Abducted

by David R Lewis

  “I am offerin’ you the position of Watkins Station City Constable.”

  Crockett looked at him blankly. “What?”

  “Or sheriff, or marshal, or police chief.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. I’m thinkin’ we ain’t seen the last a them folks. Be nice to have somebody else around fer a while. I ain’t as young as I usta be. We’re a town. Long as yer in our city limits, I can make you official. That way, if any a them folks come back, you got the power to deal with ‘em legally. Whatdaya say?”

  “I don’t know. I’d hate to have Mazy taking me for granted or anything.”

  “If she does, I’ll straighten her out.”

  Crockett laughed. “I’d get a police commission and everything?”

  “Not everything,” Zeb said. “I ain’t gittin’ you no squad car. I do have a ol’ thirty-two Smith and Wesson you can use, though.”

  “Gee, that’s an interesting offer,” Crockett said. “Would I get to wear a uniform and go on patrol and stuff?”

  “You could probably talk me into springin’ for a hat and a bicycle.”

  “Honest?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Jesus. What the hell. It can’t be all bad.” He bumped his eyebrows at Mazy. “You wanna drive over to Mt. Pilot and take in a picture show tonight? Barney and Thelma Lou said they’d meet us there.”

  Mazy shot him a withering look. “Coffee’s ready,” she said. “Or do you just drink sarsaparilla these days, Andy?”

  “Milk,” Crockett replied. “And I never lose my white hat in a fight.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Cletus Marshal sat in Ruby LaCost’s living room moments after she excused herself to take a shower. It had been a long day. They’d left the town house around ten that morning and spent a couple of hours going from shop to shop as Ruby looked for a new dress. Nothing seemed to please her. After a lunch at the Classic Cup they returned to the search, finally encountering something Ruby could live with in the late afternoon at a small shop in the Westport district. Ruby had gone through extreme mood swings throughout the day. Happy and laughing one minute, she’d regress to sad and nearly weepy with no provocation, only to rebound to a nearly euphoric state just a few minutes later. Clete was concerned, but did not feel the situation was right to ask her about it. As the day wore on she seemed to level out some. When she left him to go shower, she actually seemed happy. He was musing on just that when his cell phone rang.

  “Hello, Texican.”

  “Crockett?”

  “The one and only.”

  “Damn, son! How are ya? Where are ya?”

  “As we speak I’m at the Watkins Marina on Truman Lake.”

  “Missouri, right?”

  “Last I checked.”

  “What the hell ya doin’ there?”

  “Hangin’ around. I need a favor.”

  “You got it.”

  “Need you to check on a guy named Johnathan April. He’s involved in the casino business somehow.”

  “Never heard of him. How’s he spell his last name?”

  “Dunno. Like the month, I guess.”

  “Take me a few hours. Might be late. I’m on the road right now.”

  “Fine. As soon as you can. Hear from Ruby?”

  “Just today,” Clete said.

  “How is she?”

  “Good and bad. Pretty stressed. I might know more in a day or two.”

  “I’d appreciate some news if you have it.”

  “You betcha. How ‘bout you. You okay?”

  “Better than I might have expected. I may take a job here at the marina.”

  “A job?”

  “You heard me,” Crockett said.

  “Doin’ what?”

  “Oh, this and that.”

  “Whadaya mean this n’ that?”

  “It kinda depends on my promotion from lifeguard.”

  “What?”

  “Letcha know when we talk again.”

  “Jesus Christ, Crockett. What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

  “Bye, Texas. Give my best to everybody. Including Nudge.”

  Clete stared at the phone in his hand, then quickly returned it to his belt. There were some things Ruby didn’t need to know.

  Grinning, Crockett put his phone away and walked back inside the bait shop. Clouds were gathering and thunder rumbled in the distance. Zeb squinted out the window at the sky across the lake.

  “Right on schedule,” he said. “You like storms?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Me too. So does Mazy. Might as well cook out tonight.”

  “In the storm?”

  “Sorta. See that pavilion past the bunkhouse parking lot?”

  Crockett peered in the proper direction. There was an open sided structure about sixty feet square, basically just a roof supported over a concrete slab.

  “Yeah?”

  “Got a bar-b-que pit in there. Go on over to the restaurant and git three or four big old bakin’ spuds and the rest a that bag a charcoal from by the walk-in freezer. I’ll call Mazy up at the Inn an’ let her know what’s going on. She’ll be down that way in a minute. I got two bass boats out still, but they’ll be in before long, way that sky looks. Then I’ll join ya.”

  Crockett did as he was told, carrying a paper bag of potatoes and lugging the charcoal to the appointed place. The Bar-b-que pit was about three by ten feet with a large hood vented through the roof. Crockett removed a section of grill and dumped the charcoal onto the grate. Finding a partial tin of lighter fuel next to a short stack of folded lawn chairs and a collapsed table, he hosed down the charcoal and lit it, sending flames two feet into the air. He was setting up the table and chairs when Zeb’s old Chevy pick-up pulled up and Mazy got out.

  “Lord. I do love to watch a man work,” she said.

  “You came to the wrong place, Lady. I’m just about done,” Crockett said, walking to help her unload a couple of bags from the truck.

  “I’ll get this. You get the wood,” Mazy said, indicating some red oak firewood scattered in the bed of the pickup. “Might get a little chilly. Wouldn’t want no city slicker to catch a cold, bein’ outside an’ all without their Gor-tex long johns.”

  Crockett grinned at her and the drone of an outboard motor drew his eyes toward the north end of the lake. In the distance came a bass boat flogging it for the marina. The wind was picking up and the light was going as clouds thickened and gathered closer to the earth. The old dog drifted up and lay down on a ratty rug near the far end of the bar-b-que pit.

  “Why thank you for your consideration, m’am. Most of us big city people don’t expect that level of awareness from you unsophisticated country folk. We just figure you people play the banjo and go to family reunions looking for a date.”

  Mazy chuckled. “Fambly is terrible important to we’uns,” she said.

  “Ha! Whacha got in the bags?”

  “I have three left over filets, I have some flash-frozen and vacuumed packed sweet corn from early in the season, I have cold Coke and hard liquor, I have a pint of store-bought cole slaw, I have a can of baked beans, I have half a coconut cream pie, various utensils, some foil for the corn and potatoes, butter and sour cream, and three hurricane candle lamps so we don’t have to turn on the electric lights after dark and ruin the whole damn thing.”

  “Why you romantic fool,” Crockett teased. He could smell the coming rain.

  “I also have some stadium blankets in the truck in case we have to huddle together for warmth in the face of the elements.”

  “I do admire a woman with good survival instincts,” Crockett said, rubbing his upper arms. “I think I feel a chill coming on already.”

  Mazy began wrapping a potato in foil. “Have you always been this full of shit?” she asked.

  “Naw. Something about you that just brings out the best in me.”

  “Go work on the fire. That’ll warm you up.”

  “You mean you don�
�t want me to get us a blanket? Just being this close to you gives me goosebumps.”

  “You want a steak or not?”

  “Oh my goodness!” Crockett said, hurrying to the pit. “Look at those coals. Something should be done immediately.”

  Mazy smiled and continued to wrap potatoes.

  The storm hit about ten minutes after Zebulon arrived at the pavilion, a full-blown brouhaha. They sat beside the pit waiting for the coals to cook down a bit more and watched the rainwater sluice off the roof.

  “Gully runner,” Zeb said, peering out into the gathering dark. “It keeps this going for a few hours an’ the lake’ll come up. Truman ain’t much mor’n a overflow for the big lake anyway.”

  “The big lake?” Crocket asked, as he spread out the coals.

  “This here is a purty good size body a water. Right at fifty-five thousand acres on average, but Truman Lake is just a sump for Lake a the Ozarks. That sumbitch is big.”

  Lightening ripped across the distant horizon, a mile long horizontal slash just above the hills half a mile away on the other side of the lake.

  “Hoo-ha,” Zeb said. “Them two tent campers we had lit a shuck when the wind brought in all them clouds. Speck they is glad they got out when they did. I sent the kids that work for us home an’ them bassmasters is long gone. Nobody here but us chickens. Probably won’t pick up nothin’ tomorrow neither. I reckon this’ll be about it for the season, doan you, Mazy?”

  “School’s back in session,” she said. “Not many vacationers now. Just some locals now and then. Some of those guys fish into December.”

  She eased three wrapped potatoes in by the edge of the coals and turned to the corn. Crockett smiled. “You’ve done this before, huh?” he said.

  “Yep. Thirty minutes and I’ll rotate the potatoes and add the sweet corn. Fifteen minutes after that I’ll rotate the corn and put the pot of beans over the fire. How do you like your steak?”

  “Medium rare.”

  “Us too. Four minutes or so a side as close to the hottest part of the fire as possible. We’ll eat in about an hour. We’ll also be getting a little cool by then. The sun’ll be down behind the hills. Why don’t you throw some of that red oak on the far end of the grate and get us a campfire going? We’ll enjoy the heat and the steaks will need some of the coals that’ll be available by the time I put the meat on.”

  Crockett rose and went to work at the other end of the pit. Zeb leaned across the table and smiled at Mazy.

  “Nice to have somebody to boss around besides me, ain’t it?” he whispered.

  “It’s all right.”

  “Somebody a little closer to yer age.”

  “I can stand it.”

  “A feller that’s full-growed an’ kindly easy to git along with.”

  Mazy leaned down so her lips were just inches from his ear. “You just don’t get your mind wrapped around nothin’, old man,” she said. “Crockett ain’t no more than a flash in the pan. He’s on his way to somewhere else. There ain’t any future there.”

  “What in the hell is wrong with a little bit of the present in yer life, girl? The one thing I doan want on my hands is some durn woman thet’s withered up an’ old before her time, just ‘cause she’s forgot she’s a female. Crockett’ll remind ya if ya get outa yer own way.”

  Mazy swatted him on the shoulder and grinned. “What makes you think I need reminding, Zebulon Watkins?”

  Zeb’s eyes twinkled.

  “What makes you think you don’t?” he said.

  The steaks were terrific. By the end of the meal the downpour had settled in and become a steady gentle rain. The music of the weather lulled the three of them into an appreciative lethargy. Swathed in blankets and sitting fireside, they talked of life and slowly sipped whiskey well into the night. It was after midnight and Crockett and Mazy were listening to Zeb snore, when the old man jerked awake, cleared his throat, and peered into the dark.

  “Speck I was gone there fer a spell.”

  “A little while,” Mazy said.

  “Nice rain. Could keep on like this all night. Probably oughta shake my ol’ bones an’ git on to the house. Doan wanna set here ‘til sunup.”

  Crockett’s phone went off. It was Clete.

  “What the hell you gittin’ into now?” he said.

  “What makes you ask?”

  “You got a way of attractin’ assholes or what?”

  Crockett grinned. “You and I get along pretty well.”

  “Un-huh,” Clete snorted. “Johnathan April, AKA Johnny April’s real name is Juan Aprille.”

  “Juan?”

  “Yep. From Vegas originally. Seems Johnny’s dad, Vincent Aprille, was a bookkeeper and money launderer for the mob back in the earlier days of the westward expansion. Had a housekeeper from Guadalajara. When she turned up pregnant he did the honorable thing. Married the woman. She died in childbirth and Vincent kept the boy and named him Juan in honor of his mother. Lotta guts to claim a Mexican-Italian kid in those days, specially in the position he was in.”

  “No shit.”

  “Johnny grows up, gets his law degree from UNLV, follows in daddy’s footsteps, but he’s got ambition. Wants to get into more of a managerial position with the company. Wants to be a tough guy. Problem is, his family heritage of mixed blood damns him to middle management at best. The result of all that is that Johnny is pretty much pissed off all the time. A year or so ago, in an effort to settle him down a little, the powers that be bumped him up a notch and sent him to Kansas City as second banana manager of a new casino called The Zanzibar. He is not a nice man, Crockett. How the hell did you run across him?”

  “He’s trying to buy the motel and marina that I’m staying at on Truman Lake.”

  “And the folks there don’t wanna sell, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And Johnny really wants them to.”

  “Right again.”

  “And, a course, there’s ol’ Crockett in the wrong place at the right time, ready to tilt at windmills and protect the interests of the little guy.”

  “More or less.”

  “Son, why the hell is it that ever time you git out in public, some kinda situation shows up that eventually gits me in deep shit tryin’ to help your tired old ass?”

  “Ya got me.”

  “Why the hell don’t you stay the fuck inside, close the drapes, lock the doors, and mind your own bidness?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “Damn! Let ol’ Ruby run off and leave you by yourself, an’ there you go, lookin’ for trouble. Where is the reluctant hero of yesteryear?”

  “Kinda hate to see these people get run over by the machine. Besides that, I had a drink or two with Juan. He’s an asshole.”

  “How the hell did you git next to him?”

  “Pulled his girlfriend out of the lake.”

  “Ah. That’s what you meant when you talked about being a lifeguard.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s the new job they offered you?”

  “Sheriff.”

  “What?”

  Crockett grinned. “Gotta go, Clete. Thanks for the information.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  “See ya.”

  “Wait a minute, goddammit!”

  Crockett hung up. Mazy looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

  “Mister April is not a nice man,” he said. “Connections to the mob, gambling, money laundering, and God knows what else.”

  “You just get calls in the middle of the night with that kind of information?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Mazy sat up a little straighter and looked at him. “Who are you, Crockett?”

  “Just a tired man that’s had all the whiskey he needs and is ready to go to bed. Gimme a ride to my bus, will ya? I don’t want to walk all that way in the rain.”

  “I asked you once if you were gonna be trouble.”

  “You did.”

  “You are, aren’
t you?”

  Crockett smiled, stood up, and began to fold his blanket.

  “If push comes to shove, yes, I am,” he said. “But not for you or Zeb.”

  “The hell you’re not,” Mazy replied. “You’re already trouble for me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ruby LaCost sat at her snack bar and watched Cletus over the rim of her coffee cup as he prepared waffles.

  “You don’t have to fix me breakfast every morning, you know,” she said.

  “I’m a early riser. Gives me somethin’ to do. You sleep well last night, Miz Ruby?”

  “Yes, I did. Thank you for the day yesterday and the dinner last night. I appreciate the company and the kindness.”

  “Nothin’ to it. Got another day today, if you’re not busy. Feeds my ego to be seen with a good lookin’ woman. Talked to Crockett lately?”

  Ruby tensed. “For a minute a couple of days ago,” she said. “You?”

  “Last night after you turned in.”

  “Oh? How is he?”

  “Fixin’ to get in a mess again,” Clete said. “Needed some information on a guy that’s gonna be givin’ some folks at a marina on Truman lake a little trouble.”

  Ruby clutched at the edge of the counter. “Oh, God, Clete. Why does he do these kind of things?”

  Clete had been looking for an opening. It came sooner than he’d expected. He drew a breath and jumped in.

  “He ain’t got no choice, an’ you know it,” he said. “You’re the one that drug him outa his hibernation. You’re the one that pushed him out into the world. The man’s a warrior. Warriors, unless they’re duckin’ somethin’, find battles. That’s why he was a cop in the first place. Then he spent years hidin’ from it ‘til you got him involved with Rachael.”

  “So you’re saying all this is my fault?”

  “I’m saying that, unless Crockett goes back in his hole and pulls it in behind him, that it is inevitable. That there ain’t one gawdammed thing you can do about it except leave him permanent or go along for the ride. You turned him loose, that’s all. You didn’t create him and you didn’t make any of this happen. Hell, he don’t need you to get in trouble. He’s workin’ at it right now, and you ain’t got shit to do with it. How many waffles ya want?”