Behind the Badge

by David R Lewis

  “Thanks, pal.”

  “I’ll also tell Mister Peterson that you’re here. He wants to meet you.”

  “Who’s Peterson?”

  “The general manager. He’s heard about you.”

  “He okay?”

  “He’s the general manager,” she said. “I’ll get your order in.”

  As she turned to go, Crockett lightly touched her arm. “Shelly,” he said, “if Satin outclasses you, she’s the only woman in the place that does.”

  Shelly looked directly at him and her waitress smile fell away. “Thanks, Crockett,” she said. “You got a lot a class, too.”

  *****

  Satin covered her burger in lettuce, tomato, onion, more tomato, one of those entire little paper cup things of mustard, and tore into it like a great white. Crockett watched in fascination.

  “Arh yew gonga ee?” Satin asked in somewhat less than ladylike fashion.

  “Yeah. Watching you attack that burger sorta had me stunned. Kinda like a train wreck or something.”

  “Ish goo!” she replied, and rededicated herself to the task at hand.

  Crockett had just placed a slice of tomato on his sandwich when a well-groomed forty-year-old man with thick dark hair and darkly tinted rimless glasses stopped by the table. He was wearing a chocolate-brown western suit with a white shirt and turquoise bolo tie.

  “Mister Crockett?”

  Crockett stood up and extended his hand. “Mister Peterson, I presume.”

  Peterson smiled. “Yes, I am,” he said. “Please call me Ray.”

  “And please call me Crockett. This is my wife, Satin. Satin, this is Ray. He’s the general manager here.”

  Satin took his offered hand. “Nice to meet you, Ray. I enjoy your new club. Would you care to join us?”

  “I’ve already interrupted your meal as much as I dare. I just wanted to let your husband know how much the staff appreciates him around here.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Satin said.

  Peterson turned to Crockett. “From what I’ve heard and read about you, mis…uh, Crockett, you seem to be a man of will and purpose.”

  “Well,” Crockett replied, “I can get pretty silly around the holidays.”

  Peterson smiled. “I just wanted you to know how much we appreciate you keeping an eye on us as you do. Being a new club and all, it’s nice to have someone of local experience to look out for us. In that vein, let me also say how much we appreciate your patronage. Your drinks and dinner are, of course, on the house. Not only tonight, but anytime you care to drop by. We want you to consider Buckles and Bows your home away from home. We take care of our friends. We’d like to consider you among that number.”

  “Ray, that’s very nice of you. I don’t wish to offend you in any way, but, while I will gladly accept the occasional cup of coffee from the diner when I’m on patrol out in this neck of the woods, anything more could easily be misconstrued by the general public. While I’m certain your intent is without condition, I’m afraid I must decline. To accept such generosity could be viewed as favoritism. I cannot let it appear that I play favorites. I don’t, you see.”

  “Ah,” Peterson said. “No offense taken, I assure you. I have bothered the two of you enough, Mister Crockett. Enjoy your evening.” He disappeared into the crowd.

  “Snake,” Satin said. “But he serves a great burger.”

  *****

  The band was pretty good. Their girl singer had some range. She even did some old Patsy Cline things. Midway through their first set, two waitresses, accompanied by whistles and cat-calls, took to the cages and were lifted about fifteen feet above the dance floor. Shelly was on the left of the stage.

  “That girl can dance,” Satin said.

  With great effort, Crockett took his eyes off the stage and turned to her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did you speak?”

  Satin grinned. “You like her, doncha?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I do. There’s more there than just a giggly little waitress. She and I talked a bit. She asked about my lady, and I told her that we were newly married. She related that she knew when she was outclassed. Says a lot for her.”

  “Says something for you too, Crockett.”

  “Aw shucks,” Crockett said.

  *****

  A little after eleven, when Satin and Crockett were considering calling it a night, Shelly showed up at the table.

  “Crockett,” she said, “there’s something you oughta know.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I was in the john a few minutes ago and there was this girl, white female, early twenties, five-six, one-thirty, attractive, good figure, red shoulder length hair. She was on her cell phone yelling at the guy on the other end, saying things like they weren’t married anymore, she could go where she wanted and date who she wanted, and to quit bothering her. Then she started to kinda plead with him. Begging him not to come out here, warning him about his temper and stuff. Saying she’d call the police. She was scared, Crockett. Really fearful. When I left the john, she was leaning on a wall and crying. That was about ten minutes ago.”

  “What’s she wearing?”

  “Can’t miss her. Looks like a rodeo queen. Got on yellow jeans and boots, a white ruffled blouse with yellow trim on the front, and a yellow cowboy hat with one of those tiara bands in white feathers.”

  “Okay. Thanks sweetheart. I appreciate ya. Satin, you stay here. I’m going out front and get a car or two in this area. Keep an eye peeled. If you see her, call my cell.”

  “Gotcha,” Satin said.

  “I’ll find Phil,” Shelly said, and scurried away.

  Crockett dug out his cell phone and started working his way to the door. The dispatcher answered on the third ring.

  “Police department.”

  “Martha, it’s Crockett. Who we got on the street?”

  “We got Arky Bennett in nine, and John Cleaver in eight. Mills is on suspension, but I guess you know that.”

  “They busy?”

  “Nope.”

  “Get ‘em up to Buckles and Bows, now. Have one of ‘em set up a little to the east; the other to the west. I’m not in my truck right now so call my cell when they’re in position. Could be nothing. Could be trouble between a hothead and his ex-wife.”

  “Gotcha, Two. Hang on.”

  Crockett made it to the front door before his line clicked open again.

  “Two?”

  “Go.”

  “Nine should be there in five or less. Eight is out by Bobcat Hollow Road. Take him ten or fifteen.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Martha,” Crockett said, having no idea where the hell Bobcat Hollow Road was.

  “Watch your ass, Two. I got your cell number in front of me.”

  Crockett stepped out into the night. The parking lot had several pedestrians in it, some coming into the club, some going out. An occasional car or truck left or entered. Shouts were passed back and forth across the lot, the clink of a bottle was heard now and then, nothing unusual. A dark Mustang turned onto the hard road out of the drive and lit ’em up, the engine roaring as he sped away. Phil materialized beside him as Crockett watched a white Chevy truck leave, and a cherry, dark blue El Camino turn into the lot and gurgle slowly down through the crowded parking area.

  “What are we looking for?” Phil asked.

  “I wish I knew,” Crockett replied. “Shelly tell you anything?”

  “Just about some girl in the john scared her husband was gonna show up.”

  “Ex-husband,” Crockett said.

  “Shit. They’re the worst kind.”

  Something about what Phil said Crockett found funny, and he chuckled as he watched the El Camino make another slow pass.

  “Nice Camino,” Phil went on. “Sounds good. Sixty-eight? Sixty-nine?”

  “Somewhere in there,” Crockett said. “350 or a 396. Slick.”

  They stood quietly as a ratty old yellow Ford F150 pulled in. It had a taillight out and two me
n in the front seat. The passenger scanned the area as they drove through and joined the parade. After a while a Toyota left with three giggling girls, followed by a Ford Ranger with two yelling guys. Soon an H3 Hummer entered, stopped to let the El Camino pass, and proceeded into the lot. The yellow F150 rolled by again. Crockett’s cell phone went off.

  “Crockett.”

  “Nine’s in position a couple of hundred yards to your east,” Martha said.

  “Thanks, kiddo.”

  “Yep. HQ out.”

  “Got a car east a little way,” Crockett said. “That’s good.” His phone went off again.

  “Crockett.”

  “It’s Satin. Your girl is heading toward the front. She’s with a guy wearing a leather jacket and blue jeans.”

  “Okay. You stay there. You don’t come out here for any reason.”

  “I won’t. Shelly said the same thing. You be careful.”

  “Like a mouse. Thanks.”

  “She coming?” Phil asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t like that yellow Ford much.”

  “Me either,” Crockett said. “You fall back by the doors so the girl will pass by you, but don’t get too close to her. Don’t get too close to me, either. If the shit hits the fan in a serious manner, I don’t want to get hate mail from your mother. Be cool. If something is gonna play out, watch it start from a distance.”

  “Okay,” Phil said and moved away.

  Crockett crossed the walk, moving closer to his truck, and turned sideways so he could watch the lot and the entrance to the club at the same time. The girl and her boyfriend came through the door and stood in front of the building looking at the parking area, just as the yellow F150 was turning to pass by the front of the lot again. Keeping an eye on the truck, Crockett took a hesitant step in their direction. An engine roared to his left, and the blue El Camino rocketed toward the entrance and slid to a stop between the walkway and the old yellow Ford. Three gunshots echoed off the front of the building. Crockett saw the muzzle flashes through the windshield. The El Camino bolted toward the entrance of the lot, showering gravel from its rear tires.

  Beretta in hand, he aimed at the fleeing vehicle but, because of entering traffic, could not fire. Shit! He got out his keys as he ran toward the Ram and watched the El Camino fishtail out of the drive and onto Ninety-two Highway. Damn! The sonofabitch turned west!

  “Two to HQ.”

  “Go, Two.”

  “HQ, shots fired at Buckles and Bows,” Crockett said, turning out of the drive and switching on his lights and siren. “I am in pursuit of a Chevy El Camino, dark blue in color, westbound on Ninety-two. One male suspect in the vehicle. Break!”

  “I’m behind you, Two,” Arky Bennett shouted over his siren. “I see your lights.”

  “Four, Nine. Suspect fired three rounds toward the entrance of the club. HQ, if you haven’t already, probably outa get a bus out there.”

  “Ambulance enroute, Two. Say your 10-20.”

  “On Ninety-two, HQ, passing Miller road. This Camino is fast. I’m over one fifteen and not gaining on him.”

  “I’m no help,” Arky shouted. “I can’t even get this piece a crap over ninety.”

  Crockett kept his foot down, the taillights of the El Camino still visible a couple of hundred yards ahead.

  “Hart-eight here, Two. I’m still about five miles south of you. I’m no good, either!”

  Traffic was relatively light. There was little in the way to slow the El Camino down. Wondering how tires as large as his would handle the speed, Crockett kept the throttle to the floor, passing the occasional car. The big hemi was hovering at a little over 130 when Crockett noticed the smoke on the road.

  “HQ, Two.”

  “Go.”

  “I got smoke on the highway. Could be we’ve got a break here. Stand by.”

  The Ram crested a low hill and the taillights were visible again. Crockett was gaining.

  “Arky, he’s slowing. I’m up here close to Mayflower Drive. Should be on him pretty quick.”

  “Four, Two. Just a couple of minutes behind you!”

  Crockett clicked on his dash-cam, then remembered his driving lights. He hit the switch in time to see the El Camino pulling to the side of the road about a quarter of a mile ahead. He stood on the brakes, slowed to a reasonable speed, and pulled onto the shoulder, fifty feet behind the truck.

  “HQ, Two!”

  “Go.”

  “Ninety-two just west of Mayflower. Suspect vehicle is dead in the water. Chevy El Camino, Missouri license, M-Mary, J-John, 352. Driver is sitting in the vehicle.”

  “Ten four. Nine?”

  “Be there in just a minute,” Arky yelled.

  “Ten-four.”

  Crockett opened his driver’s door at an angle and eased down behind it, the Bullpup twelve-gauge resting across the windowsill. He turned on the bullhorn and picked up the mic.

  “Driver!” he said, his amplified voice booming through the distance between them. “Place both your hands out the window so I can see them.”

  No response.

  “Driver, place both your hands out the window so I can see them, open your door from the outside, and exit the vehicle.”

  No response.

  Arky’s siren was audible from behind him. He flipped the switch back to radio.

  “Shut it down, Arkie,” Crockett said. “Get no closer than I am, and stop on the other side of the road.”

  “Ten-four, Two.”

  Just as Arkie rolled up across from him, Crockett saw the driver’s door of the El Camino slowly open and a white male step from the vehicle. He turned to face Crockett, raised his right hand, and directed a pistol toward the Ram. Crockett dropped the mic and took control of the shotgun.

  “Put it down, son.” he shouted. “No need to do this. Goddammit, kid! Don’t do it. Please. Put it down.”

  Crockett saw the pistol’s muzzle flash, and fired. When he recovered from the Bullpup’s recoil, he could see the suspect lying on his back next to the El Camino. He jacked a fresh shell into the chamber.

  Arky came running across the road, his handgun pointed in the general direction of the fallen young man. “You okay, Crockett?”

  “I’m a damn site better than that dumbass is,” Crockett replied, getting to his feet, his shotgun trained on the fallen figure. “Stay behind me, Arky,” he went on, and began a slow walk up to the El Camino, the Bullpup trained on the fallen suspect.

  The young man lay on his back, a pistol still clutched in his hand. Crockett kicked the gun away. Blood colored the front of the kid’s t-shirt in three or four places. His eyes were open. He looked startled.

  “Aw damn, kid,” Crockett said. “Why the hell didn’t you listen?”

  Arky put his fingers to the suspect’s neck. “I got no pulse,” he said.

  “Big surprise,” Crockett muttered and turned away toward his truck. When he reached it, he grabbed the mic again. “Two to HQ.”

  “Go.”

  “HQ, I need Dale Smoot, a bus, a wrecker, another unit for traffic control, and a coroner out here, please.”

  “Ten-four, Two.”

  “Whatdaya hear from Buckles and Bows?”

  “One wounded inside the club. Not serious. On the way to Smithville hospital ER. Everybody else is okay. One of the rounds went through the glass door and hit a girl in the lower leg.”

  “We’ll need a statement from her, one from the young woman who’s ex started all this, one from a waitress named Shelly, and one from the club bouncer, Phil LaRosa. I can’t be involved in anything in the investigation after I made the stop.”

  “Ten-four, Two. Dale’s on the way out there now. Sorry, Crockett.”

  “Me too,” he said.

  Arky was staring at a hole in the Ram’s windshield, just above the hood, about six inches from the driver’s side doorframe.

  “Jesus, Crockett,” he breathed. “That round missed your head by about ten inches. The guy da
mn near killed you.”

  Crockett laid the shotgun across the seat and looked down the shoulder to where the body lay.

  “Damn near ain’t good enough, Arky,” he said.

  *****

  Crockett was sitting in his truck and Arky was taking photos when Smoot arrived. Dale walked over and leaned on the open door.

  “Sonofabitch,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Crockett agreed.

  “You have your dash-cam on?”

  “Yep.”

  “He shoot first?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Crockett replied, pointing to the hole in the windshield.

  “What’d you hit him with?”

  “Shotgun.”

  Dale winced. “Slug?”

  “And three double-ought buck. It’s a combat round.”

  “Arky see the shooting?”

  “All of it.”

  “You touch the body or handle any evidence?”

  “I kicked his gun away. Nothin’ else. Arky checked for a pulse. Wasn’t one.”

  Smoot thought for a moment. “Okay,” he said. “You’re out of it. Consider yourself to be on five days paid leave. You are not part of the investigation.”

  “Sure.”

  “Your truck and your shotgun are both evidence. Take Arky’s car and get your ass to HQ. I want a full statement of all relative events as soon as you can get it written. I’ll have your truck towed in. This is pretty much open and shut. Inquest in a few days. As far as I can see, it was all by the book.”

  “Goddamn kid is dead, Dale.”

  “And you’re not.”

  “Oh, shit!”

  “What?”

  “I left Satin at the club.”

  Smoot smiled. “She’s at HQ by now. That little blond waitress was going to drive her in. They both have to give statements.”

  “Okay. I’ll get Arky’s keys and see you back in town. What a mess. I hate this shit.”

  “Him or you, Crockett.”

  Crockett looked at Smoot for a moment. “Yeah,” he said. “What else is old.”