On The Devil's Side of Heaven

by Roger Peppercorn

  I eased towards the passenger side, careful not to make eye contact or provoke a response out of either of the deputies. My eyes wandered over to Ronald, who seemed completely unaware of the deputies or their intent on taking him in.

  “Hey, I’m talking to both of you,” Tom said.

  Ronald had made it to the truck and was reaching for the handle when the deputy hollered. I was just two steps from the other side of the truck when I stopped and turned to face both cops.

  “Deputy, what was said inside was a mistake. So, how ‘bout you just let this one slide?” I asked.

  “Let it slide? What’d Marcie call you? Walter?”

  I nod.

  “Well, Walter, let me tell you how this is going down. You and your friend will stop what you’re doing and get up against the cruiser.”

  “You know I used to be on the job myself, so I know how this works. Now we’re sorry for the insult, but you don’t have a reason to roust us.”

  “You used to be a cop? What department?”

  “Collier County, down in south Florida,” I said.

  “So, what, you and this shit bird are supposed to get a pass because you used to carry a badge? That what you think?”

  “Yeah, he is Tom, because even though he was a drunk he was still a better cop than you’ll ever be,” Ronald said flatly.

  “What’d you say?” Tom asked.

  “Nothing, he didn’t say anything,” I answered.

  Both cops looked over at me in disbelief. Then Jerry said, “You and your friend are about to be turned into hash.”

  “Hey, when you turn your sirens on, does it play that funny music like in the cartoons?” Ronald said.

  “Okay smart-ass, now you’re done. Haul your ass over against the car.”

  “You know, you do look a lot like a swollen vulva, all pumped up with blood. Your partner over there is mousey looking. So you know, it does kinda fit you both,” I said.

  But before Ronald could move, both of their radios started to squawk: “Romeo 320 and Romeo 310, respond code three to a rollover accident on I-70, mile marker 20. Getting reports of victims trapped inside.”

  Both cops reached for their radios at once and then moved towards their cars. “Dispatch shows rolling Code three from Amigos Tacos in Fruita,” Tom said into his radio. He then looked back over to us. “Your lucky day, shit bucket. Catch you down the road. Count on it.”

  “Ta-ta Puss and Boots,” Ronald said.

  Tom turned around and started for Ronald until Jerry hollered, “Hey Tom, forget about him, we gotta roll.”

  Tom stopped and gave Ronald the dead-eye cop stare, then turned and got in his car. Both of them high-tailed it out of the parking lot, lights and sirens going full tilt.

  I turned back to Ronald. “Puss and Boots? Really, you just couldn’t leave it alone, could you? And by the way, did you have to say ‘drunk’?”

  Ronald just shrugged and got in the truck. I shook my head and then got in too, just as Ronald dropped the truck into gear.

  “Gonna dance with the devil, you best be ready to step up,” Ronald said.

  Chapter 18

  Big Max had his feet propped up on his desk and was enjoying his first joint of the day when the phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and then groaned. This was not a conversation he was going to enjoy. On the fourth ring, Max reluctantly dropped his feet to the floor, snubbed out the joint in his ashtray and picked up his desk phone.

  Keeping his tone even and measured, Max said, “Hello.”

  “I’m disappointed in you,” the disguised voice said.

  “Yeah… ah… sorry about that, but no need to be worried, the wheels are in motion and I expect a resolution within a few short hours. In fact, I’ve spoken to the talent and he assures me the curtain will go up tonight, on schedule.”

  “This is the second time you’ve made that speech. I can’t begin to tell you how important it is that this happens today. There are people and equipment I have staged in the area. They’re waiting for word to proceed.”

  “I understand and I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you again for your patience while I handle this situation,” Max said.

  “DON’T PATRONIZE ME!” the voice screamed.

  Max realized he had been holding his breath. His hand covered the mouthpiece while he exhaled again.

  Sweat had begun to roll down the sides of his face and Max wiped it away and wondered for the first time if the heat was on, or if it was the fear and stress this man could instill in him. Max stood up and began to pace behind his desk. He turned his head all the way to the right, the joints in his neck popping in his ears. Then, mustering his composure, Max said, “I assure you, the last thing I would do is patronize you. I was sincere before and I’m sincere now. Thank you for your patience. I value our partnership and wouldn’t want to lose your business to a competitor.” Max had gone as far as the phone cord would let him. Turning, he moved back to his desk and hit the speaker button so that he could place the receiver in its cradle.

  At that exact moment, the man behind the voice was staring at his own speakerphone. His name was Fritz Washington but Max didn’t know that. Fritz intended to keep it that way. He had been watching the news coming out of the Western Slope of Colorado for several days now, waiting for the story to break about a double homicide in Loma. The fact that it hadn’t only served to darken his mood. Fritz had men on retainer who could have done the job. But if they had gotten caught or killed, their identities would eventually lead right to his front doorstep. That was not an option he was even willing to contemplate.

  Ronald Jacobs had been a thorn in his side for many years. Many times he had wanted to remove Ronald from the board, but his skills had always kept him just out of reach. On the few times he hadn’t been, Fritz had been reluctant to give the order because Ronald had also completed projects that had made his pockets that much deeper. But now he could wait no more.

  “Max, if your guy doesn’t come through like you say he will, I think I will have to seek an alternate means to deal with him and you.”

  Max pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded into the phone. “I understand.”

  “I’ll be watching for results Max,” Fritz reached over and disconnected the call, then rocked back in his roll-away executive chair. He spun slowly to his left, allowing his gaze to wander out over the rugged skyline of the Mesa Valley. It was a beautiful day. The temperature had risen to the high forties. The sunshine above gave the valley floor a vision of endless blue sky. Grand Mesa sat out on the horizon like a king lording over its peasants. Fresh snow capped it from the night before, giving the mountain a regal bearing that was hard not to admire.

  Fritz Washington rocked gently as he pondered the problem before him. In five days he was going to go public with a Common Core Oil change in policy concerning their drilling on the Western Slope. In the past, CCO had always paid people for land rights when it came to drilling. However, because of new governmental policies, they would no longer have to use their money to purchase private lands for their use. Instead, CCO would use eminent domain rules to simply have the land placed in their hands without having to pay out a dime. Congress had been expensive but in the end, it had been worth every dime.

  The problem came when Fritz had learned that one of the owners was Ronald Jacobs. He had thought about flexing some legal muscle and having Ronald arrested for one heinous crime or another. All ones he knew he had committed. But in the end, that was a risk he decided he wouldn’t take. Having Ronald killed, on the other hand, was another matter altogether. Fritz swung slowly back around to face his desk. His eyes landed on the picture of his dead wife and son. His son had been killed many years ago. Susan, his wife, had taken her own life a few years later. The hole their son had left had been more than she could bear. After he had paid his last respects, Fritz began to attend church every Sunday. The grief had been overwhelming and he needed an outlet for the anguish he felt from losing both his onl
y son and his wife. It was during this time that Fritz Washington had first heard Mathew 5:38, and then had read the words that would become his reason for living. "You have heard the law that says the punishment must match the injury: 'an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.’”

  Fritz had allowed the biblical verse to steer all of his decisions in both his personal and professional life. In the late nineties, CCO promoted him to a low-level manager based out of Houston. As field ops manager, he reported to be a woman named Candy. She hadn’t liked the way Fritz operated his department, nor was she fond of the loyalty his men had openly shown to him. Fritz learned the hard way to be wary of what he said whilst in mixed company. It was a small thing, but Candy had overheard him telling a sexist joke and had promptly reported him to HR.

  When human resources had dragged him front and center, Fritz had been clueless as to what he could have done to get their attention. The following Sunday, the preacher gave a sermon on the biblical principles of Mathew 5:38. All Fritz heard were the words. They had resonated deep inside of him and had triggered him into action. He had to wait six months to find the right ‘punishment to fit the injury’, but he had done it.

  The ‘punishment’ came in the form of a conversation he had secretly recorded one night in the hotel bar. Candy had a drunken conversation with a male bartender. When heard in context, the conversation was innocuous. But six-hundred dollars later, after it was edited, it was no longer innocuous. Fritz took the newly edited version and called his office late one night, playing the recording into his answering machine. The next morning, Fritz had called HR and told them to come down to his office. When they arrived, he played it back for them.

  Now that the tables were turned. Fritz had proffered the complaint against him had been the work of a jealous woman and not a lack of judgment on his part. He demanded it be stricken from his record and that Candy should offer him a public apology. The woman from HR had been doubtful about either of those things happening but had said she would pass it along. In the end, he got most of what he wanted. They expunged his record and would only force her to apologize to him in private. For her part, Candy had denied the entire thing, but when faced with the recording on his office machine she had broken down in tears and agreed to his demands.

  As they were both leaving Human Resources, Fritz had offered his hand again. Grudgingly, she had accepted. When their hands met, Fritz had said in a low tone, “This was just a warning. You ever fuck with my career again and I’ll make sure you’re found with a ball gag stuffed down your throat.” Candy’s face drained of color and her mouth hung open. Fritz just smiled and whispered, “From now on, stay out of my way, you unfuckable cow.” Then he promptly dropped her hand, turned on his heels and walked away. She was found in her car a week later. Her death was ruled an accident and Fritz was promoted into her spot.

  From that point on, Fritz had started to use the phrases “God’s will” and “He works in mysterious ways” openly, so as to cement the belief of his peers that Fritz Washington was a man of God and above reproach. He used God and Candy’s death as a springboard for advancement. When people walked into his office, they always took note of the open Bible on his desk for all to see. Candy had served her purpose but she wouldn’t be the first person who would see an untimely end.

  Now, years later, he wondered if his Susan had lived, what his life would be like. Would he have still made the same choices? Would he have followed the same career path? He thought maybe he would have, but maybe not. You just never knew about the path not chosen. Fritz shook his head to clear out the macabre thoughts and reached for the phone again, his finger finding the intercom that linked his office with his executive assistant down the hall.

  “Yes, Mr. Washington?”

  “Sally, do me a favor and call down to security and ask Peter to stop by later, would you please?”

  “Certainly. Should I relay a reason?”

  “No, just ask him to stop by please. Thank You.” Fritz hit the intercom button again to terminate the conversation. Pete Hauser was his chief of security. Fritz and Pete had known each other for well over two decades. They had met during an indoctrination course at CCO. Pete had always been in security and Fritz had always been in operations. Over the years, Pete had provided inside intelligence to Fritz that had allowed him to sidestep layoffs and political vendettas. In return, Fritz had not only paid well for the information but had hired Pete for off-the-book jobs that required a sensitive hand.

  As Fritz had risen through the ranks, so had Pete, thanks to a few well-placed calls or unflattering pictures of compromised executives. At other times, he had also used a more ‘hands-on’ approach. By the time Fritz had made it to CEO, Pete had been in a place to hire a small number of men and women who were responsible for CCO’s more sensitive security needs. And Ronald Jacobs was definitely a sensitive subject.

  Fritz pushed back from his desk and started to pace his office while he waited for Pete to arrive. Both men were a study in contrast. Fritz was tall and lean, with a flat stomach. His shoulders were wide and his hips were narrow, which made it very easy for his tailor. Fritz kept his fingernails clipped and cleaned thanks to his bi-weekly pedicures at the country club up in the Redlands. His only physical handicap was his receding hairline, which he had resorted to surgery to fix.

  Pete, on the other hand, was built low to the ground with hands that resembled ham hocks. He could be described as stocky but that really didn’t cut it. Pete was a Phenom in almost every way. His brutish looks belied the sharp intellect hiding under the perpetual scowl that lined his face. Pete claimed his IQ had never been measured but Fritz had his doubts about that. Where Fritz was narrow at the waist and wide in the shoulders, Pete always looked like he had been cut from a block of wood. Others saw what they assumed was an overweight brute who lacked intelligence. But Fritz knew better. Pete had a physical strength that was unmatched. Fritz had seen him deadlift five-hundred pounds and bench close to four-hundred and fifty pounds. Years ago, Fritz had decided to run his first marathon and had asked Pete to join him in order to help him into shape. The first morning, he learned the hard way that Pete could keep a six-mile pace for at least an hour before he had to back off. After that, Fritz decided to run alone rather than be embarrassed every morning by a man he deemed beneath his social status. Peter was handy when it came to getting things done in a nasty way. As far as Fritz was concerned though, he was also a liability that one day he would have to deal with himself.

  Fritz looked at his watch and saw that twenty minutes had passed since he had asked Sally to page Pete. He moved back towards his desk and was reaching for the phone when his intercom buzzed. He reached out a hand to answer the page from Sally.

  “Yes, Sally?”

  “Sir, Pete is here to see you. Shall I have him come in?”

  Fritz sat down in his chair and reached for a file. He wanted to make sure something was open in front of him when Pete entered his office. “Yes, Sally, please send him on in.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  This time Sally terminated the intercom. He smiled into the phone. She was a filly he would love to tame, but to do so would mean a lot of compromises he wasn’t willing to make. But you never knew what the future held. He heard knuckles rap against the solid oak door.

  “Come in, Pete.”

  He watched the knob turn and the door open slowly. Pete stood just off-center of the door and waited for it to open fully before he walked in. His eyes swept the room as he entered the foyer of his office. They made eye contact. Fritz nodded his greetings to Pete and then turned and pushed the door closed. He waited until he heard the click of the hinges falling into place before moving fully into the room. Fritz made a big show of closing the file and moving it aside. He had made it a point for many years to make sure Pete always felt like he had his full attention.

  “Fritz,” Pete said, just as he made it to the desk.

  Fritz swept his hand out in front of him as
a way of offering him a seat. Pete took the chair furthest away from the door. This still afforded him the opportunity to see as much of the room as possible.

  “Have you seen the news lately, Pete?”

  “Not today, but I watched the 10 o’clock news last night. Why?”

  “Because the problem you identified a while back, the one I contracted out to avoid any blowback, is still with us.”

  Pete nodded his head but said nothing else.

  “I just got off the phone with the contract company’s representative and it seems as though the first option has failed. Now we are on to option B. I was wondering if you were still keeping an eye on the situation?” Fritz asked

  “My female agent has been spending a lot of time down near Loma and says she hasn’t seen any movement.”

  “So what does that mean?” Fritz asked him.

  “Well, it could mean a couple of things, but mostly I believe it means she is unsure of how to proceed. I wouldn’t get too concerned about it. If you’d like, I can move the tempo up and close it out, like we discussed.”

  “No… Instead, I was thinking you could maybe send a couple of guys down to Loma to watch over the situation. You know, keep in the background, but be available if they’re needed.”

  “Things are that bad?”

  Fritz blew out his breath and then leaned back in his chair. He placed his arms on the armrests and then steepled his fingers in front of his face. “Well, I’m not going to lie to you, I was hoping Jacobs would be off the board by now, but he’s still around and now I am told the wife isn’t anywhere to be found and some ex-cop has shown up.”