by Lee Killough
Maggie working at night? “Danzig’s allowing the switch?”
Duncan nodded. “Yeah, since she won’t be working alone. And he understands why I want to be there since he knows I’ve been like a father to my sister’s kids…and his son is playing, too.”
The switch ought to make Maggie happy and make her feel she was finally being given a chance to play with the boys.
Later Duncan radioed: “Hey, Dr. Doolittle, I’ve got a loose dog. Come do the voodoo that you do.”
“Loxton’s dogs again?”
“Nope, an ankle-biter. He got out a door Mama left open for the cat and won’t come to her or me. Mama is hysterical because her baby is out near 282 and might get run over.”
The dog did not come to Garreth, but it let him walk up to it and pick it up.
“Damn, you need to show me how you do that,” Duncan said, and frowned when Garreth could only shake his head.
“I don’t know how it works; it just does.”
Returning the dog to the tearfully grateful owner, Garreth asked to see the door the dog used for its escape. When she invited him in — one more dwelling entry accomplished, hundreds yet to go — he examined the door. Teeth marks on the rubber doorstop told him how the dog opened the door enough to escape.
“Why not let the cat use a window,” he said. “Put a trellis or something outside that the cat can climb but is too flimsy for a person, and when you know how far you want the window open, drill a hole through each upper corner of the lower sash into the edge of the upper sash and pin it with 16-penny nails. That will prevent anyone outside from opening the window farther and climbing in. Soon the department will be offering free residential security checks and at that time we’ll be happy to come back and make suggestions for the rest of your home.”
“Is that for real?” Duncan asked as they left. “Who’ll be doing the checks?” Not him, he clearly hoped.
“Me. Can you think of a better way to get to know everyone?”
Duncan looked undecided between admiring Garreth’s ingenuity and considering it suspicious zeal.
Garreth sighed inwardly. Between this and not being able to pass on the dog control secret, they had some tension building. He needed to defuse it so they could work together. “Hey, you’d like to get the Dreiling boy for giving you the bird, right?”
Duncan grimaced. “Oh, yeah…but unfortunately that ain’t illegal.”
“Not flipping you off, but…I just remembered something that worked for me once. If Scott’s using his left arm and happens to be at a corner, that looks like a right turn signal. If he then fails to make the turn, it’s an illegal signal.”
Duncan blinked. “You actually got away with writing someone up for that?”
Garreth shrugged. “Mostly because the punk was stupid enough to mouth off to the judge. If Scott defends himself by saying he wasn’t signaling a turn, just contempt of cop, who knows if he could still buy himself some trouble. You have to be patient and catch him just right…and you never heard it suggested by the probationary officer.”
Grinning, Duncan gave him a thumbs up and drove off singing in a surprisingly pleasant baritone. Garreth recognized a Kenny Rogers tune but the words he made out before Duncan moved out of range sounded like: “I write up your life…”
Grinning, Garreth returned to patrol, making a point of driving down Pine past Anna Bieber’s house. He planned to do so regularly, to create the opportunity for a seemingly unplanned reconnection with her. He had identified an orange Chevy Vega wagon sitting in the driveway the day he visited her as belonging to her daughter Dorothy Vogel. Riding with Nat, he looked for the vehicle around town. Most evenings it sat in Dorothy’s own driveway but he had seen it downtown one Thursday, and out at Dillons this last Thursday, then in Anna’s driveway later. Hopefully, it indicated Dorothy regularly shopped for her mother on Thursday evening. With luck, he could take advantage of that.
For now he focused on the job…checking out a loud music complaint and convincing the offender to turn it down, taking a car vandalism report…a keyed hood on a car at the Cowboy Palace, the scratches spelling bastard. Someone with a beef against the car’s owner Marvin Jacobs, obviously, though Jacobs claimed ignorance of who might do this.
On the next pass down Kansas, he noticed Castle Drugs next to the Main Street still fully lighted despite being closed and brought the car around to park in front. After checking the notes he made riding with Nat for the name of Castle’s owners, he went to look in the windows. A woman bent down behind a display case against the left hand wall. Since she made no attempt at stealth, he doubted her presence was felonious, but he knocked on the door and attracted her attention, just to be sure.
She came carrying a box with a rosary visible through its clear plastic top.
“Mrs. Wiest?” he said. “I saw your lights on. Is everything okay?”
“Fine.” She peered at him, forehead furrowed. “I haven’t — oh, I have see you before, with Nat Toews. Aaron said we were getting a new officer. My husband’s on the City Council. Yes, I’m fine, just putting out some stock we’ve gotten in for Christmas. This is a good time to do it…no interruptions. Usually,” she added with a smile.
“I wanted to be sure. If I might offer a suggestion for store security, your stock shelves sitting parallel to the front of the store as they do provides concealment for an intruder. Orienting the shelves at right angles to the front would reduce the area for concealment to just the far end of the row and give us an otherwise clear view all the way back to the pharmacy.”
Her face went thoughtful. “That’s certainly something to consider. Thank you.”
“The department can provide a home security check for you, too, if you wish.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Good night.”
Duncan went on high-band at Walmart and a short while later at the Co-op…probably out of the car to sneak up on parking couples. His touted theory being that if you embarrassed them enough, the couples would not come back. Garreth suspected Duncan just enjoyed catching them bare-assed.
Toward midnight, Sue Ann sent both Duncan and him to the Brown Bottle for a Drunk and Disorderly complaint. Garreth quickly caught the bottle-swinging menace’s gaze and took the fight out of him.
“The voodoo works with people, too?” Duncan said as they steered the staggering drunk to Duncan’s car. “Damn, man, you have to teach me that.”
“I wish — do you suppose Mom and Dad know he’s out this late on a school night?” Garreth pointed at Scott Dreiling’s Trans Am on the far side of the tracks, gunning down the southbound lanes.
Duncan snorted. “Of course not…because the little shit knows how to get around them. You go by the house right now and he’ll be in his room swearing he’s been there all evening studying. Mom won’t know better because she’ll have fallen asleep watching TV, if she hasn’t already gone to bed, and Dreiling is at the American Legion playing pool like he does every Monday.”
Garreth raised his brows. “One hand on the hood of his car will prove it’s been driven recently.”
“Yeah, but Mom won’t check, just raise hell about us harassing her baby.” He shut his car door on the drunk. “You understand I’m taking this bozo in because I’m headed for the station anyway, but if he hurls in my back seat, you have to drive this car tomorrow.”
That left Garreth alone the rest of the shift. Doris sent him to The Beergarten to take a stolen car report…only to learn from other patrons that the victim’s wife had driven it away after coming back from the restroom to find her husband plastered against another woman on the dance floor. Garreth had Doris call the wife to come back for her husband, then left not envying the gentleman that ride home.
At a quarter to one he started walking downtown…a virtual ghost town by this time with no one else on the street and just a handful of cars. Two in front of the hotel, one by the Brown Bottle — probably belonging to their drunk tank occupant — and half a dozen down by the VFW. Those beg
an leaving as a group came out of the building, one man in a wheelchair. Then he did become the only living thing on the street. The stoplight had gone to cautionary flashing. A breeze brought in scents of grass and dust from the north, the distant lowing of cattle — reminding him he needed to make a blood run tonight — and some yipping and howling. Coyote songs? He remembered hearing that two or three coyotes could sound like a pack. These did. He turned down the radio to hear them better.
So different from Patrol in San Francisco, but…a difference he realized he liked. Peaceful. And free of any blood scents right now. He regretted this was only temporary.
His radio clicked. “Baumen Seven, what’s your twenty?” Doris said.
He keyed the mike. “Kansas Avenue. You have something for me?”
“No, just wanted to see how you’re doing. Ed serenades me when he’s worked this shift.” She sounded wistful.
Garreth smiled. “I won’t try competing with him.” Or risk some FCC voice breaking in to tell him his signal did not conform to regulations and now he needed to fill out a stack of forms explaining the violation.
Cutting across the tracks from the Sonic to work his way down the other side of Kansas Garreth took note of the vehicles parked in the lot beside the VFW. Employees inside cleaning up, but with an extra one tonight, parked close to the street. A Dodge Caravan that still remained when he drove up the alley later. He pulled in behind to check it and noted a handicap placard hung on the rear-view mirror.
“That van is Martin Lebekov’s, Maggie’s father,” Doris said when he ran the plates. “Has something happened to it?”
Garreth quickly moved to check inside the vehicle and found a man lying sideways across the front seat…snoring. The man in the wheelchair leaving earlier. The wheelchair sat where a rear seat normally would and the van had hand controls. “No, it’s 10-4.” He hoped. He shook Lebekov. “Sir…Mr. Lebekov. Wake up.”
It took shaking him several times for Lebekov to groan and push himself upright…white hair, weathered skin, big powerful-looking hands, both legs ending at the knees. Garreth recognized him now as one of the mechanics at A-1 Auto. He squinted at Garreth. “Who are you? What’s wrong?” Then the squint focused on Garreth’s badge and he groaned. “What time is it?”
“About two. Are you all right?”
“Not really.” He sighed. “A member died today, Rich Wiltz. He was a Navy pilot in the Pacific in World War II and broke his back when he got shot down. They said he’d never walk again but he did, and carried mail here for thirty years. We were toasting him and I got toasted, too.” He smiled wryly. “I thought maybe if I just rested a little I’d be okay to drive home, but…maybe not.”
“We can call someone to come after you, Maggie or your wife.”
Lebekov shook his head. “I lost my wife ten years ago and I hate to wake up Maggie. She worries enough about me already.” He grimaced. “But I suppose I have to.”
“Tell you what,” Garreth said. “I’ll drive you home, and if you give me your keys and tell me how to work the controls, I’ll come back after my shift and drive your van home. Maggie doesn’t have to know you broke curfew.”
Lebekov grinned. “Done.” On the way home with the wheelchair folded in the rear seat of the patrol car, he said, “Maggie’s talked about you, I mean, complained about you. She thought there had to be something wrong with you to come work here. But now I understand you had a bad experience out there?”
“Yes.” To change the subject he said, “You’re too young for World War II. Did you lose your legs in Korea?”
“Oilfield accident after Korea. Some pipe rolled on me. You’re single, right? You ought to ask Maggie out.”
That change of subject caught him flat-footed. “Ah, Mr. Lebekov — ”
“Call me Martin. Look, Maggie is too serious. She needs to get out and have some fun but she says all the single men here are neanderthals, either thinking her being a cop is a joke or they want to be humped in handcuffs. Not that a roll in the hay wouldn’t be good for her, just not that way.”
Garreth said nothing. He hoped that was alcohol talking, and Martin remembered none of it in the morning.
The rest of the shift passed quietly and after he delivered the Caravan, Garreth went for his blood run with four quart bottles tucked in a backpack. He filled them from six steers and by the time he finished had collected an audience of two coyotes. They stayed back at his orders but like the coyote that first night, seemed fascinated by him and accompanied him most of the way back to town. Falling into bed, memory of the run lingered with him, the exhilaration of moving effortlessly through a beautiful October night, the stars brilliant in a moonless black sky, the coyotes running like ghosts around him. All that spoiled it was the memory being his alone. With dawn pulling him into sleep, Garreth reflected that Helen Schoning had it wrong. Solitude was lonely if you never had anyone to share a memory with.
10
Maggie left typing reports that evening to follow Garreth into the locker room, face tense. “I woke up last night when I heard someone in the driveway and saw you getting my father out of your patrol car. What did he do?”
“Nothing wrong.” Garreth buckled on his gear belt. “He had a few too many in honor of Rich Wiltz and I gave him a ride home.”
Her face relaxed but still reflected uncertainty. “You could have called me.”
“Why bother waking you?”
“What about the van?”
“After my shift I drove it to your place. Martin thought you’d worry not seeing it there in the morning.” Garreth settled the belt more comfortably on his hips. “He says you worry too much about him.”
Her face tensed again. “What else did Dad say about me?”
Before she finished the question, Garreth had a lie and innocent expression ready. “Nothing. Why?”
She let out her breath. “No reason. Thank you for helping him.” After a moment of hesitation, she smiled and added, “Let’s be careful out there.”
The mantra they all had now, thanks to Hill Street Blues, but not what she first considered saying, he thought. Still, watching her hurry out, the warmth in that smile was enough, reassuring him the last frost had melted.
Though what he really wanted, he decided as the week wore on, was the key to dealing with Duncan. No need to be buddies but working together would be more comfortable without this intermittent flare of resentment.
As on Wednesday, when Sue Ann dispatched Duncan to a domestic between a mother and daughter. Duncan radioed back, “I’m not getting between those two wildcats again. Let Seven work his voodoo on them.” And later he pulled up beside Garreth outside Gfeller Lumber to say, “Were the Ketzners fun? Though I don’t suppose they gave you any trouble.”
In fact they had, being so angry they fought his control. It had been a tightrope walk, focusing alternately on mother and daughter, always on the edge of losing them…until the daughter obeyed his suggestion to go to her room. A retreat punctuated by a slamming door as she left his control.
“You know,” Duncan said, “you’re so good at this, you’re probably going to end up handling all the domestics. Unless you teach me the secret, too.”
Garreth sighed. “I’ve told you, I don’t know why people and dogs respond to me the way they do. Maybe I have an authoritative voice.”
“Okay.” Duncan spread his hands. “Keep it to yourself. But that’s going to come back and bite you in the ass.”
After Duncan left, Garreth banged his head on the steering wheel in frustration…and went off to take a report on Halloween decorations stolen from a yard. Something they would probably have to deal with several times in the next two weeks. The up side: the address let him cruise past Anna Bieber’s house afterward.
Anna stood on her porch talking to a neighbor woman at the bottom of the steps.
Garreth pulled to the curb and climbed out. “Hello, Mrs. Bieber. How are you doing this evening?”
Anna peered at him. “
Do I know — oh, you’re the young man looking for his grandmother.” Her brows rose. “What are you doing in a police uniform?”
He smiled at her. “I like Baumen so well I decided to settle here.”
Her forehead furrowed. She seemed about say something when his car radio came on. “Baumen Seven, we need a welfare check on Hattie Cromer at 203 East Maple. Her daughter in Victoria has been trying to call her for several hours without getting an answer.”
“Excuse me, ladies.” Garreth touched the brim of his cap and hurried back to the car.
Hattie Cromer proved to be fine, just minus her hearing aids…taken out to change the batteries and left out because she had not thought she needed them the rest of the night.
Sue Ann sent him from there to the Lutheran Church for a fender bender. Like the other churches in town, St. Marks had a Wednesday evening service. Tonight, unfortunately, Christian forgiveness had not extended past the service for the choir soprano shrilling at the baritone who backed into her T-bird.
While radio traffic indicated Duncan took a report at the Phillips station on a customer who used the self-service pumps and drove off without paying, Garreth answered a noise complaint and without vampire compulsion, had the young man working on his motorcycle shut it off for the night. Then he listened to Duncan go on high band behind the Co-op while he refereed neighbors over the one neighbor’s dog, whose barking the other neighbor claimed was keeping her baby awake.
The next time he passed Anna’s, her house had gone dark.
Not that he had any excuse to speak to her again tonight. His hope lay in tomorrow.
11
The evening began with promise.
Maggie invited him to eat with them on Sunday. “We like going to early Mass, so we have the rest of the day free. Come over at ten for waffles and my Uncle Leo’s homemade sausage, the best sausage you’ll ever eat.”
He accepted, despite the daylight time and food he needed to weasel out of eating. The invitation counted the most, making him feel accepted.