by Lou Bradshaw
I told the story as it had happened with those 2 exceptions, and when I had finished he switched off the real-to-real and said, “You did a hellofa job tonight, now let’s go see what’s going on with Mr. Matlock.”
They were just bringing him up when we got to the edge of the drop off. He was strapped to a litter, which was being hoisted up by ropes. They must have given him something for pain, because he was cussin’ and singin’ some of the dirtiest songs I’d ever heard.
The ambulance crew loaded him up along with 2 agents to keep him company on the trip to Springfield. Junior Bradley came over and told Fletcher, “You’d better take him to Cox Hospital, because the nuns at St. John’s won’t allow an officer in there with a weapon.”
“Good idea.” Fletcher said calling over one of the agents, whose name I didn’t know, and told him, “Take him to the Cox Hospital E. R., and when he’s released, take him to Greene County Jail as a Federal and State prisoner. Let’s see, racketeering, drug trafficking, and murder – Federal, and arson, attempted murder, and assault for the State. I want him guarded every minute with 2 armed agents – standard high-risk procedure. Keep me posted; right now I’m headed for the Webster County Sheriff’s office in Marshfield.”
I’ll say this for Fletcher; he was in control of everything that was going on out there. A State Police Sergeant was on the scene as a ranking officer. Fletcher asked him to put the place off limits for a few days. The sergeant agreed and said he would place a unit at the end of the lane around the clock until Thursday if needed.
“By the way, Sergeant, I’m going to need Ted Bradley for a few days to help me wrap this thing up.”
“No problem,” the sergeant replied, “just don’t try recruiting my officer – okay?”
“Already tried. He turned me down flat.”
I asked about the dope, and Fletcher told me that it was still in the wrappers, all covered with foam, but tagged and signed for in the trunk of the sergeant’s car.
Fletcher left the van and we took Bradley’s patrol car to Marshfield, and the sheriff’s office. Junior commented that they hadn’t heard a peep out of the 3 lost deputies, so it was concluded that they either went looking for another place to stake out or went looking for another job. Fletcher said that he figured they were probably staking out a doughnut shop, I laughed, but Junior didn’t see the humor.
When we got to the courthouse, there was a pretty good-sized crowd gathered around the front steps, but it wasn’t made up of town folk, it was the press. Right there at the top of the steps was that two-bit cowboy himself – Dave Cook holding court. He was smiling and joking with the gathered media but paying particular attention to the TV people. “Ah,” he said, as we approached the crowd, “here comes Special Agent Fletcher now.”
They all turned, and their lights hit us full in the face, and a few flash bulbs popped. Fletcher led the way through the crowd, with Junior and me right behind. Questions were flying from every corner, but he ignored them and said to the sheriff, “Need to see you in your office – NOW!” He didn’t even slow down but went straight inside and into the office, followed by Cook, Bradley, me, and the reporter from KYTV. The TV guy didn’t have a camera, but he had a microphone.
While the cameraman on the outside focused on the closed door the microphone on the inside recorded this:
Sheriff: Well, how did it go? Come on, Fletcher, I gotta get back to the press out there.
Fletcher: We got our man and the drugs, you idiot, but no thanks to you and the morons you sent. They couldn’t even find the place; they staked out some farmer’s house and got run off with a stick, and Lord only knows where they are now.
Sheriff: I don’t believe that. Those are my best men…
Fletcher: Well, you had bleep well better believe it. While you’re here struttin’ around with your big bleep Colt, grandstandin’ for the press, those 3 sons of bleep are out there screwin’ up a 5-month operation.
Sheriff: Now see here, Fletch….
Fletcher: No, you see here, you drug store cowboy. Because of the gross incompetence of this department, this fine young man here was almost killed tonight. This college student, this entrepreneur, this upright citizen of YOUR county was put through one hellish nightmare. And what was his involvement? He only wanted to be a good citizen – he only wanted to help. (That Fletcher should have been an actor – he could really lay it on.)
Sheriff: You gotta understand. I needed that story. I needed that big bust. This is an election yea…
Fletcher: I don’t give a bleep about your election. I care about seeing justice done, and prosecuting those that need prosecuting, and protecting those who are counting on our protection…. Who’s this guy? (Seeing the TV reporter)
Sheriff: Oh, bleep! He’ from the TV station! Oh Bleeeeep!
TV Guy: Agent Fletcher, could you…
Fletcher: Out! Out! Trooper Bradley, would you escort this gentleman out please?
Junior: Come on, Gus, this is a private meeting, (taking him by the arm, and leading him through the door) and anyway it’s almost over.
TV Guy: (To his cameraman just outside the door) Jack, get this stuff back to the station NOW! Don’t stop for ice cream on the way. This has to make the late news. I’ll call in the details. “Sheriff Gets it Chopped Off” How’s that for a lead story? Now go-go-go!
We came out a few minutes later. Fletcher slipped through a side door, while Junior made a brief statement to the waiting press. Cameras were clicking and flashing, there were radio guys, newspaper guys, and a TV guy who didn’t have a cameraman.
“…. We were fortunate not to have any innocent parties killed or seriously injured.” Junior was telling them. “The suspect has been transported to a Springfield hospital, and is being held under guard until he can be treated and released, then he will be taken to the Greene County Jail. That’s all I can tell you right now; this is an ongoing investigation. Thank you, and good night.”
“Who’s the kid?” Someone yelled.
Bradley placed a hand on my shoulder, then he nodded to the only female there and said, “Lady and gentlemen of the press, meet Lee Brickey of Doubling, Missouri – a new breed of American hero – a concerned citizen…. Good night.”
When we got to the car, Fletcher was beside himself –. he was almost giggling. ”Jesus,” he said, “I can’t believe that TV reporter just walked into the office, and nobody noticed. It couldn’t have worked out better if we’d planned it. Politicians… all huff and horseshit.”
After they dropped me off at the cabin so that I could get my car, I drove on into town and went to the shop. I didn’t want to go home yet, but I did want to let them know that I was all right, so I called from the shop. They had caught the 10 o’clock news, and I was on the, “This story just in,” at 10:25 pre-empting sports.
Brick told me that an Agent Nolen had come to the house just before 10:00 and told them what had happened, and that I was okay, that I had done a great service.
I told them that I was fine, but needed to be alone for a little while, which was true. As scared as I had been out there with that nut, was nothing compared to how scared I was when I had the time to think about what almost happened. Out there, I didn’t have time to really think things out; I just acted and hoped for the best. I started thinking about how close I had come to getting killed, both in the cabin and out on that ledge. That’s when my thoughts turned to what if… What would it be like to be dead, and would Vince Simons be waiting for me? If he were, then I’d have to kill the bastard all over again.
The phone rang, and I knew it would be Peggy – it was. She said she had seen the story on the news, and had called the house. Mom told her to try this number. I gave her the brief version, because I could just visualize her father sitting there with his watch, counting the minutes. It was a toll call from Springfield to Doubling; it was even different phone companies.
I assured her that I was okay except for a good start on a headache and a king sized kno
t in my stomach. We made arrangements to meet for lunch the next day so I could tell her all about it.
I made my way home to face the worry and relief in my family’s eyes.
Chapter 35
Tuesday was a case of mass confusion mixed with gross disbelief, and a whole lot of - I’ll be dammed. There were still a lot of details that I couldn’t discuss with anyone, so I only blabbed to those I knew that I could trust to keep quiet. That was a short list, which included Brick, Peggy, Mack, and Liz. And since Mack and Liz really didn’t need to know some of the details – I didn’t tell them. As far as Mom and Nan were concerned, the less they knew the better. All through breakfast, Nan kept staring at me like she had never seen me before. I was just about ready to give her some BS when she asked, “Are you really a hero?”
I had to change gears quickly, because I could tell that she was dead serious, and not just being a smart assed kid sister. So I reached over, squeezed her hand, and said, ”No, I’m just your brother, who happened to have an opportunity and did the right thing for once.”
She came around behind my chair, wrapped her arms around my neck and gave me a ferocious hug. I could feel her face, and I knew that she was crying, she whispered in my ear so that Mom and Brick couldn’t hear, “You dumb fart head. I love you.”
I said, “Mom, she’s cussin’ again.” The hug became a choke hold.
* * *
The ride into school only added to my feeling of confused disbelief. Confused, due to lack of sleep and stress, disbelief, because I couldn’t believe that it all happened, and that I was still alive. Mack was having a hard time dealing with it because he hadn’t seen it coming there hadn’t been any outward signs of trouble. I think he was feeling just a little guilty for being so caught up in his own life, that he was missing the problems in mine. “Well, I damn sure know who I can trust with a secret.” he remarked. “Man, you didn’t even give a hint that anything was going on.”
“You have no idea how many times I almost said something but had to back off. Especially that night Lloyd Dickey was watching the house.” I told him.
“I sure wish I’d a been there.” Mickey butted in. “I’d a showed that son of a bitch a thing or two. I’d a kicked his ass off that cliff. They’d still be down there scrapin’ him off those rocks with a putty knife.”
“That wasn’t the idea, Mickey, the idea was to catch him – not kill him.”
“Well,” continued Mickey, “I’d a killed him anyway. That’s what you gotta do; shoot first – then ask the questions.”
“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to kill a person?” Mack asked. “Could you deal with that for the rest of your life?”
I wanted to say that so far it hasn’t bothered me, but that was another secret best kept to myself. What I said was, “I hope I never have that problem.”
“Wouldn’t bother me a bit.” That was Mickey again. “I’m one cold hard SOB.”
“Yeah, Mick.” We both said in unison.
* * *
I had to deal with strange looks, quite a few smiles, and some smart assed comments all morning. If I was called the “New breed of American hero” once, I heard it a thousand times. It was even scrawled on the chalkboard in one of the classrooms. Several of the professors made comments about having a celebrity in the class – but didn’t press it.
On the plus side of the ledger, I aced the mid-term exams I’d taken the day before. Imagine that. Maybe I should take all my exams under the veil of impending death. No bloody way!
I met Peggy for lunch at a Steak & Shake near her bank, and in a back booth I gave her the cleaned up version of the story. Such as: he only pointed the gun – not that he/we shot up the place; he had the gun to take back the money – not that he wanted to get rid of a witness; he fell and got hung up in a tree – not that he fell into me and nearly knocked me off the bluff; that the money was burned in the fire.
Actually, I guess I gave Brick and Mack more of the story than I gave Peggy. I could’ve told Liz the rough stuff, because she could take it, and she wasn’t romantically involved with me, plus she was as loyal as a hound. But she’d have to ask, because I wouldn’t give her anything for free.
Peggy was still unsettled about a lot of things; one of them was my involvement with the drug people.
“Jesus, Peggy,” I snapped, “Do I look like a dope pusher to you?”
“No!” she snapped back. “And you don’t look like an FBI agent either.”
“Why don’t you just take it for what it is, I found some dope, I turned it in, and that’s the end of my involvement.”
“I know, I know.” she returned. “But just look at what it looks like; you’ve got a really nice car, always have plenty of cash, and your own place in the country at 18.”
“The car was a government confiscation from the West Coast. Fletcher thought it would make the bad guys think I suddenly came into some money. I got it for practically nothin’. The cash I earn because I’m pretty good at what I do, and Brick’s a pretty good manager. We’re in the sign business together, we’re partners. And you know the deal I made for the cabin, you were there when it happened.”
“Oh, my God, that’s right I was. You see how confused I am. I’m making up problems where I already know the facts.” Then she started to pout, and I just let her work it out on her own for a few minutes.
“It’s just that Sunday was so wonderful, and Monday was great. My confidence was sky high. Then all of a sudden the world turned upside down; you’re playing cops and robbers, there are criminals and the FBI, you’re on TV and in danger, and I’m getting stupid and imagining that you’re involved with the mob. I just feel like a fool – just feel stupid, stupid, stupid!”
“Is that all? That’s not stupid; that’s just being human – you’re one of the smartest people I know, and that’s no jive. You can’t get down on yourself just because you did some calculations and came up with the wrong answer. You only had half the figures to put into that equation, or maybe you were getting your figures from the wrong source.” She flinched. “What’s that look?” I asked.
“What look?”
“You look like I just hit a nerve. What’s going on; is someone beatin up on me, making me out to be a gangster? Go ahead, I can take it – I been getting it all day. Some people ribbin’ me about the hero stuff, but a few looking at me like I was Al Capone.”
“It’s my Father,” she said as her eyes started to well up. “He was preaching to me until midnight about you. He suspects that you were involved some way, and he thinks you’re only interested in me for, one reason.” She half laughed and half sobbed at that. “So far that’s not working out is it?”
I choked on my coffee and coughed a couple of times, and said, “Well, I’m no quitter.”
She laughed and said, “Perseverance pays. But seriously,” she went on, ”he gets things in his head and they become obsessions. Nothing short of dynamite can change his mind. God, I hope he never talks politics with Mack. He’s so Republican he practically glows.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Peggy, that’s what he is and probably won’t ever change. I’m just sorry that I have to be the focus of his obsession and that you have to be on the receiving end of it. I’m not going to fight your family, that won’t work at all. If your Dad wants to target me; so be it – I can handle it. If you can deal with it that’s wonderful, if you can’t… then that’s something I don’t want to think about.”
As I walked her out to the parking lot, I asked her, “What does perseverance mean?”
She got into the Bug, started it up, rolled down her window, and said, “Look it up, college boy.” then drove off.
* * *
So far, I hadn’t cut any classes this semester, and it was high time I did – so I did. I headed for the Empire Bank and my safe deposit box; I needed to unload that $2500. I’d been walking around with that wad of one hundred dollar bills in my pocket all morning, and it was a real relief to get
it out of there.
My next stop was at the library to look up “perseverance”, it was vaguely familiar to me, but I couldn’t get a handle on it. I thumbed through one of the smaller Webster’s, not wanting to wrestle with that big bastard on the stand. Finally, I found it.
Per-se-ver-ance: n. to persevere
Per-se-vere: v. to persist; maintain an effort, not to give in.
“Well, okay!” I thought. “If perseverance pays, I’ll persevere my tail off.” I just wished it had said how long I’d have to maintain the effort. After all, I was at my sexual peak right then, I thought. I was sure that not many people had sex after they turned 35.
* * *
I caught up with Mack at a Young Democrats Rally in front of the Administration Building. He was all fired up about Kennedy and had about 300 buttons on and was carrying a handful of bumper stickers. I said okay to a button, but the bumper sticker would still cost him a gonad.
We went off campus to a coffee shop on Glenstone, and I gave him a rundown on most of the events, beginning with Luther, the dope, Lloyd, the FBI, the threats, and finished with the gunfight. What I left out was a certain safe deposit box, the way Lloyd Dickey died, the bullet holes in Malcolm, and the 2 would be road agents, whose bodies had been fished out of the Mississippi. Those things were not part of the public record, and may never be.
“You know,” I said, doing some quick calculations, “that makes 5 different times this year that somebody has pointed a gun at me, shot at me, or shot me, and I’m really getting tired of it. The next time someone points one at me, I’m going to shove it where he certainly won’t want it. I hope for his sake that it doesn’t have a big front sight.”
* * *
Two days later when I pulled into the station, I found Fletcher and Brick in the sign shop. Both were consumed with concentrating on some paper work spread all over the worktable. “Lee Roy,” Brick said as I came in, “Agent Fletcher has an interesting proposition for you, and I think you should give it some consideration.”