by Kieran York
“As you know, I’m hunting for Bart. Assault and battery. Mary’s still in the hospital. My C.I. told me there’s been some activity back in the alley. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t watch the deliveries. Maybe I can intercept the theft. Add a charge to Bart’s woman-beating crimes.”
“Have at it, Sheriff. I’ll mention it to the delivery driver. He should play dumb, so you can catch that weasel, Bart.”
“Thanks. I’ll sit here and have some of your coffee, and watch for the delivery.” Royce checked the bar staff, and the bar’s patrons. She and Faye chitchatted. When Faye got the call that the driver was arriving, she pointed to the back door.
Royce watched as the delivery was made. Once the boxes were stacked in storeroom, the driver pulled the truck away from the building. In dim lighting, the door opened showing a panel square of light through the room. And Bart entered. Breaking and entering, Royce computed his crimes. After Bart had hidden the two bottles under his jacket, he turned to leave.
“Not so fast,” Royce said. She walked toward him. He pushed her out of the way. Although he got to the door, she grabbed him, and pulled him around. “Stop resisting now, or you’ll never get out of jail.” She shoved him to the wall, and as she did, he turned and swung at her. His fist was cocked into a hammer as smashed her mouth and chin. She quickly gave a kick, tripping him as she pushed him to the floor. His bulk and his inebriation contributed to his strength. Royce struggled trying to cuff him.
Both Faye and Richard had run to assist Royce’s. With Richard’s help, the huge Bart was subdued. After the scuffle, Royce felt the blood dripping from the side of her mouth. “Thanks, Richard,” she said. “Your strong. Probably from playing soccer, and,” she joked, “you can play a piano.”
He laughed. “My father was a tough miner. He used to always tell me that you can be a piano play, or a piano shifter.”
Chuckling, the sheriff nodded. Royce said as she caught her breath, “Thanks, Faye. Excellent capture, great planning.”
Richard’s voice rose, joking, he began singing, “Ain’t No Way to Treat a Lady.”
Royce and Faye laughed. This was a prelude to a lesson that this woman-beater would be learning. This time he wouldn’t be getting out an a few days. This time, he would be serving on an attempted murder of his wife, plus more. His charges would include breaking and entering, eluding, assault and battery of an officer of the law, theft…Royce smiled. And the beat goes on, she said to herself.
She led Bart across the street. Behind her were Faye and Richard, tailing closely so that their statements could be taken by a deputy.
Backup had arrived, and Gwen sprinted across the road with her camera in hand. When Royce opened the Corrections area of the Police Department, she gave Gwen a quick smirk. “Got your photo?”
“He didn’t smile,” Gwen ribbed. “But was a good photo.”
Royce said to Gwen in a nearly inaudible voice, “I’ll bet if you get over to the Bell Ringer tonight, you could request a special song from Richard. He claims that ‘Ain’t No Way to Treat a Lady,’ is a very appropriate song of the day.”
Gwen saw Royce’s face, and became concerned. “Did Chance let him hit you?”
“Chance was visiting one of my ‘spy’ deputies.”
Gwen moaned, “Chance would have saved you.”
“Chance was being detained by the deputy that might have tried to save me. Thank goodness for good citizens. Gwen, like I said, if someone wants to smash you in the jaw. They’ll find a way.”
Gwen muttered her disapproval. “It proves you should have a deputy at your side.” To offer a cessation of hostilities with her sheriff-friend, Gwen added, “However, you’ve got Bart under arrest.”
Royce ruminated about the positive. At long last Mary Newton would be safe.
***
Royce returned to the Sheriff’s Office, with a criminal caught. Subdued. Restrained. Assisted by a citizen. After Bart Newton was booked, Royce went to the locker room to wash up and change her bloodied shirt.
Terry had followed after her. “Sheriff, you’d better get your jaw looked at. He split the side of your mouth, your lip.”
“I’ve got reports to write. For now, the gauze and tape will work.”
Terry’s eyes flared. “I would have liked to have been there. What he did to his wife. That brutality. I’d have liked to get a few punches in.” Terry’s anger overflowed. “And in protecting myself, I’d probably get charged with police brutality.”
Royce was somber. Then she spoke, “It’s so sad that we walk a narrow line. We need to rein in our desire to punish them, and become enforcers. I’m glad we wear body cams. If we wouldn’t have the reliance of photos, many of us would face charges. There are citizens that help us, like Richard. He assisted. And Faye was right in there. That meant I didn’t need to pull my gun to stop Bart. And I didn’t even use my taser gun.”
“I read the records, Royce. He terrified his wife, Mary, with guns and brutality. Sometimes my job makes me angry.”
Royce also felt anger. “Terry, we need to restrain ourselves. Tame our impulses. Even when they support self-defense. Cops out there abusing the system, and brutalizing when unnecessary. They are endangering us. Making us fearful to respond with enough force to save ourselves. We pull back because we don’t want to be accused of excessive control. And sometimes that ends badly. I wish I had the answer. Most enforcers want to do good. Be good. We nearly lost Nick because he wanted to do a good thing.”
“Women are usually not as strong as large, intoxicated men,” Terry complained. “But we work out, we know the self-protection exercises by heart. Most men don’t want to hit a woman.”
Royce summarized, “Maybe most men don’t battle with us because we are women. We need to use our heads as much as we can.”
“Looks like you used your entire jaw.”
Royce and Terry shared a laugh. The laugh was healing, but the pain from her lip seemed to be biting the inside her mouth.
***
Royce stopped by the Crystal General Hospital to see how Nick was progressing. His vigor was gaining. He was concerned when he saw her face. “Who clocked you?” he asked.
“Nick, it was Bart Newton.”
“His wife is up here with a damaged spleen. And other injuries.” Nick moved slightly, as if he wanted to go after the wife-beater. “They told me we had an APB out for him. You look terrible, and does he look worse?”
“I think every deputy on the force would like to have done a little payback. And I’m included. But Nick, I couldn’t do any more than trip him on his butt.” Royce relayed exactly how it went down.
“So, Bart doctored the backdoor lock, covering the mechanism. Some plan. He waited until the driver left, then opened the door, took the hooch, and he would have removed the tape or whatever he jammed into the lock, and then would leave. Or in this morning’s case, he got thumped by the sheriff and her posse.”
“Yep. Civilian backup. And I was grateful for it. Bart is nearly twice my size, and I’m much more fit and toned. His wife is less capable than I was.”
“I hope she’ll leave him.”
“He’s leaving her. For at least five to ten. At least that’s what Mike Parker estimated. Her injuries were life threatening. Spleen, ribs, and multiple injuries. Mike is talking attempted murder.”
“We’re both law and order, but by the book.” Nick swallowed. “Yet I can’t help but be angry at what a criminal, or criminals, have done to me. It doesn’t seem fair. I’m just glad that the witnesses screamed, or the shooter would have finished me off.”
Royce couldn’t admit that she still felt such a deep and boiling-over anger at the shooter that she’d had several dreams about killing him. It was something she couldn’t talk about with her fellow enforcers. And certainly not Nick. Everyone was trying to heal his hurt.
The pause was long, and Royce was glad that Dr. Glenn came in. “Good news, Sheriff. Our brave and heroic undersheriff is going to be
transferred tomorrow.”
“How’s it going to work?” Royce inquired.
“Nick and his wife are going to ride the ambulance with concealed windows, to Denver and check into the rehab center. Nick will be admitted using an assumed name. They will have a couple rooms that will be guarded, and hidden from the public. All files will be confidential, and we’re certain of the staff’s cooperation. Nick will be confined and secured. Meanwhile here at Crystal General, this section of the ward will be secured. And everyone will playact that Nick is still here.”
“I hope everyone along the way will be trustworthy,” Royce said.
Dr. Glenn’s smile was authoritative. “I feel assured that everyone will make this plot a success. Sheriff, we need to get your confidence in the goodness of humanity built back up.”
Bemused, Royce touched the bandages on her mouth and jaw. “Sometimes that isn’t easy. But you’re right. If I wouldn’t have had help from good Samaritans this morning, I would look a heck of a lot worse, Doctor.”
He joked, “Everyone trusts us medical people. And those of us in the medical profession have many, many more ways to hurt folks than the common criminal has. Thankfully, our mission is good. Now I’d like you to check in with the nurse’s station and see if someone can’t patch a sheriff up. Make your patch look prettier.”
At the nurses’ station, Royce’s mouth was sprayed with an antibiotic and a spray bandage. And covered with a small tape. It felt better, and she felt better. She realized that she desperately needed to defuse. She called Gran and was thankful that her Gran would be home. Debra was doing some shopping in town, so Gran said she’d be glad for the company.
***
Gran was upset about her granddaughter being harmed. She grumbled, “Look at you. Socked in the jaw by a lowdown scoundrel.” She’d received a phone call from Molly about the skirmish at the Bell Ringer. When Molly called Gran, she’d found that Royce was on her way to her grandmother’s cabin.
“I’m really fine,” Royce assured her grandmother.
“Your mother told me to warn you the punch might have loosened your beautiful teeth. You get yourself to your dentist,” Gran warned.
“I’ll go in. The first open appointment. Until then I’ll chew softly.” She sat at Gran’s round oak kitchen table. “I’m fine. I just needed to get away. It’s a difficult time.”
“Things sure are jumping in Timber City. We got a killer. And then that crazy Bart Newton acting up.”
“Gran, I wanted to ask about my father.”
“He’da been so proud, Royce. You are such a brave sheriff.”
“Gran, did Dad have a temper?”
“I ‘spect he had a bad temper. But he held it in.” Gran was looking over the edge of her bifocals. “You have one, too. And like he did, you hold your temper.”
“When I’ve thought about the man who shot Nick, and killed a young, innocent man, I’ve been so angry. I hadn’t realized how angry until this morning when Bart hit me. I wanted to unload on him. I’m usually in control, but I nearly lost it. I thankfully got some help from Richard, in the Bell Ringer. But it was all I could do not to grab for my gun.”
Gran’s eyes were wide, she looked away. “Your dad had a temper, and I suspect he often times wanted to give just one more punch. But he always warned his deputies not to overdo. Be safe, but he’d say he wasn’t the judge. He was the enforcer. Well, anyways, Royce, as soon as all this is over, and you arrest Nick’s shooter, you’ll be settled down.”
“It seems like there are so many criminals and crimes now.”
“Royce, it only took one killer to murder your father. But look at how many good people there are. The people that screamed so the man would quit shooting Nick. Richard Troubadour could have gotten himself hurt, but he helped you. Folks are good. All the bad that seems to be happening, it has just built up in this time frame. But the good citizens of the county make up for it. Look how the contributions are rolling in for Nick’s family. Why Royce, people show their love in all kinds of ways.”
“Gran, I know some people are good. It seems like every crime draws its own perimeter of what needs to be done, what should be done. Behind it is a fear of not doing enough. And doing too much. If I’m going to be an exemplary sheriff, I’ve got to have honorable boundaries for each crime. Each situation.”
“You are an honorable woman and an exemplary sheriff. Gracious, there’s never anyone even opposing you in elections now. Everybody trusts you, and backs you. You know instinctively your responsibility to your badge.”
“Thanks, Gran. I’m going to go outside and give Chance a run, and then go home to Hertha and the kids.” She hugged her Gran and kissed her temple. “I love you, Gran.”
“And I love you more each day. Don’t worry about anything except doing what you’ve learned all your life is the right thing. You’ll be fine. Just take care.”
Chapter 19
That morning, when the children ran out to exercise the kennel dogs, Hertha took Royce’s hand. “I’m so sorry you got hurt. But you did apprehend the wife-beater.” She smiled, and requested, “Please get in to have the dentist take a look at your teeth. Molly called twice yesterday to see that you’re reminded.”
“Add Gran to the list. Mom called her, too. My teeth aren’t shifting, and they aren’t even hurting.” Royce snickered. “And you were right. The kids mentioned panning for gold half a dozen times.”
“By the way, I didn’t say anything in front of them about Nick. Bev hasn’t told her children anything except she would be staying with Nick. She didn’t give them any idea about Nick being moved to rehab in Denver. I’m guessing today is the day.”
“Yes, in about half an hour he’ll be rolling toward Denver with his medical and guard entourage. Everyone is doing everything to make certain he’s safe. The decision for me to remain here is logical. No telling if I’m being watched, and followed. I can go to Denver later.”
“And then you walk around declining to have a bodyguard. Royce, I’m worried about you.”
“For the last time, if someone wants me killed, there is no way I can be protected from it. An assault weapon can take out dozens with one sweep. As things stand now, it’s very near a certainty that someone, at some time, will attempt to take me out. We’re fairly certain that I’m in the crosshairs. From prison, Sumner has plotted and paid for a dangerous killer with no scruples to murder me. We’re pretty certain that he’s paid a portion of the contract killer’s money through his attorney. The killer wants his final payment. That requires that he kill me. Hertha, I’m not trying to frighten you. I’m not going to lie to you by trying to reassure you. I’m the game being hunted, and you don’t need to remind me. Just support my decision.”
Hertha leaned to tenderly kissed the side of Royce’s mouth. It was the gentlest kiss the sheriff had ever had.
With so much turmoil in her life, Royce was enthralled with the moment of escape from it all. Although fleeting, there was a pause of life when Royce felt safe. She enjoyed a change of topic when danger came around.
“By the way,” the sheriff said, “I got a call from K-9 team in Denver. They have a Golden retriever that is about to become available. She’d been trained to be a service dog, and did so great that they decided to try to work with her to become a K-9. She just started. She’s excellent. I told them we are interested.” Royce pulled up the Goldens photo and information on her iPhone.
Hertha glanced at it. “My, she is a gorgeous dog.”
“I thought, as the veterinarian, you’d want to check her out.”
“No need. The vet giving her the checkup is well-known to me. He says she’s in perfect health. I did have a call back today, but haven’t had time to check it about the dog I’d located.”
“Want to use my phone?” Royce inquired.
Hertha punched the numbers in. “Can you tell me about the service dog – a Golden retriever?”
She pressed the speaker phone. Royce heard the woman telli
ng Hertha that she was sorry, but the dog was now being trained for becoming a K-9 dog. When Hertha hung up, Royce said, “You don’t suppose it’s the same dog.”
“Let’s find out.” She pressed the call-back number for the K-9 team. She handed the phone to Royce.
“Hi, talked with someone there about a Golden retriever.” She paused listening intently. “Was she the one just beginning her training after having gone through service dog training.”
The K-9 team leader said yes, and gave the name of the kennel. It was the same kennel that had called Hertha. Royce looked down at Hertha. The vet was shaking her head affirmatively. Royce felt joy. “We’ve decided we want that dog. This is Sheriff Madison from Timber County. When I talked with you earlier, I gave my credit card information.” There was a pause. “Yes, we are the ones getting it for the wounded undersheriff here.” Another pause, then Royce said, “That’s very nice of you. We’ll make arrangements to pick her up when we get to Denver soon. And thank you.”
“What did he say?”
“They took half of the price off.” Royce held Hertha tightly and whispered in her ear, “I’d told them that we were getting it for our friend. They must have put two and two together. There are so many good people in the world.”
“What’s her name?” Hertha quizzed.
“Gold. Just Gold.”
“I’m sure the Hogan kids will want to add their own name.” Hertha squeezed Royce’s hand. “Speaking of kids, have you got time to say bye to our kids?”
“Yes, absolutely. They’ve got Chance outside with them. I’m guessing I’d better retrieve my deputy. And watch the kids roughhouse with the band of dogs.”
Royce watched as kiddoes and dogs rushed, pawed, jumped, rolled, and used up energy. Chance sometimes stood back, and sometimes she interceded when the playtime got too rowdy for her peacekeeping nature.
Royce waved to Vannie and Antero, then the sheriff and her K-9 deputy left for a day of peacekeeping.