by Wayne Zurl
A couple minutes after my arrival, the old man greeted me, and we planted our respective backsides on either end of the sofa. Shortly thereafter, Loretta walked in carrying a tray of cups, saucers, a plate of homemade cookies and an antique silver coffee pot.
“Miss Loretta,” I said, “how does the Judge stay so trim while you’re making all these cookies? If I visit more often, I’ll need bigger pants.”
“Oh, Chief, you’ve got a long way ta go b’fore you get fat.”
“Pay no attention, Loretta,” the judge said. “This rascal can’t pass up the opportunity to flirt with a good-lookin’ woman.”
I smiled. Caught in the act.
“Oh, Judge, you stop that now.” She blushed a little and then left us alone.
After a few preliminary words, Judge Tipton and I got down to business.
“Damn fools,” he spat out and made a face that indicated that he was disgusted with his political colleagues. “And that young fool Ronnie Shields went along with them?”
I nodded and sipped a little black coffee.
“I’d hate to see the people at Prospect PD get hamstrung by some new leader who doesn’t have the best interest of the people and that city at heart.” I sounded like a crusader wanting to attack the Holy Land, saving it for God and the entire Christian world.
“Ha,ha,ha,ha.” He slapped his knee. “You cain’t never get your head around the idea that these rogues jest don’t care about doin’ the right thing, can ya, Sam?”
I threw my hands up about shoulder high. “Doing the right thing just isn’t that difficult, Your Honor. I worry, seriously, about the morale of a dozen really good cops.”
He nodded his snow-white head of hair for a few moments. “I know that, Sam. I do know that. What do you think I can do to help ya?”
“I’ve got a handle on my PD situation. I think I can iron out this new police chief business and save those cops from working in a lousy situation. It’s actually something else I’d like to talk about.”
“Shoot. You never ask for anything personal. When you need a favor, it’s always directly related to the job. And although you’ve never in all these years mentioned it, and probably never would, I still owe you one, Sam—a big one. Remember, son, I’m not gettin’ any younger, so this may be the time to let me repay.”
I nodded and sighed deeply. “This would be doing something for a really good person and the county would gain a big benefit.”
The judge tilted his head and frowned. I set the hook and began reeling him in.
“I hear that Joe Don Hartung intends to leave his job to pursue other political avenues.”
Tipton nodded. “It’s been a long time comin’. Went to the sheriff’s office with no experience and big aspirations, that boy. Now would be a good time ta skedaddle. Lord knows he could get embarrassed in the next election if someone brought up that Ryan Leary scandal.”
“So, the sheriff’s job will be open for the remaining two years of Joe D’s term?”
“You know it will.” He flashed a big smile. “I offered you that job once, son. Want it now?”
I shook my head. “I doubt the political machine in Blount County could ever warm up to me. No. I don’t want to be sheriff, but I will strongly recommend someone who could do as good a job as me and be much less offensive.”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha. Less offensive. I know you don’t mind stickin’ it to these local rascals—probably enjoy it no end, don’t ya?”
I smiled and would never begin to deny it to the old coot. “Oh, hell, I’m immaterial at the moment. But I think Sergeant Bettye Lambert would make one hell of a sheriff.”
I went on to explain all of Bettye’s professional attributes and why I thought she would be the best person for the job.
“And don’t tell your political friends, but I offered to be something of an unpaid silent partner or technical advisor if she ever needed a second opinion about some nuts and bolts police work.
“She’s one hell of a good cop, Judge, and those two years will let her determine if she wants to run in the next election. You get the opportunity to observe and evaluate your interim sheriff without spending a dime on a campaign. If you like what you see and endorse her, she might even run unopposed. Sounds like a good deal all around.”
The judge placed a half-eaten cookie on a plate and took a moment to sip his coffee. “Sam, a recommendation from you means a lot. I know you wouldn’t back someone with the potential of embarrassin’ ya.” He paused for a brief moment. “She’d have ta sit down with Foxy Fanwick and allow his investigator ta vet her. From what ya say, she won’t have a problem, but Foxy would want to make sure those Democrats couldn’t discredit the candidate he’d officially back.”
“Foxy Fanwick is a real name?”
“Ha,ha,ha,ha. Party chairman, Sam, party chairman. Been around since, Lord, I don’t know, since Teddy Roosevelt served his first term. Name’s Foxworth Fanwick. I’ll tell him you’ll be coming with this Miss Bettye to meet him. Hell, son, Foxy isn’t a bad sort. Ya may even like him.”
I didn’t want to speculate on who I’d like or not before Bettye had a lock on the sheriff’s job. I smiled as if Foxy and I might get to be fast friends.
“Let me see what I can do,” Tipton said. “If the county mayor doesn’t see things my way, I’ll tell ‘im you’ve threatened ta bring fire and sword down on his county. Ha, ha, ha, ha.”
“Maybe you give me too much credit, but a good scare often works wonders.”
I left Judge Tipton’s house and hadn’t gotten two miles closer to Prospect when my cell phone sounded off.
“Sam, where are you?” Mayor Ronnie Shields asked.
In five years, he’s never called my cell phone.
“I’m in Maryville. You need something? You sound terrible.”
“Sam, how could you do this to me?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“I need ta see ya. Why are y’all in Maryville?”
He was causing me to get a little hot under the collar.
“I’m on police business. Is there a problem with that?”
His breathing sounded labored. I thought perhaps he was having a heart attack and figured I’d be the best person to call for assistance. Not really.
“I’ve had two disturbin’ phone calls that I think you know about. I don’t mind tellin’ ya, I’m not happy about this.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Ronnie. And, Mr. Mayor, excuse me for being blunt, but I don’t rightly care. In effect, you’ve fired me. I have two weeks left in my contract. By my own high standards, I will, during that time, provide the city of Prospect with the services for which you pay me. And I believe that I owe you civility. But excuse me again because I don’t think we’ll spend those two weeks like a pair of best buddies.”
“Sam, I need—”
I cut him short. “I’ll be back in Prospect in ten minutes. I’ll come straight to your office. Don’t go anywhere.”
I hung up.
Trudy Connor stared at me as if I was one of the famous Dead Men Walking.
“Oh, Mr. Jenkins, I’m so sorry to hear about what’s happenin’. I don’t—”
“It’s okay, Trudy. Not your fault. Things happen. I’m going in. Okay?”
“Yes, sir, go ahead.”
It was the first time she didn’t bother announcing me.
I closed Ronnie’s office door a lot more forcefully than necessary. At the sound, he turned from looking out his window at the town square and stared at me.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Two phone calls,” he said.
“You’ve already said that. What do they have to do with me?”
“One was from your friend, that colored man you used ta work with. The one who came here to interview Stanley Rose when he got promoted.”
“Alonzo Crosby?”
“That’s him. From that national group of black policemen.”
“Alonzo is presiden
t of The Guardians. They represent all black police officers—men and women.”
“Yes. Yes. The man about threatened me.”
“Shall I assume you mean he wants you to do the right thing?”
“Right thing?”
“Yeah, the right thing! Appoint Stanley the new chief. The man I recommended before you and the idiots on the Council decided to hire some political hack who supervises school crossing guards.”
“You called him?”
“Ronnie, I’ve known you for five years. We haven’t always agreed on things, but I didn’t think of you as a nincompoop—until now. Of course, I called him. Do you think I’d let you people screw every person working at PPD?”
“He, this person, said if we didn’t appoint Stanley, he’d get his lawyers ta slap an injunction on us appointin’ Donna Wrangle and take us ta court.”
I poked my right index finger at the Mayor. “Good for him.”
“Do you know how much that could cost the city?”
“Yeah. Lots. Are you going to fight this?”
He didn’t answer immediately. I witnessed some heavy breathing and wondered if that heart attack wasn’t too far off.
“I wasn’t off the phone with this Alonzo person twenty minutes when that, that other one called—also threatenin’ me.”
“What other one?”
“That Crofton person. The reverend. The activist. The one who brought in all those protestors when Officer Puckett shot that colored boy.”
I nodded like I didn’t know a thing about this. “The Reverend Hal Crofton? Despicable person. What did he want?”
“You don’t know?”
“We’re not on speaking terms.”
“Same as that Alonzo person. He said if we didn’t appoint Stanley Rose as po-leece chief, he’d claim we was discriminatin’ against him, Stanley that is, ‘cause he’s black.”
He stopped talking and just kept looking at me.
“Yep, Stanley sure is black.”
He sighed and dropped his shoulders in all one motion. “He threatened to bus in hundreds o’ demonstrators. He claimed he’d camp out here for weeks.”
I laughed silently. “That’s what Crofton does. And he’s good at it. So, all you have to do is choose Stan as the new chief, and Crofton won’t bring his protestors to Prospect?”
“So he says. Should I trust him?”
“He’s letting you off cheap. Usually he asks for a million or two as a donation to his church to keep his hounds at bay.” I shrugged. “You’re lucky.”
“Do you know how much overtime I’d have ta pay if he sent in hundreds o’ demonstrators?”
I smiled. “Of course, I know. Not to mention the charge-back you’d be on the hook for if you got assistance from the sheriff, the state troopers and the National Guard. That’s a huge expense. If the governor learned that you could have headed off that catastrophe the easy way and didn’t, you’d be politically up Shit Creek.”
Ronnie dropped into his oversized swivel chair and sunk into the leather. “You’re lovin’ every minute o’ this, ain’t ya?”
I shook my head. “I think what you did was reprehensible. The city council leads you around by your nose, and you expect me to roll over and play dead when you try to destroy the morale of a dozen good cops. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“You can’t do this, Sam,” he gasped.
“I already have. What are you going to do to me, cancel my contract a second time? Give me a bad letter of reference? I don’t care, Ronnie. Read my lips. I. Do. Not. Care.”
His shoulders dropped even further, and his heavy breathing made him look like an eighty-year-old man who just ran a hundred yard dash flat out.
“So what am I supposed ta do?”
“Simple. Promote Stanley, and you’ll look like a hero to the troops, the people of Prospect and the media. Or don’t and watch out for the tons of shit Alonzo Crosby and Hal Crofton dump on your head. In the end, Mr. Mayor, all the political heroes will hold you accountable. If this thing turns to shit, you will hang while they say, ‘I told you so.’ Your call, Ronnie. No one else’s. Think about where your ass will be when the smoke clears.”
“You’re not leaving us much choice, are ya, Sam? This is blackmail, ya know.”
I smiled again. “Don’t be silly. It’s coercion 1st degree. And what are you going to do about it? Not comply? If Crofton brought in a battalion of protestors, Stanley could handle it. You think Donna Wrangle is up to the job? Try it your way. Every swingin’ ass among your political cronies will leave you hanging out to dry. This thing will go into the cesspool with you along for the ride.”
Ronnie closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t deserve this, Sam.”
I snorted. “Balls. You deserve worse. For five years, I thought you were almost a standup guy. Sure, you were influenced by these shithead politicians on occasion, but when push came to shove, you did the right thing—under duress maybe, but you did all right. After this—you deserve a good beating.”
His eyes popped.
“Don’t worry. I won’t mess you up.”
Automatically, his hand went up as if to protect his hair.
“Ronnie, I plan on leaving Prospect gracefully. Just figure you’re not invited to my going away party.”
I turned and walked out.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I stopped at Ms. Connor’s desk and smiled. “Trudy, why don’t you get your boss a glass of sweet tea or something? I think he may need a little energy supplement.”
She blinked a few times, and her mouth moved a little—almost a smile, but pro that she is, she held back and just nodded.
I smiled again. “Have a good day.”
“You aren’t in any more trouble, are you?” Bettye asked.
While she was frowning at me, I grabbed her side chair, spun it around and sat with my forearms resting on the back. John Gallagher looked at me, grinning like a Gestapo interrogator who just met his new victim.
“And why, Ms. Desk Sergeant, would I be in trouble?”
“Because you’ve only got a short time left here. You have nothing to lose. And I assume, based on my intimate knowledge of your personality, you couldn’t resist bein’ a wise guy and sayin’ somethin’ extra offensive.”
I blinked rapidly and tried to look shocked at her statement. “I’m…I’m…I’m aghast at what you think I’m capable of. If I had feelings, they’d be hurt.”
“Oh, stop the act.”
“Yeah, Boss, the Sarge figured out what you’d be like with a short-timer’s attitude. The way I see it, she nailed you.”
“Thank you, John. I can always count on you to stick up for me.”
“Did you read the mayor the Riot Act?” Bettye asked.
I shrugged. “I told the mayor I thought he and the council members were reprehensible and that if he kept spreading his legs for all the political imbeciles in this county, someday he might find himself in the slammer. Plus a few other choice words. When I left, there was no doubt in his mind that I was ashamed of him.”
John stifled a laugh. “So much for my grandmother’s adage of ‘If you can’t say somethin’ nice about someone, don’t say nothin’ at all’.”
“Yeah, my mother had similar advice, but I told her I wasn’t put on earth to be everyone’s friend.”
Bettye shook her head and clamped her lips together like she does when I frustrate her. “You are impossible, Sam Jenkins.”
“You always say that.”
“Can what you said get you in trouble?”
“With whom? I’m protected by the 1st Amendment. Besides, what could they do to me? I no longer work here.”
“Sammy, I’d say, ‘What am I going to do with you,’ but there’s no hope. I give up.”
“Nonsense. You’re just getting started. I’ve got news about your future. Come inside,” I pointed at my office door, “and John will do the phone and radio routine.”
“Take your time, Boss. I
’ll hold down the fort.”
* * *
Bettye and I adjourned to my guest chairs.
“After a morning with my only political rabbi, Minas Tipton, I feel certain I’m looking at the next sheriff.”
Her hazel eyes widened. A half smile said she wasn’t sure she believed me but felt a spark of happiness anyway. She looked like a fifteen-year-old girl asked to the senior prom by an older guy.
“Me? You can’t be serious.”
“I am. When Judge T says, ‘I’ll see what I can do, I surely will,’ you can figure the check has already started to clear.”
“Well.” Her smile got bigger. She looked lovely. Once again, I doubted that anyone could take a bad picture of Bettye Lambert.
“My last instruction from old Minas was that you’ll have to meet a guy named Foxy Fanwick. Ever hear of him?”
“Sure. The party chairman.”
“Every time I hear that, I think we’re dealing with the Kremlin.”
“Do I need to know anything before I see Foxy?”
“I doubt it, but when Tipton calls me with the appointment date, I’ll ask how to play it. My guess—Foxy is going to ask for a brief sketch of your qualifications. But, based on the current Sheriff having been nothing but a semi-employed rich kid before he got elected, your background interview should be quite brief. His big concern will be if you’ve got any skeletons in your closet.”
“Skeletons?”
“Potential embarrassment if the opposition party digs into your past.”
She got a mischievous look on her face. “Shoot, darlin’ if’n I’ve been able ta resist the likes o’ you these last five years, you better believe I been a good girl all my forty-seven years.”
“You mean those stories of you skinny dipping in the Little River weren’t true?”
Another award-winning smile. “Wouldn’t y’all like ta know?”
I chuckled. “If you do any campaigning, I suggest you use that Daisy Mae voice when you talk to the folks from up in the hills and down in the hollers. They’ll jest love ya ta death.”
Two days went by, and we heard nothing about Prospect PD’s new police chief and nothing about Bettye’s status. Uncertainty hung in the air like a cloud of smoke on a windless day.