by C. L. Bevill
“Do you sell pot at Bazooka Bob’s?” Bubba suddenly asked, not wanting to listen to Ralph meander.
Ralph stiffened up. He was about five foot ten inches, although he looked much smaller when he was sitting down. He had the dark brown hair and brown eyes that were common in the Cedarbloom family, but his features were sharpened because he didn’t weigh more than 140 pounds soaking wet. Apparently, the illegal marijuana business kept a man lean and mean. “Don’t be blurting it out, Bubba,” he chastised. He gestured at David. “Ladies are present.”
“Only one lady on this boat,” Bubba muttered before David kicked him in the shin with his bootie. Bubba meant Precious, but he supposed David wasn’t done yet. “Ow, okay, do you sell…stuff…at Bazooka Bob’s?”
“Shore,” Ralph agreed. “Need to pay the slip fee on this bad girl.” He patted the railing of the In Decent Seas. “Also Aunt Char needs a little somethin’ somethin’, and I aim to give it to her in these trying days.” He frowned. “Why dint you ask me all this earlier today?”
“This is important,” Bubba said. “What do you know about folks coming round Bob’s?”
“What do I know?” Ralph snatched another bottle of Anchor Steam from the cooler and expertly removed the cap with his fingers. “Lots of folks come into Bazooka Bob’s, although it’s getting a little light of late. Dang shame for all them girls. Theys just trying to make a living. Sort of like me.”
“Gov’ment folks,” Bubba clarified.
“You mean…the po-lice?” Ralph asked. “Shut the front door!”
“I mean like DEA or them sorts.”
“Well, ain’t no one introduced themselves as DEA to me,” Ralph said. “Not since your wedding. That was a humdinger. Were you there, darlin’?” The last part was directed to David.
“Snuggles was there,” Bubba said. “So you ain’t heard about agents at Bob’s?”
“Dint say that.”
Bubba fought for patience. The problem was that if he threw Ralph off the boat, the other man might drown and then where would Charlene Cedarbloom be on the issue of medicinal marijuana? “What do you mean?”
“I heard stories about them,” Ralph admitted. “Men in suits, kind of like those movies with Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones except these fellas don’t deal with aliens. They all wear suits that look the same, and they like sunglasses. People say they bin asking about all sorts of things. Does heroin go through the club? Do people from foreign countries hang out at the club? Is there something big about to happen at the club, but they don’t say what something big is. Does anyone want to know things that folks shouldn’t be talking about? I dint know what that one meant. I mean, who wants to know things that folks shouldn’t be talking about? What shouldn’t folks be talking about? I don’t talk about what kind of cleaner I use in my toilet or whether I went number one or number two last, but that’s about it.” He chuckled. “There I went, I talked about things I shouldn’t be talking about.”
Bubba digested the information. “Who’s talking about it?”
“The girls,” Ralph said. “Some of the city folks, too. I got a few drug deal—, er, friends who talk about it, but they’re really paranoid once they’re toked up. They see suits behind every tree.” He put his hand over his eyes as if it would help him see farther in the darkness. “Say, is that a man in a suit behind that tree?” He reached for his binoculars, looked through them for about ten seconds and then put them down again.
Bubba didn’t bite. He didn’t bite, and he didn’t look at the tree either but David did. “Doesn’t look like it.”
“Is there or ain’t there folks in suits about?” Bubba asked.
“There’s always someone sniffing about,” Ralph said. “Why don’t you ask your wife?” He looked at David. “I was at their wedding. What a shindig. The things that went on. The tales I could tell.”
“I was there,” David said.
“Is that right?” Ralph asked. “It seems to me that I would recollect a fine figure of a woman like yourself. Is that real leather?”
“How often are you at Bob’s?” Bubba interrupted before David could say anything.
“I was there last night,” Ralph said, “but it was closed. Not that it has anything to do with bizness.”
“Last night,” Bubba repeated. “What time, and what did you see?”
“It was after dark,” Ralph said. “I met my friend from San Fran, and we parked in the back lot. He gave me the beer, and I gave him a little bit of something I like to call Screamin’ Blue Meanies. It was about two ounces. I don’t think I have any of that left. You know, I think I’ve learned the equivalent of having a bachelor’s degree in horticulture in the last year. You wouldn’t believe what you can find on YouTube. Ever since Jeffrey Carnicon got arrested, we don’t have a horticulturist no more.”
David nodded agreeably.
“Last night,” Bubba repeated again.
“I guess I showed up around dark,” Ralph said. “I waited in my car for a bit. Jass showed up. Jass is the guy from San Fran, by the way.” He stopped to drink half the bottle of Anchor Steam, burped, and then said, “Excuse me,” to David. David took a long slug of his Anchor Steam, burped for about ten seconds straight and said, “Excuse me.”
“Go on,” Bubba said.
“It took a while for Jass to show up,” Ralph said, “so I smoked a joint.”
“And—?”
“Well, it got a little fuzzy there,” Ralph admitted. “I think there was a girl. There might have bin a man in a suit. And there was a purple platypus, too.”
Which of these things is not like the others? Bubba couldn’t help but to ask himself. “Who was the girl?”
“She was one of them dancers,” Ralph said. “Heck, I don’t know. They all look the same. High heels. Leather skirts. Sometimes skirts with mesh on the sides. Lots of fluffed up hair. I couldn’t see real well in the dark, and did I mention I was high? Ifin I dint mention that, then I’ll say it again. I…was…high.” He glanced at David. “You kind of dress like those girls, baby.”
“I am one of those girls,” David said and winked at Ralph.
“A stripper,” Ralph breathed. “Oh my.”
“We prefer the phrase exotic dancer,” David clarified.
“Oh, you’re the one who does the fan dance with the big…feathers,” Ralph said. He sighed gustily. “You should see that. I heard about it, but there’s something I cain’t quite remember. It’ll come to me later. Wait, what are you doin’ with Bubba?”
“We’re friends,” David said.
“Uh-huh,” Ralph said suspiciously.
“Willodean knows all about Snuggles,” Bubba said. “What about the man in the suit?”
“Oh,” Ralph muttered, then brightened. “He looked like Bam Bam, but I ain’t never seen Bam Bam in a suit, and well, since I was high I thought I was imagining that part.”
“What did he do?”
“The suit? Walked up to the place, picked the lock on the front doors, and went inside,” Ralph said. “Really did think that was a weird dream. You know I ate an entire package of Little Debbie Zebra Cake Rolls while I was waiting on Jass. I think I could et six more while I was at it. I should prolly stop smoking pot, or at least while I’m doin’ bizness.”
And although Bubba tried, he couldn’t get much more out of Ralph. Consequently, he, David, and Precious went back over the gap between the In Decent Seas and the dock and headed back to terra firma. They had just entered the very darkest part of the woods when Bubba noticed a man in a black suit in front of him, although he wasn’t wearing sunglasses or any other kind of glasses. The black suit had blended into the shadows, but the snowy white collar had finally given him away.
Bubba stopped, and Precious growled loudly. David said, “Can you please not go any faster, Bubba? I’m going to have to soak my feet tonight as it is, and oh, you’ve stopped.”
Bubba was so intent on the man in front of him that he didn’t notice the two on either
side of him. He also didn’t notice that they were pointing weapons at him.
“Hey, what do you want?” David asked. “I think you mean to do business with that fella on the houseboat, and what the hell are those?”
That was followed by a loud popping noise, but not so loud that it could have been mistaken for a gun. Then Bubba felt a sharp stinging in his upper arm and in his side. The stinging wasn’t nearly as bad as the convulsing shock that followed. And one might say conclusively it was pretty much the end of his day.
As the world began to tilt ominously, Bubba heard Precious yip loudly and David saying, “Did you just Taser Bubba?” Then another man said, “Don’t forget to take that tracking device off his truck.”
Chapter 14
Willodean and What
Happens With Her
Tuesday, August 22nd
Willodean Gray Snoddy left Bazooka Bob’s feeling fairly good about herself and her marriage.
On her way back to the departmental building in Pegramville, Willodean stopped three vehicles for various traffic related transgressions. One was Billie Jo Crumly, who had once been a clerk at Bufford’s Gas and Grocery but who was presently working at the manure factory and who drove her old clunker much faster than it would have been believed. Billie Jo was on her way to Super Bingo at the Methodist church because money was to be had in the amount of $500 and up per game. (Billie Jo’s infatuation with the elusive higher money prices at Super Bingo was well known.) It only cost $50 to get into the event at the church, and she didn’t want to be delayed with Deputy Gray Snoddy. Billie Joe had three recent tickets already, and she had been doing 67 mph in a 45 mph zone. Consequently, Billie Jo unsuccessfully used her best puppy dog eyes on Willodean. One moving violation later, she was on her way to the church. “Good luck!” Willodean called after the clunker as it discharged black smoke heavenward, “Better get that exhaust problem checked out if you win!”
The second vehicle stopped had Stanley Boomer driving with a taillight out. He swore up and down that one of the fainting goats that his farm specialized in breeding had fainted on it and that he would get it fixed posthaste. Willodean knew that Stanley Boomer didn’t have any previous infractions because her official vehicle’s computer told her so and was so inclined to let Stanley go with only a warning. She didn’t call after him.
The third vehicle stopped was a big black SUV with tinted windows. The official-looking fella driving it had been going ten miles over the limit on the section of FM Route 35 that was clearly marked 50 mph. For approximately 10 seconds, Willodean suspected that the driver was considering not stopping for her, but stop he did, pulling off the side of the road near where a farmer had a roadside stand on weekends.
Willodean called it in along with the license number before she even considered getting out of the Bronco. When she finally waddled up to it, the window was open, and the dark-haired man was holding out his badge out along with his Washington D.C. driver’s license. He also had the registration for the late model Chevrolet Tahoe.
Each and every time Willodean approached a vehicle for a traffic stop she was extra cautious because once upon a time she had not been cautious enough. Recently, she was pushing her luck in another way because both Bubba and Sheriff John were becoming increasingly annoyed with her insistence that she could still do her job. She would be sitting at a desk for the last two months of her pregnancy because her blood pressure was creeping up, so she was getting her last little bit of occupational freedom in. She knew that if she was especially vigilant all would be well.
All of that was well and good because Willodean got one of those feelings with the driver of the Tahoe. The plates were from Texas, but they had a resemblance to a government plate without actually having the words U.S. Government on them. While she stood well back from the window without taking the man’s paperwork, she kept her hand on her service weapon, ensuring that it was freely accessible.
“Name’s Peterson,” the man said conversationally. “Sorry I was going a bit fast in your territory, deputy. Maybe you can see fit to let this go.”
“Are you on official business, Mr. Peterson?” Willodean asked politely. Her eyes scanned the remainder of the Tahoe. There were three other people inside. None of them were moving.
“Yes, ma’am,” Peterson replied. There was a tinge of sarcasm as if a rural deputy couldn’t possibly understand something of that nature. Willodean didn’t overly care for that nasty little hint of arrogance, so she bared her teeth and gave him a look that said everything she wanted to say out loud but wouldn’t.
Willodean stood there for a long moment gauging the man’s blue eyes and then looking deliberately at the passengers. She didn’t need to look at the man’s badge to know that it would say he was some kind of governmental official. (No extraneous details about what branch or group they actually represented.) However, she had met his kind before. They came to Dallas and thought that their kaka didn’t exude any kind of aroma. The best way of dealing with him was to let him go, but Willodean had never been the letting-go kind of girl. She stepped forward and took everything out of his hand including the badge. Then she snapped, “Stay in your car with the ignition off,” as she backed away.
Peterson didn’t like that much, either. She could see it in his stiffening shoulders and in his cross expression. Too bad, so sad.
Willodean went back to the Bronco and called it all in. After the 9-1-1 operator and dispatcher, Arlette Formica, was done talking about her cousin Billybob, she went ahead and connected Willodean directly to Sheriff John. That man only took thirty seconds to call Willodean back on her cellphone because he evidently didn’t want to talk about what was happening on the police band.
“Gray,” she said and then added, “Snoddy.”
“Willodean,” Sheriff John’s grating voice came to her. Ever since he had been nearly strangled to death by a crazy woman, his voice was similar to someone pouring rocks over more rocks. “Those fellas seem like they’re threatening?”
“No, just pissy.” Willodean stared forward at the SUV. They were sitting there talking inside. She could see their shapes moving even through the dark tint of the glass in the back windows and rear doors. She glanced at the identification. Unlike the plates, this did say U.S. Government. And in capital letters, too. U.S. GOVERNMENT. Let there be no mistake there.
“Got a call about an hour ago from a fella up to the capitol,” Sheriff John said in a matter-of-fact voice. “About some kind of special operations in our county. Except we weren’t to know what or with whom. You know, like we don’t live here at all.”
“Uh-huh,” Willodean said. She stared at the SUV. They’d stilled, and no one was getting out. The ignition was off. “They’re driving a government-style SUV with plates that say Texas on them but nothing official on them. Smacks of some agency that we’re not supposed to know exists.”
“Why did you stop them?”
“Speeding,” she said. “Ten miles over the limit.”
“Cut ‘em loose.”
“John,” Willodean said, “they’re being sneaky in our backyard. Don’t you want to know more about what they’re doing?”
“Yes, I want to know,” Sheriff John said, “but I don’t want to wake up tomorrow with an IRS audit notice for each of the last ten years and twenty-odd calls from the governor’s office.”
Willodean tapped the identification on her steering wheel. “I’ll cut them loose, John, but it isn’t right. They’re waltzing in here not telling us squat, and they’re ready to trample all over us.”
“And it only happens once in a while, so count your blessings. We’re a small county, and we’re not in the middle of a major drug route, and we’re not on the border, so whatever’s happening is probably minor league federal bull hockey.”
“John, we’re going to regret this later,” Willodean warned. “I say throw them in jail and sic Big Joe on them. The only thing Joe hates more than women deputies is feds infringing on his territory. We ca
n say we don’t have room in the county jail. It’ll be fun. They’ll beg us to tell us what they’re doing.”
“Ifin I dint know you were joking, Willodean,” Sheriff John said warningly.
“Anyway, it’s only a speeding violation,” she said, “and now I’m just wasting time because I don’t want to walk back over to them. My ankles are swelling.”
Sheriff John cursed. “You need to put your feet up, Willodean. Did you tell your doctor about that? It could be preeclampsia; my wife had it and it was serious.”
“My doctor and I talked about that. It’s only my ankles and sometimes my fingers. Apparently, I’m retaining fluids. It does that in the third trimester. It’s worse in certain cases. Also at the end of the day, which it is, and during summer, which it also is.”
Sheriff John sighed heavily. “You cain’t patrol no more.”
“I know. You get that extra deputy yet?”
“Borrowed one from Lawrence County. Starts next Monday.”
“I guess I can’t dawdle anymore,” Willodean said.
“Call me back when you’re done with them feds,” Sheriff John said. “I’m sending Simms out, too. He should be there in about two minutes.”
“Those feds are going to think we’re afraid of them,” Willodean said.
“I am afraid of them. Something wrong with those people. They got ice in their veins and such.” Sheriff John trailed off, and Willodean heard someone else saying something to him in the background. She waited about ten seconds and heard John say, “What?” Then he said, “License checks out. It’s brand spanking new. So are the plates. So is the registration. As a matter of fact, they all appeared in the system yesterday. Don’t that give you a little pause?”
“You ever see that before?”
“No, and I don’t care to see it again.”
Willodean crinkled the edge of the registration papers. It was brand new. The paper was crisp and clean. That wasn’t exactly abnormal. Most people didn’t keep their registration in their pockets. Instead, they put it in the glove box and left it there until they needed it for some such reason, such as being stopped by law enforcement for doing ten miles over the legal limit.