Bad Optics

by Joseph Heywood

  Honeypat pushed the two bills back to him “Drinks and frits are on me,” she said. “And seriously, Service, you’d like them on me. Truth is this is just for you, and if you feel motivated to give me a gratuity, you know what it is, and hint-hint, it ain’t hiding in your wallet.”

  “Not saying I’m not tempted,” he admitted to her quite candidly. In fact, he was really tempted, as he always was. But this was never going to happen.

  She winked. “Not saying you are, either.”

  He shrugged. “There is that. Ambiguity fuels desire.”

  “Mine don’t need no feeding,” she said.

  “Hold that thought,” Grady Service told her, kissed her and went dizzy, and nearly slid off his stool. She laughed, grabbed his arm to steady him and sent him bouncing off tables and clients as he made his way toward the door. He thought, Don’t ever do that again, you dope. Holy shit!

  Allerdyce was asleep in the truck. “Get what youse wanted?”

  “We’ll see,” Service said.

  “How much longer we got stay down ’ere, dis shithole town?”

  “Probably a few days.”

  “Ever’t’ing below britch feel nasty,” the old man complained. “We don’t b’long ’ere, us.”

  Chapter 8

  East Lansing

  Ingham County

  They checked into the Jolly Wagner House, a cheap faux-stone façade, a no-tell motel near Frandor, and inhaled an Italian dinner in a restaurant across from the MSU campus on Grand River. Waitstaff and diners alike kept staring at Allerdyce, who had the effect of making everyone in any dining room feel like they were dining with a wolf. Which was not far off the mark, Service thought.

  “You up for a little field work?” Service asked his partner over a glass of beer.

  “Ya sure, what we do?”

  “Dark-walk a property.”

  “Easy dat, ain’t no snow on ground down ’ere.”

  True. You could feel spring making a real push here. But it was at least another six or seven weeks away for the frozen U.P. It was the weather of two different planets down here and Above the Bridge (ATB).

  Back in the truck he called one of the area conservation officers, Torsten Magwire. She’d been in uniform almost twenty years and had a bedrock reputation.

  “Magwire,” she answered her personal phone.

  “Service.”

  “Holy shit,” she said laconically. “This is like a call from God—or the dead—which is it?”

  He laughed. “That’s so wrong on so many levels. You know someone named Kalleskevich?”

  “Of him. He’s one of our local King Kongs. One of the governor’s pals.”

  “Which governor?”

  “All of them is how the story runs. That’s what money will do for you—and some jerks think money won’t buy happiness. It’ll buy everything else.”

  “Can you find Kalleskevich’s address for me?”

  “Heck, I’m on duty, Grady. I can show you. You know Schuler Books at the Meridian Mall?”

  “Now a good time for you?”

  “Yep.”

  “In ten minutes at the bookstore, see ya.”

  Allerdyce sat quietly and asked, “Who dat youse callin’ up?”

  “CO Magwire.”

  “She not retired yet?”

  Service looked at his passenger. “You know her?”

  “Made it point know all your tribe, wah.”

  Tribe of conservation officers. He liked that.

  “Don’t go pushing any of her buttons,” Service warned his partner.

  “How I do dat when I don’t got no ideas what buttons she got, hey?”

  Unfortunately, he had a talent for finding people’s buttons.

  “Just keep your yap shut.”

  Allerdyce grunted.

  The bookstore had spring displays in its windows. The parking lot was packed full, a steady stream of customers going in and out of the store. Service drove far out into the back rows, looked around, saw Magwire’s black patrol truck, gold badge gleaming. Like most Lansing-area COs, officers kept their trucks spic-and-span. Away from the state capital, not so much. They parked nose by nose pointed opposite directions, driver’s window beside driver’s window. How much of my life has taken place in arrangements like this? Service wondered.

  “This seems a far piece from your normal playground,” the veteran officer greeted him with a smile.

  “I’m sort of without a playground at the moment.”

  “Yeah, we all go the word,” Magwire said, staring past him. “Jesus, is that Allerdyce with you?”

  Limpy raised his right hand, cackled, and gave her a double-fingertip salute.

  “You guys had a great season,” she said. “The greatest deer season ever. So many big cases!”

  She squinted at him. “He looks kind of old. You sure he’s healthy enough to hang with you?”

  Magwire had short brown hair and a squarish face with freckles and dimples. She looked like a new middle schooler until you saw her linebacker shoulders. She had been teaching other COs how to fight fast and dirty for many years, and even the strongest game wardens weren’t eager to jump on a mat with her to help her demonstrate some new technique.

  “He keeps up,” Service said. “You heard about the suspension?”

  “We all heard.”

  “Did it say the suspension was extended to July 1?”

  “No way,” she said with a sharp yelp. “What the hell?”

  “The story get shaded?”

  “Not especially. Main reaction seems to be we’d all like to have a partner like that for deer season. How many people did you guys nail?”

  “We never counted, but we’ve got lots of court dates ahead. Only a few cases have been adjudicated so far.”

  “Never mind Lansing, Grady. Great job.” She stared at Limpy. “Are you certain that’s Allerdyce. I thought he’d be a helluva lot more imposing.”

  The poacher said, “I’m sittin’ right here and I can hear ever’t’ing youse two’s sayin’ ’bout me. I play bigger’n I sit, tell ’er, Sonny.”

  Magwire chuckled. “I expect you do, sir. No offense intended. It’s game warden humor.”

  “Ha ha,” Allerdyce said diffidently.

  Service asked. “A source told me there’s a pool on if I go or if I stay, odds at fifty to one for out.”

  “You should write a country song with those lyrics,” she said. “I heard that crap too, but not from uniforms or anyone in law enforcement.”

  This he found oddly comforting. Tribe indeed.

  Magwire said, “Take us fifteen minutes to get to King Kong’s.”

  “Security?”

  “Gated community, private rent-a-cops. They know me and they’ll wave us through, so you guys need to jump in with me.”

  “Limpy can stay here.”

  She said, “No, it’s all right. He can come too.”

  “You’re not afraid of being accused of having a felon in your truck?”

  “Hell, Grady, I had six years as a Troop when I transferred to the DNR. I could put in my papers tomorrow.”

  “They could go after your pension.”

  “They don’t have the balls for that. C’mon Mr. Allerdyce.”

  Service held open the rear door for Limpy, who hopped up and in, and he got up front in the passenger seat.

  Magwire explained, “Most of this outfit’s security is for show, especially the uniforms. The development’s owner is Kalleskevich, and he doesn’t like to spend money except on himself. He’s a legendary tight ass business-wise. He contracts his security with the cheapest bidder. The proportions of the houses and properties inside are all different, from five acres to one up to a hundred. Each owner handles his own property security.”

 
“Kalleskevich’s setup?”

  “He’s the only one with a hundred acres. I’ve heard he’s fully wired with cameras and motion detectors, but that’s rumor, not fact.”

  “Fenced in?”

  “Out behind the house, eleven or twelve feet high, to keep out the deer. People here see deer as enemies, not cute little Bambies.”

  Service knew from his decades in law enforcement that economic status and high position were not determinants of lawful behavior, especially out in the bush.

  “You okay back there, sir?” Magwire asked Allerdyce, looking back between the seats.

  “Keep your hands off the long guns back there,” Service said.

  “Hey, don’t letcher me, I know dis drill, Sonny.”

  The weapons were in unzipped cases, ready for instant deployment.

  Allerdyce was fidgeting around in back, and Magwire stopped the truck. “Hop out sir, I’m going to rearrange my stuff, make you more comfortable back there.” Allerdyce got out and the officer began rooting around, moving things. Most COs had cluttered trucks—ammo, extra clothes, first-aid kits, PBT kits, cartons of DNR literature, the list was endless. There were almost always loose pistol, rifle, and shotgun rounds in cup holders and door storage pockets. She soon had a clear area for her second passenger, and he climbed back in and said, “Thank you. How’s come youse don’t make no space for me, Sonny?”

  “Shut up,” Service said. “Partners take care of themselves. You comfy now?”

  “Peachy,” Limpy said.

  They drove away.

  “You going to advise Twenty of your ridealongs?” Twenty was code for the RAP room full of dispatchers in downtown Lansing. There were personnel on duty there 24/7. Their main job was to relay in-process complaints from citizens to officers in the field. Most citizens were not good about promptly advising when something came up, and as a result, most officers got put behind the eight ball at the start of almost every complaint investigation. Officers called the operation “Twenty,” or the RAP Room, after the twenty-four-hour, toll-free call-in program called Report All Poaching.

  “Nah,” Magwire said. “What they don’t know can’t hurt or ruffle their feathers.”

  The guards at the gate looked barely sixteen and acted officious and green as limes when waving them through. With Magwire, all they looked at was the gold shield on her door and waved her on, without even a glance at her passengers.

  “Dat was sweet,” Allerdyce said.

  “They bounced me for having Limpy with me,” Service cautioned. “They could bounce you too, Torsten.”

  “Fuck ’em all,” Magwire said. “My husband’s a professor at the MSU vet school. This job is strictly play money and for kicks. I believe in our resources and would do this as a volunteer.”

  “Girlie dere yust say fuck ’em?” Allerdyce chortled from the back. “She look too nice for words like dose.”

  Magwire snorted. “I’ve got a lot more where those came from.”

  “Youse ever fool around on your dog-doc old man?” Allerdyce asked bluntly from his hidey hole.

  “Only with people I intend to shoot and bury after I’m done with them.”

  “I didn’t mean nothin’ bad,” Allerdyce said in a low and quivering voice.

  “I was hoping you didn’t,” Magwire said, looking over her shoulder at him, “because that sort of hit on me would truly piss me off.”

  Allerdyce held up both hands in a gesture of surrender, and turned to look out his side window.

  The house was massive, three floors with a circular drive and extensive landscaping. “Just another palace,” Service said.

  “They got subway t’ing ’tween rooms?” Allerdyce asked from the back.

  Magwire laughed. “Beats me.”

  Service saw what looked to be a long, low ridge all along the back. “What’s beyond that ridge?”

  “I-69 North,” she said.

  “Is there a way back there on foot?”

  “Park at the Vandam Exit Park-and-Ride, walk cross-country. It’s all state property till that ridge line, and it remains state down to the fence line. Half mile from the exit, give or take.”

  “Show us the exit?”

  Service was watching the circular driveway as she turned around. There was a red Escalade with a black hummer behind it.

  “They can’t afford a garage?”

  “That’s behind the house,” Magwire explained. “Underground,” I hear. “Two levels.”

  Service watched a woman walk out to the Escalade, and when they turned around to come back down the street on their way to security, he got a good look at her as she sat waiting for them to clear the street so she could get going.

  Magwire drove through the security gate, and the Cadillac followed closed behind. “Seventy grand for that toy junk,” Magwire said. “Can you believe that?”

  They got out at the exit along the highway and took a brief walk. The ridge was dense with oaks and sugar maples.

  Back at the truck she said, “If they push you out, there could be a rebellion in the ranks.”

  “That wouldn’t be smart. Shit happens. It’s my problem, not yours or anybody else’s.”

  “Right and smart aren’t synonyms,” she said with a snort. “Nice meeting you, sir,” she told Allerdyce. “You’re not nearly the sleaze I thought you’d be.”

  “Da girlie call me sir,” Allerdyce said when they were back in their own truck. “I like sound dat.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head. She’s polite to everyone, even scumbags.”

  “Da Caddy Hummer joint da one we gone dark-walk?”

  “Yup.”

  “Piece of cake,” Allerdyce said. “When we go?”

  “Tomorrow maybe, I’m not sure yet.”

  “Sooner we get done down ’ere, sooner we get back crosst da britch, hey.”

  “You don’t like it down here Below the Bridge?”

  The old man vigorously shook his head.

  Chapter 9

  Swamp Lake, South of Laingsburg

  Shiawassee County

  The white phone rang early the next morning. Service was alone, and Aller-dyce was out in the mall somewhere, snooping around. “Yes?” he answered his phone.

  “Oheneff here. Got word you are in the market for company.”

  “Depends on the company—and the price.”

  “This is no hobby for cheapskates,” the voice said coolly.

  “Two yards at the starting line, negotiations from there. Life is à la carte, right?”

  “Right. It cost me two yards to get this phone.”

  She made a sniffling sound. “I heard it was gratis. You must be special.”

  “Eye of the beholder,” he said.

  “Say we meet, then decide price,” she offered.

  “Works for me, when and where? I hate to step on your regular business.”

  “This is purely a hobby for me,” she said. “We’ll meet, start with that. Our mutual friend suggested you have something rather special in mind?”

  “She exaggerates.”

  “Not about certain things. How about tomorrow, straight noon?”

  “I should bring some protection?”

  She laughed easily. “Proactive, I like that. Got something handy to write with?”

  Her directions were to a property on Welly Road, south of Laingsburg.

  “Swamp Lake.” She added, “Locals call it the ‘W.’ You got a name we can use?”

  “Alpha Omega works for me.”

  “Very funny,” she said. “Mr. A.O. it shall be. Noon then.”

  “Give me a visual.”

  “42 DD and firm. That enough?”

  “Yes ma’am, that should do it, but I meant the house where we’ll meet.”

  He could hear
her laugh. “There’s a TV security monitor at the back gate. I’ll buzz you in. Leave your vehicle out there. There’s a place to back it in. Quarter-mile walk to the house, only place on the lake. It’s usually a hunting club, and I guess that will hold tomorrow as well. It’s entirely private. We won’t be interrupted. The owner likes to collect things, not use them.”

  “I’m not the afternoon-delight sort,” he told her.

  She laughed. “We’ll try to take that into account. Noon, Mr. A.O.”

  “See you there, Oheneff.”

  “It’s so nice to be on a first-name basis already,” she said, and broke off the connection.

  Weird.

  Allerdyce came in long enough to hear the last couple of exchanges. “What all dat was?”

  “Meeting, noon tomorrow.”

  “Dabotuvus?”

  “I go in, you stand security.”

  “Mebbe I get save youse’s butt again.”

  “Highly unlikely. You’ll just give me a bump if anyone shows.”

  *****

  At noon, Service parked on the road before the gate, backed the truck in as directed, making sure to tuck the truck beyond the security camera’s reach, and gave Limpy the keys. Allerdyce got out and stretched. “Hear better outside,” the old man explained. He was right, of course. Game wardens and poachers alike preferred to be outside where pure sound had a chance to travel with less interference.

  He saw the gate camera right away. The driveway on the other side of the gate was wet, one set of fresh tire prints led in. He pushed a button, and a red light illuminated on the side of the camera. A female voice said, “Mr. A.O, it’s so nice to see you.”

  “It’s me,” he said. The gate slid open, and when he stepped through, it closed behind him. Allerdyce cackled as Service headed down the grassy driveway. He walked steadily, looking around, scanning ahead, behind, both sides, above and down. Only the one set of vehicle tracks. No obvious security devices along the road. Someone felt comfortable and secure here with only the gate camera.