Rescued by that New Guy in Town

by J. L. Salter

  The creep must have taken the sheet handed him because I heard him tear it twice, crumple it, and toss it to the floor as he left. His final evocative words on the matter: "That's a lotta baloney!"

  I peered around the cabinets. Miss Z's gaze followed the cretin and her eyes seemed to pierce his back like hot pokers. Her face held the same sucking-on-a-dill-pickle expression she always had, but when glowered upon that pervert, it seemed more like a Momma lion protecting her cubs. There were sharp teeth behind her pickle puss.

  When he was completely out of sight, I left the cover of the cabinets and rushed toward Miss Z. If she hadn't seemed so brittle, I would have hugged her! But instead I beamed with gratitude and gushed with a string of words conveying heartfelt appreciation.

  The old pickled mask allowed a brief and slender smile, but I could tell she left a lot of it inside somewhere.

  "That was so awesome! Where'd you come up with all that?" I still wanted to hug her.

  "Well, hard as it may be to believe now, I was attractive and shapely back during the last ice age." Another hint of a smile. "And we had men who'd come in to ask for currency conversion tables or whatever we kept in a low drawer somewhere. Some males are like that — cheap thrill for them and degrading for us." Miss Z cleared her throat softly. "So I learned a long time ago that sometimes you have to take away their initiative."

  My face evidently showed my puzzlement.

  "You know, bust their…" She motioned.

  I had a second of total shock that she even knew that expression and then I began laughing. Aynette joined in and pretty soon we both had tears in our eyes. Before we calmed down, the venerable Miss Z, former beauty of the ice age past, actually participated. And she even smiled.

  It was a memorable day.

  "Thanks again, Miss Z."

  "I don't expect we'll see him around here anymore. I'll get a few stills from the surveillance tape and send them to headquarters. That individual won't be menacing my girls anymore."

  All of a sudden, and for the very first time, I was deeply pleased — and quite humbled — to be one of Miss Z's girls.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On my way home from work, I got a call from Judge Gunther's clerk about my community service sentence. "Where?" I half-way expected a chain gang in the bottom of the quarry.

  "At the County Animal Shelter out on West 70."

  "Community service at the animal shelter? Never heard of that. What do I have to do?"

  "Not really sure," replied the clerk. "A Mister Edwards is the boss out there and he'll brief you. But it's probably stuff like feeding animals or maybe washing out cages. You know, shelter stuff."

  I didn't actually know much about shelter activity other than an article I'd read back when that new facility opened. I didn't recall Mr. Edwards' name, so he might have arrived later. I asked the clerk a few questions about the schedule and when to report. It was eight hours on Saturday and four hours on Sunday afternoon.

  "Can I ask you something else… uh, personal?"

  "I can't promise I have the answer." The clerk lowered her voice slightly.

  "Did the judge pick on me because of that costume business?"

  Her silence lasted so long that it had to signify "yes".

  "I mean, lots of people don't do any service for a first offense, 'specially when there was no actual offense to begin with."

  "Under the applicable statutes, county judges have a lot of leeway in sentencing."

  I could see she was Gunther's loyal myrmidon, so I dropped it.

  ****

  Despite the news of the somewhat unusual community service assignment, I still had some residual adrenaline and needed to share the victory over the money order creep at work. So I called Ellen; Mack Coffey answered.

  "Mack, is Ellen around?"

  "Not far away. Can she call you back in a bit?"

  "Sure. Just have something to tell her."

  "You're not going to make her watch another stupid movie are you?" He laughed with a deep baritone.

  "No. That movie's history. But, hey, I bet you enjoyed some of those cookies we baked."

  "True, true," he intoned. "Oh, hang on. Here she is." Then the phone was muffled and I could barely hear him announce, "It's Kristen."

  After a slight delay, Ellen answered. "Hi, Kris. What's up?"

  "You're never going to believe what happened at work today." I told her the whole story, which took longer to relate than had been involved in the first place.

  Of everything I conveyed, however, the single nugget which stood out for Ellen was about Miss Z. "You mean she used to be pretty?"

  "Yeah, hard to believe. I know." After we chewed on the aging process for a few minutes, I got back to my call from Judge Gunther's clerk.

  "Thank goodness. I was afraid you'd end up collecting highway trash. This is a walk in the park. One weekend and it's over." Ellen sighed into the phone. "I wonder what Hazzard's sentence was."

  "He probably has to play golf with Gunther at the Country Club. You know, something really harsh."

  "You don't know that. Maybe he's on the trash gang."

  "I can feel it in my bones. He got away scot-free. He not only skipped out on the court appearance and left me dangling in the breeze, but I bet he gets no sentence at all. All these good ole boys look out for each other."

  "Good ole boys. Aarrgghh."

  We batted that around for a bit. Ellen asked if I had seen Hazzard in the four-something days since those bizarre wee hours of Sunday morning.

  "Nope, and I've got no expectation of ever seeing that pirate again. In fact, I sincerely hope not. You can write that down somewhere in one of your stories."

  There was a long pause before Ellen responded. "Look, Kris, I need to go make supper for Mack. But I was wondering about that mysterious long story this new man supposedly has. Have you come up with anything else?"

  "Not a thing. Why?"

  "Well, you know, I told you I'd check with Mack to see if he'd heard anything…"

  "And…"

  "Well, he did. At least Mack kind of heard something."

  "What do you mean? What did he hear?"

  "Now, whoever told Mack didn't really know what he was talking about, but he still seemed pretty certain about it."

  As clear as drying mud.

  "The 'what' is that this other guy thinks your Mister Hazzard is, or was, wanted for murder!"

  "Murder? That's insane!" I looked around for somebody to chime in agreement. Elvis? Anyone? "You're wanted for murder and you just move out of that county and start working in the Verdeville courthouse? That's insane!" I tended to repeat myself when I became incensed. Wasn't certain why that bothered me, though. It was one thing to hear rumors of flings, even three-ways. But gossip about the pirate being a murderer — aarrgghh!

  "You asked me to keep my ear to the ground."

  She exaggerated. People don't do that anymore.

  "Well, that's what I found out." Ellen paused. "You want to hear it or not?"

  "There's more?"

  "Well not really more, but there's more."

  Drying mud.

  "It may not have been an actual, completed murder. But if not, then your pirate friend very nearly killed somebody."

  "In this bizarre fantasy report, exactly who is it that Ryan allegedly did away with, or nearly did?"

  "Some person… you know, wherever Ryan used to live."

  Well that was certainly specific. "Ellen, did Mack come up with any single shred of actual info? Or was everything just this coulda-maybe-almost stuff?"

  From her silence, Ellen might have been offended.

  "I'm sorry. That came out wrong. I've been hearing so many outrageous things about Hazzard and he wouldn't say a word about anything, so I guess the murder rap just hit a nerve."

  "As well it should. You can't associate with a murderer. They can turn on you in a heartbeat. And that single heartbeat might be your last."

  I closed my eyes brief
ly while I thought over the latest scenario. "Okay, in this info nugget overheard by Mack, was there any mention of jail time? You know, for the man who murdered somebody, or nearly did?"

  "Uh…" Ellen stalled like that was a strange notion. "Jail?"

  "Yeah. You know: arrest, indictment, trial, verdict, jail. The usual stuff that follows murders."

  She probably shook her head. "Mack didn't say he heard anything about jail. Uh, maybe Hazzard beat the rap somehow."

  I groaned. "You don't just talk your way out of a murder charge, not even 'almost' murder. Well, unless you're a diplomat, or rich." I shook my head. "But even with the upper crust, stuff like that shows up in court papers. Heck, it shows up in newspapers." Once I said that, I had an idea and wondered why it hadn't occurred to me before.

  "Give him your special net-search!" Ellen beat me to it.

  "I'll see what this bad boy's been up to — wherever he came from."

  ****

  Researching Ryan Hazzard got me nowhere since I didn't know where he had moved from. I did discover there were at least three hundred people by that name in Tennessee, including a wannabe screenwriter and a retired circus acrobat. Sheesh. If I knew Hazzard's middle name, birth year, or his former city, maybe… but I couldn't even remember the name of the county on his license plate.

  I gave up on pirate searching. For about another hour, I piddled with my laptop, then filled Elvis' water bowl, and went to bed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On Friday, I was pretty much a zombie at work. The euphoria of Miss Z's victory over the money order creep had already faded and I began to wonder if that pervert might select some new way to harass me. He didn't know my last name and surely had no clue where I lived. But the worry made me tremble anyway.

  At a point when Miss Z was occupied elsewhere, Aynette leaned over and got my attention. "I've been asking around, you know, about that pirate you met."

  I rolled my hand. Let's hear it.

  "Well, Dell didn't say who he heard it from…"

  I was mildly surprised anybody even spoke to her reclusive husband, but I tried to focus on the forthcoming tidbit if Aynette would just spit it out.

  "…but somebody told Dell they saw that Hazzard feller drivin' around town with something ve-er-rry suspicious in the back of his truck." She looked around quickly. "I got three words for you, Kris: dead bodies."

  I suppressed my laughter. "In Verdeville, they pull you over for carrying corpses!" Then I remembered what I'd seen in the wee hours of Sunday morning with my own eyes in his truck bed — two large mounds covered in heavy tarps. "Bodies? You're sure?"

  Miss Z appeared behind me so suddenly I nearly yelped. "You should be less concerned with corpses and more conscious of our customers." We all noticed her alliteration. She pursed her lips grotesquely and moved away to wherever vultures go when they're finished feeding. My admiration for her actions of the previous day had deflated back to normal dread of her intense scrutiny. Aynette and I had discussed this often. Miss Z seemed to have no normal functions beyond checking-out our cash drawers, handling complaints — which were few — and balancing us out at the end of the shift. They only kept her on payroll, we reasoned, because nobody dared cross her. It was as though she were the Medusa of the Bank's Mall Branch. If a vice-president gazed upon her face long enough to terminate her employment, that officer would simply turn to stone.

  ****

  Shopper traffic was light in the mall — nobody to watch. For my entire lunch I nibbled greasy chicken nuggets and stared at the dingy ceiling.

  I also brooded about my upcoming weekend of community service. I resented and dreaded the imposition, but was eager to get started so I could move past it. I hoped the shelter manager would just give me a few simple duties and leave me alone. I could cope with a couple of dogs and cats — it was humans I couldn't relate to. Men, in particular.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I'd been instructed to report for my community service at eight-thirty on Saturday morning, but I played it safe and got there about ten minutes early.

  The Greene County Animal Shelter was easy enough to find, located about a mile west of town on the main drag, Highway 70. The facility itself was less than two years old and had replaced a dilapidated, dingy dog pound which had looked and smelled like it belonged in the late nineteenth century. Not that the new facility was any country club, of course. If not adopted within about two weeks, the incarcerated animals were quietly euthanized.

  Since I was first to arrive, I just waited in the parking lot. It was in the fifties outside and my vehicle was warm.

  I had dressed for manual labor: long-sleeved five-button henley, my only pair of overalls (which, I realized while driving, were slightly tighter in the seat than I'd remembered), my worst pair of sneakers, and a baseball cap. I brought my leather jacket, but left it in the car with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch.

  I saw another vehicle drive up.

  The man, short and plump with a ridiculous comb-over, was out of breath by the time he walked from his sedan to the side door. I followed. He opened it with a key and quickly tapped in a code on what I presumed was the building alarm panel.

  "Mister Edwards?" I introduced myself and extended my hand, which he left hanging in the air. Uncomfortable. I bet he wasn't much of a hugger either.

  He nodded, which served to affirm his identity. Then he hustled down the hall past the doors to the customer area, next to two spaces which were, I guessed, outer office and inner office. His must have been the inner office. He closed that door and turned to face me, finally.

  "You from the jail?"

  "Well, not the jail itself. Judge Gunther, uh, referred me to help over here because of a misunderstanding in the court room this past Wednesday."

  "The jail usually sends fellers, not females."

  I had no response to that, at least not a civil one. I had already guessed he was used to getting male DUIs for his community service shifts.

  When Edwards sighed heavily, flecks of spittle sailed into the air. I dodged and immediately made it a point to stand farther to the side.

  "I can't be here to baby-sit, so you're on the honor system. My office is locked and it stays that way."

  Mister Personality.

  Pet adoption was a big deal in Verdeville and the new facility was clearly state-of-the-art. Through a large window in the steel back door, I saw the sizeable cement-slab compound at the rear. It had three banks of covered cages, a substantial courtyard allowing sunshine, a small splashing pool, and a generous patch of central grass, albeit stained brown with urine and feces. From the grand opening article I'd read, I recalled the reporter had gushed over the shelter's special innovation for release of the animals in case of fire. With the push of a button, every door on an entire bank of cages would open simultaneously.

  Edwards checked his clipboard. "The judge's office said he'd send two convicts," he looked around. "Guess not."

  I certainly didn't care for his characterization, but I kept Kristen quiet.

  "That means you got this list all to yourself." He held it up so I could see. It was enough to occupy an entire squad!

  He'd just started to re-explain that he was occupied elsewhere all day, when we both heard the front door rattle. "Oh, that's gotta be your helper. Nobody else shows up on Saturdays 'cause everybody knows we're closed." Shortly, the side door — where we had entered — opened and footsteps sounded in the long hallway. Edwards opened the outer office door and stepped into the hall.

  The pirate! But he couldn't see me from that angle.

  I gulped. My first thought was total shock that Hazzard was there. Secondly, I was still angry that he'd skipped the harrowing court appearance. Deep down, I felt that if he'd been there to endorse my explanations, I might have gotten off with a warning. Third, I was dressed in grungy janitor overalls and hadn't even washed my hair!

  Edwards re-entered the outer office and handed me his clipboard. "Be sure to wash
that last pick-up from yesterday. Check the register out front." He looked around quickly. "Okay, you're in charge, since I already briefed you on everything."

  He hadn't briefed me on anything! He just shoved a list at my face. Hopefully there were sufficient details concerning schedule, locations, supplies, and keys to whatever might be locked.

  By that time Hazzard entered and saw me. That buccaneer didn't appear the least bit surprised.

  "Uh, hi." I made no effort to shake his hand.

  Hazzard just smiled. This was my first time to see him in regular street clothes. He was dressed for labor, of course, but even in a flannel shirt, work boots, and faded jeans, he looked tasty enough to be an all-day sucker.

  I'd forgotten the supervisor was still there until Edwards spoke again. "I'll be back by six o'clock or so to check on things and lock up. Wait 'til I get here before you leave." Then he hustled out the outer office door, stopped to look at something in the customer area out front, and left hurriedly. Must've had a breakfast date.

  I hurriedly looked over the clipboard and shook my head at the list of duties.

  Hazzard came over and stood beside me. "Nice to see you again."

  I grunted.

  "You look different from the last time I saw you."

  I wanted to slap him. "You know, I figured to be here all by myself, after your disappearing act at court." I hugged the stiff clipboard to my chest. "I figured all you courthouse guys scratched each others' backs or that you'd found some other way to weasel out of any penance." It sounded more caustic that I'd actually intended.

  "We did the same crime, so we do the same time." Another grin.

  Obviously, Hazzard had opportunity and means of finding out where I'd been assigned for community service. I wondered if he'd known he was destined for this shelter duty or if the peroxide prosecutor had gotten to the judge and double-crossed the man who'd briefly been her lover. A woman scorned. If, in fact, scorn was part of Hazzard's unrevealed long story.