Behind the Badge

by David R Lewis

“Oh, hell!”

  “The oxen is slow, but the earth is patient.” Crockett went on.

  “That did it. I’m leaving.”

  “Stay out of the wheat field, Nellie,” Crockett said, “cause you’re running against the grain.”

  Smoot smiled. “Be careful.”

  “Fuckin’ A,” Crockett said.

  *****

  With the exception of nearly t-boning a guy who pulled out in front of him off of Highland Drive, then escorting that man and his excessively pregnant wife to the hospital in Smithville, Crockett had an easy night. A little after nine, he dropped by Buckles and Bows. Jackie saw him pull in and got on the radio. Phil walked outside a moment later.

  “Hey, little feller,” Crockett said, lighting a Sherman.

  “You involved in that mess last night?” Phil asked.

  “Some.”

  “Musta been awful. You doin’ okay?”

  “We heroic law-enforcement types are immune to emotional involvement.”

  “If a frog had wings he wouldn’t bump his ass on a log,” Phil said.

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Sure,” Phil said. “Your coffee’s on the way.” He turned back toward the club.

  Crockett was halfway through the cigarette when Shelly arrived.

  “Hiya, Crockett,” she said, presenting him with a paper cup. “You work that shooting last night?”

  “A little. Who’s Mickey Cole?”

  “Huh?”

  “Who is Mickey Cole?”

  “Ah…he’s a bartender here.”

  “What bar does he work?”

  “The small one, over behind the games and pool tables. Why?”

  “Just curious. That’s all.”

  Shelly peered at him. “What are you up to, Crockett?”

  Crockett smiled. “What are you up to, Shelly?”

  “Me?”

  “You.”

  “I’m just a waitress.”

  “Uh-huh. The D.D.C.C.?”

  “The what?”

  “The state drug and crime bunch. And next time, don’t answer so quickly. You’ll give yourself away.”

  Shelly looked at her feet for a moment, then raised her eyes and took a step backwards. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

  “Okay,” Crockett replied. “Do me a favor, willya?”

  “What?” Shelly asked, taking another step backward.

  “The next time you talk to Sergeant Pelmore, tell him his friend from the McGill case says that he owes him a coney dog.”

  “I gotta go,” Shelly said, and scurried away.

  Crockett smiled and sipped his coffee. There was rain in the air. He could feel it.

  *****

  Satin was sitting in the swing drinking hot chocolate and listening to the rain on the porch roof when he got home around ten-thirty. He took a sip from her cup.

  “Hot chocolate?”

  “I felt like it. Nice cool breeze, light rain, and hot chocolate are good things, Crockett.”

  “So are you, kid,” he sighed.

  “You okay?”

  “Mostly. Feeling a little old tonight.”

  Satin smiled. “You are a little old tonight,” she said.

  “Oh. Thanks for clearing that up for me.”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “I took a run at Shelly tonight.”

  “I beg your pardon? No wonder you’re feeling old.”

  Crockett chuckled. “I mentioned the highway patrol drug and crime division.”

  “Oh. How’d that work out?”

  “Scared her a little, I think. Not my intention. I don’t like to frighten children.”

  “She’s not a child, Crockett. She’s twenty-nine.”

  “Little Shelly?”

  “Yep.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Girl talk, dummy. What are ya, new?”

  “Jesus. I thought she was just barely old enough to sling drinks.”

  “I know,” Satin said. “I hate her.”

  Crockett laughed. “Are your eyes green?” he asked.

  “How come you got after Shelly?”

  “I don’t know. I kinda wish I hadn’t, but I wanted to know who worked the little bar. Now I do. If Stitch is suspicious of it, so am I.”

  “Do you think Shelly’s in some kind of danger?”

  “If she’s undercover, of course she is. That’s the name of that tune. She’s smart, though. She immediately started a relationship with me, so bringing me coffee and jawing with me a little bit shouldn’t get anybody excited. Cute little blond waitresses that look seventeen years old aren’t usually mistaken for cops.”

  “Now I’m worried.”

  “I’m sorry. Let me make a call tomorrow and see if I can find anything out. Okay?”

  *****

  Crockett was on the road at eight the next morning. About a half-hour out of Jefferson City, he called the D.D.C.C.

  “Drugs and crime. May I help you?”

  “Thank you. Is Pelmore in today?”

  “Yessir, but he’s in a meeting right now. May I take a message?”

  “Please. Tell him an old friend needs to see him at the Sonic Drive-in for tear-filled reunion. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “I don’t know if Sergeant Pelmore will be free by then.”

  “This is important, son. He better be. I’d hate to see you marking tires downtown.”

  *****

  Crockett pulled in to the rear of the Sonic parking area so he could watch the entrance. He ordered some multi-colored ice filled drink that gave him a painful shot of brain freeze, put it on the dash to warm up a little, and waited for about ten minutes. When Pelmore pulled in driving a black un-marked, he flashed his lights and gave his horn a tap. Pelmore parked a couple of spaces away, walked over, and got in the truck.

  “Well, Doris,” he said. “I thought it might be you. This looks like a semi-official ride you got here. Out of the federal bidness?”

  “Sorta, Sarge,” Crockett smiled. “Still crushin’ bad guys to their knees?”

  “Every waking minute. Where’s your girlfriend?”

  “Laid up with a screaming case of herpes. Wanna kiss me hello?”

  “Not even if it would ease racial tension in Alabama. You know mixed race relationships don’t work out. What the hell is so important that I havta drag my black ass out of a perfectly good budget meeting to see some broken down old shithead like you?”

  “You got a cute little blond trooper under cover at a club called Buckles and Bows over near Smithville?”

  “That would be information to which you are not entitled.”

  “Re-assign her, Sarge. Her mother just got killed in a car wreck, her dog’s got mange, her cousin Mary just had a baby out of wedlock, whatever it takes.”

  “Suppose there was someone similar to the description you just gave me, what makes you think you can tell the entire state of Missouri what to do?”

  “I can’t,” Crockett said. “But I can ask a man who I respect who is in a position to do the right thing, to do the right thing. I like this kid, Sarge. My wife likes her, too. Neither one of us wants to see her get hurt.”

  “Damned if I know why, but she likes you, too. She’s spoken of you. What in the hell are you doin’ on some jerkwater little county force anyway?”

  “Pretty much as I please. Can you say that?”

  “We got an investigation in progress there, ya know. You gonna screw that up for us?”

  “Not if you stay the hell outa my way. I get solid info, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “I bet,” Pelmore said. “Okay, fool, I’ll take care of it. Don’t step on your dick. Look who I’m talkin’ to. No chance a that. You’re fuckin’ whiter than a Kennedy.”

  Crockett grinned. “Thanks, Pelmore,” he said.

  “Yeah, yeah yeah. Nice work closin’ that Paul McGill thing so his widow’d get what she deserved.”

&nb
sp; “Give your girl, whatever her real name is, my best. I’ll miss her.”

  Pelmore opened his door. “By the way,” he said, “ridin’ around with concealed weapons an’ a loaded fuckin’ shotgun outside your county is illegal. I ketch yo’ white ass agin’, I’ll clank a door on it.”

  Crockett chuckled. “If Abe Lincoln hadn’t screwed the pooch, I wouldn’t have to put up with this shit,” he said.

  Pelmore gave him an over-shoulder bird as he walked back to his car.

  *****

  On the drive back, he phoned Stitch.

  “Dude! ‘Sup?”

  “Mickey Cole is the bartender who works the small bar over behind the pool tables. He’s been busted twice for drugs. One conviction for possession.”

  “Far out. I’ll watch the cat, man.”

  “Also, you got anything that your new girlfriend handled available?”

  “Well, yeah, Crockett, but it’s kinda personal. Sorry, dude, but you can’t have it. It’s been with me for years. I’m kinda used to it, ya know?”

  Crockett laughed. “I mean something like a glass or a cup, shithead.”

  “Wow. That’s a relief! Ah…I got a coffee cup I ain’t washed yet. How’s that?”

  “Great. I’ll be there in about an hour with a print kit and see what I can lift.”

  “Far out. Got a UPS overnight from Clete, dude. A lamp.”

  “A lamp?”

  “Yeah. Gotta built in, like, camera, man, an’ a recorder, too. I’m ready to nanny-cam the chick, ya know?”

  “May be a slight change of plans,” Crockett said. “We’ll talk when I get there.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  When Crockett got to Stitch’s place, he got his kit out of the back seat and found Nudge sitting on the porch.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

  The door swung open. “Ol’ dude showed up around nine this mornin’, man,” Stitch said. “That’s a pretty heavy boogie, all the way around the lake. I gave him some salmon. Fucker deserved it, ya know? Whatcha got there?”

  “Dusting kit. I wanna see if, what’s her name?”

  “Stacy.”

  “I wanna see if we can get some of her prints. Send ‘em to Clete. What’s her last name?”

  “Ah…oh shit, I knew it man, but…wait a minute. Fuck. Uh…Porter. That’s it, Crockett. Porter. Stacey Porter.”

  “You said you had a coffee cup she’d used?”

  “I got better than that, man. On the end table over there is a piece a glass. They had a couple a extras when they brought the place in, in case one a them little windows in the door got busted. Left me one. I laid it up on the mantle to keep it outa the way. While the chick was here, dude, she did some blow. She found that little pane a glass an’ I let her use it to blade out some shit, man. She wiped it down with water an’ a paper towel to make sure it didn’t have any dirt on it before she started. Even held it up an’ licked it when she was done, dude. You oughta have a thumb and four at least. Maybe both thumbs an’ eight. Probably a shitload a DNA, too.”

  Handling just the edges, Crockett held the glass up toward a window and peered at it. “I see two viable thumbprints and at least five fingers,” he said, “plus a couple of nice sweeping smudges. Saliva, probably.”

  “Chick ain’t short on that, man,” Stitch said.

  Crockett grinned. “Enjoying your rest?”

  “Yeah. Kinda miss the company, though,” Stitch smiled. “She ain’t gonna like me much, after we bust her ass.”

  “That may not happen the way we thought,” Crockett said, carefully spinning a brush above the prints.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. I’d like to keep you out of the initial arrest if we can. I want to leave you in the club as long as possible. When’s she coming out again?”

  “I’ll see her at the club tonight,” Stitch replied, holding the glass by the edges as Crockett got out the tape. “She’ll probably come out, dude.”

  Crockett laid the tape over a set of three prints and pressed it into place. “Good,” he said, slowly peeling the tape away and closing it on the white backing paper. “Three clean,” he announced, putting the prints aside and getting another lift strip out of the case. “See if you can get a couple of hits of the Opana from her. If you can, we’ll try to set up a delivery for a relatively significant amount as soon as possible. If that works, I’ll bust her ass before the stuff gets to you.”

  “Like, how ya gonna do that?”

  “You got a small ball-peen hammer?”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s how. Let’s talk about it after I get all the prints I can and a DNA swab. This is tedious work.”

  *****

  When Crockett got back to the house, there was an extra car in the driveway. There was also an extra woman in the living room. A short blond girl who looked about seventeen years old. She greeted him as he carried his kit through the door.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” she asked, and not in a good way.

  “Shelly. Uh…hi.”

  “Don’t Shelly me, you sonofabitch! My name’s Jan, Goddammit. How dare you go to my division commander. How fuckin dare you? I’m a cop, Crockett, and no goddammed small county fucking deputy goes past me, you meddling shithead. I oughta cap your ass right now. If I didn’t like Satin so much, she’d be a widow. Hell, it might be the best thing for her. What do you think?”

  Stunned, Crocket stepped backwards. “Now settle down, Shell…uh, uh…”

  “Jan!” Shelly roared. “Jan Kiley.”

  “Jan. Take it easy. I just did what I thought was best.”

  “What you thought was best? I know my mother, Crockett, and you ain’t her.”

  Satin, who had been standing at the edge of the kitchen counter, snorted and turned her back on the room. Her shoulders began to shake.

  Shelly and/or Jan’s fists unclenched and her arms fell to her sides. “Dammit, Satin,” she said, “you said you could keep it together.”

  “I guess I lied,” Satin blurted through laughter and fell into Crockett’s recliner. “God. That was wonderful. You actually had him backing up.”

  Shelly/Jan giggled and looked at Crockett. “Take it easy. I just did what I thought was best,” she said.

  Crockett looked at the two grinning women and squared himself away. “What in the hell is going on?”

  Shelly/Jan composed herself a bit. “I got a call from my handler this morning,” she said. Sergeant Pelmore phoned him and told him to contact me and let me know things had changed.”

  “Good,” Crockett said.

  “He said that you’d been there and talked to him about getting me re-assigned, and he said he’d take care of it.”

  “That’s true. I’m sorry, Shelly, uh..Jan, but that’s the way it is.”

  “So, I just wanted to come out and raise some hell for the fun of it. If Satin coulda kept her shit together, God knows when it would have stopped. I was on a roll.”

  Crockett grinned. “I guess I maybe deserved it for going to your commander and all of that,” he said. “You got re-assigned, huh?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “No hard feelings, I hope.”

  “Naw. It’s okay. I can live with the new assignment.”

  “Can you tell me what it is?”

  “I probably should. It’s you.”

  Satin started laughing again. Crockett gaped at her.

  “Me?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh, no. I wanted you outa this mess. Pelmore said he’d have you re-assigned.”

  “He did. To you. After I talked to my handler, he called me personally. Said that you were a hard-nosed old bastard, but you wouldn’t quit. Then he told me about what you did for the McGill woman when nobody else gave a shit. Everybody in special ops knows that somebody did what you did. Now I know it was you that did it. You’re almost a legend. That bust you engineered went all the way to Italy, eventually. You even recovered Mc
Gill’s remains didn’t you?”

  “Yes, he did,” Satin said. “Right here on this land. All because McGill’s dead grandmother wouldn’t quit either.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a long story,” Crockett said. “Satin will tell you about it sometime. You’re assigned to me?”

  “Yep.”

  “Pelmore can’t do that, uh…Jan. I don’t work for him.”

  “Call me Shelly, for chrissakes. I’m used to it. Pelmore said you’d say something like that. He said that I was either yours or things stayed the same. Your choice. You run me or I go back to my old handler. He’s in Jeff City.”

  “Well, hell, kid. That’s not much of a choice. I’m a lot closer if the shit hits the fan.”

  “That’s what I told Pelmore,” Shelly said. “He said you told him to do the right thing, and he did. Said it was your turn, now.”

  Crockett looked at Satin. “I’m trapped,” he said.

  Satin grinned. “Looks like it to me. A wise man knows when to give up.”

  Crockett shrugged. “Where do you live, Shelly?”

  “In an apartment in Liberty.”

  “They have your address at the club, I assume.”

  “They do.”

  “Phone number?”

  “Cell only.”

  “Good. What time do you go to work?”

  “Around seven.”

  “You work tonight?”

  “I work every night except Sunday.”

  “Okay. You don’t live in Liberty anymore. Go to work tonight same as usual. Before you do, gather up some of your stuff and come out here when you’re done. You’ll stay in our guest apartment until this hash is settled. I’ll leave the truck outside so you can park in the garage and your car won’t be seen. Driving out here at night will make it much easier to spot a tail. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “When you need to report to Pelmore or anybody, you’ll use our landline.”

  “Okay.”

  I assume you’re armed.”

  “A forty Smith. It’s in the car.”