by R. A. McGee
The silence was interrupted by Claudette, coming with a glass of sweet tea for the sheriff and water for Porter. She dropped them off and went back to the kitchen, but not before rubbing Porter’s back on her way back to the kitchen.
Porter watched Spaulding look at the two of them, then his eyes followed her as she walked away.
“That is a hell of a woman. But I’ll assume you already know that,” Spaulding said.
“What was your other question?” Porter said. “You asked me about the bar and a bunch of little follow-ups. Did you need something else?”
“I was just wondering when you were planning to move on,” Spaulding said.
Porter took a sip of his water, eyes never leaving the sheriff. “I may stay for a while. I think the fresh air is doing me good. Besides, I have a few loose ends to tie up.”
“Relating to the Newton girl?”
“And some other things. I feel like I haven’t been getting the whole story and I don’t like being lied to.”
“You don’t say.”
“I do say.” Porter sipped his water again.
“We’ve had people looking for her. Agencies all over the place are in on the manhunt. The Rollins boy and his sister are on the run. Even if they took Pima Newton, you can’t imagine she’s still alive, can you?”
“At this point, I don’t know what to think. All I’m sure of is that you’ve been lying to me.”
The sheriff carefully regarded Porter, then broke out into a smile. “How long have you known?”
“Not very long. I’ve been trying to figure it out, but sometimes I’m a little slow on the uptake.”
“You seem pretty perceptive,” Spaulding said.
“It was after my motel room got broken into. When we met up in the parking lot, you said the two guys who kicked in my door were gone when you got there. How would you have known how many there were unless you sent them?” Porter said.
“You want to know something funny? I knew as soon as I said it I screwed up. But I figured you wouldn’t have caught it. It’s the little things that trip us up, you know?”
“Yeah, that’s been bothering me for a couple days, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. But you know what the icing on the cake was?”
“I’d love to,” Spaulding said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.
“That rubber band on that money wad in your pocket. I saw one in the Rollins trailer and again in the trunk of the cartel guys’ Honda.”
“So that was you at their trailer? I should be pissed that we’re having this conversation, but I’m actually impressed. That was three hitmen you took out. Not to mention you catching me on the rubber band. Like I said, I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. You’re pretty sloppy.”
“In this little shit town, I can afford to be,” Spaulding said.
“How are you involved with the Rollinses and the cartel?”
Spaulding looked around. The Burger Hut was empty and Claudette was nowhere to be seen.
Porter clenched his jaw watching the sheriff.
“We have an arrangement. It lines my pockets.”
“Why did you have them take Pima?” Porter said.
“I didn’t. That was the dumbest thing they did, bringing all that heat down on us. Those damn fools thought the kid was spying on them in the woods and grabbed her. Morons.”
“Is she still alive?” Porter said.
Spaulding looked at Porter for a few moments. “I think. Last I heard they were still dragging the kid around with them. I stay out of that side, since it’s not really my problem. All I care about is the product. ”
Porter felt his heart speed up and there was a tingle running through his shoulders. “Where?”
“You don’t need to know that yet.”
Porter had to stop himself from dragging Spaulding outside and beating him to death. His hand was trembling. “Okay. Why those guys? How’d you get wrapped up with them? Aren’t you worried about them getting you pinched?”
Spaulding laughed. “Nah. No one can prove that I have anything to do with those losers. I never meet them in public. The only time we talk is on prepaid phones. The only one of them I ever met in person was their daddy; to the rest, I’m just a voice on the phone.”
“Their dad got you into this?” Porter said.
“Hell, I got myself into this. When I first got elected, he was locked up in jail. I wanted the people around here to think I cared, so I went to him on the level, trying to see if he’d flip on some of his contacts so we could arrest them. By the time we were done talking, he had flipped me, so to speak. The amount he offered was too big to ignore.”
“You’re a hell of a cop, Spaulding.”
The sheriff ignored Porter. “Then I told Papa Rollins that for a bigger cut, I’d introduce him to some potential big-time customers.”
“The cartel? How’d you even meet with them? What were they doing around here?”
“It wasn’t hard. A couple of their guys got arrested for DUI. I got them out and told them I had someone they could purchase product from. I made the introduction, played the middle, and made a little bit for myself.”
Porter took another drink of his water. He hoped the sip would keep him from grinding his teeth into dust. “Cartels are in the import game. It’s cheaper that way. Why buy from your rednecks?”
“They diversify. A load gets seized here or there, and they go looking for cheap product that’s already in the States. Hell, last week the Feds seized one of their tractor-trailer loads somewhere out by the coast. The cartel wanted to replace their product, so they came calling. I guess they have deadlines, too.”
“That why Richie Rollins got killed? He didn’t meet their deadline?” Porter said.
“Sure. Don’t promise a bunch of angry Los Primos hitmen you can give them a certain amount of meth if you don’t have it. I wasn’t going to save his dumb ass.”
“So Richie’s head in a bag was a warning to you, wasn’t it? That’s why they left it on your doorstep,” Porter said.
Spaulding smiled. “I think they wanted to show me they weren’t happy.”
Claudette interrupted the tense conversation with the food—two plates of her fried chicken sandwiches and homemade curly fries. “Here you go, guys. Sheriff, I brought you some hot sauce. You guys need anything else?”
“No, sweetheart, I think that’s everything for me,” Sheriff Spaulding said.
“You good?” she said to Porter.
“I’m fine,” he said, staring a hole through Spaulding.
“Okay…” she said, and headed off to the kitchen.
Spaulding began preparing his plate, getting the hot sauce and ketchup ready.
Porter left his plate untouched.
Spaulding noticed and said, “Just because we are about to have an unpleasant conversation doesn’t mean you should let that go to waste.”
“‘About to’? From where I’m sitting, this has been a shit conversation already,” Porter said.
Spaulding took a large bite and steam poured from the sandwich. He was shaking his head.
“No,” he said, sipping his sweet tea to cool his mouth off. “It gets much worse for you.”
Forty-Five
“Really? What, you gonna try to pin Pima on me? Maybe try to plant some of the meth on me and lock me up? Sound about right?”
Spaulding took another drink of his sweet tea. “Lock you up? Hell no. I’m sure you were a thousand miles away when she disappeared and can prove it.”
“Then you sending some more guys after me? Might as well tell me and make it a fair fight.”
Spaulding shook his head. “See, that was my first thought. That’s why I sent my deputies after you when you first got here. I figured they’d rough you up and scare you off. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about you fishing out the truth.”
“They’re in on it?”
“They don’t know much, just that I grease their palms a little every mo
nth. I told them I’d pay them extra if they ran you off. Those clowns couldn’t even do that right.”
“Well, you were right,” Porter said.
Spaulding looked at him expectantly.
“Good help is hard to find.”
“Harder than I expected. So that’s why I mentioned the biker bar to you. I figured if you’re tough enough to smash my guys at your motel and to whack those Mexicans at the Rollins trailer, you’d probably be dumb enough to go out there and get your ass killed by some good old boys. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with you poking your nigger-nose places it doesn’t belong.”
“You’re learning new words, huh? What happened to your Northeastern sensibilities?”
“I’m from Boston, not heaven,” Spaulding said.
Porter nodded along. “So if you won’t try to set me up, and you’re out of guys to try to kill me, what are you gonna do?”
“Who said I was out of guys to kill you? Fact is, I’d never tell you all this if I thought there was any chance you’d be alive come morning.”
Reflexively, Porter’s hand reached toward his waistband.
“Easy, easy. You kill me, you don’t get what you want.”
“What’s that?”
Spaulding took another bite of his sandwich and took his time chewing. It was a power move.
Porter’d had enough. “Speak up before I put a hole in that weak little chin of yours.”
“You want Pima, right? Well, I’ll tell you where Rollins is going to be tonight. Go get her yourself.”
Porter was quiet for a couple of moments. “Rollins and how many of the cartel guys?”
Spaulding shrugged. “I didn’t say you were going to like it.”
“You think I’ll walk into a trap? You may overestimate my desire to get the kid back,” Porter said. “I don’t do suicide missions.”
“Pima not enough? How about your little girlfriend in the back?”
Porter didn’t say anything, convinced his molars were sawdust by now.
“Yeah, I saw her car at your motel last night. You two are pretty comfy. You were enough to fight my guys off, but do you think she is? What do you think Los Primos would do to her if I said she’d come to me as sheriff and knew something about their operation? She doesn’t, but they don’t know that.
“Claudette can disappear in a heartbeat. Have I overestimated your desire to make sure she stays alive?” Spaulding said.
Porter again suppressed the instinct to grab the sheriff and choke the life out of him. His head throbbed where the brass knuckles had smashed him earlier in the afternoon. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “Let's assume I go tonight and get Pima. What are you going to do when I come back and I’m pissed? Because I will come back, and I will be pissed.”
“You won't make it back.”
“Pretend,” Porter said. “Make believe, the same way you do that you’re a cop.”
“Okay. Besides you, nobody knows I had anything to do with this. Pima goes back to her family none the wiser. You thank whoever you pray to that you survived, you keep your mouth shut, and you leave town. If you don’t, Claudette’s a dead woman. Simple enough for you?”
Porter didn’t say anything.
“Either way, I don’t have to see you again. I want you out of my hair, Porter.”
“You’ll see me again.”
“That a threat?”
“Just count on it,” Porter said.
As if on cue, Claudette came by again. “Everything still working out for you guys?”
“Everything is right as rain,” Sheriff Spaulding said.
Porter nodded, not taking his eyes off the sheriff.
Claudette looked at Porter and patted him on the shoulder. “Take it easy. The sandwich is supposed to be good; you look like you’re lifting weights.”
“I’m good,” Porter said.
She gave him a strange look, then let her hand linger on his shoulder as she walked away again.
“Where’s Rollins gonna be?”
“Nice to know you can be reasoned with,” Spaulding said. “Got a pen?”
Porter pulled out his phone. “Just give me the address.”
Spaulding did, then stood and adjusted his uniform. “This is the last time we speak. If you even think of being an idiot, remember Claudette.” Spaulding turned on his heel and walked out of the Burger Hut.
Porter watched him go, breathing deeply to slow his racing heart down. Of all the things he’d done in his life, letting the man walk away might have been the most difficult.
He wasn’t sure how long it was until Claudette came back to the table carrying two plates of sweet potato pie. “Is the sheriff coming back?”
“Hey, can you sit down for a minute?”
“I think I can break away from the mad rush,” she said. “You don’t look happy. Rough talk?”
“The roughest,” Porter said. He looked at her soft cheeks and dark eyes, fighting the urge to tell her she was in danger. “Do you… uh… do you have your kids tonight?”
“No, my mom picked them up from school. She’s retired and doesn’t have a lot to do, so a couple days a week she has them spend the night.” She reached out and held his hand. “Why? Are you trying to seduce me again?”
“I’m not too good at the seduction game.”
“Good enough for me. Why do you ask?”
“I was thinking… you want to get out of town tonight?”
She squinted her eyes. “What do you mean? Go where?”
“I don’t know, you’re the local. Where would you go if you wanted to get away for a night?”
Claudette rubbed his hand as she thought. “They just expanded the casino on the reservation. It’s supposed to have some nice new rooms now.”
“How far away is that?”
“About an hour,” she said.
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Tell you what, after you close up tonight, meet me out there.”
“You don’t want to ride together?”
“I have a couple things I have to handle first, but I’ll meet you,” Porter said.
“This have anything to do with the sheriff?”
“No,” he lied, “but I won't be long. I’ll even pay for the room.”
“But if I buy you lunch and you pay for a hotel room, are you still a gigolo? Or am I the hooker now? The lines are starting to get very blurry,” she said with a smile.
“I think we can figure that out later.” He fished a couple of bills from his pocket and slid them across the table.
Her smile dimmed. “Actually, think we can go Dutch on the room? I was mostly joking—I don’t feel right about taking money from you. It makes me a little uncomfortable.”
“How about I’ll pay for the room, you pay for dinner. Fair?”
“Okay, but just so you know, if I buy you dinner, you’re putting out. I figure you should know what you’re getting into,” she said, a smile plastered to her face once again.
“Fair deal,” Porter said. “I have to go. Call you later?”
“Works for me.”
He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek and was almost out the front door when her voice caught up with him.
“You forgot your pie.”
“Bring it,” Porter said. “We might need the energy.”
“Well, aren’t you feeling frisky,” she said.
Porter nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
Forty-Six
“The sheriff? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure, Joe. The asshole admitted it over a chicken sandwich. He doesn’t give a damn.”
“We’ll build a case on him so big, they’ll stuff his ass under the prison.”
“How?” Porter said. “The only reason he told me everything is because there’s no proof. No reliable witnesses. They never meet face-to-face; he gets cash, so no bank records to trace; and they use burner phones. I’ve been out of the cop game a while, but how
do you make a case on that?” Porter said. He pulled into a parking lot as he spoke, slammed the car into park, and rubbed his face.
“There are ways. Just come back to Charlotte and let's figure this thing out. We’ll take that son of a bitch out, if it’s the last thing I do,” Joe said.
“You know as well as I do there’s no time. If Spaulding is telling the truth, Pima’s going to be there tonight. I can’t pass up the chance to get eyes on her.”
Joe was quiet for a few moments. “You know this is a setup, right? You haven't taken so many shots to the head that you can’t see that, have you?”
“I’ve gotten pretty dinged up, but I'm thinking clearly enough. You called me out here to find this kid, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with Spaulding threatening… whatever her name is, does it? Your waitress friend?”
“Nope,” Porter lied. “Nothing to do with her.”
“Look, kid, when I asked you to come up here, it wasn’t to go on a suicide mission. I figured you could beat the bushes, and if you got lucky and found Pima, you’d get yourself a nice chunk of change. I can’t ask you to do this alone.”
“You damn sure can’t send me help—deniability, remember? Not to mention it takes you guys at the Bureau twelve hours to plan anything out, bunch of slow-moving prima donnas. No, I’m good. Besides, it's like that saying about outrunning the bear.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Is that some mountain wisdom you picked up since you’ve been out there?” Joe said.
“If you’re in the woods and there’s a bear, you don’t have to outrun the bear; you just have to outrun the next slowest guy,” Porter said.
“And in this example, the next slowest guy is…?”
“It’s a metaphor, but I don’t know. It just seemed like the right thing to say,” Porter said.
“That’s real dumb, kid. So is this whole thing. I… you know… I like you. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt on my account.”
“It’s a little late for that,” Porter said. “Besides, I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me shit.”
“Says you. How’s the leg? You gone on many runs lately? Of course you haven’t. That’s my fault. I have to watch you gimping around, the least you can do is quiet down and let me have a chance to help Pima.”