Smoot looked at Crockett. “Had enough?” he asked.
“Hell, yes.”
“Cup of coffee?”
“You buying?”
“Yeah,” Smoot said, “but only because you’re so brave
*****
A truck carrying Crockett’s new dock arrived the next morning. He spent much of the day in a warm drizzle assembling the thing and anchoring it to the shore with coated chain and re-bar stakes driven into the ground. When everything was said and done, he had a floating honeycomb structure, five by sixteen feet, about thirty feet down the bank from where he fed the fish. The light rain and he both finished a little before dusk. Satin walked down with two double scotches on ice, and they sat on the new dock to drink and dangled their feet in the water. Or, in Crockett’s case, foot.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
At around eight the next morning, Satin, who seemed unusually chipper and full of herself, and Crockett were drinking their customary coffee while sitting in their customary swing on the customary deck, when a distant rumbling could be heard filtering through the trees from north of their position.
Satin flinched and scanned the woods intently. “Sounds as if the dirt ogres have returned to the forest,” she said, “bringing with them their hateful machines of demolition and destruction.”
Crockett shook his head and grinned. “What?” he asked.
“What, what?” she said.
“Dirt ogres?”
“Can you not hear their rending of the distant earth? Are your ears blind to the sound of such horror?”
“Here we go,” Crockett said.
“You must warn the kind ones, sir. You must warn the earth fairies and the rock elves, for it is they that shall suffer most from the onslaught.”
“Uh-huh.”
“The tree spirits have warned us of such a happening for many years. It is upon us as I speak, on the northern shore of the crystal lagoon. Make haste, sir, for the sake of all the forest people. Accept your birthright and your duty. Go, brave David. Go now.”
Crockett surged to his feet and placed his hands on his hips. “You are right, fair Satin,” he boomed. “Pray for me and the purity of my quest, for the dirt ogres are a hateful breed.”
Satin peered up at him. “Jesus, Crockett,” she said. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
*****
Crockett spent a couple of hours watching the dozer guy piss off the earth fairies, marveling at how rapidly things happened. In just those two hours, the drive from the road to the site was cleared and leveled, and the trees and brush from where the house and outbuildings would go was all pushed back into the woods, leaving nothing but ragged bare earth and stones. The dozer guy shut things down and walked over to where Crockett stood, wiping his face with a rag.
“Mornin,” he said.
“Thought I’d come out and supervise for a while,” Crockett replied. “Make sure you were doing everything right.”
The guy grinned. “Do I pass inspection?” he asked.
“How the hell do I know?” Crockett said. “I didn’t even have a sandbox when I was a kid.”
“By the end of today I’ll have everthing to bare dirt for the drives and build sites, and a lot of the trees and brush we don’t want pushed back to the perimeter of the property. Tomorrow I’ll finish that up and roll it all to compress the soil. If it’s okay with you, I’ll go ahead an’ git the base rock trucked in the next day. Bring out Earl an’ his Bobcat an’ he an’ me’ll spread the first layer to git it rolled. Do the whole thing again on Monday. Have a strong base laid down, even where the house’ll be. I’ll top that part off with crush an’ run so you’ll have a nice crawl space. After we git the mud hauled in for the foundation, the lines all dug an’ run, the house in an’ set up an’ ain’t gonna git no more heavy trucks in here, then we’ll spread the crush an’ run over the rest of the site, smooth the whole thing out, and roll it.”
“Took the words right outa my mouth,” Crockett said. “That’s exactly what I would have told you to do if you’d had the decency to ask.”
The dozer guy laughed. “Nice to work for somebody that knows what I’m doin’,” he said.
Sorry,” Crockett replied, “that guy is gonna have to wait. I’m here now. Which way was it to the road?”
*****
When Crockett got back to the house, he found Satin and Lyle Higgenbotham sitting on the deck drinking iced tea.
“Damn, Lyle,” Satin said. “He caught us.”
“He had to find out sooner or later,” Lyle replied. “Be a relief not havin’ to sneak around no more. Hiya, boy. I was scoutin’ a little place south a here a ways, thought I’d drop by. Been doin’ some snoopin’ for ya.”
“Oh, yeah?” Crockett replied, easing onto the swing.
“Yessir. Granite Investments. They’s a company outa the Dallas/Fort Worth area. Part owners of clubs there an’ in, or near, Albuquerque, Denver, Reno, Oakland, and Seattle.”
“Jesus. Who owns Granite?”
“That’s the thing. I doan know. Granite is just one of a whole mess a holding companies, investment firms, limited partnerships, financial conglomerates, an’ such. Cain’t trace it. Probably nobody can without involvin’ the IRS, the FBI, the CIA an’ the Boy Scouts of America.”
“That big, huh?”
“That spread out, anyways. Doan know how big they are. I do know that they come into someplace like here, close to a larger metro area, pick up a bunch a local investors on the reputation they got, an’ put in a place like that new one you’re askin’ about. Music clubs with waterholes. As far as I can tell, they ain’t into gamblin’ or anything like that. They make money for them an’ the investors. Everbody seems happy.”
“Maybe they’re okay,” Crockett said.
“Mebbe,” Lyle said. “’Bout that hippie boy that’s gonna live here.”
“Yeah?”
“Sell the parcel to him. Ya cain’t just give nothin’ away without opening a big can a worms. Hold his note, charge him minimal interest, an’ keep the payments as low as ya can. Or you can keep the place an’ rent it to him, or give him a lifetime lease. Make provisions in your will for him if ya want. I ain’t no lawyer, boy, Mebbe ya need to git a hold of one.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Hear ya shot a feller the other night.”
“Yessir.”
“Hear he was tryin’ ta shoot you.”
“Yessir.”
“Then ya done whatcha had to do. Doan let it wear on ya.”
“Thanks, Lyle.”
The old man got to his feet and presented Satin with his empty glass. “I better git ta goin’,” he said. “I seen that monster cat a yours when I come in. I don’t want him spookin’ the horses. Lemme know when ya git the new place in. I’d like to look it over and share a little sightin’ oil with ya.”
“You bet,” Crockett replied, and watched the old man ease down the stairs.
*****
Satin called Crockett away from his porch swing musings about thirty minutes later for ham sandwiches and chips.
“I need to get a hold of Shelly,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?” Satin replied.
Crockett grinned. “I need to talk with Shelly,” he said.
“That’s better. Want her phone number?”
“You have it?”
“Sure. We exchanged numbers when she brought me home the other night.”
“Good. Where is it?”
“I’ll get it for you after you eat. I know you, Crockett. You’ve got one of your feelings. You’ll call her, then fuss and stew, not eat, and in a couple of hours you’ll have a headache, be obsessing, and feel like hell. Not gonna happen. Not on my watch.”
Crockett smiled. “How’d I ever get by without you?” he asked.
“Not very damn well, the way I hear it,” Satin said.
*****
A little after one, Crockett used the landline.
“Hello?
”
“Shelly?”
“Hi, Crockett. What’s up?”
“Ah, well…how’d you know it was me?”
“With that voice? C’mon.”
Crockett laughed. “Fine,” he said. “I need a favor.”
“What can I do?”
“I need a list of the employees at Buckles and Bows. Full names, social security numbers if possible. From Peterson on down.”
“Wow. Okay. Lemme see what I can come up with.”
“I appreciate it. Don’t get yourself in trouble.”
“I’m just a waitress. Nobody pays any attention to me.”
“Yeah. Right.”
“Not secret agent kind of attention. Am I a secret agent?”
“You’re a good kid. Just be careful, dammit.”
“Can I ask what you need this for?”
“You can ask,” Crockett said.
“That’s what I thought. Is Satin there?”
“Yeah.”
“Lemme talk to her, okay?”
“Sure.”
Crockett passed the phone to Satin and, declining to be exposed to girl talk, grabbed the fish food and headed down the slope to feed the kids. When he returned to the house twenty minutes later, Satin was still jawing with Shelly. He poured a fresh pitcher of tea into an insulated jug, grabbed a couple of big paper cups, got in the jeep, and drove out to check on the tree fairies.
*****
The dozer guy wasn’t kidding. When Crockett and Satin went out to the site on Saturday around noon with sandwiches and lemonade, where the helo pad was going to be was cleared and mounded high with mini-mountains of rough three and four inch stone on one side and pile after pile of crush and run on the other. They fed the dozer guy and his Bobcat pal lunch, handed over the plans for the foundation that had come from the cabin people, and Satin walked around looking at everything.
“So the house will be over there where the stone is already spread?”
“Yeah,” Crockett replied.
“Then the garage will be about here, and the storage building right there beside it?”
“That’s it.”
“And that cleared space on the other side is, like, a road to the helicopter pad?”
“It will be.”
“This is gonna be nice,” she said.
“That’s the general idea.”
“When will this part be done?”
“If the weather isn’t a problem, by Monday evening. Then they’ll start on the foundation, I guess.”
“Wow. It could be finished in two or three weeks.”
“Possibly.”
“Stitch is gonna freak out, Crockett.”
“I thought I’d give him a call in a day or two. Ask him to come out.”
Satin grinned up at him. “You can’t wait either, can you?” she asked.
“Shut up, Tonto,” Crockett said.
*****
At Dale Smoot’s phoned request, Satin drove Crockett into work a little after four. His truck had a new windshield and rear window, courtesy of the county, where the nine-millimeter round had passed through the vehicle. His Bullpup shotgun was freshly cleaned, fully loaded, and back in its door rack, and the keys were in the ignition. He fired it up and went to the café. Smoot was in the back booth.
“Had enough goofing off?” he asked as Crockett joined him.
“Got my dock in.”
“Gotta boat?”
“I’m thinking about a little pontoon boat or something. That lake may be twenty acres, but the way that land is all cut up, there’s never gonna be more than a hundred yards of open water anywhere.”
“They make them little ten or twelve footers. A couple a batteries, a foot controlled trolling motor and you’d be set. Get one a them fold up tops for real hot weather if ya wanted one. You can even get live wells and things installed on ‘em.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Go online and check ‘em out. What are ya up to tonight?”
“Nothing in particular. Should I be up to something?”
“Not that I know of. Just patrol, I guess. Or take your truck and go home. You usually don’t work on Saturdays, anyhow.”
“I already put on my party dress,” Crockett said. “May as well go to the dance for a while.”
*****
It was an easy night. Crockett backed up a couple of car stops and one family fight that turned out to be nothing more than a squabble. He drove past Buckles and Bows a time or two and, around nine-thirty, pulled in and parked in the fire lane. He waved across the crowded parking area at Jackie and saw the man get on his radio. A moment later, Phil LaRosa walked outside.
“Hey, Crockett. You work on Saturdays now?”
“They made me take a week off. I’m just out for a few hours.”
“Guess we can free up your parking space,” Phil nodded at the traffic cone in the parking spot next to the fire lane.
Crockett grinned. “Probably our table, too,” he said. “Don’t think Satin’ll do much line dancing tonight.”
“Sorry about how that all turned out last Saturday. I gave my statement and stuff. Tough, you having to shoot that guy.”
“No choice,” Crockett said. “Inquest is over. It’s all history now.”
“I hear you turned Mister Peterson down when he offered to give you drinks and food on the house.”
“Yep.”
“Sounds like a good deal to me. How come you said no?”
“Freebies can get expensive, Phil. You been around clubs long enough to know that.”
“How ‘bout the parking space and the reserved table?”
“No money involved there.”
Phil smiled. “What about the coffee, then?”
Crockett returned the smile. “Free coffee can’t be turned down. It’s required on the first page of the official cop code of conduct book.”
Phil laughed and headed back to the club. As Crockett watched him go, he saw Shelly, coffee in hand, on the sidewalk.
“Hiya, Crockett. Long time no see,” she said, handing him the cup. It felt empty. “No coffee tonight,” she went on. “Just that list you wanted.”
Crockett lifted the cup and pretended to drink. “Thanks, Shelly. Any trouble?”
“Naw. Glad to help. You’re up to something, aren’t you?”
“Just naturally curious,” Crockett said. “How about you? What are you up to?”
“Oh, gee!” Shelly replied, consulting an imaginary wristwatch. “See ya. I gotta go get in the cage and dance.” She blew him a kiss and hustled back up the sidewalk.
Crockett watched her leave and turned away toward his truck. It was time to go home.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next morning, after a breakfast that consisted of coffee with coffee, followed by a side of coffee, Crockett put down the list of eleven names he’d been studying and called Cletus.
“I doan usually talk to no cops without my lawyer, son,” Clete said, “but since that ol’ boy is in prison, I doan reckon he’s a factor. You got a warrant?”
“If Oklahoma didn’t suck, Texas would slide right into the gulf,” Crockett replied.
“How’s the lawman bidness?”
“Ups and downs like everything else.”
“Miz Satin doin’ okay, is she?”
“Just fine.”
“This ain’t no social call, is it, Crockett?”
“No, it isn’t. I need some information if you can get it.”
“I’ll do my best. Whatcha want?”
“In the next day or two, Satin is gonna Email you a list of names, some with so-so security numbers. I need to find out as much as I can about the people on that list, and also about a company called Granite Investments. They own, or partially own, that club where you put the fear into Shorty Cantral. They also have interest in other clubs in Dallas/Fort Worth, Albuquerque, Reno and a couple of other places. It’ll all be on what Satin sends you.”
“Hell, son, you’re
a cop. You can git a lotta this stuff yourself.”
“I don’t want to appear overly interested. I go digging around and somebody might notice.”
“You git yer new mailbox?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Nice one?”
“Best mailbox I’ve ever seen, and the stone work is truly lovely.”
“Proper motivation can achieve miracles,” Clete said. Crockett could hear his grin.
“When you see Stitch,” Crockett went on, “ask him to give me a call, willya?”
“Hell, I’m lookin’ at him right now. He’s settin’ across from me with powdered sugar in his beard. At least I hope it’s powered sugar. If it ain’t, there’s a bakery about a mile from here that’s in deep shit. Hold on.”
“Hey, Crockett. Like, what’s happenin’, man?”
“Stitch. You like country music?”
“Why? You find somebody that’s actually makin’ some these days?”
“Afraid not.”
“I like blues, man. Brother Jack McDuff, an’ them cats. Some jazz is cool. Jimmy Smith, Wes Montgomery, Kenny Burrell, you know.”
“Most of those guys aren’t around anymore, Stitch.”
“I’m hip. Lou Rawls was cool in his early days, man. Street Corner Hustler’s Blues an’ shit. His cuts of Tobacco Road and Saint James Infirmary were bitchin’, dude. Why country?”
“I need an undercover agent.”
“Ha! Me? Do I get to wear cowboy boots an’ shit?”
Crockett grinned. “Probably,” he said.
“Bummer, man. I put on a pair of Justin’s, an’ ol’ Clete will fuckin’ freak, ya know?”
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