Behind the Badge

by David R Lewis

  “What?” Crockett asked.

  “Ol’ Shelia sent me a chick, man.”

  “What?” Crockett asked again.

  “This chick named Stacy, man. Cute, around thirty, shit like a built brick house. B an’ B.”

  “B and B?”

  “Yeah. Blond and boobed, man. Ol’ Shelia aimed her at me last night at the club, dude. I was supposed to think is was my charm an’ shit, ya know? I may have been born yesterday, Crockett, but I was on the playground ‘til after supper.”

  “She give you the third degree?”

  “Among other things, man. She wanted to know if I knew you. I told her that I didn’t. The only time I ever spoke to ya was to ask if I could dance with your lady. Wanted to know what I did for a living. I told her I was in sales and distribution, dude. She asked what kind. I said I sold hard to find items to consumers willing to pay for high quality products, man. She got all excited when she found out I got a helo. Wants to go for a ride and’ shit, you know. She smoked some a her dope an’ thought I did. Had some coke on her too. I declined. I don’t do that shit, man. Told her the truth. Freaks out my sinuses. Asked if I had any pills, man.”

  “No shit.”

  “Yeah. I told her I just got here from Chicago and didn’t have local contacts yet. Said she knew some people an’ what did I want. I took a chance and said I liked Opana.”

  “What?”

  “Fuckin’ Opana. That’s serious shit, dude. I’d just heard the name, ya know? I checked it out this morning on-line and in my PDR. It’s replacing OxyContin. Generic name is Oxymorphone. Shit is like smack, man.”

  “Heroin?”

  “Yeah. Hell of a buzz.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “Said she’d check around. Chick thinks I’m a doper. Thinks I may be sell the shit, too. That’s cool.”

  “What was she doing at the club?”

  “Said she waitresses there, dude, but had last night off. Came by to hang out, met me, and just couldn’t, like, contain herself. Bullshit, man.”

  Crockett grinned. “Sounds like progress to me, Stitch. You have a contact in what may be the enemy camp.”

  “Yeah, but now I gotta buy dope an’ shit, and hang out with ol’ Stacy an’ be that guy, ya know.”

  “I have confidence in you, deputy.”

  “Well yeah, but it makes me feel so fuckin’ used, dude.”

  “Typical male floozy response,” Satin said. “When you gonna see her again?”

  “I wanted to warn you about that, man,” Stitch replied. “She’s comin’ out this afternoon. We’re gonna hang, take a ride in the helo, bond an’ shit. She’ll be drivin’ in from the north, so she won’t get near your place.”

  “That’s good,” Crockett said. “We won’t cruise the lake or anything.”

  “Should I buy some shit if she’s dealin’?”

  “Oh, hell, Stitch. We’re not set up for that. A little, if you have no choice. Before you commit to anything, I want to get a video camera and recorder in here. We want more than a ‘he says, she says’ thing. If we can get her in deep enough, maybe we can turn her.”

  “I ain’t in no hurry, man. I’d like to keep this a little slow, ya know?”

  “I’ll talk to Dale and let him in on things. Nobody else. Agreed?”

  “You trust the cat, it’s good enough for me. You guys gotta get outa here, man. I need to erase any, like, signs of our breakfast before she shows up, an’ I need to catch up on my vitamin E an’ shit. If round two is anything like round one was, I may really need some drugs. That chick could make a happy man very old.”

  Crockett grinned. “I appreciate your sacrifice, Stitch.”

  “Yeah. It’s a burden, dude. Maybe a nice hot bath with candles and incense will restore my self-esteem. ”

  *****

  Crockett met Dale Smoot in town a little after one. They went for a drive.

  “What kind of crap are you steppin’ in now?” Smoot asked.

  “Stitch may be onto something.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “There’s a new gal out at the club. Name’s Shelia Graham. She’s the floor manager. Stitch has gotten to know her a little bit. I met her last night. Hard-nosed bitch. Tough. She came in a couple of weeks ago with two waitresses. She tossed one of ‘em at Stitch.”

  “She what?”

  “She sent one of them after Stitch. A girl named Stacy. Spent last night with him. She’s back out at his place this afternoon.”

  “Am I gonna like the rest of this story?”

  “Maybe. The girl’s a doper. Had grass and coke with her. Intimated to Stitch she could get about anything he wanted. Even something called Opana.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  “From what Stitch says, it’s replacing OxyContin on the hit parade. Same basic effects as heroin.”

  Dale shook his head.

  “I gotta get out more,” he said.

  “Stitch thinks she’s gonna try to sell him stuff. I want him to make a significant buy if he can, and I want to get the whole thing recorded. If we can bust this woman with the threat of hard time, maybe we can use her to go up the ladder. That’s gonna take equipment and money.”

  “We gotta get ahold of the State D.D.C.C.”

  “Oh, hell no. I dealt with the director of that place when I was working on the McGill thing. He’s an ass.”

  “Crockett, we’re a two-bit little county. I don’t have the resources for that kinda stuff.”

  “I do. I just need you to know what’s going on and approve of using private funds and equipment.”

  Smoot thought for a moment. “We need to talk to the Judge.”

  “Call him,” Crockett said.

  *****

  An hour later they were sitting in the modest living room of a house on the outskirts of Clayville in the company of Judge J. R. McPherson.

  “So,” the judge said, “as I understand it, it is your desire, Deputy Crockett, to provide the needed resources to support this undertaking that cannot be provided by Hart County.”

  “Yessir.”

  “And you want me to take the necessary steps to insure the legality of the private involvement within the enterprise, and the admissibility of information gained during the course of the enterprise in a court of law.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself, your honor.”

  “And that you would prefer to keep this undertaking on a county level and not involve, at least at the present time, any agency of the Missouri Highway Patrol.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Very well. Consider it done.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Of course, it shall be necessary that you keep me informed as to the nature of events, monies secured from private sources, equipment borrowed and such, but all that can be taken care of after the events have transpired. I can, and will, for want of a better term, backdate whatever is required to secure the admissibility of the information you glean during your investigation. In short, go for it, sir. I have your back.”

  “Thank you, judge. I appreciate your help.”

  “Indeed sir, as I appreciate your expertise. Those of us that serve justice must, from time to time, undertake a course of action to insure the law keeps pace. Good day to you, gentlemen.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Satin and Crockett didn’t see Stitch until around ten, Monday morning. He came paddling in as they sat in the swing, looking at the lake. Dundee hustled to meet him at the dock and led him back to the deck.

  “You can still walk,” Crockett observed.

  “Barely,” Stitch grunted, flopping into a chair. “I need a prostate transplant.”

  “Poor baby,” Satin chuckled. “Coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “How ‘bout Demerol and Viagra. Maybe an ice pack.”

  Crockett laughed. “That bad, huh?”

  “Aw, man. That fuckin’ chick oughta
be in the circus, ya know? Or a side show at least. She could make a fortune in the industry, dude. Maybe we oughta put her in touch with ol’ Whisper, man.”

  “Feeling a little old, are we?”

  “Old ain’t got shit to do with it, Crockett. I couldn’t keep up with her ass when I was seven-fucking-teen! I almost sent out for a fraternity.”

  “Learn anything?”

  “Yeah. And I thought I already knew all that shit, ya know? Silly fuckin’ me.”

  Satin returned from the kitchen and handed Stitch a mug.

  “Thanks, man,” he said. “I was gonna make some myself this morning, an’ then the flying Wallenda got up an’ shit. I hustled her out an’ came straight over here in case she tried to perfect the triple again. Holy shit.”

  Crockett grinned. “Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln,” he said, “how’d you like the play?”

  “Chick was one toke over the line when she showed up. I didn’t join her, man. I don’t do shit when I gotta fly. Ask anybody. We went up for a couple a hours, stopped at the Kaycee Downtown to gas up and came home. Ol’ Stacy loved it. Got to get high while she was high, you know. Chick claims to have contacts locally, but she’s only been here a couple a weeks. Came in from Dallas. Says she can get all kinds a pills, man. Legit pharmacy grade shit.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like Desoxyn, man. Legal meth. Hard shit to get, dude. Only prescribed in, like, Canada, New Zeland, and here. One ten milligram tab and a user is set for the fuckin’ day!”

  “No shit.”

  “An’ Vicodin if ya wanna kick back, an’ Adderal if ya wanna speed, and the Opana shit.”

  “Jesus,” Crockett said, “she’s a drug store. She’s pretty open about all this.”

  “Well, I’ve faked bein’ high an’ shit at the club, ya know? Let people think I got money an’ no gig. Word is probably already out I got the helo. Give the impression I’m kinda a fuckup with cash. They draw their own conclusions. None of ‘em knew me from before when we were dealin’ with those fuckers at the Guzzi shop. You see a drugstore cowboy like me, hangin’ at the bar in a club all the time, throwin’ money around without no visible means a support, what are you gonna think?”

  “Good job.”

  “So I told ol’ Stacy I’d check around with some contacts an’ get back to her on purchases an’ shit in two or three days. I need the, like, rest, ya know? I figure Clete’ll have some way we can record any kinda transaction. This setup won’t need much mor’n a nanny cam, anyway.”

  Satin grinned.

  “Unless you want to start a new career in adult entertainment,” she said.

  *****

  Around nine that night, Hart-five got a call on a family disturbance in Sutton. Crockett was twenty minutes away.

  “Two to Five,” he said.

  “Go, Two,” Charlie replied.

  “I’ll back you up on that, but I’m a long way out.”

  “Ten-four, Two. I’m on the outskirts of town. I been there before. A guy named Eustice Mayol, around forty-five, hassling his ex-wife. Stands out in the yard and yells. She’s got a restraining order in place, but won’t sign a complaint. I usually just run him off or take him to his sister’s place.”

  “Ten-four. I’m Enroute.”

  *****

  When Crockett arrived at the scene, Charlie was in the front yard talking with a white male, six-two, 220, with graying red hair. He bypassed them and walked to the house. His knock was answered by a pretty thirty-five-year-old female. She let him in. With her was a man she introduced as her husband of only a few weeks, and her two daughters, aged nine and twelve. They were in the process of painting the kitchen.

  “He gets this way every few months,” she said. “We’ve been divorced for nearly five years. I guess he heard Jake an’ me got married. That’s what got him over here.”

  “Where’s he live?”

  “Outside of Clayville a little ways. With his sister.”

  “If you’d be willing to sign a complaint, m’am, I can take him in for violating the restraining order.”

  “I hate to do that. I feel kinda sorry for him.”

  “He evidently doesn’t feel sorry for you. Let me encourage you to sign the complaint so we can put this to bed.”

  “The other deputy an’ me already talked about it. He’s just gonna take him back to his sister’s place. He’ll be all right tomorrow.”

  “It’s not tomorrow, m’am. It’s tonight.”

  “No, that’s okay. I really don’t wanna put him in jail.”

  “You don’t have to m’am. That’s my job.”

  “I appreciate you comin’ out an’ all, but I don’t want to sign anything.”

  “Is that your final word?”

  “I guess it is.”

  Frustrated, Crockett stepped back outside.

  “Any luck?” Charlie asked.

  “No more than you had,” Crockett replied and walked over to where Mister Mayol was standing, looking at the ground.

  “Your name Eustice Mayol?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Mister Mayol, Deputy Rogers here is going to take you back to your sister’s house. You will stay there. What this woman does is none of your business. Who this woman marries is none of your business. You are rude and you are intrusive. I won’t have it. You are an intruder, sir. I don’t like intruders. Intruders piss me off. If you drag your pathetic ass back here tonight, I will arrest you, I will put you in jail, and I will do my level best to make sure you remain there for as long as possible. Do you understand me?”

  “Yessir.”

  Crockett walked back to Charlie. “Tried to piss him off so we could bust him,” he said. “No luck. You usually just take him home, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Rogers replied. “SOP.”

  “Okay, Charlie. If you’re leaving, I’m leaving.”

  *****

  A little before midnight, Crockett was wending his way home when the radio spoke up.

  “HQ to Two.”

  “Go, HQ.”

  “Two, we have a report of shots fired at 221 Baker Street in Sutton. You were there earlier this evening.”

  Oh shit. “Ten-four, HQ. Enroute.”

  “Four. Five is on the way from post.”

  “Four.”

  Crockett flipped on his lights and siren and turned the Ram loose.

  *****

  When Satin came downstairs the next morning, she found Crockett, still in his self-styled uniform, sitting on the couch and staring at nothing.

  “You just get home?” she asked.

  “Couple a hours ago,” Crockett replied, attempting to focus on her.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Goddamn waste. Goddamn terrible waste. Idiot named Eustice Mayol goes to his ex-wife’s house last night, raising hell out in the yard, not an uncommon occurrence. Been divorced for years. Got a restraining order in place. The ex-wife, her new husband, and her nine and twelve-year-old daughters are inside, painting the fucking kitchen. I damned near begged that woman to sign a complaint, but she wouldn’t do it. Just wanted us to take him back to his sister’s house in Clayville as usual. Nothing we could do. Charlie loads him up and takes him home, just like he’s done three or four times before.

  “The shithead gets home, hangs around for a couple of hours, then grabs a shotgun, a handful of shells, the keys to his sister’s car, and leaves. Does she call the police? Fuck no, she doesn’t call the police. She feels sorry for her baby brother and doesn’t want to get him in trouble with the law. Mayol drives back over to his ex-wife’s place, makes the two girls watch, and shotguns his ex-wife and her new husband, then turns the gun on himself. I could see the fucking blood spattered on the new kitchen paint from the street.”

  “My God,” Satin murmured.

  “How the hell are those kids ever gonna get over something like that? How the hell are they ever gonna deal with it? And it didn’t have to happen. A signature on a complaint or a simple call to
the cops would have stopped it. But no. The two women who could have prevented the whole thing felt too sorry for the twisted sonofabitch to take action. And now, the kids have no mother, no father and no step-dad. They’ll spend the rest of their lives with what they saw burned into their brains because nobody had the balls to take action. Jesus Christ, Satin! Are most people that fucking stupid?”

  “A lot of ‘em are,” Satin said, sitting down beside him.

  “And poor Charlie,” Crockett went on. “Three people scattered around that kitchen, on the walls, the floor, the ceiling. He’ll never get over it, either.”

  “No,” Satin whispered. “And neither will you.”

  She rubbed a tear from his cheek, kissed his forehead, and went to make coffee. Strong coffee.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Smoot was waiting for Crockett when he walked to the back booth in the café that evening.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Crockett shrugged. “More or less,” he said. “Seen Charlie?”

  “Charlie is off today and tomorrow, with pay. Shook him up pretty bad.”

  “Good idea. Shit like that doesn’t get easier. But the first time is horrible. Charlie’s tougher than he thinks he is.”

  “Worst I’ve ever seen,” Smoot said. “How ‘bout you?”

  Crockett smiled.

  “Okay,” Smoot went on, “I’ll leave it alone. You got anything special on for tonight?”

  “Low and slow, Dale. Usually after something like last night happens, everything else gets kinda quiet.”

  “Cosmic,” Smoot replied. “Like ying and yang.”

  Crockett grinned. “That’s Yin and Yang, pronounced ‘Yahng,’ hayshaker. Where you from, Nebraska?”

  “If all you’re gonna do is offend me, I’ll go, Goddammit!”

  “A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step,” Crockett replied.