Red Dog Saloon

by R. D. Sherrill

  “We have another problem,” Glenn pointed out. “And this one may not be so easy to solve.”

  “Yes, I know, Rhody Turner,” Bart said. “The sheriff was bragging about that to me before I came over here.”

  “I don’t guess I need to tell you what it means if he talks,” Glenn said. “The police chief is asking my blessing in a plea deal for him in return for his cooperation in the murders. I don’t have any option but to give it my stamp of approval otherwise eyebrows will be raised. Plus, if word got out I impeded the biggest murder investigation in the history of Castle County, well, it wouldn’t be very good come election time later this year.”

  Bart realized he had resources that could help get rid of the problem if Rhody were on the street. However, given the fact he was locked up tight in the county jail, the potential snitch would be hard to get to. That didn’t mean the situation was impossible. It was just more difficult.

  “So do you think he’ll talk?” Glenn asked in a worried tone as he incessantly flicked the end of his pen.

  “Think?” Bart replied indignantly. “I know he will. He’d sell out his own mother for a deal.”

  “Well, we can’t have that,” Glenn said as he stood back up and walked over to look out the window.

  Glenn’s words were an understatement. If Rhody were to reveal everything he knew he, the mayor and everyone else involved back then would be exposed. It would be only a matter of time until all of them were rounded up once the ugly truth was known. Rhody couldn’t be allowed to talk. If he did, they would be joining him on the other side of the jail bars.

  “I may have an idea of how we can keep our old friend quiet,” Bart revealed as a far-fetched idea struck him. “It may be our only chance.”

  “Well, don’t keep me in the dark,” Glenn eagerly urged. “How do you propose to get to Rhody while he’s locked away in the county jail? The sheriff already knows he can help him so he’s not about to let him go waltzing out the front door.”

  “You leave that part to me, just make sure you don’t give authorization for the deal until the end of the day. By then the federal offices will be closed,” Bart replied. “As for what I have in mind, well, the less you know the better.”

  Again the darkness of Bart’s reference kept Glenn from asking about further details. He still had plausible deniability.

  “You just make sure no one comes into this office,” Bart ordered. “And turn down the heat in here. A little ice wouldn’t hurt either. And for crying out loud, make sure that closet door stays closed.”

  Agreeing to meet back at city hall after dark, Bart left to put his plan into action while Glenn sat in for a long day at his office with his dead friend.

  Sam attacked the roads to Shelby, not shy about using his lights and siren to shorten his trip. He realized daylight was limited, especially if he were to spend four hours on the road going back and forth. He had to minimize his drive time given the fact there was no reason to believe the killer wouldn’t be on the prowl again. Plus, in the back of his mind, Sam believed there were more members of the old gang than the ones he knew about. That meant there were potential victims who weren’t even on his radar. For some reason, Sam had the feeling that the killer was saving the best for last, that being none other than Bart Foster.

  He pulled into Shelby in less than ninety minutes, something Sam suspected was a record drive time from Easton. The sheriff plugged the address to Gina’s last known location into his GPS as he reached Shelby. Slowing his pace as he wound through the streets of the small city, Sam found himself in a nice section of town. The well-manicured sidewalks and tree-lined streets gave the neighborhood a friendly feel.

  The lawman looked at his GPS after a few minutes in the small town and realized he was almost upon his destination. The last known address for Gina Porter lie around the next turn. Just then the snow began to fall, the forecasted winter storm moving in sooner than expected. If forecasters were right, the entire portion of the state would be under several inches of snow in the next couple of days.

  The target on his GPS revealing he was at his destination, Sam turned into the drive and was met by a gate guarding the entrance, its grand arch announcing he had just arrived at Shelby Mental Health Institute.

  What the …” Sam muttered to himself as he drove up the drive to the large modern-looking building. “This can’t be right.”

  Perhaps the usually reliable Kendal Parks was wrong for once. After all, no one is perfect. Sam double checked the address his detective had written down to confirm he was at the right location.

  “I came this far,” Sam muttered to himself as he parked his car and headed inside.

  The facility, much to his surprise, had an inviting atmosphere. Skylights and plants inside the building combined to give it an open, airy feel. It wasn’t like any mental institution he had visited before. The dankness he anticipated was replaced by a well-lit entry parlor painted in light colors. Employees wore khaki pants and blue shirts instead of the antiseptic hospital white he expected.

  “May I help you officer?” came the pleasant voice of a young woman who sat smiling at him behind the front desk.

  “I sure hope so,” Sam responded, just then remembering he was wearing his badge on his belt but was otherwise dressed in civilian clothes as he often did while on duty. “I’m looking for a woman and all I have is an address that led me here.”

  “What is the woman’s name?” the receptionist asked.

  “It’s Gina Porter,” Sam replied.

  The name had an immediate impact on the young lady. Her friendly tone turned serious. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost.

  “Did you say Gina Porter?” the woman asked.

  “Yes, Gina Porter,” Sam clarified. “Is there something wrong?”

  Holding up a finger asking him to wait, the woman picked up the phone, placing one hand over the receiver so Sam couldn’t hear what she was saying. Moments later she hung up.

  “Officer, if you don’t mind you’ll need to speak with our facility administrator,” the woman said. “She’ll be with you in just one moment.”

  Sam waited in the lobby for about a minute before he saw a well-dressed, middle-aged woman emerge from the back office area. She paused to speak with the receptionist who pointed toward him. The woman then walked over.

  “Hello officer, I’m Agnes Marks, administrator here at SMHI,” the woman said, extending her hand.

  “Hi, I’m Sheriff Sam Delaney from over in Castle County,” Sam replied. “I’m looking for a woman named Gina Porter.”

  “Step into my office if you would, sheriff,” the woman said in a low voice.

  Entering the administrator’s office, Sam took a seat as the woman closed the door behind them.

  “I take it I’m in the right place,” Sam spoke up.

  He already realized something was amiss. The mere mention of Gina Porter’s name seemed to have upset the apple cart.

  “Yes, I guess you could say that,” Agnes said as she took her seat behind her desk.

  “So what do I need to do to speak with Miss Porter?” Sam asked. “It’s a matter of official business for a case I’m working on.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sheriff,” Agnes replied.

  “And why is that?” Sam countered. "I could get a warrant."

  “Because Gina Porter has been deceased for nearly three months,” Agnes replied.

  “Dead?” Sam repeated in disbelief.

  He was crestfallen. His trail had just dried up.

  “Yes, she passed away quite suddenly,” Agnes confirmed.

  “So she was a patient here?” Sam asked.

  “For about four years,” Agnes replied. “Until the time of her death.”

  He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. The frustration of the dead end was driving up his blood pressure.

  “Can you tell me what she was here for?” Sam asked.

  “I’m sorry but that’s confidential
,” Agnes apologized. “You’ll need a warrant for that. We have HIPAA to deal with so I can’t release that kind of information. I hope you understand my situation.”

  “Okay, can you tell me what she died of, or is that secret too?” Sam asked.

  He was a bit irritated by the administrator not providing the reason for her stay. She was dead for crying out loud. She didn’t need privacy anymore when it came to her medical condition.

  “That’s a matter of public record, written right on her death certificate. I can help you with that,” Agnes retorted. “The cause of her death was suicide.”

  “She killed herself?” Sam confirmed. “I mean, she did it here?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Agnes replied soberly. “We pride ourselves on protecting our patients both from harm from without and within.”

  “Do you mind me asking how she did it?” Sam inquired.

  Pausing as if to decide whether to share the information, the administrator leaned toward the lawman.

  “Well, I’m not sure I’m really supposed to tell this so keep it between us,” Agnes warned. “She slit her own throat.”

  “Do you know why she did it?” Sam asked.

  “I’ve said too much already,” Agnes replied. “If you want anything else you’ll need to get a warrant.”

  “I understand,” Sam replied. “I may just do that.”

  Again leaning across her desk, Agnes spoke in a low voice.

  “I would suggest you do,” Agnes said.

  Her eyes darted about as if she feared someone might be listening. Something about their conversation was making the administrator very nervous.

  “You’ll find her records ... enlightening,” she noted.

  Sam thanked Agnes for her help and made a beeline for the courthouse. The fact she had stopped just short of outright urging him to check the late Gina Porter’s clinical records intrigued the lawman. She wanted to tell him more. He could sense it.

  His quick trip to the courthouse was to no avail as the only judge was already gone for the afternoon, his request for a warrant for the medical records delayed until the next day. He resolved to return to swear out the warrant and even spend the day if need be.

  For now he would head back to Castle County. With any luck he would be sitting down with Rhody Turner soon to hear his version of the events of twenty years ago.

  THE BEST LAID PLANS

  “Hey baby,” came the flirty voice of Tia Wray, the on-again, off-again girlfriend of Rhody Turner. “How’re they treating you in there?”

  Rhody rolled his eyes as he stood at the jail phone bank in the common area of the institution. It was jail. How did she think he was doing?

  Their tumultuous relationship had stretched over the past couple of years. The couple spent more time broken up than together. Actually, Tia generally just came around when Rhody was cooking - meth that is. Her taste for the drug drew her to him like a moth to the flame. Being he was nearly twice her age, Rhody enjoyed the benefits of dating a much younger woman. Under normal circumstances, a girl like Tia would have been way out of his league. If it took giving her the first cut of his meth cook, then that was a price he was willing to pay. Besides, it wasn’t like Rhody was a one-woman man anyway.

  He had found long ago there was no shortage of women who were looking for a “bad boy” like him. They were drawn to the danger the professional criminal brought to the table. Rhody never had a problem luring a woman. Keeping one, on the other hand, was a problem explaining why, other than a marriage that lasted just two months many years ago, he had remained a single man. It was also hard maintaining a long-term relationship when he was constantly in and out of jail.

  But then it wasn’t like Tia was a catch either. Her loyalties went to where the party was happening. If it wasn’t Rhody then she was in the company of some other low-life. She had always been attracted to losers and drug dealers. Whether it was low self-esteem or a deep-seated need for self-destruction, she had stepped on the wrong path as a teenager and never looked back despite many interventions by her family.

  While bouncing from place to place, always staying within arm’s length of bad influence, there was something about Rhody that made him her favorite forbidden fruit. Whether it was the tattoos that covered his body, his long scraggly hair or his total disregard for the establishment, she was fascinated. For whatever reason, Tia broke with her tradition of throwing them aside when they were in lock-up, choosing to continue her relationship with Rhody even after his arrest and incarceration. However, her newfound loyalty would not extend to waiting for her man while he rotted away in prison for a decade or more. She wasn’t the type to wait by the sea until her man came home.

  “How do you think they’re treating me?” Rhody responded in an irritated tone. “It’s jail. Everything sucks here - the food, the people, and the guards. You name it and it sucks.”

  “Oh I’m sorry baby. I sure wish they allowed conjugal visits in there. I would so take your mind off it,” Tia replied. “I sure miss being with you. I can’t hardly stand being apart like this.”

  He rolled his eyes realizing there wasn’t much he could do about his situation. Rhody was annoyed she would even go down that road. It was almost like she was teasing him, leaving him with no outlet while stuck behind bars. He was surprised she even knew the word conjugal, let alone used it in a sentence.

  “I miss you too,” Rhody replied. “Maybe we’ll be able to see each other soon. I’m working on something on this end that might get me a lot less time.”

  “Why wait baby?” Tia asked. “I’ve worked it out.”

  He looked around to make sure no one was nearby who could overhear, cupping his hand over the receiver.

  “The walls have ears,” Rhody cautioned.

  He realized all calls to and from the county jail were recorded. A sign hanging right above the phone bank where he stood even bore the warning. There were ears everywhere in jail.

  “Don’t worry, I know the drill,” Tia replied.

  She had spent a few nights in the county jail herself. She knew the realities when it came to life behind bars.

  “It’s all been arranged," she chirped. "All you have to do is go with the plan.”

  The plan, as she put it, dated back to before Rhody was arrested weeks ago. The grapevine had it there was something going down, something big, and Rhody’s name was being thrown about as one of those likely in the middle of it. Given his record and the likelihood he may be going away for a long time, he decided to formulate a plan. He wasn’t about to waste the rest of his life in a jail cell.

  It had started as a thumbnail sketch, a rough draft if you will. Since then the plot had been honed and perfected to the point he was convinced it would work. He had spent a considerable amount of time in the county jail and knew its strengths and its weaknesses. Rhody began making preparations in earnest after he was arrested and learned he would soon be delivered into the hands of federal authorities. He realized once federal marshals came for him it would be too late. If he were to make his move, it would have to be while he was in Castle County Jail.

  However, since he had a lifetime of experience with the system, Rhody realized simply springing himself from the cage was only half the trick. He knew he would need help from the outside to put as much distance between himself and Castle County as possible. Too many times inmates would risk life and limb to escape confinement only to be found a couple of blocks away, hiding in the basement of their girlfriend’s home. Then escape charges would be added to their tab for their brief taste of liberty. They would also be permanently listed as a flight risk, meaning they would always be placed in maximum security making escape even less likely.

  Rhody wasn’t about to make that mistake. If he were going to make a run for it, he was never going to look back. Castle County would forever be a memory. That was where Tia came in. Well, actually, Tia was merely the necessary evil. It was her uncle in Costa Rica that interested him the most. Her uncle, much l
ike Rhody, had long been involved in activities contrary to the law. That was what brought him to the Central American country over a decade ago. Nowadays he was making a comfortable living for himself and was in need of someone of Rhody’s talents.

  Rhody was a realist despite being a career criminal. He knew his sins would catch up to him eventually. Now, as things stood, it wasn’t just his recent illegal activities that were catching up to him, it was also his sins of more than twenty years ago. Rhody figured it was time for a change of scenery, a reset of the game of life. He had worn out his welcome in Castle County long ago.

  Rhody knew the decision he was about to make would forever affect his life. Should he go with his plan and make a break for it or should he stay and work a deal with the sheriff? There were risks either way. If he went with his plan to bust out of the county jail, there was always a chance he could get caught. Of course, so what if he did? He was already looking at spending most of the rest of his life in prison. What’s another year or two?

  On the other hand, if he stayed and worked a deal, he would still be looking at a few years in jail. While he wasn’t on a road crew breaking boulders, it was still jail. The upside was if he were to work a deal he could stay in Castle County after being released. But then what was left for him there? He would still be one misdeed, one dirty drug test, one blunder from violating his probation and going back to jail. Plus, in his hometown he was known to law enforcement. Down there he would be just another American import. Rhody considered the immediate future. Did he want to spend the next three years in the county jail or sunning on a beach in Costa Rica?

  “What time?” Rhody asked.

  He was going to roll the dice and go for it. He was going to escape from Castle County Jail. It was Costa Rica or bust.

  “Tonight at midnight,” Tia answered.

  “Do we have what we needed?” Rhody asked.

  “Yes. I worked it out with a mutual friend,” Tia responded. “All you have to do is be where you’re supposed to be at that time.”