Red Dog Saloon

by R. D. Sherrill

  “Oh well, that’s too bad,” Sam said as he stood up motioning to the guard who was outside the interview room. “I’d hoped we could help each other out. You know, I scratch your back and you scratch mine, but if you don’t know then you don’t know.”

  Sam walked over to talk to his investigator while giving Rhody a wave, instructing the jailer to take him back to his cell.

  “Have a good life Rhody,” Sam called out. “Drop us a letter sometime and let us know how you’re doing in the federal pen.”

  Rhody stared down the lawman as he was led toward the door, confused by the sheriff’s abrupt abandonment of the line of questioning.

  “Wait!” Rhody said in a loud voice. “What if, let’s say, I did remember something from back in the day. What would that get me?”

  The sheriff had a bite on his lure.

  “But you just said you didn’t know anything,” Sam countered. “Now do you or don’t you? I ain’t got time to be jerked around. Once the marshals come to get you it’s out of my hands.”

  Rhody shook off the jailer’s grasp, his look contrite, and his body language telling Sam he may be willing to deal.

  “Let’s say I can help you out with your little problem,” Rhody began. “What kind of deal are we talking about?”

  A smile crossed sheriff’s face as he motioned for Rhody to take his seat again. He had set the hook.

  “What if I could keep your case here?” Sam offered. “I mean that’s still a couple or three years in the state pen but that’s a lot shorter than what you’re looking at in federal court. That’s time you could literally do standing on your head.”

  Rhody shot the sheriff a serious look as he leaned forward.

  “What about immunity?” Rhody asked. “I don’t want to pick up a new charge by cooperating.”

  “I’m not asking you to testify,” Sam declared. “I just want to know what happened back then. Who knows, it may even save your life since from what I understand you were just as much a part of it as your old crew.”

  The sheriff’s statement threw Rhody off his game given the lawman’s apparent insight.

  “I’ve got to have immunity and I’ve got to have it in writing,” Rhody demanded. “You give me that and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

  The sheriff questioned his continued insistence not understanding his demand for immunity since Rhody was obviously versed in the law.

  “You do realize the statute of limitations has run on what happened,” Sam revealed. “I don’t think immunity will be needed.”

  Rhody disagreed as he gave the sheriff a serious look.

  “Oh for what I’m going to tell you I will need immunity,” Rhody declared. “There’s no statute of limitations for what I know.”

  Rhody’s statement surprised the sheriff who thought he was ready for all scenarios. Were they talking about the same thing? As a jailhouse lawyer, Rhody should know the statute of limitations for rape was twenty years in their state.

  “What are we talking about here?” Sam asked.

  “When I have it writing sheriff,” Rhody replied. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that a man has to protect his best interests.”

  Rhody held up his cuffed hands, motioning to the officer to take him back to his cell.

  “I say James, once around the park and then home,” Rhody said with a bad English accent as he stood up signifying the end of the interview.

  “I’ve got to make a few calls so sit tight and we’ll be talking again soon,” Sam promised.

  “You know where to find me,” Rhody countered as he was led out the door.

  Sam was excited for the first time in quite a while realizing they might be able to solve the case before the body count climbed any higher.

  Getting a deal for a drug trafficker in exchange for information which could end a string of ghastly murders should not be a problem. Sam immediately placed a call to Easton Police Chief Denton Wood.

  Sam and the city’s chief of police had always been on good terms, their officers working in partnership on many cases over the years.

  Sam’s call to Chief Wood was prompted by the fact Rhody’s case was a city case made by Easton’s narcotics squad in cooperation with the DEA. Rhody was one of seventeen suspects rounded up last month following a year-long undercover sting aimed at taking a bite out of the meth business in Easton. The leaders of the meth operation, the cookers and main traffickers, were going to be taken by federal authorities for prosecution. Meanwhile the Smurfs, a term law enforcement often used for those who helped supply the ingredients for the meth, would be tried locally and face much shorter sentences. Rhody was one of the ringleaders, a cooker and a trafficker, and therefore was set for federal court. His only possible redemption was that he had not yet been indicted by a federal grand jury meaning his case could be kept locally so long as the chief went along with the plan.

  But why wouldn’t he? It would be like letting a nickel hold up a dollar, not jumping at the deal that could help catch a murderer. Trading a drug dealer for a killer would be a no-brainer. At least that’s what Sam thought.

  “I can’t make that call,” Chief Wood declared during his phone conversation with the sheriff. “I understand your situation and it shouldn’t be a big deal but I have to consult with the mayor first.”

  “The mayor?” Sam asked with surprise in his voice. “Since when does he run the police department in Easton?”

  Sighing on the phone, annoyed he was trapped between a rock and a hard place, Denton explained, almost embarrassed by his awkward situation.

  “This meth round-up made the state headlines so it’s a feather in his cap and this is an election year in the city and he’s hanging his hat on the crackdown. You know, safer streets, nice place to raise the family-type thing,” the chief explained. “Before I start dropping charges against one of the main movers and shakers in the meth business I need to consult just to cover my back side.”

  “How long is this backside-covering going to take?” Sam replied.

  The sheriff was annoyed that he was being held up by the minor issue. Never in a million years would he have thought there would be an issue in getting cooperation from his law enforcement partners.

  “We have a killer running around in case you haven’t noticed,” Sam noted.

  “Can you give me until tomorrow?” the chief responded. “Like I said it shouldn’t be any problem, I just want to make sure. After all, he signs my checks and I’d kind of like to keep my job. You know how paranoid folks get during election and this could be a close one.”

  While understanding the chief’s situation, Sam still wasn’t happy.

  “Oh but wait, some of you don’t even get contested anymore,” the chief quipped about Sam’s winning reelection without opposition. “That must be nice not having to answer to anybody.”

  “It does save a couple of bucks,” Sam agreed. “Call me as soon as you find out because I’ve still got to work it out with the Feds before I can put it in writing.”

  “As soon as it’s all clear I’ll let you know,” the chief promised as they hung up.

  Sitting back in his chair, Sam looked out the window as the sun started to get low in the sky. Hopefully, his deal would come in time. Could Castle County go a night without another murder? Only time would tell.

  MILK AND EGGS

  Stevie’s nerves were on edge all afternoon after his talk with the sheriff. His mind was going a thousand miles per hour after his talk with the sheriff. His feeling of dread grew as he saw the relative safety of the sun disappear over the horizon leaving darkness to envelope his refuge.

  The family man jumped at the sound of every noise outside the house, every settling of their home causing him to cower in fear wondering if the mysterious killer was coming for him. Try as he might, he couldn’t hide his deep-seated terror of the unknown. His face was telling on him.

  “You’re jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers to
night,” his wife declared. “How much coffee did you drink today?”

  Stevie didn’t need any coffee to be hyper alert. Fear alone was keeping him vigilant. His wife, eyeing him over the cover of the paperback she was reading in the living room, made him realize his paranoia was apparent. He didn’t want her to catch the scent that something was wrong.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Stevie agreed. “I must have had one too many I guess.”

  “I told you to go to decaf,” she said plainly, his domineering mate always having the answers for everything. “You’ll live a lot longer without all that caffeine in your system.”

  “Live longer, yeah right,” Stevie muttered under his breath.

  With the setting sun, Stevie's life expectancy came into question. He had never been scared of the dark before. Things had changed.

  “What’d you say?” his wife asked as she looked over her bifocals at her jumpy husband.

  “Oh nothing dear,” Stevie innocently responded.

  Given the fact he and his wife had two children, she had always forbade Stevie from buying a gun for home protection fearing an accident would happen. In the end, she wore the pants in the family so her word was law. Instead of a trusty firearm, they relied on Easton’s finest that patrolled their section of the small city. After all, police response times are always quicker in the nicer parts of town and Stevie lived in one of the better neighborhoods.

  Stevie played his conversation with the sheriff over and over in his head like it was on a loop. He realized Sam saw through his thinly-veiled lie given the fact he had never been much of a liar. He wasn’t even a good poker player. His tells gave him away anytime he tried to bluff. Instead, Stevie protected his secrets by simply remaining quiet. The way he figured it, if he kept his mouth shut and stayed under the radar he wouldn’t have to lie. His distortion of the truth during his conversation with the sheriff weighed on his conscience. How he wished he could come clean and bare his soul but he realized that wasn't possible.

  Between his conscience and sense of dread, Stevie found his imagination running away with him. Giving in to his paranoia, he worked his way around the house. He looked out the windows and turned on every light, exterior and interior, for which there was a switch, knob or toggle. By the end of his mission lights bathed every inch of the grounds outside their two-story dwelling. If someone or something was coming to get him, Stevie wanted to see it coming.

  He paced around the house like a sentry, walking his post as he made sure the deadbolts were secure and the alarm activated. He figured to kill him the killer would have to get inside. In the back of his mind he convinced himself if he could survive the night and break the string of homicides he would be clear, that is unless the killer picked one of the others from his old gang that evening. Regardless, he wanted to live through the night at a minimum. Perhaps he would revisit seeking the sheriff’s help – tomorrow.

  Along with his fear, Stevie had a feeling of frustration. After all, it had been more than twenty years since the incident for which he was sure retribution was being sought. Was there no such thing as redemption for one’s actions, especially actions committed in the foolishness of one’s youth? Stevie had changed, becoming a good citizen and family man. He had turned his life around and become a different person than he was back during the Red Dog days. He was even born again for crying out loud, baptized by submersion at the Baptist church where his family was regular attenders and tithes payers.

  Why did he have to suffer along with those who were unrepentant for their actions? It just wasn’t fair in Stevie’s book. Unlike the others in the old group, Stevie had felt regret, the weight of their sin wearing on him for many years. It had been only in the past few years, with the birth of his children, that he no longer felt haunted by his past. Now the ghosts had returned with a vengeance.

  He knew it would be a sleepless night. There was no way he could fall asleep given the possibility something was out there waiting for him. Stevie decided he would batten down the hatches and ride it out, locked away in his bunker. There was nothing that would make him leave the safety of his fortress.

  “Stevie I need you to run to the store,” his wife yelled from the kitchen.

  He could scarcely believe his ears. Had she just asked him to go outside where the killer was waiting on him? This couldn't be happening.

  “What?” Stevie called back feebly. “Can it wait until tomorrow honey? It’s already dark out. I’ve got my shoes off already.”

  “No. I need it tonight,” she responded. “If it could wait until tomorrow I’d do it myself. I need milk, eggs and some cake mix. We’re having a thing at work tomorrow and I promised to take something homemade. You don’t want to make me out a liar do you?”

  The store was located just a mile away but that was a mile too far since it took him outside his castle. He racked his brain trying to come up with a valid excuse to stay locked away inside his home.

  However, brainstorm as he would, Stevie was at a loss to come up with a reason not to run the errand. After all, he couldn’t just up and tell his wife there was a killer out there waiting to seek vengeance for something he did two decades ago. If he did then he would then have to explain what happened. That explanation would surely land him on the street and in divorce court. Stevie had to decide which he feared worse, his wife or the killer who may be waiting for him in the darkness.

  “Yes dear. I’m going. I’ll be back in a minute,” Stevie said with a defeated tone in his voice.

  A sick feeling formed in the pit of his stomach as he reached for his coat. He could almost feel the presence outside waiting for him.

  Pausing for a moment to peek through the front window, Stevie took a deep breath and turned the deadbolt. Then, cautiously sticking his head out of the front door, he scanned his well-lit lawn making sure no one was lurking in the hedges before making a dash to his car parked in the drive. He pushed his fob to unlock the doors while on the run.

  He wasted no time as he jumped into the driver’s seat, immediately locking the doors behind him while still looking in all directions for any movement.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Stevie said to himself as he started his vehicle.

  Stopping at the edge of his drive, Stevie saw a car coming down the road. His paranoia returned with the approaching vehicle. What if it was the killer? What would he do? Stevie quickly generated a grandiose plan whereby he would race through his front yard in the family minivan and lead the killer on a death-defying chase through the streets of Easton.

  His contingency wouldn’t be needed as the oncoming vehicle came into focus. It was a patrol car. Stevie took a relieved breath. Maybe the sheriff had ordered a patrol of his neighborhood. Regardless, he was going to take advantage of the cruiser and use it as an escort to the store.

  He quickly backed out of his drive and fell in behind the officer, following the patrol car all the way to the store before reluctantly leaving his escort to pull into the market parking lot.

  “Halfway home,” Stevie said to himself as he looked around to make sure no one was milling around in the parking lot before climbing out of his vehicle and briskly walking into the store.

  He wasted no time collecting the items he was sent to purchase. He waited impatiently in line before checking out. Any other time a visit to the store at that hour of night would be a quick in-and-out affair. However, as luck would have it, everyone in line in front of him was apparently buying enough groceries to last the rest of the year and paying for them using coupons. Don’t people ever read the sign “twenty items or less”?

  With the groceries in hand, Stevie glanced at his surroundings and made a quick dash back to his van. He tossed the bag into the passenger seat not caring if he broke any eggs as he locked the doors and plugged his key into the ignition.

  Nothing! The engine wouldn’t turn over! His nightmare was now complete. He was a mile away from home on a frigid night with the snow just beginning to fall and there was a kill
er out there just waiting for him.

  He turned the key a few more times but realized the issue wasn’t going to fix itself. What was the problem? Perhaps the cold night had drained his battery. Sitting in his locked van for a minute, he considered his options. He couldn’t hoof it home. That would leave him exposed with a killer on the loose. He would take a look under the hood first. He was in a well-lit parking lot as he took the precaution of parking right under a security light. If it were something he could fix he would fix it and be on his way. If he couldn’t find the problem, he would have no option but to call his wife and have a tow truck pick up his van the next morning.

  Repeating his careful scan of his surroundings, Stevie unlocked his doors and climbed out, reaching back inside to trigger his hood release. He spent another minute trying to find the secondary trigger underneath the hood before finally locating the lever.

  The challenge of determining what was wrong with his vehicle was one Stevie accepted out of pride even given his fear that gripped him. Stevie was an accomplished mechanic. One of his pastimes was restoring classic cars. He prided himself on being quite the expert when it came to engines so having to call a tow truck would be admitting defeat. That would be an insult to his manhood as he saw it, or at least what was left of his manhood.

  Poring over the engine, he looked for the problem, blowing in his hands as the cold quickly settled in his lungs thanks to the brisk wind. Then he found it, just a couple of minutes into his diagnosis. Luck was with him. His battery cable was loose.

  He pushed the connection back on the post and hand-tightened the nut, snugging it up against the battery connection.

  “That should do it,” Stevie said to himself with a sense of accomplishment as he slammed down his hood, again looking around the parking lot.

  He jumped back into his vehicle and wasted no time locking his doors and again jammed the key into the ignition. It started! A sense of pride bubbled inside him taking his mind off his fears for a moment. However, as the old adage says, “pride goes before the fall”. He should have checked his back seat.