UnderCover

by David R Lewis

  “Couldn’t sleep,” Danni said, carefully easing herself back into the chair. “Wanted to wait up for you.”

  Crockett handed her a cup of coffee and the three aspirins. “Take those and drink that,” he said. “When you can see, I’ll rub some stuff on your neck, then we’ll go to town and your mother can serve us breakfast.”

  “Really? I can go to town now?”

  “Yeah. And any place else you’d like.”

  The girl’s eyes filled with tears. “I think I’d like to go to breakfast,” she said.

  Satin gave a start when she saw the two of them walk into Wager’s Café a little after seven. She scurried over to the booth.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “We have come for breakfast,” Crockett said. “This is a diner, is it not?”

  Satin shot him one of those looks women have that means “not now, dummy.”

  “It’s a free country,” Crockett went on. “Have you met my niece, Fiona? She’s visiting from Peoria.” Danni giggled.

  “Something’s happened,” Satin said.

  “A lot has happened,” Crockett said. “We can discuss details at another time. For now, let it be known that your kid doesn’t have to hide anymore.”

  Satin seemed to sag. “My God,” she said, “that’s wonderful.”

  Crocket smiled. “Yes, it is.”

  Satin peered at him for a moment. “You been working on the railroad?”

  Crockett’s smile was cold. “All the live-long night,” he said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  About two-thirty that afternoon, Satin arrived at the cabin to find Crockett sitting listlessly on the porch staring blankly at nothing. Nudge and Dundee were nowhere to be found.

  “Hey,” she said softly, climbing the steps. It took Crockett a beat or two to focus.

  “Hey, yourself,” he said. “Thought you and Danni would be staying in town.”

  “Danni is. She’s gotta get up real early in the morning.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Uh-huh. She’s waiting tables on the breakfast shift at Wager’s Café. I can make a lot more money on the computer than I can slinging hash. From the looks of things, I’m gonna need it. Besides, Danielle hasn’t seen a sunrise from the top in years. Be good for her to get her butt outa bed at the beginning of the day for a change.”

  “That’s true. A good work ethic is admirable in anyone, especially our nation’s youth.”

  Satin looked at him for a moment. “Want some coffee?” she said.

  “That’s okay.”

  “Iced tea?”

  “Naw.”

  “Scotch?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Bullshit,” she said, and disappeared inside. A moment later she reappeared and handed Crockett a squat drinking glass half full of ice cubes, then left the porch and circled to the rear of the cabin. When she returned, she was breaking the seal on a liter bottle. She pulled the canvas chair in front of where Crockett sat in the swing and poured three fingers of a golden brown liquid into the glass.

  “Drink that.”

  Crockett took a sip, blinked, and took another sip. “Jesus,” he said.

  “Good, huh?”

  “This isn’t Glenlivet,” Crockett said.

  “Nope. Twenty-five year old Glenfarclas.”

  “Glenfarclas? Christ, woman. This stuff is expensive.”

  “No skin off my nose. It was a gift. Like it?”

  “Like it? Ambrosia! Nectar of the gods. You always carry around a two hundred dollar bottle of scotch?”

  “Special occasion,” Satin replied. “If you’re gonna be all depressed, I’d just as soon you were drunk. That way I’ve got an excuse to get sloshed, and your depression won’t get me all depressed, too.”

  “Where’s your glass?”

  “I’ll drink out of yours. That way we can bond without me having to pick lice outa your fur.”

  “Good choice.”

  “I know you used to have a psychologist around to help you out at times like these. Scotch is the best I can do.”

  Crockett held out his glass. “Drink up,” he said.

  An hour and a half bottle later they were sitting in the swing together, both pleasantly warm on the best whisky Crockett had ever tasted. Satin broke the silence.

  “You blew him up, didn’t ya?”

  “Did I?”

  “Saw it on the noon news before I came out. Figured it had to be you since Danni said you were gone all night.”

  “I was visiting my sister in Spearfish. You can call her.”

  “You did a hard thing for a good reason, Crockett.”

  “Seems like I’ve done a lot of that the past few years.”

  “If not you, who?”

  “For nearly twenty years after I stopped being a cop, I was violence free.”

  “From what I hear, you were pretty much life free, too. Rolled up in a ball. Kinda like those little bugs.”

  “What bugs?”

  “Whatever you call ‘em. Lift up a rock and there they are. As soon as the light hits ‘em, they tuck up in a ball and hope to hell nobody notices them. You know. Crockett bugs.”

  “You got this figured out, huh?”

  “Carson told me about you. She and Ruby talked a lot.”

  “Telephone, telegraph, tell a…well, you know.”

  “Hard to keep secrets from people who love you, Davey.”

  Crockett smiled and handed Satin the glass. “Don’t think I wanna keep secrets from you, kid,” he said.

  “So you blew Train up last night.”

  “Yeah. Very heroic. I sat two blocks away and pushed a button.”

  “That’s a lot closer than I would have wanted to be to the sonofabitch. I figure you saved Danni’s life.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And probably some other people’s lives, too. People he had yet to kill.”

  “Maybe.”

  Satin sipped the scotch and peered at him. “Did you like it?”

  “What?”

  “Did you like it? Did you enjoy killing the guy?”

  “No.”

  “Well all right then,” Satin said, handing the glass back.

  Crockett swirled the liquor and ice for a moment. “That’s my redemption, is it?”

  “Sure,” Satin said. “You’re a good man. If you liked killing people, that would not be the case.”

  “I liked killing Rachael’s father.”

  “That was revenge. He killed his daughter, for crissakes! A woman you loved, I might add. Besides, you didn’t kill him. His dogs did that.”

  “Yeah, but I turned them loose. I was the cause of his death.”

  Satin smiled. “That’s okay, Crockett,” she said. “You’re making up for it.”

  “I am?”

  “Sure. You’re the cause of my life.”

  It was just getting dark and the two of them were nearly comatose when Crockett shifted his shoulder under Satin’s neck and stopped the swing.

  “A gift?” he asked.

  “Hmmm?” Satin’s reply was full of sleepiness.

  “You got that scotch as a gift?”

  “Never comes the day when I’ll spend a hundred and eighty bucks on a bottle of booze.”

  “A gift from who, uh, whom, if I may ask?”

  “Jealous?”

  “A little.”

  “A guy.”

  “That’s it? Just a guy?”

  “His name was Shane. I knew him a few years ago. He was a nice man. He bought me the scotch because he thought I’d enjoy it.”

  “And?”

  “And, knowing the male of the species as I do, because he also thought it might result in sexual favors.”

  Crockett nodded. “Us hairy-knuckle types’ll make huge sacrifices if we think it might be part of foreplay.”

  Satin let that one float. Crockett was patient. Finally she spoke up.

  “At this point, and before you ask any more questions,” she sai
d, “you might do well to remember that the scotch was unopened when I arrived, and that I brought it for you.”

  Crockett stared into the growing dark for a moment. “So,” he said, “the question remains. Is this bottle part of foreplay?”

  Satin got to her feet. “Why don’t you shut up and come upstairs.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “Your chance to earn the scotch.”

  Crockett smiled. “Help me up,” he said.

  *****

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “How did you and your husband meet?” Crockett asked.

  He was sitting in Cheryl McGill’s living room two nights after the incident at Train’s house. It past nine p.m. and the girls were in bed.

  “I was going to school in Columbia,” she said. “I’m a medical secretary. Paul was a state trooper assigned to the Missouri State Police headquarters in Jeff City, but he lived in Columbia, too. We met in a grocery store.”

  Crockett smiled. “Ah,” he said, “a checkout encounter.”

  Cheryl returned his smile. “Actually, it was an S.O.S. encounter. He asked me what he should use to clean his stovetop.”

  “Many great romances have started with less.”

  “We stood there in the aisle and talked for about a half an hour. Two days later he phoned and asked me out. Two months later we were living together. Six months after that I got my certification, and we were married. Sarah came along in about a year.”

  “How old is Sarah?”

  “Nearly eight.”

  “She’s a beautiful child,” Crockett said.

  “Thank you. She’s much more reserved than her little sister.”

  “Mandy’s a hoot,” Crockett went on. “I freely admit that I know nothing about kids, but that one has got to be pulling the wool over everybody’s eyes. I think she’s a midget.”

  Cheryl laughed. “She liked you right away.”

  “Make that a midget with excellent judgment in people.”

  “Can I make you some coffee or anything?” Cheryl asked.

  “No thanks. I’m good. Tell me about your husband.”

  “Let me ask you something first.”

  “Okay.”

  “I have some money, but not a lot. We haven’t discussed your fee.”

  “Oh, that. Let’s see. How ‘bout nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Yeah. There is no fee.”

  “Well, that’s not right.”

  “Sure it is.”

  “No, it’s not. You’re spending your time and effort. You have expenses.”

  “Carl Saunders and I go back a long way. He said you needed help and, much like the cavalry, I have arrived.”

  “That’s not good enough,” Cheryl said.

  “All right, all right,” Crockett said. “I’ll take the coffee, for God’s sake.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do. Look, Cheryl, I may or may not be able to help, but I’d like to try. It would make me feel good to get some of this situation resolved for you and your daughters. Plus, I have a super hero complex. I just never could decide on what colors I wanted my official uniform to be, so what you see is what you get. Besides, Aquaman never charged anybody anything. Can I do less? I think not.”

  Cheryl studied him for a moment. “Do you always avoid the truth by being cute?” she asked.

  “Everywhere I go.”

  “Not here,” Cheryl said.

  “Strong woman.”

  “Yes, I am. How do you feel about that?”

  Crockett grinned. “Scares the hell outa me,” he said.

  “I don’t think so,” Cheryl went on. “I think that if I were some sort of shrinking violet, you wouldn’t have any respect for me at all.”

  “Shrinking violets don’t go through what you’ve gone through in the past few years without falling apart.”

  “I nearly did,” Cheryl said.

  “Possibly, but you didn’t. And that, dear Cheryl, is a heck of an accomplishment.”

  “So why no charge?”

  “A few reasons,” Crockett said. “First, since your husband has never been proven to be deceased, I suspect that the Highway Patrol has not produced the insurance and pension to which you’re entitled. Secondly, Carl Saunders helped me out a few years ago and I owe him a very large favor. You’re it. Thirdly, as you can see, I’m not a single mother. You need your money much more than I do. Also, any number of people have helped me out when I needed it. The best way I can honor them is to pass that help along. It’s yours if you want it.”

  “My grandma, Martha, always said there needed to be a fair exchange in any relationship, or the relationship was not in balance.”

  “And there’s the last reason,” Crockett said. “You want your grandmother cooped up in this place for God knows how long? If we can get this settled, she’ll be free to go on with whatever is in store for her and not be bound to this place and this time. She’s paid her dues, Cheryl. She needs to move on.”

  Cheryl looked at her hands for a moment. When her eyes returned to Crockett, they were brimming with tears. “How do you like your coffee?” she asked.

  “Strong,” Crockett said. “With a little cream.”

  Cheryl was in the kitchen longer than was necessary to make coffee. When she returned to the living room, she put a tray with cups, cream, and a carafe on the coffee table, and vanished down the hallway. As Crockett prepared his coffee she returned to the room carrying a framed photograph and sat on the other end of the couch, pulling her feet up under her bottom. She had pretty knees.

  “This is Paul,” she said, handing the picture to Crockett.

  The black and white photo was of both of them, young, grinning, and hopeful, posed behind a full dress Harley-Davidson motorcycle. They were wearing leathers and holding helmets. Crockett chuckled.

  “Harley Rats,” he said. “Who would have thought you had such a nefarious past?”

  “That,” Cheryl said, “is a 1958 FLH Duo-Glide. Completely restored. Paul had it when I met him.”

  “’58 is good,” Crockett went on. “A little better top end than the ’57. Domed pistons, if memory serves.”

  “You know bikes?”

  “Not any more. In olden days I used to ride a Norton.”

  “Commando or Atlas?” Cheryl asked.

  “Atlas,” Crockett said. “You surprise me, young woman.”

  Cheryl smiled. “Paul loved old bikes. And not just Harleys. He liked the English ones, too. He always wanted a Vincent Black Shadow.”

  Crockett studied the picture for a moment. “What’s that around his neck? Silver chain?”

  “It’s a chain, all right, but not what you think. It’s a tiny motorcycle drive chain. Every link, every pin, every piece exact. Just in miniature.”

  Crockett’s eyebrows rose. “No kidding? I didn’t know there was motorcycle chain that small.”

  “There isn’t,” Cheryl said. “It’s silver. A friend of his that was a machinist made it for him as a gift. It doesn’t even have a normal clasp. It’s held together by a master link, just like on a bike.”

  “Well, I’ll be dammed. His Harley still around?”

  “Paul sold his sled when I got pregnant. We thought we’d get another one when our family was a little older, but…”

  “Yeah,” Crockett said.

  Cheryl collected herself for a moment. “Actually,” she went on, “he did get another bike. An old Moto Guzzi. Pretty beat up. Showed up on it one day a couple of months before he disappeared. The bike vanished, too.”

  “Were you still living in Columbia?”

  “I moved in with him after we got serious. About a year after he, uh, couldn’t be found and Mandy had come along, I moved to Independence to be closer to Grandma McGill. She babysat the kids a lot for me while I worked and worried.”

  “Is he dead, Cheryl?”

  She nodded. “He has to be. Paul would never have deserted the girls and me. Never
. He was an honorable man, Mister Crockett.”

  “You two were getting along okay?”

  “Just fine.”

  “No affairs?”

  “No.”

  “No money problems?”

  “All the time, but nothing serious.”

  “What did he do for the state police?”

  “He was attached to the division of Drug and Crime Control out of Jefferson City.”

  “As what?”

  “He was an investigator. One of the ones that were sent out to assist county and municipal governments.”

  “Under cover?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any idea what he was working on when he disappeared?”

  “No. It was a tough assignment, though. He’d be gone for a week or two at a time, come home for three or four days, then be gone again.”

  “He didn’t talk about anything?”

  “Wasn’t allowed to. I do know that he was working north of, but near Kansas City. And, I believe the old Guzzi was part of his cover, but that’s all.”

  “And the bike was never found?”

  “No. It vanished just like Paul.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “The middle of May, four years ago. Shortly after I found out I was pregnant with Mandy.”

  “I assume there was an investigation.”

  “A big one. I had state cops everywhere for a few months. They went through all of Paul’s things at our apartment and stuff. They were very supportive. They still are. One of their organizations sends me four hundred dollars a month for each of the girls because the pension and insurance haven’t come through yet. Some of the wives still call from time to time, but not as much as they used to.”

  The tears were back in her eyes. Crockett gave her a moment to settle.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I was past this. I guess not.”

  “Women always cry around me,” Crockett said. “Some even get hysterical enough to rend their flesh and pull out their hair. It’s a hell of a burden.”

  Cheryl blinked back her tears. “I suspect they cry because they know it’s safe,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Crockett said. “So what do ya say, champeen? We gotta deal?”