by Jay Heavner
“Now that ain’t fair. I may not be a neatness nut, but I’m not Mr. Piggy either.”
Roger said, “Just glad to hear it’s now clean, and you’re not living like a filthy hermit.”
“Thanks, ole buddy. You’re a good one to talk. Gotta go. Gotta keep Canaveral Flats safe from the forces of evil.” “You do that, and I’ll let you know if I have questions. I probably will.” “Okay, and good luck with your cat.” Roger said, “I don’t have a cat.”
“Ah yes, you do. I can see it. Even Ray Charles could see that. Got to go. See ya.”
Roger waved goodbye as Bill departed. He hopped in the truck and was soon out of sight. Bill was correct. Somewhere in this report was the answer or a clue that would lead to the solution. All he had to do was see it. Right now, he was having a hard time reading the tea leaves. It was there, he was sure. Perhaps if he did a little stirring of the pot, something would come into view, or it would get someone’s attention. Sending a dog out in the field could flush a hunter’s prey, and maybe his investigation would make someone nervous. Some scenarios were forming in his mind. It troubled him that Bill wouldn’t provide an alibi, and he seemed to have one, but it could be just a ruse. The report provided by the coroner was a Godsend. Nothing succeeds like persistence and a plan, and a picture continued to develop in Roger’s mind.
He wondered about the cat. Would it play a part in this story? His dog, K9, had kept him from getting killed in the Windover investigation just like the Shaman had said. What was he up to? Still out in the St. John River marsh living off the land? Still with his sidekick, Del? Still scaring the hell out of criminals and troublemakers out there? Still rescuing people in distress?
There were so many unanswered questions. What would life have been like if his wife and son hadn’t died? What was he doing now? What was he here for? Why? Roger sighed as he thought. One thing he was sure of. He needed a reason to get up every morning and some daily routine. This investigation provided both. He could thank Bill for that. Old Bill, how did he fit? Were his motives as open as he’d like you to think, or was there more to it, or maybe even a little of both? Anyone, even he, in a moment of anger could snap and do something unimaginable. He’d seen it happen again and again. Roger knew this much for sure. He would follow the trail wherever it took him and let the chips fall where they may. And that was elementary, my dear Watson. The game was afoot. Henry IV and Shakespeare would understand.
CHAPTER 19
Roger laid stretched out in his La-Z-Boy. Its padding was already conforming to his lanky body. He read the files he’d acquired from the cor- oner on the Missy McCoy case. He was getting a good grasp on what happened and how the case was handled, poorly, and he had some ideas on what his next steps would be. K9 slept peacefully nearby. She’d been up earlier wanting attention, and Roger was more than happy to give it to her. He’d found an old stuffed Teddy Bear at Catholic Thrift Store nearby, bought it, and presented it to K9 for a play toy.
She’d taken to it immediately and often carried around in her mouth. She was sleeping next to it now. He watched as the tortoise-shell cat cautiously crept across in the less-than-manicured yard. Maybe he’d get Lester to cut it and work on the fence. Good fences made good neighbors and said, “Keep Out, Invited guests only.” A fence also protected what he cared about.
She was looking better than she had when he first saw her some time ago. K9’s food was putting some meat on her bones. She’d already been bringing him presents. Yesterday, he’d found a dead male mole in his yard. He knew it was a male because the corpse had an erection. What a way to die. The day before, he had found a young dying possum. It took two deep breaths and then was no more. She seemed to be quite a hunter. He guessed she had been living on her own for some time.
She looked around as she pussyfooted her way toward the screen door with the doggie door at the bottom in Roger’s screened porch. Roger followed her movement with his eyes and barely breathed. She stopped at the little door, looked around carefully, then nosed her way in, and headed for the waiting food. The cat eyed K9 and tiptoed to the food. She looked around one more time and then began to eat hungrily.
Roger watched as she rapidly ate. She raised her head and looked around. Her eyes froze on Roger’s eyes, and they widened. Her body tensed, and she began to back to the door. Her hindquarters touched it, and she deliberately slunk out the little door. She never took her eyes off Roger. The small door closed without a sound, and she turned to the woods. After walking about 20 feet, she halted, sat down, licked her fur, and returned her gaze to Roger. “Good kitty,” he whispered. “Good kitty.”
She seemed pleased with herself. Her head jerked around at a distant clamor that was growing louder. Dogs were barking and howling, and her ears were fixed on the approaching sound.
She looked back at Roger who was now standing, but quickly returned her attention to the coming tumult. K9 remained sleeping. From behind some brush growing in the ditch in the next lot, Roger saw a sight that made his jaw drop. A small wagon pulled by 6 goats headed down potholed Canaveral Flats Boulevard. The wagon looked like something Gypsies had discarded. It had pots and pans hanging from the sides clanking as the solid metal wheels hit the ruts, holes, and washboard sand. On top were a washtub, a wooden box, a large wicker basket, and a homemade sign that said, “PREPARE TO MEET THY GOD.” Worn looking bungee straps held all tightly on the roof. Clothing, plastic jugs containing water, and other curiosities hung from the sides.
The goats baaed and bleated loudly as they passed. They were either white or black, but some were a mixture of both. Some had long horns, some short, and one had none. Over the noise, Roger heard a throaty, gravelly voice shout, “Onward Peter and Paul. Stay the course, James and John. Steady as she goes Thomas and Thaddeus. We’re glory bound. Almost home.
Praises be.”
A bald leathery man with a beard that Santa Claus would envy wore bib overalls that looked like they had been obtained from the garbage can behind a thrift shop. He looked at gawking Roger, smiled, and raised his hand to wave. He was missing several teeth. Almost without thinking, Roger raised his hand. He watched as the aberration continued on down the street.
The clanging and bleating slowly receded as it passed from view. The cat who’d been watching the sight turned quickly back to Roger. He could tell she had been distracted and forgotten about him. “Good kitty,” he said. “Good kitty.” She thoughtfully looked at him for a few more seconds, licked her right front leg, and then walked into some nearby weeds and brush and disappeared.
Roger turned his attention to K9. “Some watchdog you are. You could sleep through a hurricane, maybe even the end of the world.” She paid him no mind and continued sleeping. Roger sat back down and read some more in the cold case file. He pondered several things in his mind, one which made the acid level in his stomach rise.
A truck skidded to a halt on the unpaved road in front of his old trailer. K9 growled, but didn’t open her eyes. “That’s right, girl. It’s your favorite cop again, the famous Canaveral Flats Chief of Police, Bill Kenney, and it looks like he’s coming this way. I think the acid level in my stomach is gonna climb some more.”
She growled again, a little louder this time. “Yeah,” Roger said. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”
Bill opened the dummy-locked gate and rapidly headed toward the trailer. “Hey, Roger,” he said as he barged past the man and dog and went into the trailer.
Roger grunted, “Why don’t you make yourself at home?” Some minutes later Bill returned with a cold beer in his hand. “Whoo-ee, did I have to go. Being a cop, sometimes you’re too busy to go or in the wrong place and can’t, and when you do, it’s Katie bar the door.”
“Bill, I hope you turned on the exhaust fan after you were done.” “I did, but it wasn’t working. I was afraid to light a match as it could have blown us both to kingdom come.”
“Thanks for that, old buddy. It wasn’t on my schedule to die today espec
ially from a friendly fire gas explosion.” He stopped. “Know anyone who can fix a dead fan?” Roger asked.
“Check with Lester. Probably something simple and he’s a good handyman jack of all trades kinda guy. Probably a loose wire, short somewhere, bad fuse, or maybe the fan has died. I’m sure he can figure it out and be really reasonable about the price too. Thanks for the beer.”
“Yeah, why don’t you help yourself?” Roger said. “Barge rights in here, stink up the place and help yourself to my beer. Aren’t you on duty?” “You know the drill. I check myself off the clock one microsecond before the can hits my lips and back in when the last drop slides down my gizzard.”
“Thought that was the case for you, Bill. What do you want? Why don’t you make yourself at home? Take a load off your mind and have a seat.” “Roger, you should know by now if I enter your trailer, it’ll be to get beer or use the bathroom 99% of the time?”
“And the other 1%?”
“Why that’s when I put on my super suit and save Canaveral Flats and the world from all kinds of doers of evil.”
“Should have known I’d get an answer like that. What’s on your mind aside from my beer and bathroom superhero?”
Bill ignored the cut. “I haven’t talked to you in a few days. We need to get each other up to speed on what’s been going on.
You know, compare notes and the like. What’s up with you here?” “Well, I think I may be losing my mind.” “Small loss if you want my opinion.” Roger shot Bill daggers from his eyes. “No, I don’t want your opinion, ole buddy. Don’t give me that. You must have seen it too.” “Seen what?” Bill said innocently.
“The aberration. It just went down the road. You had to have seen it?” “Okay. What did it look like?”
“A tumble down wagon pulled by six goats with an old man at the wheel. He’d made the Beverly Hillbillies look like bluebloods.” “Any other witnesses?” “Just the stray cat.”
“Not even K9?” Bill asked.
“No, K9 slept through the whole thing.” “How much have you been drinking?”
Roger said, “Less than usual. Look, if you think it’s the DTs, it ain’t that. I know what I saw.”
Bill smiled. “Yeah, I know what’s going on.”
“Well? Am I going crazy or not?” “That’s a question for a professional.” “Very funny, old friend.”
Bill took a sip on his beer, swallowed, and said, “That was no aberration. That was Goatman.”
“Goatman?”
“Yeah, Goatman. His real name is Charley Smith. He’s some of that local color I was telling you about living in Canaveral Flats.”
“Like you?” “And you.”
“I guess so.” Roger sighed, “That’s good to know. At least I’m not going crazy. You didn’t have to lead me on like that, ole buddy.” “Just checking on your well-being like a good cop and friend, ole bud.” “Very funny.”
“And I saw the cat too. They’re both real. You feeding her, Roger?” “Yeah.”
“Then you got a cat now.” “Just what I need, a cat.”
“Yup. She’ll make herself at home and won’t leave no matter what. My theory is dogs had to be domesticated by ancient man, but cats just showed up and wouldn’t leave. You got a cat.”
“I think so, too.”
“Besides,” Bill said, “you’re a homeowner. Look at the word homeowner. It’s got the word meow in it. You got a cat.”
“I believe you’re right. Now tell me about this Goatman fellow.” Bill said, “He got shot up in World War II. Army put him on full disability, so he gets a check each month. Got a cash settlement in the beginning for his service and used it to buy one of the first lots sold in Canaveral Flats. Fact is he’s got two lots of about 3 acres each side by side in the back of Canaveral Flats. You think its primitive here in this section, you ain’t seen nothing till you get out there. Think jungle.”
“Lions and tigers and bears?” “More like bobcats, Florida panthers, wild pigs, snakes, and gators. Don’t think we have any bears, but there are a lot north of Orlando in the woods. As the city grows, human and bear contact is becoming more frequent, and it’s usually not good for the bears.”
“Oh my,” Roger said. “Oh my is right. Goatman had a woman people say was his wife. That was before my time when I came here. The story goes she got tired of him and his ways and left. I don’t know what became of her. Like I said, before my time. Anyway, they had a son. He used to go with his dad on his travels in the goat wagon. That wanderlust urge would just hit him, and he would take off for parts unknown and return when he got tired of traveling.”
“Yeah, no place like home.” Bill said, “The kid grew up, got tired of the primitive living, and joined the Army to escape. Last I hear, he was with some Special Forces group doing black ops type of work. Hush hush stuff, you know.”
“Okay, now I know about Goatman, and I’m not going crazy. What did you come here for besides the beer and bathroom?” Bill took a sip on the beer. “By the way, thanks for the beer.” “You’re welcome,” Roger growled. “Now, what did you really come here for?”
“It’s been an interesting few days. I wasn’t feeling well and went to the doc. She looked at me, ran some tests, and said it was a cold, so you know, take Tylenol, get plenty of sleep, and if it didn’t go away soon, come back for a dose of penicillin.”
“With all your catting around, penicillin would be a good catchall.” Bill ignored Roger’s remark. “She told me something in confidence that’d have to deny if it ever came up, but the local pastor at the Riverside Baptist Church may have some information that could help you in the investigation.”
“Interesting.” “Go talk to him. He’s a good guy. Used to be a Brevard County Deputy before the Lord got a hold on him. Also, I talked to Hernandez, gave her a quick summary of our trip. She said she wanted to talk to you.”
“That’s not a surprise,” Roger said. “I’ve been wondering how long a leash she was goin’ give me.” “Me too, Roger,” Bill said. “And I got hungry after seeing the doctor.” “That’s not a surprise either.”
“Stopped at Umpa’s and Marsha was there working. Your name came up, and she said she hoped to hear from you or see you.”
“Now that is a pleasant surprise,” Roger said. “Don’t ask me what she sees in you.”
“I like cats and dogs. I take them in, you know.”
“Yeah, you look like a stray in need of rescue, Roger. Clean up and take a bath before you see anyone, especially certain women we know.” “Quit your exaggerating, Bill. I didn’t get a bath yesterdays, but I can’t smell that bad, really.” “Goatman said there was a foul odor he noticed about your property as he passed, like something dead. He asked me to check it out, and I now know the source.”
“Bill, you really know how to hurt a guy, you do.” “Take a bath, Roger. Oh, one more tidbit of info. Don’t know if it will help or not, but Missy had a nipple ring. Don’t know if that was in the report you have or not.”
“No, it wasn’t. Could be useful. You never know. Got any more info or insults, Bill, old buddy?” “No, the beer’s gone, and that’s my signal to get back to work.” “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
“I won’t. You never know what kind of mischief and/or mayhem is going on that needs my professional attention.” Roger said, “Yeah, you probably need some sack time with Connie. Don’t give me that innocent look. Remember her? The gal you sent me to for information we needed on the Windover case?”
“No, that old cougar will leave you worn out, scratched, and bleedin’.” “That why you sent me to her without warning?”
Bill said, “It was more like a vaccination. Now you know what’s she’s like and should have immunity against her charms.”
“I’d rather just had a warning. What if I’d been interested in what she was peddling?”
“Yeah, that would have been interesting.” Roger swore under his breath. Bill said, “Sounds like my cue to le
ave. Call me when you have something and aren’t so grumpy and take a bath too.
Hernandez wants to talk with you, too.”
Roger said, “Think I need to train my dog to attack on command annoying people.”
“No way. Me and K9 are buddies, ain’t that right K9?”
K9 showed her teeth and growled, but didn’t open her eyes or move. “See, Roger? What did I tell you?”
“I think it’s in your best interest to leave now, Bill. I may be the one doing the biting.”
“Very well and remember, you’re talking to an officer of the law.” “You won’t let me forget that sorry fact. I’ll call you when I get around to it.”
“Call, but see the others first. Could be important. Bye.” Bill left the house, walked to the truck, and soon disappeared. Roger sat and grumbled to himself. Bill knew how to push his buttons. He needed to hide them more. He figured he knew what Hernandez wanted. So far he had free reign, and he hoped it continued. What information if any did the preacher have? He smiled as he thought of Marsha. He hadn’t thought much about women since his wife had died. Maybe he should. Marsha could be a good start, maybe. Definitely not Connie the man-eat- er. He had a feeling things were going to get interesting for him in more ways than one, and his feelings were seldom wrong.
CHAPTER 20
“Well, Mr. Smith, that sure was fun. Let’s do it again soon, real soon.” Mr. Smith smiled. “Yeah, it was. How about now?” “Later, Mr. Smith. Later.”
“Mrs. Smith? It’s later.” “So it is, but we have business calling. The D or someone lower in the delegation will be calling soon. It’s unlikely they’ll want us to drop everything right now and go, but it could happen.”
“Mrs. Smith, there’s not much more we could drop right now.” He lifted the sheet and looked at her naked body next to his. She smiled, “Yeah, I guess there’s not, but I don’t want to be the one to have to face the wrath of the order. They’ll be plenty of time for more fun in the sack. You don’t think I keep you around just because you’re tall, dark, and handsome and can lift heavy items and reach things up high, do you?”