Six Cut Kill

by David R Lewis

  “Oh, hell,” Crockett replied.

  Charlene grinned at both of them.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  During the next few weeks the barn/warehouse was inventoried and emptied of all weapons by the FBI. The Homeland Security bunch got involved and Bryant’s property, assets, and home were seized by the Feds under the blanket of domestic terrorist activities. Interpol began an investigation into the sale, purchase, and distribution of illegal weaponry charges. Charlene, because of her cooperation in the matter and lack of involvement in her husband’s business activities, was cleared of any complicity, and Danni’s truck was found in a pond on the outskirts of Brownsville, Texas.

  The dog and pony show bought a new mid-sized Toyota pickup truck for Danni to use, and Charlene stayed in Satin’s apartment until her modular home arrived and was installed on two acres near the entrance to the stables, across the road about a quarter mile from the kennels in the dog rehab center. Lucy came to live with Danni and had her own room with Grandma and Grandpa so she could spend the night when she wanted to. Cletus picked out his cabin for a spot on the west end of the lake, and Jack Bryant was simply not heard from again. Satin caught a bass from the pond that weighed three pounds, two ounces. And Crockett, more and more involved with the growing enterprises of Heartland Stables and Second Chance Pitbull Rescue, managed to avoid most of the Bryant publicity and returned to his part-time work at the cop shop.

  One morning in late June, he stopped by Wagers Café to pick up some donuts for the crew at the stables and got flagged down by Dale Smoot as he passed the office.

  “Just gonna call you,” Smoot said, as Crockett climbed out of his truck.

  “What’s up?”

  “Fella named Stove Benham called the office a few minutes ago.”

  “Stove?” Crockett asked

  “Short for Stover, I think. He’s got a place out on Paley Road not too far from the dog an’ pony show. Just barely in the county. Keeps and raises ‘coon hounds. Had some dogs stolen last night.”

  “Oh, hell.”

  “Thought you might want to take the call.”

  “Sure,” Crockett said. “I’ve gotta drop some stuff off for the crew at the barn first, then I’ll head over. I’ll get the location after I’m on the road.”

  Stove Benham was a large man with immense hands and in his seventies. He was wearing bib overalls and work boots and met Crockett in the gravel drive beside an old two-story farm house perched on a low rise a hundred yards or so off the road.

  “Yer the law, I reckon,” he said, offering a paw.

  Crockett accepted the offered hand and looked up at him. “Deputy Crockett, Mister Benham.”

  Stove nodded. “Yessir,” he said, and began to walk away toward the rear of the house. Crockett followed.

  “Me an’ the wife,” he went on, “drove down ta Clinton yesterday to see our new grandbaby an’ didn’t git back ‘til terrible late. I hate drivin’ of a night. Went out this mornin’ to feed them dogs, an’ four of ‘em was gone.”

  “Four dogs are missing?”

  Benham nodded. “Three bitches an’ a male,” he said, as a low kennel with about ten runs came in sight. Several dogs began barking at their arrival.

  “Settle down you dogs!” Stove bellowed, and the hounds quieted and went back inside their houses. “Black an’ tan ‘coonhounds. All of ‘em from the same whelp, ‘bout a year old. Them four kennel doors was open when I come out. Called my neighbor ‘bout a half a mile south a here this mornin’. He claims he heer’d ‘em raisin’ hell about midnight, but that ain’t uncommon. Lotsa critters out thisaway. Git a possum or somethin’ runnin’ around, them dogs take it personal.”

  “Have you noticed any unusual vehicles in the area lately?” Crockett asked. “Anybody watching the place or anything?”

  “Hard to say,” Stove replied. “Gittin’ so any more traffic is purty heavy. Feller’ll see maybe ten or fifteen cars an’ trucks go by ever day. Like a goddam parade. Folks doan stay home much no more.”

  Crockett held on to his grin. “Mister Benham,” he said, “I’ll file a report for you but, to tell the truth, there probably isn’t much I’ll be able to do.”

  “Didn’t think ya could,” Stove said. “Them dogs is insured. Feller said I’d need a police report to collect. My hounds are worth a couple a thousand each. I breed some good dogs, ya know.”

  “I guess you do,” Crockett said.

  Stove looked at him for a moment. “Well,” he said, “you file thet report, then. Thanks fer comin’ out. Crockett, you said?”

  “Yessir.”

  “I heer’d of ya,” Stove replied, and walked away toward the rear of the house leaving Crockett standing in the yard. It appeared the interview was over.

  Since he was so close, Crockett drove back by the stable with the intention of hanging around until it was late enough to take Satin to lunch. As he walked into the barn, he noticed Lucy standing on an overturned trashcan, reaching through the bars of a stall.

  “Hey, kid!” he yelled. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Grandpa!” she piped, clambered down from her perch, and ran to him. Crockett gathered her up and kissed face all over until she wiggled.

  “What are you up to, short?” Crockett asked.

  “I was pettin’ Pokey’s nose,” Lucy replied. “He likes me!”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes!” Lucy said, and fell backwards out of his arms.

  Crockett grabbed her behind the knees and carried the girl dangling from his forearm into the office. Satin and Danni were huddled over papers on the desk.

  “I caught a horse petter right out in the arena,” he said. “What should I do with her?”

  “Death by tickle,” Satin replied.

  Hearing the sentence, Lucy started laughing enough from her upside down position that tickling was moot. Crockett dropped her on the couch and looked down at her.

  “Don’t you move,” he growled. “The beatings will begin in a minute.”

  Still giggling, Lucy bounced up and headed out the door.

  “That kid is scared to death of me,” he said.

  Satin smiled at him. “Obviously,” she said. “Charlene wants to see you. She’s over on the dog side.”

  “What about?”

  “Suspicious truck hanging around last night.”

  “Okay, I’ll go over. You two up for lunch?”

  “Can’t,” Danni said. “Got a group coming in at eleven and another at one. Mom and me’ll be busy. One of my two afternoon volunteers has the flu.”

  “Be that way,” Crockett said. “Maybe Stitch still loves me.”

  Danni grinned. “He’s my other afternoon volunteer,” she said.

  “To hell with you people,” Crockett complained, and stomped out.

  He found Charlene kneeling outside a kennel. Inside the kennel was a slightly nervous, obviously nursing, gray Pitbull bitch. With her was a very short, Latino man, who appeared to be ten years younger than he was. Crockett had never heard him called anything other than Poco.

  Charlene grinned. “New babies three nights ago,” she said. “Six of them. Poco was here through the delivery and hasn’t left except to eat and sleep since. The mother, Gray Lady, won’t let anybody near the pups except him. Poco’s a peach. I wish I had ten more like him.”

  Gray Lady wormed her way inside the doghouse amid a chorus of tiny squeaks. Poco grinned and came outside.” Mister Crockett,” he said. Extending his hand. “It is nice to see you.”

  Crockett smiled and took the offered hand. “Good to see you, too, Poco,” he said. “Please, just call me Crockett.”

  “Tell Crockett what you told me, Poco,” Charlene urged.

  “Si,” Poco said. “On the night these babies was born, there was a truck that came here. I stay with the momma for her babies’ birth and this truck come. I watch from in the kennel. There were in it two men who stop by the front gate an’ get out. I watch them try the ga
te but it was lock. They rattle it an’ all the dogs begin to bark. They got back in the truck an’ drive away. They not come back that night.”

  “Do you know what kind of truck it was?”

  “Si, it was the kind of truck that pull other trucks an’ cars when they hit each other or are broken.”

  “A tow truck?” Crockett asked.

  “The kind with the crane on the back to pick up fronts of cars.”

  “A wrecker?”

  “Si. That’s it. A wrecker.”

  “Then last night a little before one,” Charlene said, “I started to walk over here from the house and check on Gray Lady; and there was a pickup truck with two men in it, cruising along the front of the property, shining flashlights on the fence. The truck was an old Chevy crew cab with a white cargo cover.”

  “What color?”

  “Red, I believe. It’s a little hard to tell under these pole lights. Their light isn’t true. The dogs started barking, and I heard a hound bay. We don’t have any hounds here.”

  Crockett smiled.

  “What?” Charlene asked.

  “You remember when you and Satin went to Whiskey River with me, and I had some trouble with a couple a fellas that tried to feed Bison’s Pit a napkin?”

  “When you threw those guys out?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sure.”

  “One of them drives an old red Chevy crew cab. On that day, his sidekick was driving a wrecker. It had some business name painted on the door. Do you happen to remember what it was?”

  Charlene thought a moment. “No, I don’t. Sorry.”

  “Me neither,” Crockett said. “But I sure know where I’m going for lunch. Think I’ll take the Sportster.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  It was a little after eleven when Crockett arrived at Whiskey River and overcrowding was not a problem. Bison was sitting at the bar drinking a Coke.

  “Got room for me?” Crockett asked.

  “We doan open ‘til noon,” Bison growled. “Wait outside. I’ll let ya know when you can come in.”

  Crockett grinned. “How ya doin’ little fella?” he asked.

  “Fair, Officer. You doan look like you’re on duty.”

  “I’m not. Just another Harley Rat.”

  “If you come for lunch, you’re gonna have to wait. Joker’s off gittin’ supplies. Should be back anytime.”

  “Seen Spivey lately?”

  “Naw, an’ I better not neither. That fucker shows his face in here, he may leave it behind when I throw him out.”

  “How ‘bout his sidekick?

  “Petey?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He doan come around no more neither.”

  “He drive a wrecker for somebody?”

  “Used to. Someplace in Smithville. I doan know if he still does. You lookin’ for him?”

  “Yep. He’s the weak link. I need him to get to Spivey.”

  “Whatdaya want that shithead for?”

  “I think he and Petey are stealing dogs.”

  “Stealin’ dogs? From where?”

  “People’s yards, private kennels. There was even a break-in at a Humane Society a while back.”

  “No shit?”

  “Yeah. I think they’re good for it. I just don’t know why.”

  “If they are, I can tell ya fuckin’ why. Assholes! I betcha Spivey’s fightin’ Pits.”

  “What?”

  Bison shook his head and reached over the bar to refill his Coke. “Want something?” he asked.

  Crockett shook his head.

  Bison settled back down on his stool. “That fuckhead Spivey has always had Pitbulls since I’ve known his ass. Thinks tough dogs make him tough. If he’s stealin’ dogs, he’s gittin’ ‘em to bait his Pits.”

  “Oh, hell, Bison.”

  “You know ol’ Rufus. He likes everybody. Pitbulls are bred to git along with people so they can be controlled. They’re also bred to be dog aggressive to please people they’ll fight. Ya train a Pit by gettin’ easy goin’ dogs like hunters an’ hounds an’ sic him on ‘em so the Pit’ll learn to kick ass an’ not git all fucked up while he’s doin’ it. If Spivey is stealin’ dogs, he’s fightin’ dogs. Sonofabitch. I’ll ask around an’ see if I can locate where Petey is for ya. Letcha know when I do.”

  “Thanks, Bison.”

  “Sure. Joker should be back anytime. Gonna stay for lunch?”

  “I intended to when I came in,” Crockett said, getting to his feet, “but I’ve lost my appetite.”

  Cletus showed up that afternoon, and he and Crockett spent a couple of hours inspecting his homesite. Everything was in order for the delivery of his house. Clete went for a truncated A-frame with a garage in an attached wing and a bedroom on the second floor that stopped at the back wall of the living area, leaving his ceiling open overhead to nearly sixteen feet.

  “I spent too many years at Ivy’s place,” he said. “Some a her ceilings was so high, a feller couldn’t even see ‘em in damp weather.”

  The house arrived two days later in four pieces and, after three more days, Cletus had an official residence in the Crockett Country Fun Club and Retirement Community. Satin wanted to throw a house warming party, but Clete had to return to Chicago and tie up more loose ends. He promised to come back in a couple of weeks and start furnishing the place.

  As Crockett was preparing for work the following afternoon, Danni called. Her voice was tense.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah, sweetie.”

  “Dad, you need to come over to the kennels. The cops are here with some dogs.”

  When Crockett arrived he found Charlene, Danni, Satin, and a young Clay County Deputy on hand, as well as animal control vehicles from both Platte and Clay counties. The deputy met him as he got out of his truck.

  “You Crockett?”

  “That’s me,” Crockett said.

  “Name’s Benson,” the man replied. They shook hands, and he went on. “We’ve got a real mess here,” he said. “Last night Platte County got a call about some abandoned dogs out in the country up by Smithville. They called us ‘cause it was just inside Clay County. Rathole. Old beat to shit singlewide an’ some kennels with Pitbulls an’ two ‘coon hounds. Our guys have been out there all night, and they’re still out there. They found graves with a shitload of dog remains in ‘em. I mean dozens of skulls and ribcages and shit. I went out there about eight this morning. Place smelled like nowhere I’ve ever been before. There were two or three dead dogs just decomposing out in the yard! Awful. Turn your stomach. Goddammit, I like dogs. Gotta German Shepard of my own. That dog’s my friend. I’ve been grittin’ my teeth so much my jaws are sore.”

  “Anybody on site?” Crockett asked.

  “That’s the thing. We found an ol’ Chevy pickup, an ol’ Harley motorcycle, and a wrecker from Brown’s Auto Repair outa Smithville. Got guys checking with Brown’s Auto now. No people at all. We shook the place down and found mail addressed to a Michael Spivey, and that’s who the truck is registered to, but he’s not around. All our guys found alive out there were these dogs. Seven Pitbulls and two black and tan ‘coonhounds. Only thing we could think to do was bring ‘em here. That good lookin’ young lady over there said they’d take the Pitbulls, but she didn’t know what to do with the hounds. Got all pissed off when I told her about what we found. She’s kinda feisty.”

  Crockett smiled. “She’ll take ‘em,” he said.

  “She will?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You know her, do ya?”

  Crockett nodded. “She’s my daughter,” he said.

  Benson grinned. “Maybe you can answer a question for me then,” he said. “She married or anything?”

  “I’m not sure about the anything,” Crockett said, “but she’s not married.”

  Benson nodded. “Good to know,” he said.

  In the end, the kennels had seven new Pitbull residents, including an older female with massive scars, no
teeth, and only stubs for ears. Charlene was petting the dog as the old gal grinned and leaned on her. Crockett walked over.

  “Our new mascot,” Charlene said, as the dog turned to Crockett for a pat. “She was probably a fighter in her youth, then they made her into a puppy machine. That’s why they pulled all her teeth. So she wouldn’t hurt any males they bred her to. Disgusting. They strap the female to this sawhorse kinda thing so she can’t move or resist, and let the male in. Canine rape.”

  Crockett scratched the dog’s head, and she wagged her whole body. “All of that,” he said, “and she still loves attention. Some real sweetness in this pooch.”

  “That’s her name from now on,” Charlene said. “Sweetness. Perfect, Crockett. Just perfect.”

  That evening, Crockett, Satin, and Danni sat on the deck drinking coffee and watching Lucy play with Donk and Dundee on the slope while Nudge snoozed in an empty chair.

  “I called that Benham fella,” Crockett said. “He’ll be over tomorrow sometime to get his hounds.”

  “Good,” Danni said. “I left a message at the vet’s office for Luke to come out and check the new dogs over. Got another volunteer, too.”

  “Oh?” Satin said.

  “Yeah. That deputy who was out today. Carl Benson. Said he’d love to stop by and help me out when he can.”

  Crockett smiled. “Selfless,” he said. “What a guy.”

  A little after noon the next day, Crockett dropped by Whiskey River. Rufus met him on the porch. He petted the dog and took a small table next to the door. Bison clomped over and sat down.

  “Lunch?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Crockett said.

  “Burger?”

  “Yeah.”

  Bison held up one finger, and Joker waved from the kitchen. The tattooed waitress showed up with a Coke in a frosted mug. Crockett took a sip.

  “Sorry I ain’t been able to come up with nothin’ on locatin’ Petey for ya,” Bison said. “Can’t find him anyplace.”