by Mark Tufo
Casper sat on the edge of Roger’s bed and tried to keep his hands from shaking. Roger finally stopped and glared at him, “You don’t owe any dealers do you?”
“What? No!”
“Be straight with me, you little fucker. You came here to my house, so now you’ve dragged me into this. I don’t want no Jamaicans coming here and wanting to fuck me up cuz you owe them money.”
“Roger!” Casper whined. “I swear.”
“Fine then. Who else could you have pissed off?” he asked rhetorically.
“Nobody!” Casper cried. “I swear, I’ve been good. Hell, I even made good on some old debts with my part of the money.”
Roger glared at him and shook his head. “Something don’t smell right.”
“I know, right?” Cas whined again. “I ain’t done nothing to nobody. Why would they want to come after me?”
Roger finally gave up. “I have no clue. But you’re stinking to high hell. Hop your ass in the shower. Wash that blood off yourself.” He opened the door to the tiny lavatory. “Use soap you stinky fucker.”
Cas stared at him. “Are you serious? Shouldn’t we go to the cops? I stabbed a man tonight.”
“In self-defense it sounds like. We’ll save your shirt in case they ask. But now, you stink worse than sweaty ball sacks and assholes. Go wash it off.”
Casper stared open mouthed a moment before Roger pointed again and said, “I ain’t playing. If you think you’re staying here, you’re taking a shower.”
Casper stood up forcibly and glared at him. “You stink too.”
“I ain’t covered in blood. I’ll dig you up a shirt while you’re in there.”
As soon as he heard the water start to run, Roger sat down at the little built-in dinette. He drummed his fingers and shook his head in confusion. Surely Miller hadn’t caught on to their scheme and was trying to get the jump on them by offing them both?
24
Ginger slipped out from the booth and snuck up behind the cute Asian cop with his back turned to her. She smiled to herself as she reached out to lightly brush his left ear then slipped in next to him on his right. He never flinched, but stifled his smile. “I knew it was you.”
She saw the other cop in the different uniform slumped in the booth across from him catching a nap. “How’d you know it was me?” she asked playfully.
He continued to sip his coffee and never made eye contact. “Your reflection in the window.”
She looked up and her shoulders slumped. “Okay. You’re good. And here I thought you had eyes in the back of your head.”
“What’s your game?”
“What do you mean?” she asked honestly.
“I mean, what exactly is it you want from me?” He obviously wasn’t used to be flirted with, especially by such an outgoing woman. He truly thought she had a hidden agenda.
Ginger studied him a moment, her eyes narrowing. “You think I’m up to something?”
“You wouldn’t be the first woman to flirt with a man in order to get what she wanted.”
Her face hardened and she shot daggers at him. “I’m not sure what’s more sad,” she said quietly. “That you think so little of yourself…or me.” She started to get up out of the seat then turned on him again. “I guess I’ll assume that you think so little of me since you hardly know me.” The venom was obvious in her voice. “But if the truth be known, I just thought you were really cute and wanted to get to know you a little better.”
Jon finally looked up and met her gaze, instantly wishing he hadn’t. “Look, I’m sorry…”
“Yes, you are.” She turned and marched back to her own table.
Jon sighed heavily and stared into his coffee cup. “What was that all about?” Jeff asked as he took his seat again.
Jon glanced up and shook his head. “Me striking out again. Apparently if there is a wrong thing to say to a girl, I’ll find it.”
Eckerson chuckled and sucked down the rest of his cold coffee. “Don’t sweat it, kid. We’ve all been there.”
Jon snorted. “How much longer ‘til we officially start our shift?”
Jeff smiled. “Twenty minutes ago. I think. I’m not sure. My days and nights are all blurring together.”
“Jesus. You’d think some of the other day shift guys could…”
“Could what? Work our case?” Eckerson’s face formed a lopsided grin. “This is ours. Well, ours and Zimmer’s.”
Jon sighed again and stretched. “These back to back doubles are going to be the death of me.”
“Well, you can rest easy that Sgt. Sanders is who she says she is,” Eckerson reported.
Jon nodded. “They text you a picture of her? A copy of her ID so you could verify her then?” Eckerson lifted his head and stared at him. Jon’s face fell then he shook his head. “Dude, I’m busting your balls…they don’t have to…”
“Hold that thought.” Jeff held his hand up as he rose to go back outside.
Jon sat back and chuckled to himself. He was trying to think of anything else he could use to keep Eckerson on the phone with DPS and him sitting in the booth drinking coffee. Anything to actually delay going back out on duty.
*****
Chris Anthony swerved the four-wheeler across the dirt road, barely keeping it out of the ditches. He navigated the all-terrain vehicle across a cattle guard and thought it odd that he barely felt the bumps as the knobby tires crossed the metal pipes. His head felt wobbly as he lifted it to stare at the ruts in the pasture that acted as a makeshift driveway to where his buddy Bobby lived.
He fought to keep his eyes open, they felt so damned heavy. He was so tired that even breathing seemed to be too much of a chore. He forced himself to breathe in, breathe out, keep those eyes open! Keep your hand on the throttle and go, dammit, go!
He piloted the four-wheeler up through the woods and to what looked like a grassy hill with a door carved into it. He knew from experience that his longtime friend lived here, even if the place looked abandoned. He pushed the button for the horn and listened to the little machine make a screeching >beep-beep< that echoed through the woods. He slumped across the handle bars of the four-wheeler and felt himself sliding to the side.
Stay awake! Stay AWAKE! he screamed in his mind. He forced his hand up to the key and turned the machine off just before his body slid off the saddle and he fell to the dusty ground outside the door.
He barely remembered the dark figure in camouflage that stepped into his frame of vision and stuck the gun in his face before everything went black.
*****
Sgt. Sanders and Deputy Zimmer stepped out of the cruiser and walked to the front doors of Jerrod Miller’s ranch style home. Although the house appeared rather plain from the outside, once you got closer, you realized that it was much larger in person than it appeared from a distance. One could also tell that it was finely adorned once the housekeeper opened the front door.
“Mr. Miller please, ma’am,” Justin said to the short little Mexican lady.
She eyed him suspiciously, but she opened the door wider allowing them inside. They stepped just inside and waited while she went to get the infamous Jerrod Miller. Sheryn looked around the house without moving, her eyes taking in everything. She saw the longhorn skin rugs, the mounted horns on the wall, the taxidermy trophy mounts, the fine wood paneling, the rich marble floors, the western style decorations with original works of art. Justin simply stood still, appearing bored.
Jerrod Miller stepped out from his study, thoroughly confused. “Officers? How might I help you?”
“Mr. Miller, I’m Deputy Zimmer, Undersheriff for Wood County, this is Sergeant Sheryn Sanders of the Texas Rangers,” Justin made introduction. “Sir, I realize that this may seem a bit unorthodox, but we’d like you to come down to the station with us if you would,” Justin asked as nicely and disarmingly as he could.
Miller gave him a look of shock. “Why on earth would I want to do that?”
“Sir…we have reason to b
elieve that your life may be in danger. We were hoping that maybe if you came to the station, we could talk with you and maybe you could look at some pictures…perhaps it could jog your memory if you’ve seen anybody strange lately.”
Miller laughed. Not just a light chuckle, but a deep, hearty laugh. Justin was more than a bit confused and he turned to Sheryn who simply shrugged.
As Miller settled down, he looked Zimmer in the eye. “I can assure you, Deputy, I am in no danger here. I have the most state-of-the-art security system known to man. I have an eight foot chain link fence that can be electrified with the flip of a switch and a panic room in my home that can double as a nuclear bomb shelter. Rest assured, I am in no danger here.”
Justin sighed. “Yes, sir, that may well be the case, but we have mug shots at the station. We’d really like you to take a look at them.”
“I have no intentions of going anywhere,” Miller stated flatly.
Sanders stepped forward and gave him her most winning smile. “Mr. Miller, I understand your reluctance to want to leave your home and all of this fine security, but I can assure you that you’ll be perfectly safe while you’re with us,” she purred. “Besides, this person has already killed eight people in just the last few days, and we have a very strong reason to believe that you might be next.”
Miller crossed his arms. “Oh you do, do you? And why on God’s green earth would you think that?” he asked sarcastically.
Sheryn glanced at Justin and shook her head. “Because Mr. Miller,” she stretched the truth, “we found a list. Your name is on it.”
Jerrod Miller’s face fell and the color drained from it. “Y-you w-what?”
“The people who were all killed? Their names are on a list, as is yours.” She turned to Justin who was giving her a look she couldn’t quite read. “In fact, yours is the only name on that list that ISN’T dead…yet.”
Jerrod Miller’s eyes bounced between the two officers before settling again on the Texas Ranger. “You’re sure? I mean, that the list means me?”
“You’re the only Jerrod Miller we could find, sir,” Justin added. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Miller inhaled deeply and exhaled shakily. “Okay, let me get my coat.”
He turned and walked back the way he came. As soon as he was out of earshot Justin turned on Sanders, “What the hell was that?” he barked in a whispered voice. “You can’t tell the man that his name is on a hit list!”
Sheryn shrugged. “Why not? It got him to cooperate, didn’t it?”
“Because it’s not true,” Justin whispered emphatically.
“Oh? Do we, or do we not have a list of people who have been killed that is tied to this Old West slaying of a sheriff?”
Justin shook his head, “What? Yeah, but—”
“And did we or did we not tie Jerrod Miller to that very same list of dead people’s ancestors?”
Justin stepped back and studied her a moment. “I suppose he would be. In a roundabout sort of way.”
She raised her brow at him again, “Roundabout? I’d say directly. It was a Miller that ran the gang, was it not?”
Justin nodded. “Yeah, I suppose it was. But he was also killed during the fray.”
“But his father wasn’t. And Jerrod Miller is a direct descendant.”
Justin nodded. “I see your logic, but technically, you shouldn’t have—”
“Shouldn’t have what?” Miller asked as he stepped back into the room.
Justin stiffened and turned away from the man. Sheryn stepped up. “My apologies, Mr. Miller. My colleague is a bit upset with me for divulging classified information from the case with you. I should never have told you about the list…it was never divulged to any other sources and is actually eyes-only information. I hope you understand, the only reason I told you was to drive home the importance of your cooperation.”
Miller nodded, “Yes, ma’am, I believe I understand completely.”
“Thank you, sir. If it’s all the same, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention to anybody that I told you about the list.”
“No, of course not.” He motioned toward the door.
*****
Casper stepped out of the shower and dressed in the clean clothes that Roger had given him. They hung off of him like a tent, but they were too small for Roger and much too large for Casper’s smaller frame. As he pulled the pants up, he cinched his belt tight and pulled his work boots back on and began lacing them.
Roger sat at the dinette table, still thrumming his fingers and thinking. “Maybe you was right, Cas.”
Casper looked at him, a puzzled look crossing his features. “About what, Rog?”
Roger sighed and looked up at him. “Maybe we should take you to the cops and have you tell them your story. If this fucker you stabbed ends up going to a hospital, they’ll have to report it. He could just as easily say that you attacked him. You need to give your side of the story first.”
Casper sighed with relief. “Thanks, Roger.”
Roger glared at him. “What for?”
“For thinking of me.”
“Yeah, well…I still don’t trust cops. More than likely they’ll try to twist shit around and make this out to be our fault. If they do, I’m gonna hang somebody.”
He remembered the numerous times they tried to pin shit on him that he hadn’t done. It would leave a bad taste in anybody’s mouth, but someone with a rap sheet as long as his didn’t need any assistance adding to it.
“If we do what’s right, it will all work out,” Casper said, truly believing it.
“Bullshit,” Roger swore. He tossed a plastic garbage bag at him and Casper caught it. “That’s your clothes. They’ll want them.”
Casper nodded and turned for the door. He knew that he needed to do the right thing, but he still had the nagging tickle in the back of his mind that maybe Roger was right. Maybe the cops didn’t give two shits about the truth, they just wanted somebody to blame so they could close the case and go home early, pat each other on the back for a job well done and drink beer until their eyes crossed. “You’ll back me on this, right, Roger? Tell them I wouldn’t hurt nobody unless they tried to hurt me first?”
Roger patted his shoulder. “Yeah. I’ll tell them you’re a pussy.”
*****
Quinn watched the three officers walk out of the diner and she made a mental note to watch the slender Asian one. He never even turned to look toward her red-haired bestie before he left. She averted her eyes as Ginger read her features.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Quinn lied. “I had hoped that tall, dark cop would have come back over here and tried to make nice with you before he left.”
Ginger looked away, trying not to let Quinn see the hurt in her face. “It doesn’t matter. He’s just another guy, Q-ball. We really need to finish this.”
Calvin studied the two women but refused to admit that he wasn’t sure what was transpiring. He knew that Ginger had a thing for guys in uniform, but he wasn’t sure what had just occurred.
“From the looks of this data, whatever we are dealing with is getting stronger. These numbers are unlike anything we’ve seen before.” He turned his laptop around to show the chart he had plotted using Quinn’s calculations. “Whatever we’re dealing with is…” he trailed off, “…nearly demonic in strength.”
Ginger sat back and stared at the numbers. “I know I didn’t pay enough attention in Comparative Religion, but is it even possible for a soul to escape Hell?”
Calvin shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. Demons can only be released and souls? Human souls? They’re never released. They’re fuel for the fire.”
“So are you saying that this isn’t a regular haunt?” Quinn asked. “That maybe this is a possession?”
Calvin turned back to the chart, “No sulfur. Nothing.” He pointed to another line on the graph, “Ectoplasm through the roof. That is a sure sign of a ghost.”
“This isn’t making sense.
” Ginger pulled out her own numbers. “This thing is targeting people. I read in the papers that the first victims were actually in the middle of committing a crime. In fact…” she dug in her bag and pulled out her notes, “…yeah, here it is. The witnesses who were on the scene and agreed to speak to the reporter, but only if their identities would not be given…, said that…here, and I’m quoting, ‘he was trying to rape me and that was when he was attacked’.” She stared at Calvin. “The others were the same. Sexual assaults. I remembered thinking when I read them that there sure were a lot of horny criminals in this neck of the woods. An awful lot of assaults.”
Calvin’s eyes narrowed as he studied her. “How many?”
“Come again?” she asked.
“How many? Sexual assaults I mean. How many did they have in previous years, and how many with this group of so-called victims?”
Ginger cocked her head. “That’s a good question. Let me see.” She pulled out her laptop and began clicking away.
Calvin turned to Quinn, “Do you have any idea what the percentage of sexual assaults go unreported every year?”
Quinn shrugged. “Nationally? A little more than half according to the government. Almost two-thirds according to some academic studies. It’s really hard to estimate since they are ‘unreported’.” She actually used her fingers to show the quotes as she said it.
Calvin nodded, still thinking. “Okay. So let’s go with the more conservative estimate and say half.” Quinn nodded and Ginger simply pointed a finger at him. “So, if half aren’t reported, and they had…how many here? Three? Four?”
“Five if you count these kids in the barn, but that didn’t sound like an assault to me,” Quinn added. “It sounded like a couple of kids sneaking off to sow their wild oats.”
“Okay then, four,” Cal said. “So that means this county averages two a month? That are reported, I mean.”
Ginger shook her head. “Try two last year.” She turned her computer around to show the others. “One the year before that.”