Abducted

by David R Lewis

  “How come ya’ll are askin’ folks ‘bout Boog Jeter?”

  “Oh, so that’s what this is about. Word travels fast, huh? Glad to see a police officer who’s in touch with the community. Good for you.”

  Refusing to allow his train of thought to be derailed yet again, the chief struck back. “How come ya’ll is lookin’ for Boog?”

  “Did you know his real name Jerome Jeffery?” Clete asked, as he heard Crockett’s shower shut down.

  “Whut?”

  “Did you know that…”

  “I heerd ya! Answer my question, gawddammit!”

  “I’m sorry. What was it you wanted to know?”

  “How come yer a-lookin’ for Boog?”

  “Ah. We think he’s done a bad thing. When we find him, we’ll ask him.”

  “Whut kinda thang?”

  “He mighta broke into a lady’s home, beat her up, and carried her off.”

  “Boog?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Naw, thet there ain’t right. Ol’ Boog couldn’t a done nothin’ like that. He’s only ‘bout half smart.”

  “Lotta that goin’ around,” Clete said. “You know him?”

  “Not much. I seen him some an’ I know who he is.”

  “Seen him lately?”

  “Not fer quite a spell. Hell, if’n he done somethin’ like that, it’s a federal offense!”

  “That’s right,” Clete said.

  Delbert cogitated briefly. “Yew ol’ boys aint feds, are ya?”

  Clete smiled. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m not at liberty to divulge that information.”

  The bathroom door opened, and Crockett, dressed in a robe and carrying his cane, hopped into the room and flopped in a chair. Delbert looked him over and noticed the missing leg. Crockett ignored him and turned to Clete.

  “Who’s this?” he asked.

  “This is Hardy’s police chief, Delbert Dunn.”

  “He got a warrant?”

  “No.”

  “Then what the hell is he doing in the room?”

  Clete glanced at Delbert and chewed his lower lip. “I let him in.”

  Crockett shook his head. “You let him in? Goddammit, Clint, we talked about this. You know the director didn’t want any of the locals involved unless things went to hell and we needed backup. You know he didn’t want us to attract any attention to ourselves.”

  “Well, what was I supposed to do? He came to the door. I can’t just kick his ass out into the parking lot, for chrissakes!”

  They glared at each other for a moment before Crockett relented. “What’s done is done,” he said. “Does he know anything? Can he give us any information?”

  “Naw. Says he didn’t hardly even know Jeter. Says Boog ain’t smart enough to pull off a kidnapping.”

  “You told him?”

  “Yeah,” Clete said, looking a little hunted.

  “I can’t believe you broke protocol like this! And for what? We have no additional information, nothing. And now we’re blown. Local law knows we’re here. Christ, what a mess.”

  “I couldn’t help it,” Clete said, nearly whining. “I didn’t go out looking for the guy. Delbert found us. Showed up here at the room. Good police work is good police work.”

  Crockett shook his head and stared at the floor for a moment, before he turned to Delbert.

  “Look, Chief,” he said, “I’m really sorry that you got involved in this. The best thing is for you to just go on about your business like it didn’t happen. We were never here, okay? It is vitally important that nobody knows we’re in the area. If word of this leaks out, the Senator is gonna hit the ceiling and heads will fucking roll. I’d hate to see you get caught up in a mess like that. You keep this under your hat and it could be worth your while. Maybe mean a nice grant for your department. New equipment, extra funding, things like that.” Crockett paused to think things over. “Oh, hell,” he went on, “truth be told, we could use some help. If you hear anything about Jeter, you be sure and let us know. We’ll be here for a few days.”

  “Yessir,” Delbert replied, gratified to be taken into confidence. “I ain’t gonna say shit to nobody. I hear anythin’ about Boog, I’ll find ya’ll an’ let ya know.”

  “Thanks, Chief,” Crockett said, standing up. Delbert’s eyes flickered to the one foot at the bottom of Crockett’s robe. Crockett smiled.

  “Shark attack off the coast of Yemen back in ‘03,” he said. “Hell of a mission. We got ‘em all out and only lost two. If that damn sub would have been on time, we wouldn’t have lost anybody. You have a good evening Chief. Let us know if you hear anything.”

  “Yessir,” Delbert replied, realizing he’d been dismissed. He turned and went out the door.

  Crockett grinned. “You tell him anything else?” he asked, raising his voice to be sure Delbert could hear him through the wall.

  “No, I didn’t,” Clete said.

  “Nothing about the task force or the satellite surveillance?”

  “Not a goddamn thing, all right?”

  “And you didn’t mention the president?”

  “No, I didn’t mention the fucking president, for chrissakes.”

  “You say anything about the reward?”

  “No, I didn’t say nothin’ about the fuckin’ reward.”

  “A real stupid move letting the local law in on this, Clint.”

  “What the hell do you want from me? I said I was sorry.”

  “Sorry isn’t good enough!” Crockett thundered. “I think tonight you sleep in your own room. Now get out.”

  Clete opened and slammed the connecting door and dropped onto the bed. In a few seconds they heard a car start and roll away down the parking lot. When they stopped laughing, Clete spoke up.

  “Sleep in my own room?”

  Crockett grinned. “Sauce for the goose,” he said.

  “Christ, now I’m gay.”

  “Me, too,” Crockett said. “I never suspected either of us, but now that the truth is out, we needn’t try to hide it anymore, I guess.”

  “Ol’ Delbert is gonna go nuts with all this.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on,” Crockett said. “The word will be out by tomorrow. Somebody’ll show up.”

  They sat silently for a moment before Clete grunted his way to the vertical. “Well,” he said, “if I’m being punished and have to sleep in my own room tonight, I guess I’ll go now. I’ve got a lot to think about.”

  “Pleasant dreams, darling,” Crockett replied, and watched the Texican disappear through the connecting door.

  Crockett slipped into some sweats and stretched out on the bed with a dog-eared Spenser and Hawk. He’d only been reading for a few moments when the door between the rooms opened and Cletus stuck his head in.

  “A shark attack off the coast of Yemen?”

  “Horrible,” Crockett said. “You shoulda been there.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Crockett was still asleep when Clete knocked on the connecting door the next morning. Clete grinned at the rumpled mess that stood before him when the door finally opened.

  “Down in that black hole, huh?” he said.

  Crockett grumbled something less than intelligible and hopped away toward the bathroom, while Clete took a chair and turned on the television. In a few moments Crockett returned to the area partially dressed and two-legged.

  “Don’t you have a room of your own?”

  “Yeah, but you’re so lovely in the morning that I hate to miss it. Sleep well, Mary?”

  “Go away.”

  Clete peered at him intently. “Beats me,” he said, “that somebody as close to being bald as you are can have so much hair sticking out all over the place.”

  “You armed, Texican?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You’d do well to remember that. I’m a lot closer to a gun than you are.”

  “You threaten me, I’m gonna have to tell ol’ Delbert. I wouldn’t want him on my back trail if I w
as you.”

  They grinned at each other for a moment before Cletus continued. “What we up to today?”

  “Christ, I dunno,” Crockett said, returning to the bathroom and raising his voice to be heard. “For somebody that has supposedly lived in this area for years, Jeter sure doesn’t seem to be very well known. He’s a ghost. No birth record, no driver’s license, no school records, the federal government never heard of him. How the hell do ya track somebody who never touches the ground?”

  Clete thought it over while Crockett ponytailed his hair and brushed his teeth. “Well,” he said, as Crockett came back into the room, “a feller like that never works a regular job. He can’t or he’d leave tracks. Ya get some ol’ boys like that out where I’m from. They’ll work a couple days here an’ a couple days there, cash only for less than anybody else gets. In this area it’d be places like that Thousand Islands Camp during tourist season, or saw mills, or stock barns, or bustin’ fence or buckin’ hay on one of the ranches or farms around here. Simple work for a simple man of simple needs.”

  “That sonofabitch down at Thousand Islands knows where Boog is,” Crockett said, his jaw muscle flexing. “I’d kinda like to talk to him again.”

  Clete shook his head. “Ya can’t go around kickin’ the hell outa people just ‘cause they’re lyin’ to ya.”

  “This is Ruby, goddammit!”

  “I know it is, son. Look, let’s drive up to Mammoth Spring and talk to the local law up there. Find out where the places are that somebody like Jeter might have taken a job and work our way back south checkin’ ‘em out. Legwork, Crockett. Sooner or later we’ll find somebody that knows somethin’.”

  “I hate like hell to get the law involved with this,” Crockett said. “I don’t want that sonofabitch spending the rest of his life in some nice comfortable institution for the mentally fucked. I want Ruby safe and I want that bastard unavailable for questioning.”

  “You want his heart in your hands, Crockett, an’ I don’t blame ya. But who’s most important here, him or Ruby?”

  Crockett sighed. “Let’s go to Mammoth Spring,” he said.

  Clete smiled. “Bring a jacket, honey. The weatherman said it’s gonna be clear and cool today.”

  They were a couple of miles south of Mammoth Spring with Clete at the wheel, when a police cruiser slid in behind them about three feet from the truck’s rear bumper.

  “Just a hunch,” Clete said, “but I think we’re being followed.”

  A low growl from a siren stopped Crockett’s reply, and Clete pulled onto the shoulder. He shut off the engine and kept both his hands on the wheel, high and visible.

  The man that got out of the squad car was close to sixty, well over six feet tall, and beefy. He wore a tan uniform shirt with dark brown pocket flaps and dark brown uniform trousers with a tan stripe. His leather was medium brown basket weave buffed to a soft shine, and a six-inch Ruger .357 magnum revolver nestled high and tight on his right side. His hat was a high-crowned butterscotch Resistol in a standard cowboy roll, complimented by Justin boots with a riding heel. His badge, an old-fashioned six-pointed star, twinkled in the sunlight. He removed his sunglasses as he neared the truck, revealing eyes that were ice blue.

  “Mornin’, boys,” he said through Clete’s open window. “Had yer breakfast yet?”

  “Not yet, officer,” Clete said.

  “Sheriff,” the man corrected with an easy smile.

  Clete returned the smile. “Not yet, Sheriff.”

  “Now that’s just fine,” the big man said. “Lord, I do hate to eat alone. Follow me, boys. My treat.”

  Clete followed the Sheriff for about three miles and into the parking lot of the Stateline Café and Truckstop. When they got out of the truck they found him standing by the side of the building, stretching out his back and looking at the sky.

  “By God, it’s a purty one today, ain’t it? Good day to set in the woods an’ listen to the squirrels bark. C’mon inside. The food ain’t much but it’s cheap. If I’m buyin’, cheap is more important than good.”

  The waitress, with a certain amount of deference, seated the three of them at a large table in the rear of the dining area. As they moved through the place, several men and the Sheriff exchanged nods, and a couple of teen-agers left in a bit of a hurry. When they took their seats, the big man adjusted his revolver and extended his hand to Clete.

  “Fulton County Sheriff, Jefferson Birdwell,” he said. “Most folks just call me Birdy.”

  “Cletus Marshal,” Clete replied, taking the offered hand.

  “Call me Crockett,” Crockett said. Birdy’s grip was dry and firm.

  The waitress arrived with three cups of unordered coffee and a menu for Crockett and Clete. When she left, the Sheriff spoke up.

  “You boys ain’t terrible common, are ya?” he said.

  Clete smiled. “Not overly.”

  “Uh-huh. Yessir, ya’ll don’t blend in much with the native stock.”

  Clete’s smile escalated to a grin. “How’d you find us?”

  Birdy returned his grin. “Astute police work, effective surveillance techniques, an’ Delbert told me.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Clete said. “An’ we swore ol’ Delbert to secrecy.”

  “Can’t trust hardly nobody these days,” Birdy said.

  “How ‘bout you, Sheriff?” Crockett asked. “Can we trust you?”

  “Maybe. Kindly depends on what you’re up to. Delbert says you’re feds. Are ya?”

  “If we need to be,” Clete said.

  “What, it comes and goes?”

  “From time to time. I’m Secret Service an’ ol’ Crockett here is Justice.”

  “Ya’ll got commissions an’ such, I guess.”

  “Yessir. Wanna see ‘em?”

  “Naw. Just make me jealous. So this is federal bidness?”

  “Nope. Personal.”

  The waitress returned and took their orders.

  “Delbert also said you two was queers,” Birdy said, after she went away.

  Clete laughed. “Wonder how he got that idea?”

  “Some things just stick in Delbert’s head,” Birdy replied, “although I’ll be damned if I know how. You packin’?”

  “I am. Crockett ain’t a real fan of guns.”

  “Okay. Now here it is, boys. I doan represent the law in Fulton County. I am the law in Fulton County. I try not to let that go to my head, but you gotta understand that if it’s happenin’ in my county it is my affair. You boys be straight with me an’ I’ll be straight with you. You boys cooperate with me, an’ I’ll cooperate with you. You fuck with me an’ it doan make no difference what kinda commission you carry, I’ll put your balls in a basket. This here ain’t no democracy. This is my county. FBI, CIA, PTA or DNA doan make no difference to me. My county, my rules. Ya’ll understand?”

  The three of them looked at each other for a tense moment. Just as Crockett shifted in his seat, Birdy continued.

  “That said,” he went on, “an’ before the two of you decide to whip my ass an’ embarrass me in front of all these people here, what can I do for ya’ll?”

  “We need to find Boog Jeter,” Crockett said. “Soon.”

  “Delbert said he’d carried some woman off?”

  “Her name’s Ruby LaCost.”

  Birdy grimaced and settled back in his chair. “I got all day,” he said. “Tell me the whole story.”

  An hour later, dishes cleared away, the group on their second pot of coffee, Sheriff Birdwell lifted a cigar out of his jacket pocket, bit off the end, spat it on the floor, lighted up and rested his elbows on the table.

  “You can smoke in here?” Crockett said.

  Birdy smiled. “I can. So can you, if you’re with me.”

  Crockett reached for a Sherman and the waitress materialized with an ashtray before Birdy continued.

  “I knew Boog’s brother, Snake. Waren’t worth the powder and lead to blow him off the porch. Didn’t surprise me one bit
he wound up in prison. Shame about that woman a his. I hear she was a pretty li’l thing. I busted ol’ Snake a time or two. Drunk an’ disorderly. Like that. He had a real problem with any kind of authority. Their daddy usta run shine some. He didn’t have no big bidness though. We got boys back in these hills producin’ one or two thousand gallons a week. Clovis Jeter was small ‘taters compared to that. He drove his truck off a bluff south a Hardy in Sharp County and kilt his ass ten or twelve year ago. No loss.

  “After Snake got put away, their mama run off someplace an’ left Boog all by hisself. Then the county took their house an’ thirty acres or so for taxes. A month or two later their place burnt to the ground. I always figger’d that Boog set that fire. Couldn’t prove nothin’ an’ didn’t need to. The place waren’t worth mor’n a dollar an’ a quarter. I guess ol’ Boog is still out there somewheres. I ain’t heard a him workin’ nowheres for quite a spell. Maybe he took over his daddy’s still.”

  “That’s what we thought,” Clete said.

  “I doan know, though,” Birdy went on. “Boog ain’t no sharper than the big end of a watermelon.”

  Crockett grinned. “He’s sharp enough to plan and carry out a kidnapping,” he said.

  “Doan seem possible. You shore he done that?”

  “Yessir. We have a DNA track on him. It was Boog. No doubt.”

  “I can’t argue with DNA, but I’d a swore somethin’ like that woulda been beyond ol’ Boog. That boy’s only got one pedal on his bicycle.”

  “You have any idea where his father’s still is?”

  “Offa the river someplace, I reckon.”

  “Spring River?”

  “Yep. Or one of the creeks that run into it.”

  Crockett shook his head. “That’s not good enough.”

  “I know it ain’t. This country down here is crisscrossed by roads and logging trails and tractor tracks all over the place. Some of ‘em ain’t been used in years, some of ‘em is only known by the fellers that made ‘em in the first place. Folks down this away doan ask questions much. Live an’ let live. We got highways and byways, we got tourists and attractions, we got restaurants and motels, we got all kinds a nice, civilized things. That’s all on the surface. The Ozarks is deep, boys. What you see is a damn long way from what you might get if’n ya ask for it.”