by Wayne Zurl
“Ninety-three last March.”
I shook my head. “He looks good though, doesn’t he? Pretty soon I’ll be looking older than him.”
Billy treated me to one of his rare smiles. “He’s doin’ pretty good. I just wish I could get him ta lay off the bourbon a bit.”
I chuckled. “Too late to change him now. At least he doesn’t smoke cigars anymore.”
Billy Joe nodded.
“I noticed that Joe Don didn’t make the press conference. Was he suddenly called out of town?” I asked sarcastically.
“I’ll let the judge tell you what he knows about that, but between you and me, I don’t think the sheriff’s gonna stick around here much longer.”
“He’s not going to finish out his term?”
“That’s the way I hear it. Kinda embarrassed that his chief deputy was a killer—or killer’s accomplice—or whatever. Guess he figgers on doin’ some politickin’ and lookin’ for a job to run for before the primaries next year.”
I nodded. “Better to leave on your terms than feel foolish by not getting endorsed to run for sheriff again.”
“Mmm. I think that’s somethin’ the judge wants to talk to you about.”
On Friday afternoon, Ronnie Shields called me up to his office. I found him, as I often do, staring out the window toward the town square, with its brick walks, park benches, tulip poplar trees and a lawn as thick as any well-groomed fairway.
He turned slowly toward me. “Hello, Sam.” He extended a hand toward his green leather guest chairs. “Have a seat.”
No smile. Uh-oh. Is that any way to treat a local hero?
“I saw ya at the press conference. Very well done.”
“Thanks.”
“So, I guess that’s it with the Riverside Strangler murders?”
“Just about. Toby Bowman is a separate issue. John and I are still working on that, but as far as those attributed to Pitts and Leary, yeah. Leary is going to jail. Pitts is dead, and the FBI is working with a few other PDs to clear cases in those jurisdictions.”
He nodded while I spoke but didn’t show an appropriate amount of enthusiasm for someone who just heard that his police chief was primarily responsible for clearing eight grisly murders.
“We didn’t get maximum prison time for our bucks,” I said, “but at least a bunch of families get some degree of closure—if that’s possible—or worth anything.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Joe Don Hartung was conspicuously absent from the conference,” I said. “No one mentioned him, but it didn’t look good. Any idea what he’s up to?”
Again, Ronnie spoke without emotion. “Rumors. Could be he’s ready ta move on. Might could seek a seat in the State House or Senate. Openin’s are comin’ up next election.”
“Then I guess it’s time for him to start kissing a few asses.”
“Sam, I know you don’t like politicians, but I wish you wouldn’t be so disrespectful all the time.”
I shrugged and really didn’t care what he wished. “Sorry to be so offensive, but I’ve had my share of politicians trying to stick it to me so often, I can’t muster much enthusiasm for them or the system.”
He nodded and looked upward—to the heavens, or maybe there was a spider on the ceiling.
“Is there something you needed, Ronnie?”
He looked at me, looked away and nodded. “Sam, there’s jest no easy way ta say this.” He took a moment to shake his head.
“My dog already died, so I’m guessing that’s not it. Go ahead. Spit it out.” I knew what was coming.
“Sam, your contract runs out end o’ this month. The council has decided not to renew it.”
I’d been sacked!
I won’t lie, that surprised me. But I’d be damned if I’d let Ronnie Shields see me look disappointed. I laughed silently. “I’m not surprised. Over the last five years, my service here has made the piss-ant politicians in this city and the county very nervous.”
“Sam, I—”
“Save it, Ronnie. Don’t make yourself look hypocritical. I don’t mind. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. Quite the opposite. I’m proud to have stuck it to so many dishonest shitheads who pretended to be public servants. So, I’ll leave and let one of the two good people in line to take the job get their chance. Who are you going to promote, Bettye or Stan?”
“Uh—” He hesitated much too long. “Uh, the council, uh, has decided ta bring in a supervisor from another department. Uh, Donna Wrangle, a sergeant at Murr-vull PD, will be the new chief.”
I could hear my eye lids click open. “Donna Wrangle? She’s Joe Rex Wilcox’s niece. My God, you people are incestuous.”
“Now, Sam—”
“Now, Sam, my ass. Donna Wrangle used to be secretary to Maryville’s mayor. Then she wanted to be a cop. Joe Rex must have called in a favor, and she was promoted to sergeant. For chrissakes, Ronnie, she’s in charge of the school crossing guards. You think she’s qualified to be police chief?”
With a pained look on his face, he said, “Sam—”
“Can it, Ronnie. You and those nitwits on the council couldn’t have made a stupider choice. She’ll be bad for your PD and for the morale of its personnel. There are only two people you should consider for the chief’s job.”
“Sorry, Sam, that’s not gonna happen.”
“You think so, huh? We’ll see about that.”
“Sam, there’s nothing you can do about this. I jest wish—”
“Stop. I’m off the payroll as of August 1st, so I don’t give a flying hoot what you wish, Mr. Mayor. I just need to know, are you sure you want to bypass two excellent people to hire a mediocre…person as your police chief?”
“That’s what the council decided.”
“And you just rolled over like a whipped puppy. Okay, the gloves are off. When I leave the room, I suggest you drop your pants and see if you’ve still got a pair.”
I stood abruptly and left without a goodbye. As I slammed the oak raised panel door, I heard Ronnie say, “Sam, I—”
I walked through the open double doors to the PD, and Bettye looked up from her computer keyboard. She removed her glasses and dropped them onto the desktop.
She frowned and looked concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“Why do you ask?”
John looked at me. “Your ears are red, Boss. That happens when you’re pissed off.” He switched his look to Bettye. “Sorry, Sarge.”
“What happened up there, Sammy?”
I took a deep breath. “You know that lunch you were organizing for my fifth anniversary?”
The frown came back, and she nodded. “Yes.”
“You’d better make it a going away party.”
Bettye stood abruptly. “Explain that to me.”
“What’s up, Boss?” John asked.
I shrugged. “The mayor told me that the council does not want to renew my contract. As of August 1st, I’m unemployed.”
“You got canned?” John asked.
“Yep.”
“Did he give you a reason?” Bettye asked.
I gritted my teeth. “Ronnie doesn’t have the ba…the nerve to answer a question directly. It’s no mystery. I’ve annoyed too many politicians in five years. Too many friends of the council members must have complained. Now they’re getting even.”
“And who’s gonna be the new chief?” Bettye asked.
“I suggested two people from within the department who could step in seamlessly. But they’ve already picked someone—Donna Wrangle, a sergeant from Maryville PD.”
“The former secretary who wanted to become a cop?” Bettye did not sound happy. “She supervises school crossing guards, not police officers.”
“She’s connected, huh, Boss?”
“That’s what it takes.”
Bettye picked up a book sitting on her desk and slammed it down. “This is not why I came back to work.” A tear ran down her left cheek. “I guess I’ll just have to resign again, won’t I?”
&
nbsp; Two more tears joined the other. I stood there silently like the village idiot. John said nothing.
“You gentlemen have to excuse me.” Bettye turned and stormed off in the direction of the rest room.
I stared at John. “That’s a shame.”
“You bet, Boss. Some surprise, huh?”
“Not totally. Every time I didn’t look the other way when some politico or his kid got into hot water, I’d hear about it—either from Ronnie, second hand or someone would pass a snide remark. Obviously, all men are not created equal. And I guess being in the middle of the crowd who bagged the sheriff’s pet chimpanzee for murder and instrumental when his rabbi the DA ate his gun were the straws that broke the camel’s balls. The timing was right. My contract will expire, and they’re under no obligation to renew it.”
“Some shit, huh, Boss? What’s this place gonna turn into?”
“If it goes like they plan, we can make a good guess. But I’m not going away with my tail between my legs.”
“Gonna stick it to them again?”
“Gonna try. Bettye’s pissed. She probably wouldn’t take the chief’s job now if they offered, but I’ll ask. Stanley deserves it. Getting him made chief would be easiest for me. I’m sure I could pull that off. And I think Bettye will be happy with what I could get her into.”
“And how about me, Boss? The mayor say if he was planning to fire me?”
“He didn’t say, but I’d start thinking about that possibility. You and Stan would get along fine. I’ll see what I can find out and what I can do to keep you two together.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bettye stepped back into the reception area. The eyeliner she wore earlier was now missing. It looked as if she had been crying, but returned freshened up, if no less annoyed.
She pushed her swivel chair into the desk with more force than necessary. “So what happens now?” Certainly no less annoyed.
I held up a finger indicating I wanted her to wait.
“John, would you listen for the phones and the radio?”
“Sure, Boss. I got it covered.”
“Let’s go to my office, Betts.”
“You will not make me feel any better with some logical explanation, Sam Jenkins. You do not know how mad I am.”
“I think I do. But, please, we need to talk. And I promise, no lectures or silly suggestions.”
“Alright.”
Moments later, we sat facing each other in the tan saddle leather guest chairs in front of my desk.
“Do not try and smooth me over by sayin’ everything will be alright,” she said.
“I planned on no such thing. I wanted to know if you’d help me stick it to the city of Prospect—and if you like what I suggest, you’ll get a big raise in pay for as long as you’re interested in working.”
She straightened up and pressed against the back of the chair. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“I might be able to engineer a way to save Prospect PD from the embarrassment of getting an unqualified chief and everyone here from serving a political machine.”
She raised her left eyebrow and looked skeptical.
“You want me to be the chief? How will Stanley feel about that?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I believe I can manipulate the situation because of people I know. I’m relatively sure I can name the next chief through simple fear of what could happen if Ronnie and the Council won’t play ball with me. But you and Stanley have to agree with what I want to do.”
Bettye nodded. “I’m listening.”
“I’ve got something in mind for you. One quick visit to someone will tell me if I can pull it off.”
I didn’t give her a chance to comment.
“Both you and Stan are qualified to run this department. No one in their right mind could honestly disagree with that. For this big scheme to work, I’d suggest that Stanley get the chief’s job. Could you live with that?”
The eyebrow went down, replaced with a frown.
“I could work for Stanley. Sure.”
The look on her face showed disappointment. I assumed she thought I’d be selling her out.
“I didn’t ask if you could work for him. I wanted to know if you were okay with him getting the job and not you. My primary intent is to make you happy while pulling off something that will show these people they can’t screw with me and leave this police department floundering.”
“I don’t understand. If he’s the one you want, do I have a choice?”
I sighed. “It doesn’t come down to that. I’m not planning on leaving you out in the cold. Remember what I said? Getting Stanley this spot would be easiest. Also remember what I said about getting you a raise?”
“Sam, you’re talking in riddles.”
I shook my head. “Okay. I’ll make it easier to understand. I can make Stan chief here. It will be pretty simple. And I think I can get you appointed as the interim sheriff.”
Her eyes popped open.
“Joe D plans on leaving his job soon to begin lobbying for a nomination in the State House. That would give you two years to occupy the appointed job before you had to decide if you wanted to run for reelection.”
“Me the county sheriff? Lord have mercy. Are you crazy?”
I smiled. “I might be crazy, but you’d be perfect. Remember when I got offered the job?”
“Of course. You were only here about a week.”
“Exactly. Not many people knew me back then. Now, after all the hullaballoo I’ve caused the politicians in this county, I doubt my benefactor could pull that one off. And I doubt I could talk myself into taking the job. But you’d. Be. Perfect. You’re much more politically correct than me. You’re never nasty or abrupt with people—except maybe me—but I guess it’s too late to bitch about that. You’re smart. You know how to be a cop. And you know how to lead other cops. Voila! Sheriff Bettye.”
“No maybes. You are crazy. And you have more confidence in my abilities than I do.”
“Nonsense. You can do that job. But if you get stuck for a good decision, I’d be hurt if you didn’t call me and ask for an opinion.”
“Could I appoint you an under-sheriff?”
“I doubt anyone would agree to that. But no one can keep you from picking up the phone—as often as you want.”
“And how do you plan on doing all this?”
“Simple, actually. But it might take a while to explain. Want a coffee?”
“No, I do not. You can pour me a drink, thank you very much.”
After explaining my cunning plan to Bettye, I made a quick call to Stan Rose. It only took me a few moments to bring him up to speed on the developing situation. Then I asked the $64,000 question.
“How’d you like to be the new chief?”
“You serious?”
“Does this sound like a comedy routine?”
“With you I never know, but, no, I guess not. And you want me?”
“I think I could make that happen, and I think you’d be perfect for the job.”
“Should I ask how?”
“No. If you’re captured, they can never make you talk.”
“Can I ask who they are?”
“Don’t be silly. You have no need to know.”
“That doesn’t sound very encouraging.”
“Piece of cake, really.”
“Yeah?” He couldn’t have sounded more dubious.
“We’ll see. You in or what?”
“If this doesn’t work, will I still have a job?”
“After I make my calls, I’m confident that a couple of heavies will work their magic to your benefit. These locals might think they’re hot stuff, but in the big scheme of things, they’re small and rotten potatoes. Have faith.”
“Easy for you to say, white man.”
“Yes, it is. Whadda ya say?”
The line was silent for a long moment. “For the last five years, I’ve trusted you through some pretty scary shit. I guess once
more can’t hurt.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Okay, Bwana, I’m with ya.”
After getting Stan’s compliance, I made another phone call—this time to Washington DC, and got lucky. The party I needed to speak with answered his own phone.
After that, I made a local call and arranged to meet the next day with someone quite important to my plan.
At 5 p.m., I drove home to break the news to my wife.
Kate handed me a gin and tonic the way I like it, with a large wedge of lime.
“You don’t look especially happy,” she said. “Anything go wrong today?”
“Today reminds me of an old joke.”
“Oh, yes?”
“I’ll paraphrase the punch-line for you. Everyone who will be employed as a police chief after August 1st take one step forward. Not so fast, Jenkins.”
“Say that again.”
“I got sacked. Ronnie told me the city council does not wish to renew my contract.” I took another sip of gin and tonic.
“That’s ridiculous. Who do they think could do a better job than you?”
“Getting best results or even good results doesn’t seem to be of paramount importance to those humps. They want to appoint a woman from Maryville PD who supervises crossing guards. Efficiency and good police work has nothing to do with it. She’s related to Joe Rex Wilcox and won’t cause any political trouble.”
“Those bastards.”
“My thoughts exactly. But I’m not going to make this easy for them. If they want to play politics, I’m going to show them how dirty their tiny little world can get by bringing in a couple of big guns.”
“I can’t wait to hear this plan.” Kate looked at her empty glass and rattled the remaining ice cubes. “You ready for a new drink?”
The next morning, at 9:30, I knocked on Judge Minas Tipton’s front door. His housekeeper, Loretta, answered and led me into the living room. Each time I visit the judge, I consider it akin to walking into the Museum of Early Southern Decorative Arts in Winston-Salem. I love to look at the real Federal Period furniture he owns and study the original Early American artwork. Besides being a genuine political cutthroat, the retired jurist was endowed with exquisite taste in furnishings.