Beer, Bait, and Ammo

by Harper, Chap

  “Yeah, Rich, go interview the sister with the orphaned baby—see what she knew about the weapons in the man’s house. Where Quince bought—or stole them. As a felon, he got them from an individual or maybe a gun show. Find out more about this Evola guy. We know Quincy was a dealer, so I’m going by his rent house to see what I can find. Don’t tell Sheriff Adams what we’re looking for because he’ll go bat shit.”

  Lester ordered people around and gave assignments at will. He was known to both solve crimes and share the credit. Many officers had gained their ranks on the backs of Lester’s investigations. Since budgets were more on the mind of the sheriff, he wouldn’t spend scant resources on a crime that appeared to be solved. If Lester found a bigger crime, the sheriff would okay further investigation, but until then, pursuing this case had to be a clandestine activity.

  Lester stopped his patrol car in front of the rented white shotgun house in Crystal Springs. He had turned onto a dirt and gravel path that meandered through a new growth of pine trees. The house looked unoccupied, and the only vehicle there was an older model Ford F-150 pickup truck parked under a large red oak tree. A hoist was hanging from a huge limb attached to an engine that was either coming out or going in. Lester walked up the wooden steps and stood on a porch that wobbled and creaked under his feet. A broken stove sat next to a recliner covered with a ripped and stained wedding ring quilt. He had checked out Quince’s keys from the property room and tried to guess which one would work the deadbolt on the door. Since the occupant had been killed in a shootout, he figured there was probable cause to enter without a warrant.

  After a few tries, he heard the lock click. Slowly, he opened the door and yelled, “Police! Anyone in the house?” He heard only the sound of a mouse scampering and rattling through paper, to the right in the kitchen.

  Lester had a highly developed sense of smell. He shut the door and stood in the living room and let the floating particles of scent come to him. First was stale beer…then male body odor. Dust was next, along with decaying food and cheese. He walked to the kitchen and found pizza slices partly eaten and a trash can that overflowed with discarded food. A carton of spoiled milk sat on the counter, and dishes were piled high in the sink. Most on the right side were washed, with a dish towel laid over them as protection from the filth elsewhere in the room.

  Lester guessed he was the first to enter Quince’s house since the shooting two days earlier. Had the case been more than a domestic dispute gone bad, the sheriff’s men would have taped off the house and done a search. Lester went from room to room looking for evidence that might suggest Quince was a drug dealer. In the bedroom dresser were underwear and socks, neatly folded. Shirts and other clothes were the same. He had seen this before: military men, especially Marines, could not unlearn the neatness beaten into them in basic training. The bedsheets were made up with hospital folds at the corners.

  Guns, not clothes, occupied the closet. A rack at the rear held an AK-47, M-16, a Barrett .50 caliber, and several automatics Lester had never seen. Cases of ammo were stacked next to the guns. Lester put on gloves and loaded weapons, plus ammo, into the rear of his patrol car. Exploring more of the house, he found a hall closet filled with handguns, machine gun pistols, hand grenades, and a rocket-propelled grenade launcher with five rounds. He loaded those next.

  Of all the papers and documents he examined in the house, two struck him as out of the ordinary: a small box in the bedroom closet packed with stacks of hundred dollar bills, and a business card on the dresser.

  The card read, “S.G. Crystals, P.O. Box 14733, Mt. Ida, AR 71957” and below the heading were the words “Wholesale Only.” Lester was able to pick out a few words. He took out his mirror and held it over the card. “Mt. Ida” were two and three letter words which he had seen many times. He looked at the words with and without the mirror—yes, he was sure. “Wholesale” was impossible to read and the S. and G. made no sense. “Crystal” looked like “latsyrC,” but he recognized that word because Mt. Ida was the crystal capital of the world. Maybe the card was for one of the rock shops or crystal dealers.

  Lester knew several crystal mine owners in the area but was aware of someone who could translate this card and shed light on anything related to crystal mining. It was almost lunch time, so he decided he would drive the twenty minutes to Mt. Ida and seek out a good friend at the Montgomery County Sheriff’s office.

  Jake Thomas was the high sheriff in Mt. Ida, and although he only had four patrolmen, his little army held crime in check. His office was directly across Highway 270 from the Mt. Ida Cafe. Lester parked next to a patrol car and went directly to Jake’s office.

  “Hey, Jakester! How ’bout I buy your lunch?” Lester extended his hand and felt the pudgy fingers of Jake’s hand in his. Sheriff Thomas looked exactly like the southern country lawman depicted in most movies. He was short, fat, bald, and red-faced, and a damn good officer. Lester and Jake had hunted together and even shot sporting clays once. “He just doesn’t miss,” Lester said of him to his friends in Hot Springs.

  “Don’t turn down free lunches,” Jake said and grabbed his hat.

  They walked across the street to the cafe; everyone greeted Jake. Most people were just friendly, but a few said they had something to discuss with him. He waved them off and told them to come by the office. He figured Lester had business to talk about or he wouldn’t be in town.

  “Jake, you heard about the mobile home killings in Royal a couple of nights ago?”

  “Yeah, three people dead. Jealous ex-husband, I heard.”

  “Seems that way. Well, I went out today and poked around the ol’ boy’s rent house. Didn’t find any drugs but found a ton of guns. I’ll show you when we go back across the street. Other than a felon having enough guns to arm the Chinese Army, the place was clean. I don’t know where he was working out of or who he was working for. Let me show you this.”

  Lester pulled out the business card. “I couldn’t read much but ‘Crystals’ and ‘Mount Ida.’ What else does it say?” The sheriff looked and scratched his head as though it would help his train of thought. Quartz crystal mining was a major industry in Montgomery County and most had been around for years. Jake knew all the owners. He read the card to Lester and told him what he knew about the firm listed on the card.

  “Never heard of it by name, but there’s a new outfit back in the woods between here and Joplin. Huge place. Has a giant fence around it. There’s a guard station—checks cars going and coming. Never been in it. Some folks have said most of the workers come from Louisiana. Not open to the public. Would you like me to check it out?” Jake asked.

  “Yeah, but I want to be with you, if you don’t mind.”

  “Hell, I insist since you’ll see things no one else will.”

  They ordered their lunch and gasped when a waitress brought a huge burger to a man who looked like a lumberjack. The burger had two or three patties of meat, a fried egg, an enormous onion ring, and cheese. A butcher knife stuck through the top held the monster together. Jake had a BLT and Lester had his usual salad. Both left a nice tip for their attentive service, as they were known to the wait staff. On their way out the door, a man in a suit who had arrived before Lester and Jake was waving his menu in the air, still hoping to be waited on. Apparently being known by the waitresses proved helpful.

  They walked across the street. Lester looked around to make sure no one could see in his trunk, and raised the lid. Jake said, “Holy bat shit!” and reached down to touch the RPG. Lester quickly closed the lid.

  “If the people inside that fence had anything to do with these weapons, we better get the state troopers to go with us,” Jake said in an excited voice.

  “If we just show up they won’t let us search the place. If we get a warrant, they’ll hide everything,” Lester said. “I suggest we make a visit because we want to welcome them to the community. Offer them Mount Ida and Hot Springs security for their business. See how they react.”

  “Whe
n?”

  “Give me a couple of days to check ownership on these weapons and I’ll call you,” Lester said and got in his car. Jake tapped on his window, which Lester lowered. “If we make a big bust, we both are going to have one of those burgers with the butcher knife stuck in it,” Jake said, laughing.

  As Lester drove back to Hot Springs, he wondered what he would find in the big building, he thought about Debi Green and what she would look like naked, and he contemplated the possibility of eating one of those giant burgers.

  Chapter Three

  Debi was anxious to see if Lester had worked on the exercises she had assigned him the previous week. He was to memorize the words and pictures on large index cards. She wanted to go over the results of the hearing test and the MRI with him. She was just eager to see him.

  Over the weekend she had visited her parents, gone to a movie with a girlfriend, and watched a preseason Dallas Cowboy football game. They lost. She told herself that preseason didn’t mean anything. In a few weeks the Razorbacks would start their season with three straight cupcake teams. Wins with these small college teams meant little more than a scrimmage; even so, she loved to go to the games but now had no one to go with. Her old boyfriend had season tickets on the 35 yard line only twenty rows up. Her parents sometimes had season tickets, but going with them was like reverting back to childhood. She ached for her own life independent of them. On this Monday her appointment with Lester was at noon.

  Early that morning Sheriff Mike Adams had Lester in his office. “Why in the hell did you keep going on with this domestic shooting case? Now you’ve opened up a huge can of worms! I’ve heard from Jake in Mount Ida, the state police, the feds and God knows who else,” Adams said, with only a hint of irritation in his voice. Mike Adams was actually proud of Lester, and if truth be told, he wouldn’t have been reelected without Lester’s great work. Little things became big things once Lester was free to investigate a case.

  “Several agencies have asked to help, but I told them they’d be getting in your way at this point. However, according to the arsenal of weapons you found, you may need the 101st Airborne Division before this is over. Keep me posted on what you and Jake find at that crystal mining outfit. We’re making this a joint county operation with the state police as backups. If we make a raid, then we’ll have Feds with ATF forces and maybe the DEA if you guys find where Quince got his drugs to sell.” There was concern in his voice. He had a bad feeling about an organization that had easy access to automatic weapons and rocket-propelled grenades.

  “Uh—I got the picture. Would you mind letting me know when you guys finish with the traces on the weapons? I’d like to know a little more before me and Jake make our call on S.G. Crystals,” Lester said.

  “Will do,” the sheriff replied.

  “Becca going to be the one working on them?”

  “Yes, and maybe Little Richard.”

  “Have Becca deliver them to me in person so I can watch her walk away,” Lester said.

  “You better quit tapping the women in the office. You aren’t supposed to date anyone in the office without getting approval first.” Mike sounded stern, but he was smiling. More than one girl in the office had gone to the sheriff, crying, because Lester had dumped her, or as he put it, “didn’t want to go out with her anymore.”

  Lester noted the time and decided to show up at Debi’s office a little early. If she wasn’t with a client, maybe he could take her to lunch. He called her on his cell.

  “Yes. Debi Green speaking.”

  “Hey, Debi, this is Lester McFarlin. How are ya today?”

  “Very well, Lester, and you?”

  “Fine, I guess, except I have to go to this doctor to have my brain examined, and I just can’t do that on an empty stomach. Would it be okay if we talked about my brain over lunch? If that’s all right, I’ll pick you up in five minutes in front of your office.” Lester held his breath, knowing that she would be breaking protocol meeting a client out of the office.

  There was silence for what seemed like a long time. “Well—I don’t guess there’ll be any harm in that if we pay for our own. But before you get any ideas, Lester, there’s no way I can go out with you as long as you’re a client. I can lose my license to practice. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I totally understand, and I’d never put your license in jeopardy.”

  “Where are we going?” She really didn’t care, but was conflicted, nervous, and excited at the same time.

  “Park Hotel. Quiet there, and they have good salads. That ok?

  “Sounds fine—what’re you driving?”

  “Red Yukon—I’m here.”

  “See you—let me lock up and make a quick phone call.” Debi grabbed Lester’s file after the call and keyed the deadbolt on the front door. Lester was out of the car and holding the passenger door open for her. The big SUV required a high step-up to get in and was a challenge even with Lester’s help. The tight, short red skirt she was wearing exposed her legs as she struggled to step up to the cab. He tried to not look directly at her long shapely limbs, but snuck a quick glance anyway.

  “Sorry this dang truck’s so high off the ground.”

  “It’s fine. I love Yukons and Escalades. Not made for short dresses, though.”

  “Whaddya drive?”

  “BMW Z-3—old one, 2005. Parents got it for me while I was at the U of A. Convertible top needs fixing. Fun car, though.”

  “I think BMW makes fine cars, and that little roadster is one good-looking car,” Lester said as he pulled into the small parking lot next to the Park Hotel. Since he was early, he found a slot for his big Yukon. He went around and took her hand and helped Debi to place her foot on the running board.

  “Your hands are so soft,” Lester said.

  “I don’t do carpenter work, Lester.”

  Lester held her hand as long as he could but finally released it and placed his hand on the center of her back to guide her up the steps to the hotel entrance.

  Debi felt intense emotions throughout her body when Lester held her hand as he helped her out of the truck. The feelings were too intense, she thought, for someone she barely knew and was one of her first clients. Whether pheromones had floated in the air around them or she had experienced pure animal lust, Debi didn’t know. Being so attractive to another human would be exciting if it wasn’t so damn illegal. Her goal was to hide it and be professional, but she knew what had to be done and already made a call before she left her office.

  Both stood at the threshold of the restaurant, which was just to the right as they entered the hotel. They were quickly seated near a rear window in a private area. They admired the workmanship of the old tile from floor to ceiling. Debi laid a large manila envelope on the table sliding it to her left. Lester responded by placing his 3 x 5 cards on the table and matching her move by pushing them to his left and smiling in a teasing sort of way. Debi laughed and began the conversation.

  “My father is a radiologist and because of that I was able to get a copy of your MRI. I also have a copy of your hearing test.”

  A pretty waitress wearing too much makeup delivered menus and asked for the drink order. Both asked for water and opened the menus.

  “Does it say grilled chicken salad anywhere?” Lester asked.

  “Let me see. Monkey brains—lizard gizzards—goat hearts—no, don’t see—yes, there it is. Forty dollars seems a bit steep for a stupid salad.” She and Lester both laughed.

  “I can’t believe my therapist—one pledged to make me well—would make light of my unfortunate mental deficiency. It’s so sad and discouraging,” Lester said, with mock seriousness.

  The waitress was back, pen in hand, ready for the order. “We do have a luncheon special. Shrimp linguini in a light cream sauce with a side of asparagus for $9.95. Have you decided what you want?”

  “Debi would like the forty dollar grilled chicken salad, and I’ll have the same,” Lester said, grinning.

  “I believe
it’s only seven ninety-five,” she said.

  “My bad—must have read it wrong,” Lester said.

  “Would you like a glass of wine for lunch?” asked the waitress.

  “Debi, would you drink a glass of chardonnay?”

  “I guess…don’t have another appointment until four.” Debi waited until the server had walked some distance before she continued speaking.

  “Lester, I’m going to be very blunt with you. I’m going to transfer your records to Sydney Carter. She’s a great speech therapist in Little Rock. I’ve already called her office. After today I’ll no longer be your therapist. I just feel more comfortable if you saw someone else for your condition. I don’t want any suggestion of impropriety. I hope this doesn’t make you mad.”

  “I’m sorry if I did something to upset you,” Lester said.

  “Lester, I think we see ourselves as beginning to be friends—friends that have lunch together, and if I guess right, you’ll continue to try to develop that friendship. I’m not stopping you, but in no way is this pointing to a professional relationship.”

  “I understand, and I’m glad you’re not stopping me. Can we go ahead and finish going over the information you brought?”

  “Certainly, but it and your entire file will be transferred to Mrs. Carter by fax later today,” Debi said.

  “I’ve been fired as a client!”

  “Your reward for taking me to lunch.”

  Having ordered wine, a dangerous substance for an illegal relationship and sure to add fuel to any lust lying below the surface, they decided to get down to the business of Lester’s disorder.

  “Here are my memory cards where you have written words against pictures. Obviously I know the pictures, but I don’t see words like you do. Somewhere in my brain, the normal filtration of letters and words go through a sort of Enigma machine and they all come out in a secret code. I know the code, but can’t always translate your words to mine. Let me give you an example: you gave me an Apple Card. I only know because there is a picture. The letters appear to me as EPLPA. When I write reports they’re full of coded words like that. I’ve learned over time what my language means, and I can identify many words by looking and placing a mirror by them. Two-letter and three-letter words are easy but still backwards. Large words are mostly impossible. I’m not stupid and use every means available to educate myself. I listen to audio books every day and have readers for me at work for reports. Numbers are easier since there’re only 10 numbers moved around. Sixes and nines are difficult along with equations and plus and minus numbers. I’ll truly do anything you say to fix this problem. I want to go to college and be a professional at something. Maybe law enforcement since I’m good at it—maybe something else.” Lester spoke with such intensity, flawless grammar, and sincerity Debi was shocked and almost speechless. He had lost the “good ol’ boy” slang.