“I think he said he was the administrator of the DEA.”
“What the hell’s the difference?”
“I’m not sure, but he’s probably the guy who controls the funds.”
Smoot nodded. “The golden rule.”
“You got the gold, you make the rules.”
Smoot took a bite of his meatloaf and chewed thoughtfully for a moment.
“Now what?”
“I’m inclined not to get hasty,” Crockett replied. “I think we oughta let things coast a while, let Stitch make his buy—”
“Stitch is making a buy?”
“Yeah. Fifteen grand worth.”
“Really? From who?”
“A waitress at Buckles and Bows named Stacy. That’s not her real name. There’s paper out on her from Texas. Skipped bail on a possession with intent charge.”
“You know this woman?”
“Yeah. I confiscated another fifteen thousand bucks worth of the drug from her last night. We had a meeting in that office that I never use.”
“What!”
“I set her up. Completely illegal. Never hold up in court. That’s why I paid her for the drugs I took and let her go.”
“Wait a minute. You paid her for drugs that you seized.”
“Yeah.”
“With the money we photocopied.”
“Yep.”
“And then you released her.”
“If I let her go without the money she would have gotten the shit kicked out of her.”
“We wouldn’t want that.”
“Of course not.”
“So, you have the drugs, she has the money, and you turned her loose.”
“Sure. So she could make a fifteen thousand dollar delivery to Stitch tonight. We’ll have that on camera. That will stand up.”
“Then you’ll bust her.”
“I don’t think so. I think I’ll let her slide. When all this is over, I’ll probably give her some confiscated cash or something and send her on her way.”
Dale looked a little desperate.
“Lemme get this straight. This woman, who is wanted on a felony warrant in Texas, that you took fifteen grand worth of pills off of last night and then paid for, and is going to sell Stitch another fifteen thousand dollars worth of a controlled substance tonight…this woman is not gonna be arrested.”
“That’s right,” Crockett said.
“And, you’re gonna wind up giving her money from the bad guys so she can continue her flight to avoid prosecution.”
“Thought I would.”
“And in the middle of all this, you have an agent in the D.D.C.C. working for you, and one phone call gets you off the hook with the highway patrol.”
“Yeah.”
Smoot wiped a hand over his face, the meatloaf forgotten. “I hesitate to ask, but is there anything else I should know?”
“Uh…let’s see. Oh yeah. Jack Cantral supplies drugs to the bunch out at Buckles and Bows through his carwash in Liberty.”
Dale jerked. “Shut the front door!” he boomed. His complexion reddened a bit and it took a moment for him to settle down. “And that little piece of information is why you didn’t arrest the waitress.”
“Sure. Spud and Shorty work for him.”
Maintaining control, Smoot adjusted his seat and glared across the table. “I have a question,” he said.
“Shoot.”
“Who do you work for Crockett?”
“I work for you.”
“Uh-huh. Ah, since that is the case, might it be a reasonable request if I, oh, I dunno, asked you to at least make some kind of goddammed effort to keep me informed about all this shit you’re stepping in?”
“I intended to do that today, Dale. This all happened last night.”
“Last night.”
“Yep.”
Smoot stood up.
“I don’t wanna see you again today,” he said. “It would be nice if you could find it in your heart to write a report, maybe just an outline even, of what’s been going on. You can leave it in the center drawer of my desk, if you like. That way, I can read it tomorrow. Yeah, tomorrow would be good. I don’t wanna know anymore today. Nope. No more today.”
Crockett watched the big man walk away and smiled.
*****
When Crockett got home, no one was there. He changed clothes and pontooned his way back to Stitch’s place. Everyone was sitting in the living room.
“Everything okay?” Satin asked.
“Pretty much. I called Clete on the way into town. As usual, Ivy to the rescue.”
“What happened?”
“Allow me to defer explanation to a recording of events,” Crockett said, retrieving Dale’s digital recorder from his shirt pocket. “On this device are the happenings of last evening with Stacy, my encounter with Colonel Riley, and Dale Smoot’s reactions. You’ll like it.”
*****
The mood was festive after listening to the recording.
“What do we do now?” Shelly asked.
“I wish I knew,” Crockett said. “Obviously, we have a case here for busting the club and the management, as well as Jack Cantral and company. To do that, theoretically, we’ll have to raid Buckles and Bows and the Cantral car wash, ideally at the same time. That involves search and seizure of both properties, detainment and questioning of a bunch of employees, incarceration of who knows how many people, and a staff large enough with the experience required to pull the whole thing off. Plain truth is, boys and girls, that ain’t us.”
“You ready to go to that D.D.C.C. shithead for help, man?” Stitch asked.
“No. Not ever. Pelmore is a different matter, however. I think I’ll call him this afternoon, and see if he and I can get together tomorrow or something. It’ll take a little time to get this organized.”
“Want me with you?” Shelly asked.
“Sure. You’re a vital part of this. Technically, you’re our liaison officer. I’ll try to get with him tomorrow morning so we can have you back in plenty of time to get to work at the club.”
“Speakin’ a that, man,” Stitch said, “that bartender at the little bar is sellin’ shit.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. I sat back by the pool tables an’ shit for a while last time, man, an’ this cat has got some kinda pass-through thing or somethin’ under the bar top. Dude comes up, sits in one particular spot, orders a drink, pays for it, an’ the bartender gives it to him. Then he ducks down a little, kinda crouches, ya know? Dude at the bar reaches under the bar top. They both straighten up, bartender goes back to fuckin’ around, dude on the stool leaves, puttin’ somethin’ in his pocket, man. Once I figured out what I was looking for, I saw it happen two or three times. Pretty slick. Then I split so I wouldn’t be too, like, obvious, ya know?”
“You know about this, Shelly?”
“No. Waitresses don’t have anything to do with the little bar. They tell us to work one of the big ones and stay away from the pool table and game area. Mickey Cole is the only one that ever tends bar back there.”
“Okay. Stitch, you’re set for the buy from Stacey tonight?”
“Yeah. Said she’d be out around midnight. Now I gotta write down all them fuckin’ serial numbers, dude.”
“Bring the money over to our place. We’ll photocopy what you need. Satin will help, won’t you dear?”
Satin snorted. “Follow the waitress, copy the money. When do I get to shoot somebody?”
Crockett grinned. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
*****
When Crockett got back to the house he phoned Pelmore at the D.D.C.C.
“Hey, whiteboy. I am gonna have to show you some respect?”
“Why would you wanna start now, Sarge?”
“Our illustrious director returned this afternoon, stomped through here like he was killin’ cockroaches, and slammed himself inside his office. Ain’t come out yet.”
“Maybe he’s upset about somethin
g.”
“His driver said he got a call from Winston Bickford, and threatened with a call from the attorney general. Said he was told to sit down and shut up, or words to that effect.”
Crockett grinned. “More or less,” he said.
“Un-huh. This would indicate to a trained investigator like me, that you can pull a string or two. That right?”
“I try not to.”
“An’ humble. Most a you pale motherfuckers like ta strut an’ crow a little. I may have misjudged you, me bein’ a racist an’ all.”
“My mother was frightened by a plate of fatback and collard greens in the seventh month of pregnancy,” Crockett said. “I guess it had an’ effect on me.”
Pelmore actually laughed. “Come see me, whitebread.”
“In the morning around eleven at Sonic okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll see if they can rustle up some watermelon an’ fried chicken.”
Crockett hung up and walked into the kitchen. Shelly was making shaved ham sandwiches.
“Chow comin’ up,” she said.
“Where’s my bride?”
“She’s in her office with Stitch a and bunch of money.”
“Okay. We’re due to see Pelmore in the morning around eleven.”
“He’s a rough old cob.”
“How long have you been in his division?”
“A little over a year. He watched me like a hawk. About a month before the club was supposed to open, he sent me over to apply for a job. When I got it, he assigned me a handler and threw me out the door. I guess I passed inspection. How’d you get to know him, that McGill thing?”
“Yeah. Seems like as good guy.”
“He’s got a helluva reputation. He’s a retired Gunnery Sergeant from the Corps. Got an early out because of a wound in Yemen or somewhere about fifteen years ago. Bronze or Silver Star winner. I don’t know which. Latrine-o-gram says he pisses in a bag now.”
“Damn. You’d never know it.”
“He wouldn’t wantcha to,” Shelly said. “He’s tough.”
*****
It was slow for a Friday night. Charlie Rogers and Arky Bennett had a couple of routine traffic stops, one DUI, and an attempted rape that turned out to be a family fight and a false report by a disgruntled wife. Crockett stopped by Buckles and Bows for his regular coffee from Shelly and a casual talk with La Rosa. While he was there, he dealt with a scuffle between two brothers on the way into the club from the parking lot as they attempted to determine who was going to be the designated driver.
He was delayed at the station by an irate woman who’d returned home from a meeting at her church around ten p.m. to find a small herd of her neighbor’s hogs loose and trashing her truck garden. She claimed the loss of fifty tomatoes and thirty pepper plants, over two hundred row feet of beans, and a thirty by thirty foot carrot bed. Going to her neighbor’s house to complain, she found no one at home. She returned to her place, loaded her pump shotgun with number eight twelve gauge shot, and dispersed the gang of miscreants with three rounds fired into their midst. She wanted justice. Crockett wanted to go home. He sent Charlie to the scene to assess the damage, and called Arky in to take the formal complaint.
As Arky passed him in the hall he whispered, “I’ll get you for this.”
Crockett smiled nearly all the way to the truck.
*****
Satin and Stitch were on the deck when he arrived home.
“You’re late,” Satin said.
“Couldn’t be helped,” Crockett replied. “A lady’s garden was ravaged by a bunch of hogs.”
“Swine pigs,” Satin said. “I blame their parents.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Crockett said and went in to get some coffee. When he stepped back outside, Stitch spoke up.
“Did the deal, man.”
“Everything go okay?”
“Yeah. She dropped off the pills, took the money, talked for a few minutes an’ left, dude.”
“Didn’t hang around, huh?”
“No point. She’s, like, got my business. All that other shit was just a front, ya know?”
“Them women are a sneaky bunch.”
“Yeah. I talked to her about more shit, man.”
“You did?”
“Sure. Told her that if this went well, I was interested in bulk quantities of Ecstasy and Opana, man.”
“She bite?”
“Fuck yeah. She gets a small cut for bringing in the business, man. She’s got you breathin’ down her neck an’ offerin’ her a way out, she wants some cash, dude. If ya wanna disappear, it takes coinage, ya know?”
“How much money we talking about?”
“She said she couldn’t be sure, but the ballpark was fifty-five grand for a kilo of MDMA…
“What’s that?”
“That’s what makes ecstasy so ecstatic, man.”
“Oh.”
“Fifty-five grand a kilo, or ten kilos for half a million bucks, dude.”
“Jesus!”
“That’s, like, sixty percent or more offa gram street prices, dude. And ten thousand hits of thirty milligram Opanas for a hundred and twenty-five grand or twenty-five thousand hits for three hundred thou, man.”
“Holy shit! That’s eight hundred thousand dollars.”
“Good prices, dude.”
“Hey, Ivy,” Crockett said. “I need a million bucks to buy some drugs. How ‘bout it?”
“She’d do it, man.”
“Christ, Stitch, I know she would. You wanna ask her?”
“Not me, man.”
“Me either.”
Crockett thought a minute. “Let’s string this along a little and see where it goes. It could get us to the supplier of the suppliers.”
“Hard to resist, huh, dude.”
“You two are starting to scare me a little bit,” Satin said.
“We’re just spit-ballin’, man,” Stitch replied.
“Somebody would put a bullet in your head for a lot less than that.”
“It works both ways,” Crockett said.
“We don’t need any money anyway except for show,” Stitch went on. “We ain’t gonna actually buy anything. Don’t need to. We’re not protectin’ anybody’s cover. Look, if this works, all I got to do is try to protect me. I’m scared a these dudes, man. Afraid they’ll try an’ rip me off, ya know. Gotta have a little insurance. I’m a paranoid motherfucker. No more than two people at the drop. Gotta be at a, like, remote spot where I can get the helo in. No cover within a half-a mile. Shit like that. We can do this.”
“Take a lot of coordination for all the pieces to come together at the right time.”
“That’s Pelmore’s job, man. An’ Shelly’s.”
“When are you supposed to see Stacy again?”
“I’m layin’ low for a couple days. Deliverin’ the shit to a unknown location out of town. I’ll get back with her next week, man. See about doin’ another deal. If we do this right an’ big enough, none a these fuckers’ll bother anybody for a long time, dude.”
The sound of tires on gravel alerted Dundee, and she took off to investigate. A moment later Shelly climbed the steps to the deck.
“Hi, guys,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Stitch bought some pills,” Crockett replied. “We’re discussing buying nearly a million dollars’ worth of dope.”
Shelly grinned. “Ooo-rah,” she said.
They talked for another hour or so, then Crockett and Satin went to bed, leaving the other half of the quartet on the deck. When Crockett got up around eight next morning, Shelly and Stitch were not in evidence, but Stitch’s canoe was still beached by the dock.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Crockett yawned and carried his morning coffee and his dwindling supply of tiny floating fish pellets down to the lake. The little guys were getting bigger, and their shoreline clamor for munchies was nearly violent. Smiling, he tossed a dozen or so of the pellets in at a time, enjoying the competition and splashing that came
with the struggle for easy food. Satin, a picture of loveliness in her ratty robe and rubber overshoes joined him, and the two of them leaned against each other and watched the fish fuss in the shallow water.
“They’re growing.”
“Some of them are big enough to take a hook right now,” Crockett said. “These hybrids are ferocious. A five-year-old kid with a cane pole would think this was hog heaven.”
“When do you get more?”
“In another few weeks I get three thousand black crappie about the size of these guys here, and another fifty thousand fathead minnows.”
“That truck’ll be back?”
“No. Not for an order that small. I’ll pick these up myself at the farm store in Liberty. That reminds me, I’ve gotta call them and get my order confirmed.”
“Then you’re done?”
“Until spring. “Three thousand bass up to six inches long, another shitload of fatheads, and thirty or forty grass carp.”
“Grass carp?”
“Yeah. They’ll help keep the vegetation down.”
“Then that’s it?”
“Except for more grass carp. They won’t breed. You have to keep putting more in to replace the ones that die. I’ll add four or five every three years or so. They get big. Twenty pounds or better.”
“And that’s all?”
“Yep. That’s it.”
“How big will the bass get?”
“Five pounds or more. They’ll have lotsa room and food, and they grow until they die. Two pound crappies would be nice. The hybrid bluegill get up to a pound and a half or better. Two and a half isn’t unknown.”
“How long ‘til you can fish?”
“A year if I just wanna catch little panfish. Two years or so, and it’ll get to be fun. Five years, and we’ll have some really nice fish in here.”
“I think Stitch spent the night with Shelly,” Satin said.
“Your train of thought get derailed?” Crockett asked.
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