K-9 Outlaw: A Kelton Jager Adventure Book 1

by Charles Wendt

  Buck turned hard into the drive and keyed his radio mike, “Deputy Garner on scene of primary suspect’s residence.”

  Sheriff Fouche keyed the mike twice in response, but didn’t speak.

  Azrael whined on the backseat as Buck opened the driver’s door.

  “Stay here,” he ordered.

  And then Buck rushed to the front porch with his right hand on the butt of his sidearm.

  Kelton watched Deputy Garner bang on the door with his left fist and heard the call of, “Sheriff’s Office! Open up!”

  However, his eyes were already shifting to the old truck. It was a small thing, maybe an S-10, but Kelton wasn’t much into cars. He could barely drive. Clearly it was a working man’s vehicle with its racks over the truck’s bed holding ladders and assorted pipes. The color was sort of a robin egg blue, with white bottom panels for a two-tone look before the introduction of rusts and dents. The glass seemed to all be intact although a hubcap was missing on the side he could see.

  The sound of splintering wood brought Kelton’s focus back to the porch where Deputy Garner had assaulted the door. It seemed to be putting up a good fight, but after a few more blows of the shoulder and a kick or two the rotted frame gave and it swung inward. Pistol in the air, the lawmen rushed inside. Kelton exited the patrol car, and immediately opened the rear passenger door for Azrael.

  The Belgian Shepherd jumped down and immediately took a heel position with bright eyes upon Kelton. With multiple trails for Dixie leaving the sheriff’s office there was no point in trying to track her so they had gone after the thief. But out here was different. He held out the small purse he’d taken from the desk to his dog’s nose.

  “Such,” he instructed.

  Azrael dropped his nose to the ground in excited purpose, rapidly zigzagging across the driveway and the long overgrown yard about the house. Kelton watched for a few moments and then walked over to the blue and white truck. It was unlocked. Various wrenches, heating torches, and other small tools lay loose in the bed. Upon the torn upholstery of the front seat was a cheese splattered microwave. He powered up his iPhone and took a few photographs.

  Azrael came back full of energy and a desperate look on his face. He’d found nothing.

  “Such,” he instructed again and Azrael put nose to the ground and circled the truck.

  There were no indications.

  “Fuss,” Kelton ordered next and fed a treat as soon as Azrael was in the heel position. The command sounded like “Foos”. He then started walking toward the front steps of pitted concrete.

  Deputy Garner came out with a scraggly old man, short and thin, whose hands were cuffed behind him. His canvas shirt was unbuttoned and hung open to reveal the absence of an undershirt. The man’s skin was dark bronze after years of working in the sun, marred with graying hair. The pants were a heavy denim with rips, soils and paint splatters of construction sites or similar work. His eyes looked heavy with sleep.

  “I got him. We’re going to have a record fast solve. Fuck asking the State Police for help!”

  “Any sign of the girl?” asked Kelton.

  Buck’s eyes widened slightly at the question, “I’ll get him back to the station and interrogate him. It won’t take long to get a confession.”

  “Sir, can you please tell me which girl you are looking for?” asked Braxton Greene, the old man, in a clear and articulate tone.

  “Shut up,” ordered Buck as he lifted Braxton’s arms behind him to guide him to the car. “We’ll play these games back in town.”

  Braxton didn’t resist, but Buck handled him roughly, banging his head while shoving him into the backseat. He slammed the door and turned to Kelton.

  “You coming or what?” accused Buck.

  “I need to walk my dog,” replied Kelton with a shrug. “I guess I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  “Suit yourself,” Buck said with a could care less smile. In a moment the engine roared, gravel flew, and the patrol car was zooming north on Thigpen Road back toward the flashing light.

  Kelton watched them speed off, and wondered if Buck was hopeful that now that he had his gun back he would just wonder off. Not likely, with the threat of an indictment hanging over him, he thought; although he would love to leave them to their own devices and focus on his dog. That was all the responsibility that mattered to him anymore. That he hadn’t messed up yet, anyway.

  But there was something else eating at him, that kept him from washing his hands of it all while waiting for the slow turning wheels of justice. Buck didn’t seem that concerned with Dixie’s disappearance, only the arrest of the break-in suspect. Kelton didn’t know the young lady, but he knew her mother and she’d been civil to Azrael, letting him in the motel room and diner. Also, deeply ingrained in the young male warrior ethos was the moral imperative to rescue damsels in distress. He smiled briefly at an academy memory, where one of his overly popular female classmates was trying to goad him into doing something for her. Kelton had told her that chivalry was only for ladies to which Meghan had replied that chivalry was for everyone. If Buck wasn’t looking for her, Kelton would be.

  “Okay, what do we know?” asked Kelton as he walked after Buck’s car.

  Azrael heeled alongside, looking up at Kelton with wide eyes and hanging tongue.

  “You’re right, Azrael. Dixie was never here.”

  Azrael barked at him with clear expectation.

  “Do you think after he got her out of the truck, he put a microwave in the cab?”

  Azrael barked again, his front feet scattering gravel.

  “Would you call that truck blue?”

  The shepherd’s nose and tail came up, feet splayed in all directions.

  “Or would you say light blue? Or blue and white?”

  “Could that man wrestle a spirited woman down the alley and into his truck? Did he beat open that safe with a pipe wrench?”

  The third bark could probably be heard all the way back in town.

  Kelton took the rubber Kong toy from his right cargo pocket, swirled it by the foot of rope, and flung it into one of the fields by the road. The dog launched like lightning through the grass and briars to retrieve it as Kelton walked the shoulder on the left side of the road. Normally, it would have been a perfect time to collect thoughts, but the process was continuously interrupted by having to repeat throwing the Kong toy. The one clear thing though was Deputy Gardner was incompetent or not on the up and up.

  Braxton Greene blinked his eyes hard, trying to shed their sticky gritty feeling. His head hurt from the deputy banging it and he definitely felt like munching some pretzels or potato chips. And he wanted to use the restroom.

  “Mr. Greene, it won’t take long to get you back to the sheriff’s office,” began Buck, “and once that happens I won’t have much flexibility to help you out. If that happens you could get accused of all types of bad things. Things like kidnapping and breaking and entering. You probably didn’t do it, but it could cost you a lot of time and money until its sorted out.

  But if you say your truck was parked across from Mr. Butler’s Barbershop this morning, then I can close out an eye witness statement and you can go back to leaky pipes and clogged drains.

  What do you say?”

  Braxton tried to think, but his head was foggy. There’d been no work today so he’d been up late smoking and strumming his guitar for an upcoming gig at the Outlaw Saloon. Certainly the deputy was no one to trifle with and best avoided. He had no idea who the man with the dog was, or what had brought everyone to his house. Most likely, he never would know.

  But he was principled tradesman who prided himself on honest work. That was always the best play in a small town in the long run. A full day’s work for a full day’s pay. The corollary was he should be paid for his work.

  “What do I get out of this arrangement?” he asked in a simple and even tone.

  “You get to avoid being booked, the expense of a lawyer, and I’ll throw in being available
for work,” smiled Buck.

  “What about my door?”

  Buck’s smile faded as his face turned away from the rearview. He pulled a pair of dark glasses from the middle console and slipped them on to his face.

  “You needed to replace it anyway. I was just good enough to bring that fact to your attention. But I recognize the hard work may require some ‘mellowing’ afterward and am prepared to donate an ounce of assorted weeds.”

  Braxton considered. Part of him wanted to get greedy, but the deputy had already bashed him and his home with relative impunity. Considering Buck would likely be the sheriff one day, Braxton thought it best to cut his losses and get away from the man as quickly and gracefully as he could. An ounce would ease a considerable number of aches and pains over the next several weeks.

  “Okay,” agreed Braxton.

  Buck turned right at the flashing light, and turned into Ed’s. For privacy, he weaved through the rigs and found a spot at the back of the parking lot. As soon as he’d put the car into park, he reached under the front seat for the zip-locked plastic bag. He rolled it up, and turned to push it through the divider grate. Braxton grabbed the end of the bag by his teeth and pulled it through.

  The deputy exited the car and opened the back seat. Braxton scooted backward upon the seat toward the door, still holding the plastic bag in his mouth. Buck leaned inside to reclaim the handcuffs before stepping back. The old plumber tucked the bag into his shirt pocket before getting out.

  “You can walk back. I’ve got things to do.”

  “Hey man, you rushed me out before I could get my wallet,” complained Braxton with outstretched hands. “Spot me ten bucks for lunch?”

  The deputy stepped toward him to give him a shove and tell him to fuck off, but reconsidered before his foot hit the ground. The Jager guy was suspicious, and if Braxton walked home now they couldn’t help but pass one another and have a conversation. Braxton could also complain to Chandler and things could quickly fall apart that way, too. His lazy boss wasn’t going to chase down any leads, but couldn’t ignore credible allegations placed in his lap. He opened his wallet, and lacking the right change, gave him a twenty.

  Moments later, Buck was leaving the parking lot. Braxton gave a wave at his back and turned toward the diner, but the deputy barely noticed. He began to take stock of the state of affairs.

  Doris meant what she said, but wouldn’t act unless something happened to Dixie. Rebel knew that as well and had probably only taken her as mistaken leverage over him. Sure, she was beautiful and he didn’t want to lose her. But her lack of enthusiasm toward him wasn’t exactly setting him up to miss her forever, either. Chandler merely wanted things to be peaceful and no crime was much better than a solved crime; he wouldn’t go looking for trouble. Which left Kelton Jager and that damned dog.

  Heading west on Main Street and well past the flashing yellow light he saw Chandler’s Durango coming head-on. Buck flashed his lights and the sheriff slowed. They both came to a stop and rolled down their windows.

  “Braxton Greene is a possible for the break-in. He could use the money, and has enough construction tools and experience to do the job. I let Mr. Greene go to focus on Dixie and the shooting for now. There was no sign of her there.”

  “I wonder if Mr. Butler saw what he thought. If he’s not cutting hair, he’s playing checkers. What did you do with Mr. Jager?” asked Chandler leaning back against his headrest and peering downward to get a better view of the vacant passenger side.

  “He wanted to walk his dog,” and added thinking fast, “and see if he picked up any trails on the way back.”

  “Where you off to now?”

  A beat-up old pickup with “FARM USE” plates slowly snaked its way around them with wire crates of chickens in the back. Small white feathers floated out on to the road.

  “I was going to drop by Dixie’s house and see if she was there and then finish my interview with the Outlaw biker women. They were too shaken up last night to give me much.”

  “Is Dixie really missing?” asked Chandler with suspicious narrow eyes.

  Buck took the question head-on, “I don’t know. Dixie and I are struggling to define the next phase of our relationship. Lunch was a little… awkward. I was thinking about it on the drive to Mr. Greene’s. She may just be avoiding me by going shopping.”

  “You kids should know,” scolded Chandler with a shake of the head, “I won’t have any drama in our office. If this goes on, one of you will have to go.”

  With that, Chandler raised his window and drove away.

  Buck watched the rearview carefully as he too crept forward, but was out of sight before noting if the sheriff turned on Thigpen or had gone on to Ed’s and the interstate. Had to be Ed’s, he thought, to give a report to Doris.

  No matter. Things needed to be put in play to neutralize Mr. Jager incase he didn’t wander off. The best tool in his arsenal for that was the witness statements for Baylee Ann and Bambi. He had a feeling they wouldn’t be around to dispute his recording of their account. The sooner he sat at his computer and banged those out, the better. He drove by Dixie’s house without stopping.

  CHAPTER—7

  Doris finished entering the driver’s license into the computer at the cash register for the box of Sudafed. With a quick signature for the database, a swipe of a credit card and a final signature, the sniffling driver afflicted with the bounty of spring was on his way. She sold a lot of Sudafed, especially during pollen season, and the pharmacy satellite had been a great move. And the old town pharmacist only came over once a month or so anymore to catch up on the pseudoephedrine paperwork.

  She started cleaning the coffee pots behind the counter now that the lunch rush was coming to a close. Her feet ached and she could feel the tiredness in her shoulders. She wished they could afford to hire more help, but the mortgage of Dixie’s little house was a struggle. As were the price of Ed’s medications. Push comes to shove, that’s how she was lured into this mess in the first place.

  As she turned to hang a glass coffee pot on the drying rack, she saw the Sheriff’s SUV pull up to the front glass window. As he strode out the Durango’s door, she gave herself a slight sigh of relief; no one makes haste to share bad news. But he didn’t give a wave and smile through the window at her either. But then, that wouldn’t be Chandler. She dried her hands on the dish towel, and readied herself at the counter.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Doris,” he greeted her in a flat tone.

  “Sheriff. Any word on my girl?”

  Sheriff Fouche stood erect, not compromising his posture to lean forward for privacy. Three stools down, Braxton Greene quietly rested his fork on the biscuits and gravy.

  “Mr. Jager used his dog to follow a scent trail from the break-in to the curb. Buck got a license plate number from a witness and served a search warrant. Dixie wasn’t there. I don’t think her being gone has anything to do with all that.

  Buck confessed to he and Dixie having some soul searching conversation before his shift. She may just need some space for a bit. I think she’ll turn up really soon.”

  Doris nodded as Chandler’s corfam shoes angled toward the door, even as he kept his body square to her.

  “Please keep me posted, Sheriff. Anything I can do to help your search?”

  Keep you searching, thought Doris. Dixie never became emotional to the point of needing space. She would never call her daughter cold, she knew and loved her too well. But the idea of her willfully disappearing when her responsibility was to be on shift didn’t sit well. She’d raised her much better than that. The family business had depended upon it.

  “If you become aware of any additional information, or if she contacts you, please let us know, Miss Doris,” and with that, walked back out the door.

  She stared at the front window as the big SUV backed up, turned and exited toward the interstate. Doris knew he lived north somewhere from watching him come and go all these years, but of course had never been there.<
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  But it was the reflection in the window she was really looking at. Dixie had grown up in here. So had she really, as a teenage bride. Ed and her were farm kids who watched his daddy’s dairy struggle to be profitable after so much land was lost in immanent domain for the interstate. Ed pushed his father to change direction and she’d been swept off her feet with the vision of a traveler’s oasis.

  She had thought she was signing up to be a powerful business woman. Now she lamented being merely a gas station clerk and truck stop’s waitress. But it was far from being all bad. Ed was smart and loving, even if he hadn’t taken care of himself over all those years. There’d been too much sitting and too many pork rinds. But they had waited until they were established to have Dixie and she was pleased with the way she’d turned out.

  Dixie was independent, and a beautiful young woman. Doris wished she’d be romanced by someone like an attorney or one of the up and coming city leaders, but at least her girl hadn’t fallen in with the lot lizards. But that came with the price of giving her money they didn’t really have. With Ed being sick they couldn’t keep it up. And now there was trouble. She could feel it.

  Her husband came in through the kitchen walking with a slight limp from his considerable girth. His hair was graying and thinning before its time, but he still smiled at her.

  “How’s my darling?” he said kissing her and reaching one arm around for a hug.

  “Tired, Honey, and I need to stop by Dixie’s. Can you hold down the fort for a while?”

  “Sure thing, Baby,” he said as he sat down on the stool by the register.

  He wouldn’t get off of it for the next several hours, letting the one waitress do all the walking.