“Who returned fire?” Crockett asked.
Gordon grinned. “I did,” he said.
“C’mere,” Crockett replied, and walked to the front of the van. “Could you see the suspect when you discharged your weapon?”
“Well, no, but…”
“So you fired into the dark, not knowing what was out there.”
“He shot at us!”
“Flashlights make good targets. How many times did you fire your weapon?”
“Uh, jeeze, Two, I don’t know. Three rf four, I guess.”
“Were you running?”
“Well, yeah!”
“Did Charlie shoot?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You fired three times, Mills, three times at a target you couldn’t see, while running, making it impossible to hit anything if you knew what you were shooting at. Charlie said you shook these guys down, right?”
“I, uh, yeah.”
“Think you might have missed something?”
“That twenty-five is little, Crockett. I don’t know where he had it.”
“It’s your business to know. For your information, probably in his crotch. If you haven’t got the guts to grab a suspect’s balls when you’re checking for weapons, you got no business on the job. You put yourself at risk, you put Charlie at risk, and you put me at risk. Goddammit, Mills, I thought I could count on you. I thought you were better than this. Here’s the deal. I see one smile on your face tonight, I hear one excuse for your sad performance, and I will make it my business to not only have your job, but to have your ass. We clear?”
“Yessir.”
“Okay. Now go be a cop.”
*****
When the smoke cleared, two of the three suspects were found to have active warrants in Florida, and their van was found to have sixty kilos of a green leafy substance, subsequently identified as cannabis of a very high grade with a street value in excess of a quarter of a million dollars, hidden under the floor. The suspects, van, and contents were passed on to the state police, who would, in turn, hand them over to the feds because of the interstate transport of a controlled substance.
Crockett had a talk with Dale, and Gordon Mills was given two days off without pay and told to get his shit together or he’d ride with Crockett for a week or two. Deputy Mills was suitably contrite and offered Crockett an apology. The apology was rejected, at least for the moment, to give Deputy Mills more time to be freaked out.
*****
When Crockett went into work on Friday afternoon, two news vans were parked at the Sheriff’s Office, with reporters waiting to talk with the man behind the bust. Crockett attempted a getaway, but it was foiled by a young blond lady with a microphone and a sincere desire to move to a larger market. He gave her a cryptic interview, praised the two young deputies who did all the work, and escaped into the building. Pausing outside the door to the squad room, he heard Charlie Rogers talking with someone.
“That old sonofabitch is fast!” Charlie said. “Slammed that Mexican fucker up against the truck and had a gun on the other one before Mills and me could even move. And cool as hell. Slick, too. Conned that fucker into thinking he was a dumbshit, just to get in that truck and look things over. Then, in the middle of all that, tore Mills a new one. Anybody that thinks Crockett can’t haul the mail, ain’t payin’ attention.”
Crockett smiled and slipped out the back door.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Smoot joined Crockett in the back booth at the usual time.
“Mills is scared shitless,” he said.
“He’ll be okay. Betcha he never fucks up a body search again.”
Smoot chuckled. “I pity the next poor bastard he shakes down. He’ll be sterile by the time Mills is through with him.”
“Gordon’s okay. Just ignorant. Needs experience.”
“He got some. Got white as a sheet when I told him if he didn’t get his shit together, he’d have to ride with you.”
Crockett laughed. “I am pretty scary.”
“I don’t dare tell ‘em the truth. If they find out what a pussy you really are, anarchy will rule.”
“Be better if they didn’t know,” Crockett said.
“Speaking of pussies,” Smoot went on, “our illustrious Mayor Underwood wants to give you a citation.”
Crockett nearly choked on his coffee. “What?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, two o’clock, City Hall. You bein’ such a hero and all.”
“Oh, hell.”
“Three desperate criminals arrested, a quarter of a million bucks of dope seized, make that a half million, maybe more before Underwood gets done with it, shots fired in a daring escape attempt. Not since the last episode of Hawaii Five-Oh have such amazing events been on display. Except, maybe, the night the Boggs Brothers got their truck hit by that nasty old train.”
Crockett grimaced and shook his head. “Not gonna happen, Dale,” he said.
“That’s what I told him. Said you were too humble and shy to participate in an award ceremony. That you, much as the Lone Ranger, would prefer to just disappear after your deeds of bravery, and let the townsfolk get back to their narrow little lives.”
Crockett looked into Smoot’s grinning face. “God, you are such an asshole,” he said.
“You have no idea,” Smoot replied.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I gave you up,” Smoot said.
As the words left Dale’s mouth, Crockett saw Mayor Underwood bop through the front door of the café, scan the room, and dart in his direction.
“Officer Crockett,” Underwood beamed, “has Sheriff Smoot advised you of the situation?”
“He mentioned something about it.”
“Tomorrow afternoon at two, on the steps of City Hall, there will be a press conference. At that event, I will present you with a framed certificate, a citation in honor of your work in last night’s arrest of the Florida escapees and drug dealers.”
“Mister Mayor,” Crocket said, “with all due respect and full understanding of how much cameras and reporters mean to you, I must decline.”
“What?”
“I decline.”
“You refuse?”
“Yep.”
Underwood puffed up. “And if I refuse to accept your refusal?”
“My resignation will be on Dale’s desk within an hour, and my truck will be at Jelly Morton’s garage to get all the cop shit taken out of it.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“It certainly is,” Smoot said. “Pretty ridiculous to lose a good cop and a good mentor just so you can get eight seconds of face time on channel five.”
“Tomorrow afternoon! Two o’clock!” Underwood thundered, and stormed out.
Crockett looked at Smoot. “You have resignation forms, or do I just write something?”
“We got forms. You really want to resign?”
“Rather not. Once I get past the boredom, I’m kinda having fun.”
“Could go to the ceremony.”
“Naw. I can’t let that little shit get on top of me. If I do, I’ll have to carry him around all the time.”
“Probably. What the hell. I’ll take care of it.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“I’ll get a friend over at the Platte County Landmark to spread the word to all the little newspapers, and I’ll call the TV stations. Tell everybody the thing has been cancelled. When nobody but the Mayor shows up, he’ll tell himself the appropriate lie and it’ll all blow over. I was you, I’d avoid hanging around town for a week or two.”
Crockett grinned. “My hero,” he said.
*****
The night was pretty routine. Hart-eight, John Cleaver, was called in to replace the suspended Gordon Mills. He and Charlie wrote five traffic citations between the two of them. One DUI bust became a trip to the hospital for a diabetic lady who went a little critical. A shots fired call over in Clayville turned out to be an elderly woman, Carr
ie Barton, who’d had enough of the raccoons skittering across her roof. She blew one, and a portion of her eave trough, away with her deceased husband’s ancient Long Tom twelve gauge. A marital dispute at the Dew Drop Inn, also in Clayville, was mediated by Hart-eight without arrests being made, Hart-five shooed a small contingent of pigs off of Dillman road over by Henley, and fun and games prevailed. At around eleven p.m. Crockett dropped by Buckles and Bows. Phil LaRosa was standing outside, getting a little air on the front walk.
Crockett parked his truck in the fire lane and strolled over. “Hey,” he said.
“Crockett,” Phil replied. “Hear you arrested some guys a got about a million bucks worth a reefer.”
Crockett nodded. “Something like that,” he said. “How’s things?”
“Had to bounce a couple tonight. Routine stuff mostly. A waitress’ ex-boyfriend got a little outa hand when he saw her dancing in one of the cages.”
“Cages?”
“Got ‘em installed this week. Go-go cages, like back in the sixties. One on each side of the stage. Management pays a waitress twenty bucks if she gets in one for ten minutes. She gets in, the thing slides up a couple of poles about eight feet above the stage, kinda like a little elevator, and the crowd gets to watch her dance and look up her skirt. The girls got these ruffled panty things, kinda like bathing suit bottoms, they wear over their regular underwear anyway.”
Crockett shook his head. “Jesus,” he said.
“Yeah. Can’t see anything, but if you been drinkin’, you think you might. I guess that’s the attraction. It’s nothin’. Nobody’s doing body shots on the bar.”
“Just another night in Whoville,” Crockett said.
Phil slapped him on the shoulder. “Gotta get back inside.”
“Who’s the band tomorrow night?”
“Bunch outa Columbia. Prairie Dream, or somethin’ like that. I’ve never heard ‘em. You comin’ out?”
“Might. Satin’s feet are about recovered from last time.”
Phil smiled and turned away.
*****
Crockett walked a circuit through the parking lot. He talked to a couple of marginal cases, but let them slide, and headed back toward the truck. He stopped by the front of the lot as Shelly came walking down the sidewalk, coffee in hand.
“Hey, kid,” he said.
“Hiya, Crockett,” she replied, extending the cup. “Somebody said you busted a bunch of bad guy smugglers.”
“Nothing Superman couldn’t have done. I’m trying to stay humble about the whole thing. I was pretty fearless, though.”
Shelly giggled. “Hear about our new cages?”
“Phil mentioned them. You dance?”
“Twenty-bucks cash for ten minutes? Sure, I dance.”
Crockett put his hand on his chest. “Be still my beating heart,” he said.
Shelly giggled again. “You and your lady, uh…”
“Satin.”
“Yeah. You and Satin have a good time last Saturday?”
“Yes, we did, and that was no lady, that was my wife.”
“You’re married?”
“Newly married.”
Shelly shook her head. “Aw,” she said. “My loss.”
Crockett grinned. “Bullshit,” he said. “You’re a good kid, Shelly. We both know that.”
She smiled at him. “Coming back tomorrow night?”
“I don’t know. We might.”
“Well,” she went on, turning to walk away, “in case you don’t…” she flipped up the back of her skirt and flashed him a quick look at red ruffled panties.
“What time do you open?” Crockett asked.
Shelly’s giggle followed her back inside.
*****
When Crockett got up the next morning, Satin was already on the porch swing with a cup of coffee. He poured one for himself, lighted a Sherman, and joined her.
“Scooter-pie,” he said, talking a seat.
“We have fish,” Satin replied.
“I know that.”
“I went down to the shore and there they were,” Satin went on. “Right in the shallow water. Minnows and little bitty fish. Looked like bluegills. I got a piece of bread and tossed in tiny crumbs. They ate ‘em.”
“There ya go. Successful aquaculture. I’m proud of you. You probably won’t notice many in a few days unless you keep feeding them. When they spread out through the whole lake, they’ll nearly disappear.”
“Did you get fish food?”
“No, I got thousands of minnows. They will spawn little baby fry. The tiny bluegills will eat them and grow to be bigger bluegills. Then the bigger bluegills will eat the minnows the baby fry they missed become. Then the bluegills will spawn and have little tiny bluegill babies, just in time for when the black crappies arrive to eat them. Then all those babies that they miss will get bigger just in time for the bass to show up and eat them. It’s the circle of life, honey.”
“So I don’t have any fish food, is that what you’re saying?”
“You don’t.”
“But I like feeding them.”
“Bread works. Or go to a fish food store and get pellets. You’ll probably wind up with a group of fishy friends waiting on you every morning.”
“That’d be a nice change.”
“Wanna go to Buckles and Bows tonight?”
“Screw the fish,” Satin said. “What time?”
“Why don’t we leave around seven-thirty, that’ll give me time to feed you.”
“Okay,” she replied, standing up. “I gotta go get a new pair of boots. My old ones have shrunk or something.”
“Or something,” Crockett said.
*****
They arrived at the club a little after eight that night, and the parking lot was already nearly full. Jackie, the lot security guard, flagged them down as they came into the drive and approached Crockett’s window.
“Evening,” he said. “Follow me.”
Crockett made a hard right behind Jackie, and waited while he removed an orange plastic cone from the first spot next to the fire lane.
“All yours,” Jackie said. “Phil’s idea. Have fun.”
*****
When Crockett and Satin got inside, Phil noticed them and eased over through the throng.
“Get your parking space?”
“Yeah,” Crockett said. “I’m not used to V.I.P. treatment. What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion. You’re a big help around here, you pay attention to the place, you settle folks down a little just by walking around the lot every night. I appreciate it. So does Jackie. Least we can do.”
“Thanks, Phil. I certainly didn’t expect anything.”
“That’s another reason you got it,” Phil replied. “See that table on the edge of the dance floor over there with the white card propped up on it?”
Crockett peered through the crowd and finally located the table Phil was talking about. “Yeah. There it is.”
“That’s yours,” Phil said. “I’ll see you later.” He shouldered his way through the crowd.
“Damn,” Satin said. “I feel like I am somebody.”
“Me too,” Crockett said. “I hope this is all.”
“Whadaya mean?”
“I’m not sure. We’ll see. Lead on, McDuff.”
*****
It took them a few minutes to wind their way through the cowboys and cowgirls and get to the table. They sat, and Satin laid the reserved card on its side. The sound system blared into action with an old Clarence Carter tune and, within thirty seconds, the entire dance floor was covered with row after row of partiers. Two hundred people, including Satin, all doing the same line dance. Crockett leaned back in his chair and grinned. A waitress appeared at his elbow.
“Hi! I’m Cathy. Somethin’ to drink?”
“Hi, Cathy. You happen to have Guinness?”
“Only in bottles.”
“That’s fine. Two please.”
“Comin’ up. You
’re Crockett, aren’t ya?”
“That would be me.”
“I thought so. I’ll tell Shelly you’re here. She’ll take care of you.”
“But you and I just met. I might like you more.”
Cathy laughed. “Probably,” she said, “but Shelly called dibs.”
“Damn shame I wasn’t this popular thirty years ago. Tell Shelly there’s no hurry.”
“Okay. Nice to meetcha, Crockett.”
*****
Clarence Carter finished in a few moments, and Satin walked across the dance floor and took a seat.
“How you doing with your new boots?” Crockett asked.
“Round toe and ropin’ heel make a helluva difference,” she said. “I’ll be sore tomorrow, but when I get ‘em broken in, there’ll be nothin’ stoppin’ me.”
“I ordered us a Guiness,” Crockett went on. “Hungry?”
“Remember those huge hamburgers we saw last week?”
“Yeah.”
“I want one.”
“All by yourself?”
“All by myself.”
Van Morrison’s version of “Stormy Monday” thundered out of the speakers, and Satin was on her feet.
“I’m gonna go work on my appetite,” she said, and headed back out onto the floor. Another two hundred joined her.
Crockett, happy to see her having fun, was watching her dance and feeling very lucky when Shelly showed up with their Guinness.
“Hey, Crockett. Watchin’ Satin dance?”
“You caught me,” he said. “Don’t be mad. I didn’t make you any promises.”
Shelly giggled. “I know when I’m outclassed,” she said. “You want something to eat?”
“Yeah. A couple of those immense burgers and fries will do nicely.”
“The kitchen is really backed up. I’ll put you guys on a rush. Be about fifteen minutes.”
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