UnderCover

by David R Lewis

  Martha knew that something truly unusual was happening, too. As days had drifted by, she found that the time she spent with Mandy had created a connection between them. Actually, it had begun when she had caused Mandy to be ejected from the pond. That’s how Martha thought of the rescue now. It was something she had caused, as opposed to something she had done. That event had been responsible for Mandy’s increased level of visits to watch Martha in the pond, and those visits had strengthened a link between the two of them. As time went on, Martha found that she could actually catch snatches of Mandy’s thoughts as the girl sat by the water. Not only that, she also was able to project the occasional thought or concept to the girl, and receive conformation of success through her great granddaughter’s thoughts. True, it was more contact than communication, but who could say what it might become.

  *****

  CHAPTER SIX

  Crockett was stacking charcoal in the grill when Danielle came back onto the porch. He looked at her and smiled. “How ya doin’?”

  “That cat you got is huge!”

  “Yeah. His name’s Nudge.”

  “I just turned on the water and was straightening out the curtain, and there he was, sitting by the shower, watching me. Scared me shitless.”

  “He’s friendly.”

  “We made up when I got out. I like animals. I just never saw a cat that big before. Where’d you get him?”

  “He just showed up at my house one afternoon.”

  “Kinda like me?”

  Crockett nodded. “Except he’s shorter and may weigh more.”

  Danielle watched Crockett pour some charcoal lighter on the coals, light a piece of paper, and drop it on the briquettes. With a ‘whoomph’ the fluid caught and flames leaped three feet above the grill. Crockett barely got out of the way in time. Danielle laughed.

  “Terrific, Poindexter,” she said. “Good luck at the science fair.”

  As Crockett struggled to close the grill and stifle the towering blaze without catching himself on fire, Satin rounded the corner and came up the steps carrying a couple of bags. She saw the grin on Danielle’s face.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “He overdid the lighter stuff,” Danni said. “We almost had lift off.”

  Satin turned her attention to Crockett as he finally dropped the top on the grill. “How are things at NASA?”

  “Oh fine,” Crockett said. “Now I’ve got two of you feminine types to give me shit when all I’m trying to do is make a nice meal for the family. Slaving over a hot grill and not one bit of appreciation. Not one.” He turned on his heel and flounced inside. Mother and daughter began to rifle through the bags.

  An hour and a half later, the early dinner dispensed with, the three of them were kicked back on the porch, watching evening creep through the woods and drinking iced green tea flavored with blueberry. Crockett lit a Sherman and turned to Danielle.

  “Tell me about Train,” he said.

  Danielle paused a moment before she spoke. “He’s mean,” she said. “And, he likes it. Sometimes at the club he’d knock the shit out of somebody, even if the guy wasn’t causing that much trouble. Train’s dangerous. He’s a bouncer at Heels, but I think he’s a part owner or something, too. Out back there’s a couple of trailers he uses for girls. Quite a few guys go out there after three or four lap dances or something.”

  Crockett batted his eyes at Satin. “Ain’t love wonderful?”

  “There’s usually four or five girls out there,” Danielle said. “Some come in just for the trailer work. Now and then, one of the inside girls hits a trailer with a special customer just to make a few extra bucks.”

  “So he’s the bouncer, and he runs hookers behind the place?”

  “Yep.”

  “And an escort service.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Busy man. What hours does he keep?”

  “He usta get in about three in the afternoon and stay ‘til around two in the morning when everything closed down. He found most of the dancers and stuff for Benny. Benny owns the place, so he got final approval. Usually back in his private office, if you know what I mean.”

  “Train carry a gun?”

  “I don’t know. He usta keep one in the glovebox of his car. God, he loves that big blue car. Talk about a pimpmobile.”

  “He go home when he gets off work?”

  “Usually. Some of the time he takes a girl home with him. One of the things you have to do to keep your job.”

  “And you lived with him?”

  “Off and on until he pimped me out. I took off. He’s tellin’ me he loves me, can’t live without me. Then the other night when I got off work dancing down at Misty’s, he’s waitin’ outside in the parking lot.”

  “How’d he know you were there?”

  “Dumb luck. He stopped by to check out the competition, and there I was.”

  “Does he know about your day job at Babette’s?”

  “I don’t know. I sure as hell didn’t tell him.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “He told me to come back to work at Heels and hang with him again. I told him to kiss off. Then he starts sayin’ crap like if he can’t have me, nobody will, and tellin’ me how easy it’d be for him to just twist my head off and shit. He’ll do it, too. He likes it. A cop car came driving by real slow, so I just walked to my car and drove away.”

  “Gonna need to discourage him, I think,” Crockett said.

  “He’ll discourage you. He could pull your arms off, I bet.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “Out in Merriam, Kansas someplace. I don’t know the address, but I could take you there and show you.”

  “That’s okay,” Crockett went on. “I’ll check him out for myself, tomorrow. First I have to call an old friend and get some more info on Mister Train.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “I have to find out enough about the man to decide how best to get rid of him. To have some idea on how intense I might have to get.”

  “You gonna call Cletus?” Satin asked.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “You really goin’ out to the club?” Danielle asked.

  “I think so. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a lap dance. I’m way overdue. With Satin’s help, I’d like to be there in mid-afternoon.”

  “Whatdaya mean, my help?” Satin said.

  “It’ll be up to you to build me up. To tell me how wonderful and indestructible I am. You know, praise my indomitable spirit. Pay homage to my unconquerable character.”

  Satin looked at him for a beat. “Have we met?” she asked.

  The next morning, Crockett drove to Hartrick for breakfast and a talk with Dale Smoot. He found the big man sitting in the back booth at Wager’s Café.

  “Morning, Chief,” he said, and took a seat.

  “Breakfast is on you,” Dale replied.

  “What else is old?”

  “I figure you’re here because you want some information on that thunderstorm I stopped for you yesterday.”

  Crockett smiled. “You must be psychic,” he said.

  “You must be stupid. You’re gonna screw with this guy, aren’t ya?”

  “Yeah. But only in a plutonic sort of way.”

  Smoot snorted, pulled some folded paper out of his shirt pocket, and slid it across the table. “I checked with NCIC. He’s got a juvenile record I can’t access. As an adult, he was busted in L.A. for armed criminal action, no conviction. Busted in Vegas for dealing coke, no conviction. Busted in Vegas for aggravated battery, did nine months. Posted bond for various ladies on prostitution arrests eight or ten times. Dropped off their radar four or five years ago. No record of contact with the law in the Kaycee area.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yep. No ordinance against bein’ too damn big, I guess.”

  “Thanks, Dale.”

  “Am I aiding and abetting armed criminal action here?”
/>   “Christ, I hope not.”

  “You’re not gonna shoot this guy or anything, are ya?”

  “Maybe, but only in the head. I don’t want to do the lad any permanent damage.”

  He dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table and headed for the door. Silently, Smoot watched him go.

  *****

  Spring was gradually becoming summer when Mandy announced at the dinner table one evening that “Gramma worry about Paul.”

  Cheryl’s heart stuttered, and she leaned against the table for support as she settled onto a chair.

  “What did you say, Mandy?”

  “Gramma worry about Paul,” Mandy replied, stirring her peas rather than eating them.

  “Do you mean Daddy?”

  “Gramma call him Paul, Mom.”

  Cheryl was slightly dizzy. Paul was not real to Mandy. She had never known him, her only acquaintance with her father being a couple of photos and things her mother or sister had said. Mandy had no feelings one way or the other about Cheryl’s husband, almost never asked about him or spoke of him. When she did, the girl called him Daddy, with no real understanding of what the word meant. To hear her refer to her father as Paul shook Cheryl to the bone.

  “Grandma called him Paul?”

  Mandy nodded yes while taking a hit from her sippy cup.

  “Grandma talked to you?”

  “In my head,” Mandy replied, poking her forehead with a finger.

  “You hear Grandma in your head?”

  “Nope.”

  “You don’t hear her?”

  “She not in my ears, Mom.”

  “Then how do you know she worries about Daddy?”

  “Just do, Mom. She tell me in my head.”

  Cheryl questioned her daughter a little longer, frustrated by the child’s three-year-old vocabulary and extremely limited experience, and gave up. After dinner, when Mandy had drifted off to play, Cheryl approached her older daughter.

  “Sarah, does Mandy ever talk to you about Grandma?”

  “No.”

  “She ever talk about Daddy.”

  “No, Mom.”

  “What do you think about all this?”

  “I think Grandma and Daddy are both dead, Mom,” Sarah replied, her eyes filling with tears.

  Cheryl watched Sarah run down the hall and heard the door to the girl’s room slam. Sighing, she removed the telephone directory from a drawer in the kitchen, sat at the table, and attempted to flip through the yellow pages with trembling hands.

  Carl Saunders settled back in his recliner and allowed the palm of his left hand to warm the cognac in the leaded glass snifter, as he slowly rotated his neck seeking relief from the back brain headache that had battered him for most of the afternoon. Some smoke would probably help, but that would require him to get up, go to the cabinet in the den, clean a small amount, and then roll it. He was out of cannabis papers, anyway.

  Food would probably help, too. He did have some lovely Orange Roughy in the fridge, but that would require the additional preparation of potatoes, green beans or asparagus, and some sort of sauce. He was out of fresh lemons, too.

  Carefully, so as not to damage the leather, he toed off his oxblood Footjoy loafers, massaged the back of his neck, and took another sip of the cognac. God, what a day. He’d done five readings during the morning and early afternoon, spilled coffee on his favorite shirt, got in yet another fight with his petulant friend, Eric, and called the radio station and asked them to air a rerun. He just didn’t have the emotional strength to do his regular Friday night program. At least, Eric wouldn’t be around. A night without drama would be a welcome event.

  By eight, he had eaten a small amount of pasta with olive oil and a dusting of Romano cheese, taken his second shower of the day, changed into his dark blue satin p.j.’s, and was halfway through another cognac while listening to some old Johnny Mathis on vinyl.

  His office phone rang. As an antidote to boredom, he picked up before his machine could field the call.

  “This is Carl. May I help you?”

  “Mister Saunders?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Mister Saunders, my name is Cheryl McGill.”

  “Good evening, Cheryl. My name is Carl. How might I be of service?”

  Cheryl paused for a moment, then took the plunge. “This is so strange,” she said.

  Carl smiled. “So is everything to which we have not grown accustomed. I do strange for a living, Cheryl. At this point, it is not my function to either doubt or agree with you. My job is to listen and ask questions. Your job is to talk. Talk.”

  “I listen to your radio program now and then,” Cheryl said, “but I never thought I’d ever call someone like you. I’m sorry. That was insulting. Please excuse me.”

  “Not a problem. Go on.”

  “Well, my three-year-old daughter has been spending time with her great grandmother.”

  “And that concerns you?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Why?”

  “Her great grandmother has been dead for over a month.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “And where is the great grandmother now?”

  “Ah, according to my daughter, Mandy, she’s hanging around in the bottom of our fishpond.”

  “Really!”

  “That’s what she says.”

  “And you said your daughter is three?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Marvelous. At that age, children are so uncluttered and aware. Where are you, dear?”

  “We live in Independence.”

  “And will you be home tomorrow?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Good. What time would be convenient for you?”

  “To come to your office?”

  “Oh no. In a situation like this, I would much prefer coming to you.”

  “Well, ah, that’s fine, if you think it would be best.”

  “I do.”

  “Just out of curiosity, Mister Sau…ah, Carl, why?”

  Carl smiled. “Depending on the situation,” he said, “if you were to come to me, Grandma might not be able to make the trip with you.”

  “Oh,” Cheryl said.

  *****

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Crockett arrived back at the cabin to find Satin and Danielle at the breakfast bar, the remains of waffles and sausage littering the countertop.

  “Good morning, ladies!” he boomed, patting daughter on the shoulder and kissing mother on the top of her head. “It’s a wonderful thing to find two such lovely examples of feminine pulchritude gracing my humble manse. Miss me?”

  “You were gone?” Satin asked.

  “How nice of you to notice, darling,” Crockett went on, pouring himself a cup of coffee and taking a seat across from the two women. “I’m so hungry, I could ride a horse.”

  Grinning, Satin shook her head. “Where ya been, cowboy?”

  “Conversing with the local constabulary in an effort to glean additional data on the locomotive in question.”

  “Do any good?”

  “A modicum. It appears Devon Washington does not work and play well with others.”

  “No shit?”

  “Doesn’t seem to be.”

  “And you’re going to…”

  “And I am going to converse with Mister Washington in a sincere effort to convince him that his conduct is not in line with societal norms in an effort to ameliorate the grievous circumstance in which we find ourselves so inconveniently immersed.”

  “In short?”

  “I gonna have a talk wit’ da boy.”

  “Glad we got that cleared up,” Satin said.

  Danielle grimaced. “You get in Train’s face,” she said, “he’ll kick your ass.”

  “A vicious assumption predicated only on a narrow assessment of his past conduct,” Crockett said.

  “How stupid are you? Train will shred you, you dumb shit.”
>
  Crockett chuckled, then focused on the girl. “No,” he said, “he won’t.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Men like Train aren’t prepared for surprises. For most of his life he has depended on size to intimidate people. A simple ‘Ah’m goan kick your ass, muthafuckah’ makes most sane individuals back off. Those that don’t are slow, thick-witted, or handicapped by booze. They’re easy. Train, even though he probably doesn’t realize it, depends on that. Everybody is smaller than he is. When he becomes confrontational, they either run away or are drunk enough that they’re no threat. I will not run away, and I will be sober. That should be a major surprise to the young man. The dangerous part will be if I have to deal with him more than once. Should that happen, I’ll probably have to get serious.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “Aw. Does this mean that you’re concerned for my welfare? That you might actually care what happens to me?”

  “Shit,” Danielle snorted, and headed for the porch.

  Satin rose from the counter and crossed to the fridge. “How ’bout waffles, eggs and sausage?” she asked.

  “For me?”

  “They say the condemned man should have a hearty meal, Crockett.”