Behind the Badge

by David R Lewis

“So?”

  “You probably know her better as Katlyn. Think back to the Dallas days. I figure you ran her back then. You damn sure sent her after one of my guys at Buckles and Bows. Hell, Shelia, I know exactly how close the two of you were. I know how close you and Peterson are, too. I know a lot of stuff, Shelia. I also know that you are in shit so deep, you’re gonna die behind bars before all this is over. Even just a twenty-year sentence and you’ll be an old woman when you get out. You’ll have nothing worth selling then. Not one goddammed thing.”

  “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

  Crockett smiled. “Want a cigarette?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Say please.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Thanks anyway,” Crockett said. He took a slow drag on the Sherman.

  The conversation hit a lull. He looked at her and smoked, flipping the ashes into the partial cup of water.

  “Okay,” Shelia said. “Please, then.”

  “Sure,” Crockett replied. “Glad to be of service.”

  He lifted a Sherman out of the box and handed it to her. She lit it from his lighter and inhaled deeply.

  Shelia looked at him.

  “Enough a this shit,” she said. “What do you want?”

  Crockett looked surprised. “Me?” he asked. “Hell, sugar, I got all I need. The better question is, what do you want?”

  “I don’t want a goddamn thing from you. You’re the one that came to me, remember? You can’t even talk to me without my attorney!”

  “Oh, that. All this is off the record, Shelia.”

  “Whadaya mean ‘off the record’?”

  “You could confess to killing the pope and I couldn’t use it against you. This is an illegal interview. Nothing would be admissible in court.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No cameras, no recordings, this is just a private conversation between two old warhorses. I shouldn’t even be here. Any defense attorney on the planet would shred this.”

  “Then why the fuck are you here?”

  Crockett smiled. “Just thought that since I have most of this sewn up anyway, I’d offer you an opportunity.”

  “What, you wanna give me a chance to save myself?”

  “You’re way too far gone to save, sweetheart,” Crockett said. “You’re going to prison, just as sure as the earth spins. Maybe, however, you can shave some years off your life sentence.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yep.”

  “You damn sure ain’t no shitty little county deputy, are you?”

  Crockett reached into his pocket, took out his federal ID, and showed it to her.

  “The United States Department of Justice?”

  “That’s what it says.”

  “Hell, your name isn’t even Crockett!”

  “I’m what you might call a federal free agent,” Crockett said. “Justice is more important to me than the law. I have considerable influence, influence that can determine, for instance, when you do go to prison, whether you go to some minimum security federal country club full of comfortable chairs and bright sunshine, or some Missouri state hell-hole full of gorillas and bull daggers. That same influence can also weigh heavily on how soon you might be up for parole, and how likely you might be to get paroled. It might even be helpful in deciding if you are charged with the dope rap or the dope rap and conspiracy to commit murder.”

  “Murder?”

  Crockett dropped the butt of his Sherman into the water. “I know that you gave Stacy, uh, Katlyn, to Spud and Shorty Cantral from time to time. I also know that Spud is a rough sonofabitch, and Shorty is a brutal little bastard that likes to beat the shit out of women. I also know that Katlyn was not a particularly bright or stable individual. She was halfway in love with you, even though you were a little sexually demanding and clingy. I believe that, when she came to work at the club Friday afternoon, she was unusually nervous and jumpy. Maybe seemed to be hiding something. That worried you. You called Shorty and told him to deal with her if anything got hinky. You would never have had to actually use the word ‘kill.’ You knew exactly what would happen if Shorty got his hands on her with nobody around to rein him in. And it did, darlin’, just like you knew it would. The problem is, instead of disposing of the corpse in any number of out of the way places where it wouldn’t have been discovered for months, if ever, Shorty needed to send me a personal message and left her body by the road near my house. He had a good time with Katlyn. She was messed up, Shelia. If you like, I can show you some photos. Ever seen a pretty girl with her throat cut?””

  The woman shuddered. “God, no,” she said. “And I don’t want to either.”

  “I’m gonna find Shorty. Sooner or later, that sick little shit is mine. I have the time, I have the resources, and I have the will. I will not stop. When I do find him, he will attempt to kill me. This leaves me two options. One, I can kill him, save everybody a lot of time and trouble, including you, or I can actually bring his twisted little ass in, get him a break for giving you up as a co-conspirator in the murder, drag your ass out of the federal playpen, charge you, and let you live out your days, rotting in that Missouri hell-hole I spoke of earlier. Hell, if you’re unlucky enough, you might last thirty years or even more in a little seven by ten foot cell with a different roomie every few months. Never any privacy. Can’t shower alone, can’t shit alone, can’t breathe without smellin’ somebody else, nothin’ to eat but prison starch and fat meat. By the time you’re fifty you’ll look seventy. And every minute of every day, somebody in a uniform will be able to tell you what to do, and that’ll be the easy part. Think of who else will be able to tell you what, and even who, to do. You’ll be somebody’s bitch from day one, Shelia. And every year you’ll get older and it’ll get tougher. People that you wouldn’t cross the street to piss on if they were on fire will take turns with you, sweetie. Jesus. I almost feel sorry for you.”

  “So what? You want me to confess to sending Shorty out to kill Katlyn?”

  “No. Not at all. It is not my desire that you incriminate yourself. I’m trying to give you a break for your cooperation.”

  “Then what the hell do you want, Goddammit!”

  “I want you to tell me where to find him. That’s all. State cops have been all over the place and had no luck. They assume he’s on the run. I know better. He left Katlyn’s mutilated body for me to find. He’s not going anywhere. I just want to settle this as soon as I can, and not spend the next six months looking for him. That would be to your advantage, too. Your cooperation would be public before you went to trial. That, and my testimony, could help a lot. Not to mention what I can do for you behind the scenes. Quid pro quo, sweetcakes. Want another cigarette while you think it over?”

  “Please.”

  “You betcha.”

  Crockett didn’t watch her while she thought and smoked. Halfway through the Sherman, Shelia spoke up.

  “In Ray County on 210 down by the river is a place called Dooley Lake, or something like that. It’s not far from the Missouri River. Near there, on the other side of the tracks south of the road, are two or three cabins. Shorty and Spud have kind of a secret place there. It used to belong to a dead uncle or something. I went there with Jack to party once. Took a waitress along that came with me from Dallas. After the afternoon with Spud and Shorty, she went back to Texas. That place is made outa concrete blocks and rough wood. The front faces away from the tracks and road. The entrance area is about fifteen feet long and sunk back into the house, kind of a cement porch, with a rock wall in front of it. You come in behind that rock wall, and walk up the cement floor of the porch to get to the door. It’s a dump.”

  “And you think that’s where Shorty might be.”

  “That’s where I’d look for him.”

  “Good,” Crockett said, getting to his feet and moving around the table. He un-cuffed her wrist and walked Shelia back to the juvenile cell. She stopped at the door.

  “Can I
have that Coke you got?”

  “Sorry. No food or drink in the cell. There’s water in the sink. I do want to thank you for your cooperation.”

  “You’ll kill Shorty, then?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Shelia smiled at him. “Thanks for the deal,” she said.

  Crockett returned her smile. “What deal?” he asked.

  “What deal? The deal we just made!”

  “Shelia,” Crockett said, “I’m not even allowed to talk to you, much less make a deal. I was never even here. Have fun in hell.” He pushed her into the cell and shut the door as she staggered to a stop.

  She spun and charged back at him. “You sonofabitch!” she shouted, her screams heavily muffled by the steel door. “Motherfucker!”

  Crockett blew her a kiss through the tiny glass window and walked back to pick up his Coke.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  By the time Crockett got home it was well after one in the morning. The group, including Pelmore, was assembled in the living room. Satin got up and hugged him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  Crockett shrugged and kissed her on the cheek.

  “You find out anything?” Pelmore asked.

  “Not me,” Crockett said. “I tried everything except the phone book. It’s only got about fifty pages. Tough broad. Wouldn’t tell me a damn thing.”

  “Uh-huh,” Pelmore grunted, staring at him.

  “You can believe me or not, Sarge,” Crockett went on. “At this point I don’t give a shit.”

  “That’s bullshit, girlfriend,” Pelmore replied. “The problem is, you give too much of a shit. Right now you need to let all this go and we’ll handle it, but you won’t do that, will ya?”

  “I’m done with it. You got a helluva bust, we did our jobs, it’s over. I’m just a county deputy. Outa my hands now.”

  “Whatever you say, white boy. I believe ya, really I do.”

  Crocket changed the subject.

  “Where’s the body?”

  “Your coroner called a wagon an’ they took her to Smithville hospital for the preliminary. We’ll take it to Jeff City tomorrow…make that later today.”

  “When you picking up the prisoners?”

  “Around noon,” Pelmore replied, getting to his feet.

  “See ya then, Sarge.”

  “That don’t surprise me one little bit,” Pelmore grunted. “Thanks for the hospitality everybody. I’m outa here.”

  As the door closed behind him, Satin spoke up. “Coffee, Crockett? Scotch?”

  “Coffee, I think. Pour it in a travel mug. I’ll take it with me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Smithville.”

  “Oh, Crockett, no.”

  “Hold the cream. Black is fine.”

  Satin went into the kitchen. Crockett remained standing for the minute or so it took for her to return with the coffee. Nobody said a word. He accepted the cup, gave Satin a quick smile, and went out the door. She dropped onto a chair and stared at the floor.

  “Ol’ Crockett,” Clete said.

  Shelly shook her head.

  “I don’t get it,” she said. “Why didn’t one a you guys at least offer to go with him?”

  “You’re right,” Stitch said. “You don’t get it, man. Crockett don’t want nobody with him. Right now he’s got too much shit to deal with. He wants to talk to the coroner an’ get this mess back on a less personal level. He knows he’s too wrapped up in this. He’s lookin’ for distance, man. We can’t help with that. Maybe an autopsy can.”

  “I just hope he doesn’t do anything stupid,” Satin said.

  Clete smiled. “Maybe foolhardy,” he said. “Maybe even reckless. But stupid? Nope. Not our Crockett.”

  “What’d he mean about the phone book?” Satin asked.

  “Big cities got big phone books,” Clete said. “You can knock the shit outa somebody with one a them things an’ not even leave a mark. I speck the phone book for this place ain’t much bigger’n a pamphlet.”

  “Oh,” Satin replied. She looked around the room for a moment, not really seeing anything, then went upstairs.

  The group broke up. Again, nobody said a word.

  *****

  Crockett was going in the emergency room entrance of Smithville hospital as the coroner, Ken Jacobs, was coming out. Jacobs smiled and offered a hand.

  “Deputy Crockett, what could possibly bring you here?” he asked.

  “Glad I caught you, Doc. What do you know about the Porter woman?”

  “Ah. Well, not very much I’m afraid. All I did was a preliminary exam. The autopsy itself will be done in Jefferson City. The poor girl is a mess. She died from exsanguination of course. Carotid, jugular and trachea all severed from left to right. Probably a right-handed attack from behind. That’s a massive cut. Took more than one attempt to get it done. She’d lost three fingernails and had a broken finger, from a struggle I imagine. Her jaw and nose were broken, as well as at least three ribs. Her left shoulder and elbow were both dislocated. Bruises everywhere, some from as long as three hours or so before she died. Ah, let’s see…oh yes, bleeding from her left ear, probably due to a heavy strike to her head, several loose teeth, lacerated tissue inside her lips, cheeks, and the roof of her mouth, and blood from both her vagina and anus. She’d been penetrated by an object of some sort. I have no idea what. As I said, my examination was preliminary only.”

  “It was a gun barrel,” Crockett said.

  “What?”

  “Gun barrel. Forty-four magnum Smith and Wesson with a ramp sight.”

  Jacobs looked at him for a moment.

  “Good Lord,” he said.

  *****

  It was nearly dawn when Crockett got back to the cabin. He showered downstairs to avoid waking Satin. When he crutched his way out of the bathroom, she was waiting with a cup of fresh coffee and a smile.

  “De-caf,” she said. “How ya doin”?

  “Much better now,” Crockett replied. “I just got baptized. My sins are washed away.””

  “Hungry?”

  “How ‘bout some cinnamon toast?”

  “Comin’ up.”

  Crockett thumped his way into the kitchen, eased up on a stool, and began putting on his leg. “Where is everybody?” he asked.

  “I think Stitch and Shelly are over at his place,” Satin said, dropping two slices of bread in the toaster. “Clete’s car is here, but he’s not. Probably sleeping in our lovely guest cottage.”

  Crockett nodded, took a sip of the coffee and grimaced.

  “Speaking of sleep,” Satin went on, “consider getting any?”

  “You mean sleep, right?” Crockett asked.

  Satin smiled. “Yes, sleep.”

  “I should. Maybe a nap.”

  Satin took a shaker of cinnamon-sugar out of a cabinet, and readied herself by the toaster. “A nap would be better than nothing.”

  The toast popped up. She buttered it, shook on the topping, put the two pieces on a paper plate, slid it over in front of him, and began to wipe the counter with a damp rag.

  “Want up at ten?” she asked.

  Crockett smiled at her insight. “Ten will be fine.”

  “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay. I’ve seen you like this before, and I know how you are. I know I can’t talk you out of anything. I told you when you took this job that being careful was not as good as being Crockett. I still believe that.”

  Crockett smiled at her. “You know you’re my favorite, don’t you?” he said.

  “I know,” Satin replied.

  Crockett stood up, walked to the stairs, and climbed his way up to the bedroom.

  Satin left the cinnamon toast and de-caf where he’d abandoned them on the counter, grabbed their fresh can of fish pellets and headed for the lake, Dundee at her side.

  *****

  The vibration from Nudge’s rumbling pur
r woke Crockett a little before ten. The cat was lying on Crockett’s arm with his chin on his shoulder.

  Crockett, his eyes burning and nose non-functional, wrenched himself free. “Goddammit, Nudge,” he said, “I wish you were allergic to me.”

  He lurched into the bath, poured drops into his eyes and shot spray up his nose, washed his face, and tried to breathe. Better. He was pulling on blue jeans when Satin arrived.

  “You’re up,” she said.

  “Am I?”

  “Ah. Nudge gotcha, huh?”

  “After all I’ve done for him.”

  “Want something to eat.”

  “Naw. I’ll grab a sandwich in town with Dale. Oh, shit. Sorry about the toast.”

  “That’s okay. Dundee loved it. You’re not putting on your cop clothes?”

  “Nope. I’m gonna take a couple of days off.”

  “Gonna carry a gun?”

  “I really don’t want to.”

  “I think you should.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  Satin looked at him for a moment. “Shorty’s still out there,” she said. “If you don’t go after him, he’ll come after you. Consequences don’t mean anything in his twisted little brain. As far as he’s concerned, this is all your fault. He can’t stand that.”

  Crockett smiled. “You’re pretty smart for a girl,” he said.

  “Now, especially right now, you need to be a cop.”

  “You know,” Crockett said, “I believe I’ll carry a gun today.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that?” Satin said and went back downstairs.

  *****

  When Crockett came down, he was wearing a fresh almost uniform. This time, however, instead of an over shirt semi-hiding his weapons and equipment, the shirt was tucked in, his Beretta exposed high and tight against his right side, his cuffs, whipstick, extra magazines and such all out in the open, and his badge was pinned to the breast of his shirt.

  “Deputy Crockett!” Satin said, “Don’t you look official.”