“Just me?”
Crockett grinned. “Mills can help if he gets back in time.”
Charlie sighed. “Okay. I’ll get started.”
“Have some coffee, kid. Take your time. No rush. I’d kinda like the parents of these idiots to be all worried and worked up when they find out their sweet, little boys are in jail. Besides, I want to make a phone call before we get too far along.”
“Ah, okay.”
Millie spoke up from the radio desk. “Call for you, Crockett,” she said.
Crockett grinned. “Here come da judge,” he said.
“Deputy Crockett,” Judge J.R. McPherson said when Crockett took the call. “I do hope that everyone involved in the recent incident is in good health?”
“The kids are a little shook up, but not enough to be courteous.”
“No comas then, I assume.”
“Nossir.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Juveniles?”
“Two, Judge.”
“And the one?”
“Lawrence Stephen Pike, age eighteen.”
“Indeed? Well, what are the charges you have in mind for Mister Pike?”
“Harassment, attempted arson, reckless endangerment, reckless driving, fleeing, resisting arrest, aggravated stupidity, and a poor choice in fathers.”
“And the others?”
“Death by hanging, your honor.”
“Have any of these stellar youngsters made a phone call?”
“Not yet, sir. Processing has been delayed.”
“Unavoidable, I assume?”
“Yessir. I think they should all be ready for calls when mom and dad are scared shitless or sound asleep.”
“The righteous Reverend Pike will be greatly upset.”
“He will not be a problem, Judge.”
“Oh?”
“I’ll handle him. I have made preparations. He will be humble and quiet. His son, however, I feel should be prosecuted to the full extent and all that.”
“As do I, sir. You take care of the Reverend Pike. As for the juveniles, tell their parents they will not be available for contact until tomorrow. As to their charges, direct mommy and daddy to me at the appropriate time in court. I shall deal with the underage miscreants.”
“Yessir.”
“Very well, Deputy Crockett. I will speak with you again upon the morrow. Please convey my regards to your lovely wife. Goodnight, Sir.”
Crockett spent a leisurely thirty minutes over coffee, gathered the necessary paperwork and forms, fingerprint cards and such, and went downstairs to the jail in search of the Pike boy. About five-eight and skinny, with reddish blond hair and what might laughingly be called a mustache, the kid wore spattered blue jeans and a t-shirt that may have been white in its youth. He was kicked back on a bunk, humming and cool.
“Mister Pike,” Crockett said.
The young man gave no notice he’d heard anything.
“Mister Pike,” Crockett said again.
No reaction.
“Suit yourself, kid,” Crockett went on, turning away. “They pay me to be here.”
“What do you want?” The voice was surly, dripping with contempt.
“I want you to come with me so we can get you booked and printed for your arraignment tomorrow morning.”
“I didn’t do nothin’. Hershel throwed that firebomb.”
“Giving your friends up already? What a hero.”
“I tolt you I didn’t do nothin’!”
“Reckless driving, attempting to elude or evade a police officer, aiding and abetting arson, aiding and abetting reckless endangerment, resisting arrest, and, uh, let’s see…oh! Destruction of private property. You took out almost a hundred feet of fencing when you cut that wifferdill through the bean field. Bet that puckered your ass, huh?”
No reply.
“Get up,” Crockett went on, “and come with me. Let’s get this done.”
“Go to hell,” the kid said.
“See you tomorrow,” Crockett replied, and walked away. He paused around the corner of the cellblock for a few seconds.
“Hey! Wait a minute!”
Crockett gave the lad a few more seconds then walked back. “You yelled?”
“I wanna call my dad.”
“I bet you do.”
“He ain’t gonna like the way you’re treatin’ me.”
Crockett shook his head. “Can’t please everybody, I guess,” he said and began to walk away.
“Where you a goin’?”
“Home. You don’t wanna be processed, you don’t have to be. But until you do get processed, you get no phone calls, no lawyer, no arraignment, nothing. You’ll sit right where you are, get three egg sandwiches with coffee a day, and you’ll be bored outa your skull. See ya tomorrow.”
“My dad is gonna tear your ass up.”
Crockett grinned. “You’d like that, huh?” he said.
“Damn right I would.”
“Wanna call him?”
“Hell yes!”
“Right after you get processed. No process, no call. Simple isn’t it.”
The kid glared at Crockett. Crockett held on to his grin.
“Okay,” the boy said.
“See how easy that was? Deputy Rogers will be down to take care of you in a few minutes, Mister Pike. Please don’t leave the building.”
Back upstairs he encountered Charlie Rogers in the bullpen. “I processed the two juvies, Crockett,” Charlie said. “Talked to their parents. Told them that they could see their kids after ten in the morning in court. That pissed ‘em off, but I don’t give a shit.”
Crockett smiled. “Good,” he said. “Mills is down at Jelly’s place going through the car. He said there were two other bottles of gas or kerosene on the rear floorboards. He’s cataloguing evidence now and will be in with a bunch of stuff in a little bit. When he does, he’ll lift whatever prints he can off the bottles. With any kind of luck, all three of these shitheads handled them, and we’ll get matches from their print cards. The Pike kid is downstairs. He decided he was willing to be processed. Do that, will ya? He gives you any significant shit or fails to hold up his end of the deal, clank a door on him and come get me. I’ll be writing up my statement of what happened at the house for you. This is your case.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Three felony busts. I’ll handle the Pike boy’s father when he shows up to raise hell.”
“Okay by me,” Charlie said, and headed downstairs.
Crockett wrote a note for Dale, asking that someone go out to the Warner residence the next morning and take pictures of the fire damage and statements from the mother and daughter. Then he sat down at one of the two computers in the room, sighed, and began to tell his tale
The second page was nearly finished when Charlie Rogers showed back up. “He’s done,” Charlie said. “Mouthy little shit. Called his father. From what it sounded like, daddy should be here pretty quick.”
“Okay,” Crockett grunted, getting to his feet. “I’ll intercept him outside. You help Gordon with the rest of the evidence and see about a match with the prints on the bottles, then both you guys go home. Good work tonight. If you’re still here, I’ll check in with you before I leave.”
He stepped out into the muggy cool of the street, lit a Sherman, and watched a bat making passes at the bugs circling the vapor light on a pole above the courthouse. He’d just finished the cigarette when a battered, blue Ford pickup came down the street at over fifty miles-per-hour and slid to a stop in front of him. The driver’s door opened and an older version of the kid in the cell bounced out and strode toward him in a purposeful manner.
“Mister Pike,” Crockett said.
“Reverend Pike,” the little man spat. “I wanna see my son!”
“Of course you do,” Crockett replied. “His processing should be finished in thirty minutes or so. Then he’ll be available, Mister Pike.”
“That’s Reverend Pike! I w
ant to see my son, and I want to see him right now!”
“No. Sorry. Won’t be long, though.”
“Me and my followers in the True Word of God Church do not recognize the laws of man, but only the will of God!”
“Then all this must be really frustrating for you,” Crockett said.
“Why are you holding my son?”
“Arson, reckless endangerment, reckless driving, and a bunch of other stuff. Some traffic charges, some misdemeanors, couple of felonies. Your kid is in a lot of trouble. You’ll know more after he’s arraigned in the morning.”
“In the morning?”
“Yessir.”
“He’s going home with me tonight.”
“No chance of that. He broke the law a lot.”
“My son and I answer to the laws of God.”
“Like thou shalt not suffer a witch to live? That how come your darling boy and two of his friends threw a firebomb at a house full of women tonight?”
“You have no authority over me or my child,” Pike shouted, his voice high-pitched and nearly squealing.
“Let’s get something straight, Mister Pike. You stand out here in the street yelling and raising hell, and I will slap your pompous little ass in jail with your kid. You know what they say. The family that arraigns together remains together.”
Furious, the irate man stepped to within eighteen inches of Crockett and tapped him on the chest with a finger. “I’ll have your badge!” he roared.
Crockett grabbed the finger and forced the little man to his knees. “The next part of you that touches me goes to jail, Mister Pike, and the rest of you with it.”
“You sonofabitch!” Pike squeaked.
Crockett grabbed the little man by the shirtfront, lifted him erect, and backed him up against his own truck.
“Now you listen to me, you little phony. I know about your busts a few years ago for check kiting in Arkansas. And your arrests for indecent exposure in Little Rock and for propositioning a male prostitute in Jonesboro. I know about your current monthly trips to Saint Louis, too. I have the records of your credit card expenditures at three different by the hour or by the day motels, at a club called Danny’s Casbah, one called Miss Muffet’s, and one called The Runway. I also have records of credit card expenses at several internet sites that specialize in gay porn as well as two male escort services, one in Saint Louis, and one in East Saint Louis. Personally, I don’t give a shit if you’re gay or not, but a lot of narrow-minded shitheads that have protested with you, carried signs with you, attacked planned parenthood locations and picketed funerals and gay bars with you, will give a shit. What do you think would happen if the fact that the right Reverend Emanuel Gayland Pike is a godless fudgepacker became public knowledge among your twisted little flock and the press?”
During Crockett’s rant, Pike had sagged weakly against his truck. He looked up at Crockett, beaten and fearful.
“You couldn’t do that,” he said. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“Would and could and will. What we have here is extortion, Mr. Pike. If you want to keep your secrets, talk to your kid and have him admit his crimes, the crimes of those ignorant assholes that were with him tonight, and throw himself on the mercy of the court. Then you pack up and get outa Dodge. Thirty days and you are gone from this county. Don’t leave on time, screw your exit up, or attempt to fuck with me, and it will be common knowledge that you are gayer than an off Broadway chorus line.”
Pike studied the sidewalk for a moment. Crockett gave him time. “And if I do that, you won’t say anything?” Pike asked.
“Not a word, as long as you hold up your end, so to speak.”
“What choice do I have?
“None, if you wanna keep your followers and stay in the closet.”
Again, Pike paused to think. “All right, he said. “Can I see my son now?”
“Sure,” Crockett replied. “Somebody inside’ll help you. I’m going to the couch.”
He showed Pike his back and began walking toward the Ram.
Christ, he was beat.
As usual, Satin was sleeping in his chair when he got home. Donk and Dundee’s celebratory barks at his arrival woke her, and she offered her typical greeting.
“Timeisit?”
Crockett smiled at the best person he knew. “Little after four. Why aren’t you in bed, young lady?”
Satin yawned. “Can’t sleep there without you. Too much space. You okay?”
“Sure.”
“You catch bad guys?”
“Yep. Da Rev’s kid and a couple of other shitheads. Threw a Molotov Cocktail for chrissakes.”
Satin flinched and sat straight up. “Everybody okay?”
“Oh yeah. The rain yesterday helped a lot. Somebody’ll take pictures out there today. I’ll swing back by this evening. Whoever threw the thing hit a tree instead of the house. Minimal damage.”
“You deal with Da Rev?”
“Sure. He’ll be gone in a month or so. His kid will probably get locked up for a year or two. Nothing too harsh.”
Satin levered herself to her feet and padded into the kitchen. “Got some de-caf for you that’s only a couple of hours old.”
“De-caf?”
“Uh-huh. Ethiopian. I ordered it for you for just these kinds of circumstances. Want some?”
“Well, since you ordered it…”
She stuck her tongue out at him and got a cup out of the cabinet. “Those women up at that place…”
“Yeah?”
“What do you think of them?”
“I don’t know much. All ages and descriptions. Judge McPherson’s wife used to go to the gatherings until she couldn’t drive at night anymore. The old gal who is sorta the matriarch, Verna Warner, is as sweet as she can be. Her grandfather likes me.”
“Her grandfather?”
“There’s an old rocking chair in the living room that he made for himself years and years ago. I’m the only person, other than him when he was alive, that’s ever been able to sit in it.”
“What?”
“That’s what Verna said. The chair won’t accept anybody else or something like that. Everybody agreed with her.”
“No kidding?” Satin said, putting Crockett’s coffee on the counter.
“Why all the interest? You thinking of going to some of their meetings?”
“Maybe. If I can get the time off. Kinda interesting. They really psychic and shit?”
“Verna’s daughter, Fran, is different.”
“Oh?”
“First time we met, without any information or prompting, she told me the man with the knife wasn’t done yet, here or anyplace else. Something like that. The second time she told me he was a soldier. Both times she said she didn’t remember telling me anything. Claims that sometimes she says stuff she never knew she said.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah. Last night she told me the man who died years ago didn’t blame me and that he and the two women who had, uh, passed more recently were all at peace.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Crockett replied, feeling tears gather in his eyes. “She said they all loved me.”
Satin smiled across the counter and reached to touch his hand.
“Be fools not to,” she said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Crockett had only been asleep for about three hours and was way down in that black hole when Satin shook him awake around eight thirty.
“Whazamatter?”
“Phone call for you, sweetie.”
“Phone?”
“Yes. Phone call. Wake up.”
“Phone for me?”
“Yeah. It’s Ness.”
“Ness?”
“Ness.”
“Oh, shit,” Crockett groaned, swinging his leg over the side of the bed and holding his head in his hands. “Okay, okay. I’ll be right down. Tell him to gimme a minute.”
“I’ll tell him,” Satin replied, and went downstairs.
Crockett finger combed his hair back behind his head, lurched to his foot, and grabbed his crutches from where they leaned against the wall. Ness. Shit. Aw shit.
Satin had coffee waiting for him when he clumped into the kitchen. He dropped onto a stool, took the cup in his right hand and the phone in his left.
“Crockett.”
“I interrupt your beauty sleep?”
“Yeah.”
“Wasn’t doing any good, anyway. Your bride said you had a late night.”
“Yeah.”
“Your wife seems nice. Wanna trade?”
Crockett couldn’t help it. He grinned. “I’d have to have boot.”
“Make a list,” Ness went on. “I’ll see what I can do. How come you were up so late?”
“Arresting kids and threatening preachers. Typical shift. This just a call to try and get rid of mommy or is there method in your madness, Detective Lieutenant?”
“The Bladerunner hit again, Crockett.”
“Aw, hell.”
“Yeah. At least it’s his M.O. Last night in the parking lot of the Hampton Inn in Liberty. Liberty P.D. ain’t equipped for anything like this. Called the Feds.”
“Feebies?”
“Sure.”
“Kleffner?”
“Unfortunately. He’ll spend ninety percent of his time trying to look good. I did him something once. I’ll probably be able to get me, and you for that matter, whatever they have.”
“Won’t be much.”
“I know that, goddammit. And I’ll have to go through the whole ‘we’re not worthy’ thing to get him to cooperate.”
“Be good if you left my name out of it.”
“Only if I actually want to get anything. Kleffner thinks you’re an asshole. Hell. I think you’re an asshole. I wouldn’t get near you if I didn’t wanna trade wives.”
“D’Bronx on Bell again?”
“D’Bronx on Bell still. I’ll let you know when I got something for you. Probably be a couple days.”
Crockett took a sip of coffee and went on. “I received some information that this guy isn’t just working this area. That he may be slicing and dicing other places, too.”
“No shit?”
Six Cut Kill Page 23