Six Cut Kill

by David R Lewis

  “I thought she’d just use the barn she has.”

  “Jack doesn’t want a bunch of people coming and going that close to the house.”

  “I can understand that,” Crockett said.

  “And,” Satin went on, “Ivy says she’s contacted one of the major animal feed companies, Purina or somebody. If we let them use the project for publicity, they’ll provide bagged feed for the horses and dogs.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Yep. Publicity for them will be publicity for us. Plus, somebody Ivy knows that is a CEO or something for one of the major candy companies is gonna ship us peanut hulls by the train car load, free. All we have to do is bag ‘em and truck ‘em in.”

  “Best horse bedding there is,” Crockett said. “And, you can use them in a mix for the indoor arenas. How many horses are you guys talking about?”

  “Hell, I don’t know! Ten or so to start, I suppose. Maybe more. We’ll have close to six hundred acres in scrub pasture. That’s a lot of grass and or hay. We’ll stall all of them at night, I guess. I don’t know much about horses. Gonna need an advisor. You want to advise me?”

  “Me?”

  “Sure. You know a lot more about this stuff than I do.”

  “Lemme think about it.”

  “And then there is the whole dog thing,” Satin went on. “I have no idea how many people we’ll need to take care of the dogs ‘cause we don’t know how many dogs there’ll be. Both places should have good response by volunteers once we get some publicity. Ivy said she’d help with that, too. She even mentioned maybe some small cabins for the special needs families if they came from too far away. Help defray motel and travel expense if a few could stay on site.”

  “Jesus,” Crockett said. “This thing is getting huge!”

  “I know. I think our biggest challenge may be to keep it small enough to manage with just a few people and volunteers. I’m certainly not looking to set world records or anything. Neither is Charlene. We’ve already talked about it.”

  “She’s gonna want you to run the joint?”

  “That’s what she says. I’m willing to do that, but I’m not willing to give up our time and life together to get it done. Understand?”

  Crockett smiled. “Sure,” he said. “Does she?”

  “I think so. We’ve talked about that, too. I think she sees me more as an overseer than labor, although I’m sure I’ll work my ass off. Especially in the beginning. If we prepare to be big, and start small, things should work out. I’ll have to depend on Danni a lot.”

  “You said anything to her?”

  “Not yet. I don’t know if I should mention it, or wait and let Charlene spring it on her.”

  “In her shoes, what would you want to happen?”

  “I think I’d like a little warning.”

  “There ya go.”

  Satin smiled. “I’ll call her tonight and mention the possibility.”

  “Give her my love.”

  Satin looked over Crockett’s shoulder toward the sliding glass door. “You’re sidekick is waiting,” she said.

  Donk stood on the deck, peering into the house. “He helped me get the worms,” Crockett said. “I guess he wants to know what’s next. He’s turning into one helluva good dog. Loves to have a job to do.”

  “Take him fishing with you.”

  “You think?”

  “Sure. Maybe he can drive the boat.”

  “Where’s Dundee?”

  “Upstairs napping on the bed,” Satin said. “She’ll never know.”

  An hour later, Crockett, in the company of Donk the wonder dog, was cruising the lake, checking out the best places for panfish cover. Donk stood at the bow beside him, studying the water as it slipped by. His concentration on the task at hand made Crockett grin. When the dog turned his attention to the shore and began to bark, Crockett slowed down.

  “What?”

  “Boof!”

  “What do you want?”

  “Boof! Boof! Boof!”

  “Did Timmy fall down a well? What?”

  The dog whined at the shoreline. Crockett eased the pontoons against the bank, and Donk was off, scurrying around in the weeds, before taking care of business beside a fallen tree. Finishing that necessity, he bounced back aboard and took up his customary station. Chuckling, Crockett eased the boat away from the bank and continued his quest, Donk watching the water with heavy intent.

  When Crockett stopped to fish, a firm “No!” dissuaded Donk from attempting to sniff the worm and the hook. Crockett tossed the line and bobber toward the shore where it landed amid some stick-ups in shallow water, and settled down to watch and wait. Fresh out of movement and activity, the dog lay down beside him with a bored grunt. In a few moments the bobber disappeared, Crockett set the hook and battled a chubby hybrid bluegill to the boat. Donk was on his feet, watching every unfolding event. As Crockett lifted the struggling fish out of the water, the dog launched himself over the low railing, grabbed the bottom half of the fish as it hung in the air, and disappeared into the lake with a mighty splash.

  Almost immediately a very confused Blue Heeler face, minus the fish, appeared above the waterline, held there by frantic pawing, as Donk went through the shock of his first experience with swimming. Crockett dropped the rod to the deck, grabbed the dog by the collar and shoulder, and horsed the dripping and frightened animal up and onto the boat.

  “How’d that work out for ya, dummy?” Crockett laughed, as Donk shook himself and peered down into the water. “Jesus, now we’re both wet!”

  The dog, looking truly pitiful, whined at Crockett and shook himself again. Hearing a thumping sound, Crockett turned his attention back to the bow. The tip of his rod was slapping against the deck. He grabbed the rod and lifted a half-pound bluegill out of the water. Donk inched forward.

  “No!” Crockett said. He took the fish in hand and held it toward the dog. “No!” he repeated. Donk looked at him, then the fish, and lay down with a grumble. “Good boy!” Crockett praised, patting Donk on the side. “Good boy. You’re good!”

  When they headed home, two hours and a bunch of catch and release achievements later, the dog has so mastered his fishing duties that he watched the bobber at least as intently as Crockett did, even to barking when a fish would take it under. He’d found a job and did it well. Crockett was proud.

  Satin was preparing to meet Charlene for lunch when Crockett arrived back at the cabin. He told her the tale.

  “No kidding? Now he watches for a bite?”

  “And tells me when I get one,” Crockett said. “I could take a nap and still catch fish. I about strained my milk dragging his wet ass back on the boat. That dog is getting heavy. Sharon Carter said he was going to be real big for a Heeler. She was right. I bet he’s fifty pounds now, and he’s still got some more to go.”

  “When you gonna get him neutered?”

  “I should have by now.”

  “Call the vet,” Satin said, kissed him, and headed out the door.

  Crockett did. The office girl said for him to bring Donk on over. There was an opening that afternoon.

  Crockett looked at the dog. “Son,” he said, “I sure hope this doesn’t put you off fishing.”

  Because of Crockett’s and Satin’s evening work schedules, Donk stayed at the vet’s office an additional night. When Crockett picked him up around noon the next day, the dog was glad to see him to the point of bouncing around and yipping. Crockett ignored both the dog and the display until Donk settled down, then petted him and told him how good he was.

  “No lampshade thing around his neck?” he ask the vet assistant, a young woman of about twenty with displaced hair and a sweaty upper lip.

  “Not necessary. He’s healing nicely.” She handed Crockett a bag and continued.

  “Give him one of the chew pellets twice a day for three days, and spray the incision a couple of times a day with the aerosol bottle for a week. That should do it. If there seems to be a problem, just bri
ng him back in.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yep. Don’t worry. He might have a tendency to gain a little weight, but that should take care of itself when he reaches full growth. He’s a nice healthy dog. Contrary to popular opinion, his

  personality should stay the same.”

  “Mine sure as hell wouldn’t,” Crockett said.

  She smiled as if she had never heard that type of comment before and handed Crockett his bill. He paid and left. Donk sailed into the backseat as if he were a whole dog and grinned out the partially rolled-down window. Crockett headed for Mickey D’s. The dog deserved a treat.

  Back at the cabin, Crockett lazed around for a while, then prepared for work. When he went outside, he found Donk sitting by the rear door of the truck. He climbed in behind the wheel and Donk protested.

  “Now what do you want?” Crockett asked. In reply, the dog issues a series of barks.

  “You wanna come along?”

  More barks.

  “What the hell,” Crockett said, reaching behind the seat and opening the door. “We’re both amputees.”

  Donk sailed into the seat and looked out the window as Crockett proceeded down the drive.

  Smoot walked into Wagers Café and joined Crockett in the rear booth about five.

  “We got a canine division now?”

  “Donk just had his nuts cut off,” Crockett replied. “I’m letting him ride with me to reinforce the masculine side of his personality. I don’t think I could live with a dog that barked with a lisp.”

  Smoot grinned. “First you teach him to fish, now you gonna make him a cop?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “I can see it now. Halt or I’ll herd you! Jesus, Crockett.”

  “Take it easy, goddammit. He’s a rookie.”

  Donk had a great time riding around and things were quiet until about ten o’clock when Crockett’s radio crackled to life.

  “Headquarters to Hart two.”

  “Go, HQ,” Crockett replied.

  “You are requested to phone the buffalo. You have the number?”

  Crockett smiled and got out his cell phone. “I have it, HQ. Two out.” His call was answered on the third ring.

  “Whiskey River, Bison.”

  “Hey little fella. What’s up?”

  “It’s manicure time, motherfucker. He’s here and pretty steamed. Looks like he’s gonna be leavin’ soon.”

  “In his truck?”

  “Naw. He’s ridin’ that piece a shit purple Duo Glide. Workin’ on the last beer out of a pitcher.”

  “Thanks, Bison.”

  “You owe me, bud.”

  “See ya later,” Crockett replied, disconnected, and picked up the mic. “Hart two to Hart five,” he said.

  “Five. Go ahead, two,” Charlie Rogers replied.

  “You near Sutton?”

  “About a mile, two.”

  “Meet me at the tracks.”

  “Ten four.”

  “Nine, how ‘bout you?”

  “Five minutes, two,” Arkie Bennet said.

  “Drift over this way and orbit. May need you for a traffic bust.”

  “Ten four. En route.”

  Five was waiting when Crockett arrived. He advised Charlie of the situation, then pulled back down Main Street and waited. Ten minutes later, a beat to hell purple hog clattered over the tracks and roared off. Charlie stopped Spivey about a hundred yards down the road. Bennett was on hand for the backup. DUI, expired driver’s license, nonfunctioning taillight, fifty-five in a thirty, and cord showing on the front tire. Crockett pulled up to watch the proceedings. As Charlie escorted a handcuffed Spivey to his squad car, Donk growled.

  “Good boy,” Crockett said. “You’re good.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The following afternoon, Dale Smoot looked across the booth at Crockett and grinned. “Didn’t know he couldn’t walk on water, huh?”

  “He was wrapped up in the moment trying to catch a flying fish,” Crockett said.

  “I’d like to have seen that. Dog like he is woulda been pretty embarrassed.”

  “He was humble. That’s partially why I brought him to work with me last night. He loved it. Sat back there and kept his head on a swivel. Even growled at Spivey when five and nine busted him.”

  “I noticed that your name wasn’t on any of the arrest paperwork.”

  “Just an observer, Chief. Wasn’t my bust. I was a bi-innocent stander.”

  “Who just happened to have Charlie and Arkie in the right place at the right time?”

  “Fate’s a bitch, huh?”

  “Uh-huh,” Smoot said, and contemplated the infinite for a moment. “We may have a little problem building up over by Clayville.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Our illustrious mayor’s little brother, Keith, lives over that way.”

  “Don’t know him.”

  “You’re not missing much. He owns the Ford dealership and one a those farm implement businesses as you’re going into Smithville. Thinks he is somebody.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  “Five or six years ago he took up with a little blond gal he met at some club on the other side of Kansas City called Heels. I hear the place is closed down now.”

  Crockett’s stomach tightened. “I’m familiar with it,” he said.

  Smoot peered at him. “You’re familiar with it? You hang around a lot of strip clubs, do ya?”

  “Not usually. I did a favor for a friend once who needed some help.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yep.”

  “I know this friend, do I?”

  “Yes, you do. You used to tip her right in this very diner.”

  Smoot looked puzzled. “Satin’s kid, Danni?” he asked.

  “The very one,” Crockett replied.

  “This when you had me check out that big black guy that drove that immense old blue Lincoln?”

  “Ah, the good old days.”

  “Jesus,” Smoot said. “Whatever happened to that monster?”

  “He’s, uh, not around anymore.”

  Smoot nodded. “I see,” he said. “He around anywhere anymore?”

  “The phrase plausible deniability mean anything to you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t ask if you don’t wanna know.”

  Smoot took a drink of his coffee and leaned back in the booth. “So ol’ Keith took up with this woman, ten or so years younger than him, dumped his wife, and married the girl. Ugly divorce. Ex-wife beat him up pretty bad. He almost lost his businesses. Word has it that his brother, our beloved mayor, just about went tits up helping the boy out. Three or four years go by, his ex remarries, she and her new husband adopt the three kids and move away somewhere, and Keith is a lot better off. Got a big financial load off his back, business is saved, all the rest of that stuff.

  “His current wife may be a lady of dubious repute, but she’s no dummy. She gets suspicious of the hours he’s keeping, hires a private dick outa Kaycee, and finds out he’s got a little somethin’ on the side again. She didn’t mind it much when it was her, but she’s not happy when it’s somebody else. He drops by home yesterday around noon. All his shit is on the lawn, the locks are changed, the cars are stashed someplace, and a process server hands him divorce papers while she watches from a second story window. Ol’ Keith jumps the track.”

  “Mills in six and Cleaver in eight hustle out to the place and try to settle him down. He’s gonna kill the bitch, she can’t do this to him, you get the drift. Finally, they have to arrest the dummy just to get him offa the place. His brother, our mayor that you’re so close to, bonds his ass out just in time to be on hand when little brother is served with a restraining order issued by the honorable Judge J. R. McPherson. Little brother goes pretty much berserk again, but the mayor hustles him off before he gets tossed back in jail.

  “Now we got two self-important assholes running around out there. Little brother Keith is outraged at everybo
dy concerned because he just can’t be treated the way he has been, and big brother Marvin because he’s embarrassed that his little brother has been caught cheating on his lovely wife, and because the Underwoods are the Underwoods, for chrissakes! Who do the rest of us think we are?”

  “Oh, hell,” Crockett said.

  “You got that right.”

  “Where’s this house?”

  “Sets back offa the highway a couple a hundred yards about a half-mile this side of Clayville. Two story, big two-level porch on the front, four car unattached garage, brick columns at the start of the driveway. Can’t miss it.”

  “Wish I could.”

  “No shit. I asked Cleaver to work a little late tonight and hang around that general area. He was glad to. Evidently Underwood called him a bunch of names and threatened him.”

  “Which Underwood?” Crockett asked.

  Smoot grinned. “Both of ‘em, probably,” he said, finishing his coffee and standing up.

  “How stupid is this guy?”

  “He isn’t stupid at all,” Smoot said. “He’s an Underwood. It’s the rest of us that are stupid. And his wife, as you know, is out to get him.”

  “Righteous indignation is a real bitch, Dale.”

  “Yep. ’Specially when the righteously indignant are stupid. Kid gloves, Crockett.”

  “To a point,” Crockett said, watching the big man walk away.

  Crockett finished his iced tea and walked outside with a left over French fry from Dale’s plate. He got in the truck and handed the goody to Donk in the back seat. As he was driving past the courthouse on his way out of town, he noticed Judge McPherson coming down the steps. He pulled in and got out of the truck.

  “Afternoon, Your Honor.”

  “Ah,” the judge said. “Deputy Crockett. Always a pleasure, sir. Do I detect a canine in the rear of your conveyance?”

  “You do, sir.”

  “A Queensland Blue, if I am not mistaken.”