Cuff Me, Sheriff

by Douglas, Katie

  “Thanks, Bob, I knew I could count on you.”

  I returned the receiver to its cradle and picked up my sandwich, taking two more bites before wrapping it back up so I could get on the road.

  “Mike, you’re in charge while I’m gone. I’ve got my cellphone. Any whiff of our drug dealer and you’re to call me immediately. Otherwise, don’t bother me. This is important.”

  “Yes, boss,” Mike replied, doing a mock salute.

  Chapter 2

  Mariella

  I walked down the corridor to the room in Phoenix Hospital where the latest victim was in a coma. Sitting outside, the parents looked broken. I wondered what that must be like. I’d never gotten close enough to anyone to care so deeply.

  I kept going. I could talk to the parents at any time, they looked like the type to be here day and night, and I doubted they’d have much useful to tell me. Typical country folk.

  The doctor, on the other hand...

  I strode into the room where I heard him talking to someone. Two men stood at the end of the kid’s bed. One wore a doctor’s coat with a stethoscope draped around his shoulders, the other had a sheriff’s uniform on.

  “Jimmy Green?” I asked, pointing to the bed.

  “That’s him. I’m Doc Brown,” the doctor said, but before he could offer his hand, the other man stepped in front of him. Was he trying to be protective?

  “And you are...?” the sheriff asked.

  Great. A hick sheriff from a one-horse town. I flashed him a smile that didn’t extend to my eyes.

  “Mariella Frost. FBI.” I held out a hand to show him I was a professional.

  He raised a brow, and our eyes locked. A challenge. I wasn’t going to look away first. He took my hand. His grip was stereotypically firm. Controlling? Possibly. The look in his eyes suggested he wasn’t letting go of this case without a fight. Typical caveman.

  Well, I wasn’t some fainting wallflower. I resisted the urge to stick out my chin.

  “What’s the FBI doing here?” Doc Brown asked, breaking the tension. Sheriff Hick and I both looked away at the same moment.

  “Chasing a drug dealer. He’s left a trail of bodies between New York and here. Doesn’t seem to have a distribution network. The blood work flagged up in the FBI database and I got a call. I was investigating the other case in Arizona, over in Mesa.”

  “We don’t need your help,” the sheriff said. “I got this one. I’ll let your office know when I arrest the guy.”

  His deep voice set me on edge straight away. I don’t think I’d ever met anyone I liked less.

  “No. That’s not how this works.” I spoke in a clear, calm voice. “Do we really need to have a cockfight over jurisdiction? It’s a little childish, sheriff...?” I waited for him to tell me his name. He didn’t.

  “You’re probably a little dizzy from having to ride your oxen all the way to the big city to see this boy in the hospital,” I told Sheriff Hick. “When you decide to stop being a jackass, give me a call.” I held out my card. He didn’t take it. Fine.

  I turned and left the room, approaching the parents.

  “Hi there, I’m Agent Frost from the FBI,” I began. The woman’s eyes widened in fear. Great. It was time to play bingo. How it worked was, I got to tick off every phrase they said that I’d heard from every other worried parent over the years.

  “Feds? Is Jimmy in trouble?” One point for ‘Is my boy in trouble?’

  “No, ma’am, but I’m tracking the dealer. Can you tell me what you know?”

  “Jimmy was at a party with those young people in campervans that are parked outside of Snake Eye. First thing we knew, the hospital called us. He was in a coma. Now they say it’s drugs, but it can’t be.” It can’t be drugs. Second point.

  “Ma’am, sometimes teenagers experiment with—”

  “No. I know my boy. He wouldn’t do this. That’s not my son. He’s a good kid.” Four points in a row. Bingo. I remained deadpan.

  “What time did he leave for the party?” I asked.

  “Around seven?” Mrs. Green looked to her husband, who nodded in confirmation. “We got the call from the hospital at nine forty-two.” She held out her phone to show me the call log. I made a mental note, in case it was relevant later.

  “I promise you, we’ll get to the bottom of this,” I reassured them. “Here’s my card, if you can think of anything that might help, even names of other people at the party, give me a call. Day or night.”

  “Thank you.”

  I left the parents to their wallowing in worry. It wasn’t my job to fix them, or make them believe their son had taken drugs. I mean, it was fucking obvious, really. He’d taken them. He wouldn’t be in a coma if he hadn’t.

  There was nothing else productive I could do here, not with that silly yokel sheriff around. I went to the elevator and pressed the button. While I was waiting, a shadow crossed my eye line.

  “His name’s Sheriff Bob Halsey,” Doc Brown said. “And he’s a good man.”

  “I’ve met far too many of those,” I replied. “All the best serial killers were good men.”

  The elevator arrived and I stepped in, letting the doors close between me and Doc Brown.

  * * *

  Bob

  I spent some time talking to Mr. and Mrs. Green. They had no information at all, but they needed reassurance and a familiar face. That federal agent had shook them up. She’d shaken me up, too. Doc was about the only one with any composure, and that was probably because he had years of clinical practice under his belt.

  I drove back to the sheriff’s office, where Mike was dealing with Mrs. Vanderhosen.

  “I had eight ducks! And they went out this morning but now there’s only seven,” she said, in a shocked but insistent voice. She was like a pushy little mouse.

  “Ma’am, have you checked your chicken coop?” Mike suggested.

  “No. They’re ducks. What would they go to the chicken coop for?”

  “Why does anyone go a wand’rin’?” I asked in a slow voice.

  “Bob? This true? You think my duck will be in the chicken coop?” She gazed up at me like a kid asking for reassurance that Santa was real.

  “Ma’am, if I were a duck, I’d be in your air conditioned chicken coop about now. It’s thirty-five out there. It ain’t a big deal to us, we’re used to it. But ducks? They ain’t made for the Arizona desert.” I said it so convincingly that she nodded and left. Once she was driving out of the parking lot, Mike turned to me and grinned.

  “Some first class detectiving, there, boss,” he teased.

  “I’m sure President Woodrow’s gonna knock on my door any minute now and give me a medal.”

  “He’s made personal visits for similar reasons,” Sean pointed out. It was true. The president spent a lot of time connecting with the public. He was definitely one of the good ones.

  “Find anything out about Jimmy Green?” Mike asked, and my thoughts turned serious.

  “Not yet. His parents are distraught. They’re keeping vigil in the hospital.”

  “I’ll see if my mom can take them some food,” Sean said.

  “That’s a lovely idea.” Mrs. Connelly loved cooking, and she would hate to think of anyone sitting in the hospital eating from vending machines. She always brought us things for the Sheriff’s Station Annual Potluck, which everyone in town was invited to attend.

  “And I’ll drive to their place and check they’ve locked up properly. I doubt anyone would rob them, but you never know—”

  Mike’s offer was interrupted by the phone. I was closest.

  “Sheriff Bob Halsey speaking.”

  “Bob? Can you come over? There’s one of those drifters in my backyard and he’s acting like a raccoon around my trash cans! There’s garbage everywhere.” It was Mavis Biers. She was one of several elderly ladies in the town who lived alone.

  “Sure. I’ll be there in ten.” I finished the call and put the receiver down before turning to my deputies. “We
got a drifter at Mavis Biers’ place. Who wants to come?”

  “I’ll stay,” Mike said. “Someone needs to be here in case a cat gets stuck in a tree or something.”

  “Isn’t that Brandon Reid’s job over at the fire department?” Sean asked. I was reminded that he’d only been with us for a few months, ever since he’d come back from the army.

  “Sure, deputy, but if someone calls us, we answer,” I told him. “We never pass the buck if it’s something we can do to help protect and serve this town. That’s just not our way.”

  “Plus it’d get real boring here if we didn’t help people find their lost ducks or pick up their trash cans,” Mike added. We all laughed, then Sean and I headed out to round up the drifter.

  * * *

  Bob

  “Heckin’ and feckin’! Ninety-five cents a kilo! The oil is rising!”

  The shouts from Mrs. Biers’ backyard were audible the moment we got out of my car. I led the way around the back of her property.

  “Sheriff,” I said, to announce my presence.

  “Jellyfish cobblers!” The old man froze in the middle of picking through a small mountain of garbage. He’d spilled four trash cans out onto Mavis’s patio and seemed to be looking for something.

  “You got a name?” I asked him.

  “Names, names, name’s the games,” he muttered, turning back to his pile of garbage.

  “I’m Sheriff Bob Halsey, and you’re trespassing on private property. You need to come with us.”

  The drifter frowned. “What’choo say?”

  “You’re trespassin’, son. Would you come along quietly?” He was old enough to be my father, but I called everybody ‘son.’

  When he ignored us, we had to arrest him. Then he got angry. We drove back to the station while the drifter shouted and swore at us, but we paid him no mind. Probably drunk.

  * * *

  Mariella

  I decided to try the Sheriff’s office, on the off-chance Sheriff Hick had decided to stop being a ginormous ass. As I got out of my car, the Sheriff himself pulled up, getting out with one of his deputies. They opened the back door and I watched them escort a drifter inside.

  “Cheese ain’t as good as it used to be. Not since they started putting lead in it.”

  The drifter’s bizarre remark made me laugh out loud. Sheriff Bob looked over his shoulder. I covered my mouth with my hand and tried to look serious. He wasn’t someone I wanted to share a joke with.

  “The raccoons took my hat,” the drifter added. I sort of felt sorry for the man. What had done this to him? Nothing he said made any sense. Was it a stroke?

  “Don’t worry, we got those pesky raccoons,” Sheriff Bob said gruffly.

  Once we were inside, the Sheriff gave me a Look, then he turned to his deputy.

  “Can you book this guy, Sean? Let me know if he’s got any ID on him. I’ve gotta talk to the Federal Agent.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  Another deputy walked past me, giving me a brief smile as he went and touching his hat.

  “Ma’am.” It was all he said before he was gone.

  Shame he wasn’t my type. He seemed sweet enough.

  “Are you through staring at my deputy, yet?” Bob asked. His question jarred at my nerves and I had to center myself before I replied.

  “I’m here to ask a few questions, Sheriff.”

  “I’m not here to answer them.” His manner was infuriating.

  “Really? We’re still doing this? Fine, I’ll ask your deputy...” I turned to go but the Sheriff put his hand on my arm. I stiffened and pulled away, but I turned back and looked him square in the eye.

  “Don’t touch me,” I snapped.

  His expression flickered for a minute. I don’t know what he saw, but it briefly made him more of a human and less of an ass. Then he was back to normal and I wondered if I’d imagined the shortlived change.

  “What do you want to know?” he growled.

  “Mrs. Green mentioned a congregation of vans, where her son went to a party. Do you know of it?”

  He nodded. “I know where it is. But I’m not giving you the address.”

  “Are you aware obstructing a federal—” I began, but he interrupted me.

  “You want to go, you ride along with me. And I ask the questions.”

  Ugh. This man was so infuriating. But I had no choice, if I wanted to investigate. So I nodded.

  “Fine. But no shenanigans.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.”

  I didn’t believe him, but I followed him to the car anyway.

  Chapter 3

  Bob

  In the car, I had a chance to look at Agent Frost. I’d noticed her black, shiny hair and piercing green eyes, but now other things about her sprang to life. I guessed she was about a decade younger than me; thirty-five, maybe forty at most. She sat rigidly upright in her seat, legs crossed away from me, face glued to the passenger window so I had a good view of her profile. Her nose had been broken and set, at some point.

  I was reminded of the way she’d reacted when I’d put my hand on her arm. It had been a friendly gesture, I hadn’t meant anything untoward by it. She’d been hurt. By someone? Or by the job? It was hard to know. Keeping the law was a harsh taskmaster in the big cities.

  Her shirt was pale blue, and it contrasted with her navy suit, but both conspired to make her look completely out of place. Stuck up.

  I wondered if I could pull that stick out of her ass. Or if I wanted to even try. My eyes moved down to her hands, clasped rigidly against her knees. There were red rings around her wrists. Fading, but definitely still there.

  Marks from cuffs.

  Whatever else she was, I’d bet my last pair of boots that she was a submissive. Well, that changed things.

  She was haughty and high-maintenance. Reminded me of something my pal Jake often said about thoroughbred horses. They’re trouble. You gotta work harder, gotta tame ‘em. But they’re worth it.

  Thing was, I’d never even been able to muster the effort to date a regular woman, let alone tame a submissive. Not since Marcy.

  I didn’t rightly know if it was time to move on, but if Agent Frost went back to the East Coast with some manners, I’d consider it time well spent.

  * * *

  Mariella

  I spent a lot of time staring out of the window on the drive. The landscape here was fascinating and I couldn’t get enough of it. The dark red rocks and mountains all looked like they were made from layers of warm strawberry fudge that had been left out for centuries to harden. Contrasting, the sky was so high above us, and bluer than I’d ever seen it. Everything seemed better, here. Happier. Unhurried. Less stressed.

  We drove down the main road for only a few minutes, but it felt like forever. This place was warming up my soul, somehow.

  Parked on a big flat area of sand, there were dozens of RVs.

  “Is this the place?” I asked.

  “No. Bit further on.”

  About a quarter of a mile down the road, we came to a completely different encampment. These were smaller vans, like the type used for taking things between towns in Europe. They all had at least one window cut into the side and a lot of them had solar panels on the roof. People in their twenties and early thirties milled about, a lot of them dressed in swimwear for some reason.

  It was the weirdest thing I’d ever seen.

  “Is it a festival?” I asked Bob. I hadn’t been aware of any taking place in this area.

  “No. This is something else.” He sounded as baffled as I felt.

  He parked up and a couple of people looked over but continued going about their business.

  “Ready to go through the looking-glass?” Bob asked.

  I nodded and we got out.

  My heels sank into the sand as I tried to walk, so I ended up balancing on my toes to avoid getting stuck. Bob’s sensible boots were much more suitable for walking on sand, but I couldn’t imagine they were co
mfortable in this weather.

  “Are you old enough to be drinking that, young man?” I asked in surprise, as a boy of no more than twenty passed me with a bottle of beer.

  He turned and fled. I was about to go after him when Sheriff Bob grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

  “I told you to let me do the talking,” he admonished.

  I spun to face him.

  “I said don’t touch me!” I snapped, landing a punch against his shoulder. I realized immediately that I shouldn’t have done that. His face changed and he seemed to look a lot stronger than he had a moment ago, when he was acting like Bob, the friendly neighborhood Sheriff.

  “Ma’am, you just earned yourself a spanking.”

  “What?” My brain derailed, the way it often did when someone said something unexpected.

  “Attacking an officer of the law is a criminal offense. By rights, I could arrest you.” His voice was still measured, but I didn’t need to be in the FBI to hear the steel in his voice.

  “That I understand...” I trailed off, unable to say the rest for some reason.

  “But instead, I’m going to put you over my knee and spank you.”

  His gaze remained steadfast. If he was joking, he was hiding it well.

  “You can’t and you wouldn’t.”

  Everyone who had been in this area was now keeping a distance, and no one could overhear us.

  “I can and I will. Right after we’re done here.”

  “And if I refuse to let you?”

  “That’s up to you, of course. But I won’t have you on this case. I’ll call the FBI and ask them to send another agent. You could be home in time for Christmas.”

  I stiffened, but said nothing. I didn’t want to get sent back to the east coast right now. Ugh. I hated this time of year.

  Bob seemed to take my silence as some kind of agreement, and that was the end of the conversation. I hadn’t agreed to anything. Hopefully, he wouldn’t try to follow through. He led the way through the vans until we found another group of people, who were standing around a tailgate taking selfies.

  “Hey there,” Bob greeted them. Two of them turned their cameras on Bob and I. The rest just listened.