“Hi. You guys hungry? Can I get you a…oh…Crockett! It’s you. Hi, sweetie.”
“Shelly! Ain’t you jest as purty as a speckled pup under a red wagon? We’re gonna eat, hon. Why doan you jest come back in a minit or two? I hate to see you leave, but I shore do admire yer exit.”
Shelly giggled and slapped him on the shoulder before going in search of her next victim.
Satin peered at him. “Shelly?” she asked.
“Cute, huh?” Crockett said. “She and I met years ago at a club called Banjos and Buicks. We won a dance contest together. I was gay at the time.”
*****
The night was a major success. Satin adjusted to Crockett being evaluated and scoped by some of the inhabitants, and only once did she have to tell him to stop scanning the room like a cop. Their shrimp and fries were more than acceptable, and the scotch wasn’t bad. Phil LaRosa stopped by and visited a bit early in the evening. Satin was suitably impressed.
The band, some imported musicians called Wild Rose, was excellent, doing everything from old Merle Haggard tunes to new stuff Crockett had never heard before. The two of them danced three or four times, Satin turned down several offers from young, and not so young, swains, but hit the floor for every line dance the came along.
A little after midnight, as the band played something advising young women to save a horse and ride a cowboy, they left. As they walked out of the building, they found LaRosa addressing a group of four or five individuals in the parking lot. One of the men had a bloody nose. The exchange was heated. Crockett left Satin by the walkway and went over.
“Everything all right, Phil?”
“Just these guys who can’t go back into the club. No fighting allowed.”
Crockett looked at the young men.
“You heard him,” he said. “Go away.”
“Who the fuck are you?” bloody nose said.
“My name’s Crockett. I’m county law. You fellas are gonna have to leave now.”
“Crockett?” one of them said. “You that ol’ boy that tangled with Spud?”
“Wouldn’t call it a tangle,” Crockett said. “Spud wasn’t much trouble. Sorry guys, Phil’s the boss around here. You need to leave or the club can have you cited for criminal trespass to land.”
“Yessir. We don’t want no trouble. We’ll be goin’ now.”
They watched the group walk away. LaRosa thanked him, and turned back to the club. Crockett stood by himself for a moment, attempting to understand what had just happened.
Damn.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Crockett sat in the swing, sipped his morning coffee, and watched Satin step gingerly out to join him.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.
“Sore feet,” she replied, wincing as she took a seat beside him.
“Wonder why?”
“I haven’t worn boots in a long time. I haven’t danced in a longer time.”
“You looked good, though. As I understand it, if you’re a girl, sometimes looking good is more important than comfort.”
“I had fun. I forgot how much I like to dance.”
“Fun always has its price.”
“I wanna go back. You can come with me. Maybe next time, you can watch me two-step with somebody. There were several candidates.”
“Always nice to make new friends.”
“It’ll give you a chance to see Shelly again,” Satin said. “She seems like a lovely child.”
Crockett nodded. “I like her skirt,” he replied. “It’s short.”
“You are such an ass.”
“If you’re gonna insult me, why don’t you just go away?”
“I would if I could walk.”
“Limp to the tub and take a long hot girl-bath. I’ll get the snake oil out of the kitchen drawer and massage it into your hooves before you get cast in your stall and we have to call the vet.”
“Think that’ll work?”
Crockett grinned. “It always did with Shelly,” he said. “We won a dance contest, you know.”
“Oh hell,” Satin muttered. She got to her feet and limped away.
Before he followed her inside, Crockett sat and held onto his grin for a while. He won so few.
*****
While Satin soaked, Crockett went outside to clear any excess brush or fallen limbs from the overgrown drive that led from the east side of the house to the lake’s dam. Satisfied with his work, he got out the mower and hit the weeds a few licks, returned to the cabin, worked over Satin’s boot-abused digits, and left her swathed in her big white robe, snoring on the bed, with feet that smelled like a koala convention. He fixed a sandwich with chips, treated Nudge and Dundee to a couple of bites of honey ham, and sat down to wait on the truck. A little before one, he heard the driveway alarm sound. Outside, a semi tractor towing a strange trailer lumbered up the drive.
“Yer name Crockett?” the guy said, climbing down from the cab.
“That’s me,” Crockett replied, pointing to the less than pristine route he’d just mowed. “I didn’t realize you’d be in a tractor-trailer. I don’t know if you can get that thing down to the dam.”
“Name’s Pete,” the guy said, offering Crockett a hand as he surveyed the situation. “How far is it?”
“’Bout a hundred yards.”
“Any tight turns?”
“No. It’s pretty straight.”
Pete grinned. “If I can git in, I can git out. Why doan you walk ahead a the truck? Harold an’ me’ll follow behind ya. That’s Harold up there in the cab.”
Crockett waved at Harold. Harold waved back. They started the journey to his water wonderland.
*****
After a couple of tense moments and ten minutes of travel, the truck and trailer sat within fifty feet of the shore. The guys ran hose lines to the water and fired up a generator.
“We’re gonna put some a yer water up inta our water,” Harold said over the noise of the pump, “an’ mix the two together around them fish. That’ll git ‘em used to the temperature a yer pond and adjust watcha call the Ph factor so they won’t git all shocked in the new place an’ die from it. We brought ya what ya ordered, plus a extra couple a percent more, to replace any of ‘em that might not be able to stand it.”
“Okay,” Crockett agreed, and watched the two men clamber around the tanks for a few minutes, then drag out some large plastic buckets. Harold came back.
“Most companies that do this just rent trucks to haul their fish. Not us. The hatchery owns their own fleet. Plus, we got a helluva inspection to go through ever time we haul. Most folks just run big pipes down the bank an’ let the fish slide through them pipes inta the water, but we net ‘em out inta them buckets or bags, carry ‘em down to the water, let em git used to things a little more, then ease ‘em inta the pond, gentle like. That way we doan lose many fish, you wind up with more than you ordered, and we git your business when ya need more. Good deal for you; good deal for us.”
Crockett was impressed. “I have another order into you guys for October.”
Harold grinned. “Well, Hell,” he said, “since we already gotcha agin’, ol’ Pete an’ me’ll just toss ‘em in by hand from up on top the trailer. You already paid for that next bunch?”
“Harold,” Crockett said, “I suspect you are full of shit.”
“’Bout half,” Harold said. “How big a pond ya got here?”
“Around twenty acres. It runs up a lotta little draws and cuts. Nearly thirty feet deep in places and a lot of shoreline.”
“You fixin to feed ‘em?”
“No.”
“Shouldn’t need to. This place oughta settle in real good. I notice ya left some trees an’ stuff stickin’ up in the water.”
“Yeah. Got brush and downed trees on the bottom here and there, too. Left some gravel shallows in a few of the draws.”
“Good cover. Good spawnin’ grounds. Purty out here.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, since we ain’t gonna just throw ‘em in from up here, you go stand down by the water if ya want to, an’ we’ll bring ‘em down a few at a time an’ acclimate ‘em a little more before we dump ‘em in. Take a hour or better. That’ll give ya a chance to name ‘em.”
“I think I’ll call the first one Harold,” Crockett said, and walked down the bank.
*****
Satin came outside just as the truck was backing out to the road. Limping a little, she walked to where Crockett stood in the drive.
“How be you feets?” he asked.
“Better,” she said, slipping an arm around his waist. “Who was that?”
“Fish.”
“Fish?”
“Yep. Ten thousand one-to-three inch hybrid bluegill, four thousand one-to-three inch redear bream, and sixty thousand fathead minnows.”
“Jesus! That’s a lot of fish.”
“This October I’ll get three thousand two-to-four inch black crappie and another fifty thousand fatheads.”
“Well,” Satin said, “at least you won’t be the only one anymore.”
Ignoring the jibe, Crockett continued. “Then next April, three thousand four-to-six inch bass and a couple of dozen grass carp. Maybe some more minnows, too. I haven’t decided.”
Satin thought for a moment. “But right now we have what, sixty or seventy thousand fish in the pond?”
“Yep.”
“I wanna see,” she said, and headed down the slope. Crockett joined her as she stood and peered into the water.
“Where are they?” Satin asked.
“They’re in there,” Crockett said. “I saw ‘em being put in. The first one is named Harold.”
“I don’t see any.”
Crockett patted her on the shoulder. “That’s okay, honey,” he said. “You’re just looking at the top.”
*****
That evening Crockett fixed dinner so Satin could stay off her feet then brought her a tray as she sat on the couch with her feet on the coffee table.
“You can use the recliner,” he said. “Be more comfortable.”
“Your chair. I know my place.”
“Since when?”
“Since I decided I still like to dance, and I don’t want to go to the club all by myself. I’m a married woman. It wouldn’t be seemly.”
Crockett grinned. “Seemly?”
“Yes. One has certain conventions to adhere to when one is married.”
“Okay. I don’t wanna upset your sensibilities. I promise to escort your seemly self to the club this coming weekend if you’ll accompany me shopping upon the morrow.”
“Why?”
“Pond boat.”
“First the fish, now a boat. Is there no end to it?”
“And a dock. A floating one.”
“Fish, boat and a dock. My God. Newly wed and already I’ve lost you to the lake.”
“Not all the time,” Crockett said. “It wouldn’t be seemly.”
*****
Over the next few days, Crockett cruised by Buckles and Bows several times, watching the place from a distance and noting the arrival of different trucks and continuing interior construction. He stopped by the parking lot most every night for a walk through, said hello to Phil from time to time, met the security guy, Jackie, who patrolled the lot, and was regularly greeted by patrons going in or out, some of whom even called him Crockett. He was becoming a bit of a fixture. That was fine. He was even delivered a regular cup of coffee via Shelly and her short skirt. That was fine, too.
*****
He was in that general area Thursday night near the end of shift when Charlie Rogers, in Hart-five, reported he was following an old Chevy step-van on Highway One-fifty-two that had a taillight showing white to the rear. Charlie had requested a check on the van’s Florida license plates. Trusting his gut, Crockett got on the air.
“Hart-two to Hart-six.”
“Go, Two,” Gordon Mills answered.
“You close to Five?”
“”Five or six miles.”
“Get after him. Quietly. Hustle.”
“Ten-four.”
“Five?”
“Go ahead, Two.”
“Don’t stop that van without backup.”
“Ten-four. You know something I don’t?”
“I know lotsa things you don’t, Charlie. Like my mother’s maiden name. Wait for backup.”
“Ten-four, Two.”
Crockett pulled a u-turn, clicked on his cop lights, and kicked the Ram in the butt.
He was still about three miles from the van’s location when Charlie announced backup was in place and called for a 10-38. Headquarters answered affirmatively and stated the van was registered to one Hector Lopez, of 2134 Brockway Road, Winterspring, Florida. Mister Lopez had an active warrant out of Ocala, Florida for failure to appear on a DUI.
“Ten-four, HQ. He’s on the shoulder. Five and Six are out at the scene.”
Crockett was running a little over a hundred miles an hour when he topped a low hill and saw the flashing lights a half-mile in front of him. He slowed and approached from the opposite direction, angling the truck so it’s driving lights lit up the side of the suspect vehicle. Charlie and Gordon were talking with three individuals at the rear of the van. He got out and walked over. Charlie approached him.
“They all got valid Florida licenses,” he said. “None of them are this Hector Lopez guy. They say they borrowed the truck and are on their way to Colorado Springs to visit friends.”
“You shake ‘em down?”
“Gordon did.”
“Check out the van?”
“Not yet. Didn’t know if we had probable cause.”
“Who was driving?”
“The short guy, Hernandez.”
“All right. I’ll talk to him and get in the van. You and Six just hold their attention and keep ‘em busy while I do. Be nice. I don’t want anybody freakin’ out.”
“Okay.”
“Mister Hernandez, is it?” Crockett asked, walking over to the man.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry about all the hassle, sir. A broken taillight like that, with all that white light showing, sure can attract attention.”
“I guess.”
“That’s why my guys here stopped you. They tell me you’ve all got valid driver’s licenses and that you borrowed this van. Is that correct?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t see there’s any reason to make a federal case out of this. You probably didn’t even know the taillight was damaged, did you?”
“No. I woulda had it fixed.”
“I don’t think we need to hold you guys. It’s just a taillight. Lotsa truck stops around where you can get it repaired now that you know about it. You will get it repaired, won’t you, sir?”
“Sure, man. Soon as I can.”
Crockett smiled. “Good,” he said. “I guess you three can be on your way then…ah, wait a minute. Just so we can settle this and get you guys back on the road, is it okay with you if I take a peek inside the van, you know, just to make sure you don’t have any dead bodies or armed terrorists in there?”
“Uh…sure. Thas okay.”
“Does this back door roll up?”
“Yeah.”
“Would you open it for me, sir? I’m not sure how it works.”
Smirking, Hernandez rolled up the door.
“Thank you,” Crockett went on. “I won’t be a minute.”
He stepped up into the cargo area and flashed his light around. One old mattress and a couple of sleeping bags covered most of the floor, a floor made of plywood, a floor that flexed a bit under his feet, a floor that was a few inches higher on the wheel wells than it should have been. He continued his brief search and clambered back down to the shoulder of the road.
“Well,” Crockett said, “I guess that wraps it up, Mister Hernandez, except for one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Would you mind opening up th
e floor for me, so I can see what you’re hiding under it?”
The suspect closest to Gordon Mills bolted, running down the slope to the north and into the dark field next to the highway. Instantly, Crockett slammed Hernandez into the rear corner of the van hard enough to cause the dazed man to slump to the ground, then turned to suspect number two, his Beretta already in hand and pointed at the man.
“No!” he said. “Not an inch. Get the rabbit, you two!
Charlie and Gordon, neither of whom had moved in the preceding two seconds, tore off down the shallow hill after the fleeing suspect. Crockett put suspect two on the asphalt beside Hernandez and cuffed them to each other.
“First one of you shitheads that moves is the first one I’m gonna shoot in the fucking knee. You lay there, you keep quiet, and you pray that I don’t do something stupid.”
In the distance, a light caliber shot rang out, followed immediately by three rounds of heavier fire. Crockett keyed the mic on his walkee.
“Five!” he barked. “Sit-rep?”
Nothing. He waited ten seconds.
“Five! Sit-rep!”
Charlie’s panting voice came back. “We got him, Two! We’re okay. He’s bleeding on his calf. Don’t know if Six shot him, or he just hurt himself when he hit that gully in the dark. Had a little twenty-five automatic. We got that, too.”
“Two to HQ.”
“Go, Two.”
“I need a wrecker to haul a stepvan to your location, and I need Sheriff Smoot at HQ when we arrive. Three will be in custody. I’ll also need contact names and numbers for local P.D.s in Winterspring and Ocala, Florida.”
“Ten-four.”
Charlie and Gordon came huffing up the slope, a dejected suspect handcuffed between them. They put him on the shoulder with the other two.
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