Behind the Badge
Page 1
Titles by David R Lewis
Nosferati Series
BLOODTRAIL
BLOODLINE
Crockett Series
FEAR OF THE FATHER
GRAVE PROMISE
SITUATIONAL FLEXIBILITY
ABDUCTED
WITNESS REJECTION
UNDERCOVER
BEHIND THE BADGE
SIX CUT KILL (coming in late 2017)
Trail Series
DEER RUN TRAIL
NODAWAY TRAIL
CALICO TRAIL
PAYBACK TRAIL
OGALLALA TRAIL
KILLDEER TRAIL
CUTTHROAT TRAIL
GLORY TRAIL
Stand Alones:
COWBOYS AND INDIANS
ONCE UPON AGAIN
INCIDENTS AMONG THE SAVAGES
ENDLESS JOURNEY (nonfiction)
Preview of COWBOYS AND INDIANS by David R Lewis
You can read the first 3 chapters of COWBOYS AND INDIANS at the end of this book!
BEHIND THE BADGE
(Small Town Troublemakers)
By David R. Lewis
Published by Smashwords.com
Copyright 2011
David R Lewis
ISBN: 9781370661909
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally; and any resemblance to people, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
*****
CHAPTER ONE
Crockett stood in the damp grass and eyeballed his pond, shivering a bit in the early April morning. A light ground fog was just beginning to wisp away and a small frog plopped into the water about ten feet from where he stood. Life was already rampant in, and around, the little lake. Turkey had arrived over the winter. He’d made sure the dozer guy had left a lot of the brush pushed out of the pond bottom piled up here and there for wildlife cover. The water and salt blocks had pulled in deer and he’d even found some bobcat tracks. At least he thought they were bobcat tracks, although, with Nudge around it was a little hard to be sure.
It had been a snowy winter and, at least so far, a wet spring. The water level was up to just four or five feet below the spillway already. Over twenty feet deep in some places, it seemed the pond was going to meet expectations. If the rains continued, he’d soon have about twenty acres under water and more shoreline than he could walk in a long day. His new yard area around the cabin was growing in nicely with a mixture of shade tolerant grass he’d sowed last fall, the addition on the rear of the cabin was complete giving Satin an office next to the new mudroom and a full bath and walk-in closet off the upstairs bedroom. A small deck extended off the side of the porch supporting the hot tub and a doghouse that Dundee refused to enter, and a single garage size outbuilding perched on the slab near the entrance to the property, complete with insulation, a bed, two comfortable chairs, a TV and blue-ray player, heat, air, and a three-quarter bath.
The dog came snuffling through the new weeds along the shoreline, a victim of her nose, with Nudge waddling along in her wake. She noticed Crockett, grinned, and bounced up to him, her abbreviated tail wagging at frightening velocity.
“No,” Crockett said. “Stay down. Your feet are muddy. You are the most useless dog I have ever known. Be nice. I feed you.”
Dundee sat, the entire rear of her body quivering with the force of her wag. “Boof!” she said.
“Goddammit, dog! If you jump on me I swear to Christ I’ll take you to the pound.”
Dundee held her position, trembling with the need to fling herself at Crockett. He turned his attention to the cat.
“And you, you old fool, don’t you have any influence over her?”
Nudge owled his ears and turned away, walking up the slope toward the cabin.
“Oh, hell!” Crockett went on. “All right. Dundee. House. Treat!”
The dog bolted after the cat, and Crockett began his limping way up the shallow hill. He shook his head and grinned. Just another morning with the children.
*****
As usual, Satin was waiting in the porch swing with coffee. Her ratty pink robe and immense furry house slippers an intrusive splash of color in the otherwise woody pastels.
“Catch anything?” she asked.
“We have frogs,” Crockett replied, taking his seat, his coffee, and a short kiss.
“Joy,” she said. “Wildlife. No fish?”
“Fish soon. I’ll get a couple a hundred pounds of fatheads and several thousand sunfish and bluegills. A few grass carp, too. Then next spring, after the bluegill and sunfish have had time to spawn, come the bass. They’ll have lotsa minnows and fry to eat. In a couple more years after that, we’ll have a nice population that should be self-sustaining and fishable. Don’t wanna get in too big of a hurry.”
Satin sipped her coffee. “We wouldn’t want that,” she said.
“It’s a balance thing,” Crockett went on. “The right species in the right sizes in the right numbers at the right time, or the fish population goes to hell. You wind up with stunted growth or over population or under population or not enough food for the game fish. There’s a lot to it. You have to maintain a viable eco-system.”
“Yawn,” Satin said.
“We’ve already got turkey and deer. I think there’s a bobcat. We’ll have foxes, quail, raccoons, all kinds of stuff. Lotsa birds, herons, and part-time geese. I’ll put out a couple of Wood Duck houses; we may even wind up with an eagle now and then. If the aquatic environment is healthy, everything else falls in line.”
“Birds are good. Deer are nice. Water is pretty.”
Crockett grinned.
“You don’t give a rat’s ass about the fish, do you?”
“Nope. And you’re gonna obsess about ‘em, aren’t you?”
“Yep. Upon their slimy shoulders, all else stands.”
“Here’s the deal,” Satin said. “I don’t catch ‘em, and I don’t clean ‘em. I will, however, cook them for you, should you actually succeed in extracting some of the little darlings from their native habitat.”
Crockett’s eyebrows raised.
“You’d do that for me?” he asked.
“Reluctantly.”
“Zing!” he said, his hand over his heart.
Satin smiled. “If you shut up about the lake and the fish,” she said, “and if you treat me with the deference I deserve, perhaps, a bit later, I might do something else for you.”
“Reluctantly?” Crockett asked.
“So far,” she said.
*****
A little after lunch, as Crockett was contemplating a stroll down to the dam to see if anything had changed, his phone went off.
“Crockett?” Female, familiar.
“Yes, it is.”
“Ha. A voice from your past. It’s Adele.”
Adele, his ex-agent.
“Adele! Long time, no hear. How are you? Still sucking blood out of no-talent hacks?”
“As long as there’s something in it for me. That’s why I called.”
“What, a job?”
“Scary, huh?”
“Jesus, Adele. I haven’t done any voice work in years.”
“That�
��s okay. You never were very good at it. Maybe your ability has festered…I mean grown, during your time outa da biz.”
Crockett grinned. “Anything’s possible, I guess.”
“It’s not a bad gig, Crockett. Can you still read?”
“The obituaries to see if I’m in them.”
“Close enough. There’s a guy named Lloyd Ponder that wrote a book called Blood on the Bricks. Pretty standard pulp fiction stuff. Couldn’t find a publisher so he published the thing himself. Sold about ten copies. Unfortunately for the unsuspecting public, one of those copies made it into the hands of a would-be producer with access to more money than mind. Now the thing is gonna be, I believe the term is, a major motion picture. In addition to a line of people waiting to publish the novel now that Hollywood has picked it up, one of the companies that produce those talking books that you get at Cracker Barrel and roadside water holes to help pass the time as you drive to see the Grand Canyon, got wind of it and want to produce the text of the novel, soon to be an upcoming major motion picture, on disc. Lloyd tells ‘em sure, but he has to have approval on the vocal talent and production before he’ll take their money.”
“He’s doing this in Kaycee?”
“Yep. He’s from here. Wants to flaunt his success at the next high school reunion, I guess. Anyway, he shows up at my office. While I’m playing him a bunch of recordings of people with real talent, he spots an old CD labeled ‘David Crockett’. Gets intrigued by the name. Gotta hear it. As strange as it seems, he wants you. I told him you were a nasty, old, uncooperative, sonofabitch. Wants to meet you anyway. The guy is nuts. What the hell. I couldn’t talk him out of it.”
“You read the book?”
“Some of it. Then I lost my nerve.”
“That bad?”
“Makes Mike Hammer look like Carl Segan.”
“Ha!”
“Got a uniformed cop carrying a chrome plated pistol.”
“Make that an uninformed cop,” Crocket said. “A chrome shootin’ iron is a helluva target.”
“Let me add extra incentive,” Adele went on. “The, and I use the term loosely, author wants to be in studio with you while you do the voice track.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“You were a cop, weren’t you, Crockett?”
“A thousand years ago.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. How ‘bout it?”
“I don’t think so. Hard to stick to the script when I’m laughing. I might not give his deathless prose the treatment it deserves.”
“Money is money.”
“That’s true, but my pride is beyond price.”
“That would be a no, then?”
“That would be a no, now.”
“Love ya, Crockett.”
“Love you too, Adele. Don’t ever call me again.”
*****
Crockett walked outside to find Satin sweeping the porch.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“That was my old agent. She had a job for me recording one of those talking book things.”
“You going to work?”
“Nah. Some cop story that she said sucked, and an author that wanted to be in studio with me. From the way Adele described him and his work, one of us might not have made it out alive.”
Satin grinned. “Getting pretty particular in your old age, aren’t cha?”
“I don’t know. I settled for you.”
“Best thing you ever did. Might be good if you took on some recording work again.”
“Why? We don’t need the money.”
“I’m not talking about money, Crockett. I’m talking about doing something besides sitting in the swing, puttering in the yard, or staring at that big-assed puddle out there. The way you’re going, by the time fall gets here, you’ll be a zombie. You need something to do. We all need something to do. Think about it.”
“Hmmm. Maybe I’ll sell Avon.”
“Go for Mary Kay. You’d look great in a pink Cadillac. You and your close friend, Carl the gay psychic, could go on road trips together.”
Crockett grinned, and Satin slid into him. He wrapped his arms around her and looked down into the best face he’d ever seen. “You’re right,” he said.
“I am?”
“Yep. You are the best thing I ever did.”
“That’s as it should be,” Satin said. “You’re the best thing that’s ever done me.”
*****
Late afternoon, Satin sequestered herself in her office for a few hours work. Bored, Crockett got in the truck and motored into Hartrick for a bite at the café. The town constable, Dale Smoot, sat at a table near the front with the new mayor and a couple of city fathers. Crockett headed for an open booth in the rear. By the time he’d ordered the meatloaf special and iced tea from a waitress he’d never seen before, Smoot settled in across from him.
“Chief,” Crockett said.
Smoot eyeballed him.
“I know you?”
“Just passin’ through, Marshal. Don’t want no trouble. Got a herd about twenty miles south. Just in town with Cookie for supplies.”
Smoot snorted. “God, but you’re fulla shit. Where you been? I haven’t seen you in a couple a months.”
“Satin doesn’t let me out much. She’s insecure that way.”
“How is she?”
“Hateful, demanding, bitter.”
Dale grinned. “How’s her kid doin’?”
“Danni is in Sikeston living in an apartment near her aunt’s place. She found a Vet-Tec school over there. Satin’s sister is retired and taking care of the kid while Danni goes to school. Evidently, the change in Danni has Satin and Velvet on better terms than those sisters have been in years. I think they’re starting to feel a little like family again.”
“Now that’s just fine.”
“Everything all right with you, Dale?”
“You haven’t heard the big news, have you?”
“Guess not.”
“The Hart County Sheriff, a fella named John Phillips, inherited a bunch a money. Told the county fathers to shove it. Leaves office next week.”
“No shit.”
“They offered me his job.”
“No shit? Gonna take it?”
“Almost too sweet to pass up. I can keep the one I got and take over for him, too. Worked it out with the mayor and county supervisor. Hell, the folks that run the city run the county. This is the backside of Missouri, Crockett.”
“I thought the county sheriff job was an elected position.”
“It is. Phillips has almost three years left on his term. Turns out that special elections are at the discretion of the county. They told me that if I took the job, the special election would just happen to be on the exact same date as the regular election.”
Crocket shook his head and laughed. “Holy shit!”
Smoot grinned. “Like I said, Crockett, this is rural Missouri.”
“I assume there would be certain monetary inducements.”
“Two jobs. A little over twice what I’m making now. Three years and I’m retired with enough money for a little place on a river back up in Nebraska.”
“Good for you, Dale. You got the city offices and the county offices on opposite sides of the square. Where your office gonna be?”
“I kinda thought this booth would do fine.”
“It’s a nice booth,” Crockett said.
“That’s why you showing up this evening saves me a trip out to your place.”
“It does?”
“Yessir. I’m offering you a job.”
Crocket laughed. “When it rains it pours.”
“What?”
“This is my second job offer today.”
“You take the other one?”
“No.”
“Good. Then you can take this one.”
“You serious?”
“Damn right. I don’t have a cop in the city or the county that’s over thirty, except one; and that sonofabitc
h is gone the day I take office. Name’s Shorty Cantral. In a week he’ll be unemployed. He’s probably figuring on leaving anyway.”
“And you want me to take his job?”
“Hell, no. Patrolmen, I’ve got. Deputies, I’ve got. I want you to be a special investigator.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
Crockett smiled. “Sounds ominous,” he said.
“Look, I need somebody out there anytime day or night, who I can trust. Somebody who’s seasoned. Somebody who’s been there and back. Somebody who’ll answer only to me, who don’t give a shit about county or city politics, and who’s got no real ties to the area. Family or otherwise. Somebody who doesn’t owe anybody, doesn’t need anybody, and won’t play favorites. Somebody with fresh eyes and a good background who’s not afraid of the dark and isn’t impressed by the badge or the gun.”
“That’s me, huh?”
“Damn right, it is. Getcha eighteen dollars an hour for as many or as few hours a week that you wanna work, full life and health insurance, comp time for holidays, a beat to shit Ford Ranger to drive, and a two-hundred dollar uniform allowance, except I don’t want you in a uniform. Oh, and your very own badge. A gold one. Shiny and pretty. You’ll love it.”
“Lemme think about it,” Crockett said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
*****
An hour later, Crockett studied Satin as she sat on the couch. “That’s it,” he said. “What do you think?”
“I think I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I also think that you can trust Dale Smoot.”
“Right down to the ground.”