Ford pickup with the twisted bumper. We’ll see him when he comes out. Go on. We need to get out of the way.”
*****
Less than ten minutes later, Crockett’s radio crackled to life.
“Hart-five to Hart-two.”
“Go Five,” Crockett replied.
“He just came by me headin’ east. I’m following him.”
“I’ll be right behind you, Five. Now, instead of just disorderly conduct, we have the boy in violation of his restricted driver’s license and a DUI. Your bust, Charlie. I’m just backup. Don’t forget to switch on your dash-cam.” Crockett could hear Charlie’s grin as the lad replied.
“Ten-four Two. Headquarters, Hart-five has a 10-38.”
*****
Crockett told Satin about it the next morning over coffee.
“Again?” she said.
“Yeah. Dumbass.”
“What’ll happen to him?”
“His thirty day stay in jail was reduced from sixty days so he could get on with community service. I expect he’ll go back for, at least, another thirty, plus he’ll probably have his license suspended. He was not only drunk and driving, he was driving during a time period when the court said he wasn’t allowed to operate a motor vehicle, in an area where he was forbidden to operate a motor vehicle at any time of the day or night.”
“You are not a popular man with the Cantrals.”
“I know. You can’t imagine how badly that makes me feel.”
“Shorty is gonna be real pissed at you now.”
“Who?” Crockett asked.
“You shithead. What are you up to today?”
“Thought I might put up the new mailbox. Fella needs a mailbox out here in the country like we are.”
*****
Following an afternoon nap and considerable thinking, Crockett dressed for work about an hour early and found Satin in the kitchen with the two game cameras. He got a cup of coffee.
“What are you up to?” he asked.
“I just fixed these things so they’ll take a picture every five seconds while they’re movement activated. Now I’m going to go put them back on the trees.”
Crockett finished his coffee, checked all his pockets and pouches, and went outside to the truck in time to be joined by Satin as she walked back up the drive. She kissed him goodbye and patted him on the chest.
“You be careful,” she said.
“When are we getting married?” he asked.
She blinked at him.
“You really want to do that?”
“Sure. How ‘bout Monday?”
“That soon?”
“Why not. Let’s get it over with.”
“How romantic. You’re such a guy.”
“I’m serious.”
“Okay. Monday it is.”
“Good. I’ll talk to the judge and get the license. You get Danni over to stand up for you; I’ll get Cletus as my best man. Who’s gonna give you away?”
Satin thought for a moment. “How ‘bout Stitch?”
“Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Why don’t you set us up for blood tests, I’ll call Clete tonight, and we can get rings tomorrow.”
“Think Dale would be our flower girl?” Satin said.
*****
Crockett grinned all the way to town. He was still grinning when he encountered Smoot on the steps of the courthouse.
“Busted Spud again, huh?” Dale asked.
“Yessuh,” Crockett said.
“That why you’re so happy?”
“Satin and I are getting married Monday.”
“Bout time, the way you two have been living in sin.”
“She wants to know if you’ll be our flower girl.”
“That’ll happen,” Smoot said and walked away.
*****
Crockett made it to the county license and permit office before they closed and got the license, valid when the blood tests came through. On his way out the door he encountered J.R. McPherson.
“Afternoon, Judge.”
“Officer Crockett,” McPherson said. “I could not help but notice you and Officer Rogers once again incarcerated Mister Cantral for various violations of the conditions of his release as well as driving while shit-faced.”
“It was all Charlie, your Honor. I just backed him up.”
“Of course it was. Officer Rogers seems like a fine young man.”
“He’s a helluva kid, Judge. Good cop, too. A year or so and he’ll be worth more than he gets.”
“Under your mentoring influence, I would expect little else,” McPherson replied.
“Ah, a question your Honor. Would it be possible for you to perform a short and simple marriage ceremony for me and Satin Kelly this coming Monday?”
“It would be my honor, sir. It is a day complicated by the qualification of the county jury pool. But those festivities are under my control. The customary one-hour lunch period shall be extended by an additional sixty minutes. Is one in the afternoon agreeable to you?”
“That’s just fine, Judge.”
“Very well. I shall expect the two of you and your party at that day and time.”
“We’ll be there. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, Crockett. My pleasure, indeed. Good day, sir.”
*****
Crockett visited with Dale at the diner for a while, receiving the promise that he would be on hand for the upcoming nuptials, then began his daily patrol. He’d been on the road for less than an hour when his cell phone rang. Satin.
“Hey, girlfriend. Got the license and the judge.”
“Got the doctor’s appointment and a blown-up mailbox.”
“What?”
“About fifteen minutes ago. A big boom down from the end of the drive. I walked down and checked it out. The mailbox is about three feet square, black and sooty, and laying in the weeds. The top of the post is torn up.”
“Check the cameras?”
“I did. Shorty. Big as life. Got pictures of him pulling up, opening the box, putting something in it, and driving away. As he’s leaving, a part of the picture is a blurry mess. The one after that shows the bare top of the post. All in living color, and two with his plate numbers showing.”
“Got him,” Crockett said.
“You gonna arrest him?”
“Nope. I need a favor.”
“Okay.”
“Get on your computer. I need a federal warrant naming Calvin “Shorty” Cantral. Make it for destruction of federal property and tampering with the United States Postal Service.”
“Crockett, I don’t know what a federal warrant looks like.”
“You can damn sure bet that Shorty doesn’t either. Do your best. That’s always been more than enough for me, honey.”
“You got that right,” Satin said, and hung up.
Crockett called Clete.
“The one-legged ass kicker. How are ya, son?”
“Hey, Clete. Good to hear your voice. Everybody all right?”
“Doin’ fine, Crockett. This a social call?”
“Mostly. I need you and Stitch here Saturday.”
“Day after tomorrow? What’s wrong?”
“Satin and I are getting married. I would be honored if you’d be my best man, and Satin would like Stitch to give her away.”
“Hot damn, pard! Don’t that kick the hound in the creek! You can, by gawd, count on it. Me an’ the hippie’ll fly out somewhere close on Saturday mornin’, rent a car, an’ be at yer place by lunch, that is if ol’ Stitch can remember how to get there.”
“Be prepared to stay for two or three days. The wedding is not until Monday, but I’ve got a little somethin
g I’d like for you to do for me on Saturday.”
“What’s that?”
“Threaten to serve a federal warrant.”
“What are you into now?”
“Tell ya when you get here, Texas. Looking forward to it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Crockett and Satin got blood tests on Friday morning with the promise from the technician to email her the certified results no later than Monday at ten a.m. They went shopping for rings and purchased two brushed white gold bands, without adornment of any kind.
“Diamonds don’t impress me,” Satin said. “They’re cold and hard and brittle. That’s not the kind of thing I want to associate with our relationship. White gold has weight and is solid. It warms on the skin and is substantial. That I like.”
“Ah…okay,” Crockett replied.
As soon as they got home, Satin left again, in search of a dress for the ceremony.
“I’ll drop it off at the apartment,” she said. “Danni and I will spend Sunday night there. I’ll meet you at the courthouse Monday a little before one.”
“Ah…okay,” Crockett replied.
*****
Danni arrived at the cabin a little after three that afternoon. Crockett heard the driveway alarm sound and met her at the door. She climbed him.
“Crockett!” she yelled, kissing his whole face and giggling. “You an’ mom are going through with it, huh?”
“I can’t stop her,” Crockett said, failing to untangling himself and beaming at his soon-to-be stepdaughter.
Dundee bounded around the pair of them, participating in the festivity for the joy of it. Nudge sat on the counter and feigned indifference.
“Mom said that Stitch and Clete are coming?”
“A vicious rumor that is substantiated, I’m afraid.”
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