Six Cut Kill

by David R Lewis

  The vehicle coasted to a stop about thirty feet inside the property and two young men, one blond and one with a shaved head, both dressed in blue jeans and matching khaki t-shirts got out and walked in his direction. They appeared to be very fit. Crockett remained seated and made them come to him. Baldy stayed back a few feet and watched. The blond approached the driver’s door.

  “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “May I inquire why…oh! Good afternoon, officer. How are you today?”

  “Hello boys,” Crockett said, dismounting from the truck. “I didn’t mean to put anybody on high alert. Just stopped to admire the view. I heard there were some new residents here. Beautiful place.”

  “Yessir, is there something we can do for you, officer?”

  Crockett smiled. “You’re doing a good job, son,” he said. “Polite, respectful, just the right amount of assertiveness. I imagine you’re quite effective. Your partner needs to lighten up a little. He’s staring too hard. He thinks it’s intimidation. It’s not. It’s challenge. In the early stage of an easy encounter such as this, challenge is a little much. Nor is intimidation called for at this point. I imagine dogs don’t like him a lot.”

  The blond looked at Crockett for a moment, then grinned. “He’s intense,” he said, extending a hand. “My name’s Preston. I’m head of security for Mister Bryant.”

  “Call me Crockett,” Crockett replied. “County deputy and all ‘round nice guy. Ask anybody who doesn’t know me.”

  Preston smiled. “Let me try again,” he said. “Is there anything we can do for you, Crockett?”

  “You sound a little more sincere this time.”

  “That’s because I am,” Preston went on.

  “Naw. I’m just snooping around. Trying to stay up on current events. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  “No bother,” Preston replied. “You’re doing your job. We’re doing ours. Nice to have met you. We’ll probably see each other again.”

  “Anything’s possible,” Crockett replied, getting back in the Ram.

  He held his position as the Land Rover motored back up the hill and sat for another few moments before going on his way.

  About an hour later as bored Crockett was cruising along a paved county road, his cell phone went off. It was Smoot.

  “What are you doing this time?”

  “Putting more miles on my truck and waiting for some bad guys to break the law.”

  “You been out to that Bryant place over by Stonebrook Estates?”

  “Yeah. Guess my truck doesn’t look much like an official police car. Met a couple of security types that came out to see what I was doing hanging around the front entrance.”

  “Hanging around, huh?”

  “They’ve added some plastic board fencing and some pretty horses. I like pretty horses.”

  “Oh, hell.”

  “I piss somebody off?”

  “Bryant’s secretary or somebody called. He’d like you to drop by.”

  “No shit?”

  “Said the gate stays open until after dark. Just drive on up to the house.”

  “Gee, I’m honored I think.”

  “The term public relations mean anything to you?”

  “Pubic what?”

  “Jesus.”

  “Sorry Dale, I can’t talk. Gotta appointment to make a new friend.”

  “Don’t pee on the rose bushes, okay?”

  Grinning, Crockett disconnected, made a U-turn, and headed for Clayville.

  It took Crockett around fifteen minutes to get back to Bryant’s place. The gate was open, and he drove up the lane to the house, flanked on both sides by the white fencing, onto a cobbled circle surrounding a tall stone fountain in front of the three-story residence. As he climbed out of the Ram, he was approached by a white male in his mid-forties, wearing dark slacks, a white shirt, a black tie, and a dark blue lightweight cotton smock in the style of a sport coat.

  “Good evening, sir,” the man said. “I am Joseph, Mister Bryant’s personal assistant. If you’d care to follow me…?”

  They passed through the foyer of the home, around the bottom of a large curving staircase, down about forty feet of wide hallway and out the rear of the residence onto a massive fieldstone patio. Sixty feet away, next to a swimming pool fed by a fieldstone waterfall, sat a white wrought iron table and chairs under a large umbrella. Seated in one of the chairs was another white male. In his mid-fifties he was clean shaven, wearing gray linen slacks and a pale yellow linen shirt, had thick dark hair with silver-gray temples, bowling-ball shoulders, and a nice tan. He rose to his feet, displayed teeth that were a little too bright, and waited for Crockett to come to him. When Crockett was in range, he offered a hand wearing a horseshoe pinky ring worth more than Spain.

  “Good of you to come,” he said. “I’m Jack Bryant.”

  “Call me Crockett,” Crockett replied, accepting the handshake. It was dry and neutral.

  “Again,” Bryant went on, “thank you for coming. Would you care for something to drink? I’m enjoying a rather nice twenty-year-old single malt.”

  Crockett smiled. “I’m on duty, Mister Bryant. Something cold would be nice.”

  Bryant glanced at Joseph and the man scurried away. “Please call me Jack, Officer Crockett.”

  “Crockett will do nicely, Jack. Your home is quite impressive.”

  “And three times larger than necessary, and presumptive, and pretentious I’m afraid. I got it for the land and to satisfy one of the basic rules for a comfortable existence.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Happy wife, happy life,” Bryant said.

  “It is always the woman’s house,” Crockett agreed.

  “Those who know will attest,” Bryant chuckled, taking a seat. Crockett joined him. “I would suppose that you might be curious why I called and asked that you stop by.”

  “I’m reasonably sure that it isn’t because there’s a burglary in progress.”

  “I’m new here,” Bryant said. “Because of that fact, and because I believe the waste of time to be the biggest waste there is, I want to get to know the people I now live among. Especially those who are integral to the community. People like you.”

  Crockett smiled. “I don’t know how integral I am, but I’m flattered to be so thought of.”

  “You are a man of some reputation. From what I have been able to learn, you are determined, honest, forceful when need be, and dependable. Over the past months I have come to know some of the county’s, ah, the term controllers should suffice. They have spoken of you. Those that pandered to me didn’t seem to think too highly of you. Those that seemed to be men of certain mettle, did. I was inclined to give their opinion credence.”

  Crockett grinned. “I’ll have to send them fruit baskets,” he said.

  Joseph arrived with a tray containing a pitcher of iced tea, ice, glasses, a bowl of sugar, and sliced lemon. He placed it on the table as Bryant chuckled.

  “So,” Bryant went on, “when Preston said he’d had some contact with you, I took the opportunity to make your acquaintance.”

  “To allow each of us to satisfy some of our curiosity,” Crockett said, adding some ice to a glass.

  “Precisely.”

  “Nothing like the direct approach,” Crockett said, adding tea to the glass. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

  Bryant sipped his scotch. “My retirement,” he said. “I recently divested myself of certain business interests. My wife was originally from this general area and was tired of our places on the coast or in various cities. She found this spot actually. Plenty of room. Easy distance from and to medium metropolitan influence. Again, happy wife, happy life. So, when time came to hang up my spurs as it were, we came here.”

  “And now you’re a gentleman of leisure except for the youth center I’ve heard about?”

  “Ah, yes. The youth center. Once more, I indulge my wife. That business is hers, I’m afraid. She likes to stay busy, but shuns things
like women’s clubs, tennis or golf, Junior League and such. She prefers administration to participation. She will administrate the youth center, hire the staff and all that.”

  “And the horses?”

  “Also much more for her than for me. Do you know horses, Crockett?”

  “A little. Not so much the society types. More of a working horse guy.”

  “Charlene has twelve head at last count, I believe. She almost never rides. We have a trainer who shows them during the season.”

  “Administration again,” Crockett said.

  “Precisely. She is also on the national board of the Humane Society and the A.S.P.C.A.”

  “Busy girl.”

  “Indeed she is. And you, Crockett. Pardon my candor, but what is a man your age doing walking around with a badge and a Beretta Storm strapped to his side?”

  “Observant,” Crockett said. “Do you know guns, Jack?”

  Bryant smiled. “A little,” he said. “Not so much the combat variety. More the sporting types.”

  “The county sheriff is a friend,” Crockett said. “A year or so ago he asked for my help. I have a distant background in law enforcement so I agreed. Really, it’s a part time kinda thing. I make my own hours and pretty much come and go as I please. Basically, I’m retired.”

  “And you left your retirement to become the part time old bull in the pasture, is that it?”

  Crockett smiled. “Moo,” he said.

  “That’s good, though. I would imagine that, among your fellow officers, you are quite respected. Nothing serves as well as a worthy example. I hear that the nightclub I acquired became available through your efforts.”

  “I was part of closing it down, yes.”

  “And that two long distant shots prevented some of the criminals from possibly escaping.”

  “It was a combined law enforcement effort.”

  “And that, a few days later, you shot to death the last remaining member of the miscreants after he wounded you.”

  “You are well informed.”

  “I try to be,” Bryant replied. “You have had military training, I assume?”

  “Let’s say that my training was military in nature, while I was not.”

  “Interesting,” Bryant said.

  “More exhausting and abusive than interesting. I needed the skill.”

  “Are you married, Crockett?”

  “Recently. A late in life plunge into the thick of the fray.”

  Bryant laughed. “A woman of some power, no doubt.”

  “Tough as shoe leather and mean as a snake.”

  “And you live in Hart County, I assume.”

  “Yeah. We have a small home on a small lake a few miles from here. Lots of trees. Lots of quiet. Lots of sunrises and sunsets.”

  “The simple life.”

  “That was my purpose.”

  “I admire men of purpose, Crockett.”

  “And my purpose must now take me away. Duty calls.”

  “Shall I walk you out or summon Joseph?”

  “Not necessary.”

  “Very well,” Bryant said, offering his hand. “By the door you’ll see a small bowl containing my business cards. Please take one. You are welcome here at any time. I have enjoyed your company.”

  Crockett shook the offered hand. “Thank you,” he said, and turned away.

  He picked up a couple of the cards on the way out and felt eyes on him as he climbed into the truck. As he drove away, he noticed a glint of reflected light from one of the upstairs windows in his rearview mirror.

  Binoculars.

  When he neared Hartrick, he phoned Smoot’s cell.

  “Did you get me into any trouble?” Dale asked.

  “I surprised you’re still awake,” Crockett said. “It’s after six.”

  “Couldn’t sleep. Worried about you pissing people off.”

  “Coffee?”

  “On the way.”

  They arrived at the café at the same time and took the usual back booth. The supper special was open-faced turkey. Crockett couldn’t resist and asked for a half order. Smoot stared at him.

  “You met the man?”

  “I met the man.”

  “And?”

  “Very polished, educated, smooth, likes to flaunt his money but gives his wife the credit for the, uh, flauntage.”

  “Nice guy?”

  “Excessively. Curious, probing. A chess player. Very complimentary. He’s a good interrogator. He knew a lot about Hart County before he came here, that’s for sure. He likes to give the impression of power. Mailed fist in a velvet glove kinda thing. He also made sure I knew he had gathered information about me. He let me know his sources, at least the ones he thought necessary.”

  “He dirty?”

  “He’s got too much money to be clean. The question is, is he dirty now?”

  “We need to watch him?”

  “Hell, Dale, we need to watch everybody.”

  Smoot pulled a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and passed it over. “Copy of his application for a business license. Thought you might want it.”

  Crockett studied the paper for a moment. The license was assigned to Sunnymorn LLC with chief officers Jackson Chestnut Bryant and Charlene Tipton Bryant.

  Crockett slipped it in his pocket as his turkey arrived. Smoot stood up.

  “Gotta go set with a sick friend,” he said. “I have a packset and my phone, and I’ll be close. Friday nights can go to hell now and then. You need anything, leave me alone.”

  Crockett finished his meal and walked outside. Just as he got in the truck, his cell phone rang. It was Cletus.

  “Hey, pard.”

  “Texican. Sup?”

  “Just wanted to let you know that I emailed ya what I could get on that girl. Ain’t much. Near as I can figure, she’s clean. Didn’t appear to hang around with no unsavory types. It’s all in the message. You out coppin’?”

  “Yeah. Thanks for the work. I got another one for you.”

  “Another one?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s wonderful. Hell, son, my time is your time. I ain’t got nothin’ to do but be at yer beck an’ call, ya know.”

  “It’s good you know your place,” Crockett said, reaching for the paper in his pocket.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Crockett looked out over his sloping front yard and down to the lake as he sipped his coffee.

  “That dude was sizin’ your ass up,” Stitch commented from his position by the deck rail.

  It was a little after nine the next morning. Low clouds were scudding from southeast to northwest and the scent of oncoming rain was heavy in the air. The wind was beginning to pick up.

  “Yeah. I put Clete on it to find out what he can about the guy. Got his report on the Presley girl.”

  “Not much, I bet.”

  “Nothing. Slick as a hound’s tooth. Oh, there was an abortion, but that’s it. Unless some right-to-lifer is dedicated to chopping up young girls in parking garage basements three years after the fact, I sure don’t see what the motive might be.”

  “Maybe nothin’ is, man. These cats are deeply strange. Could be he just needed to kill somebody, ya know?”

  “Jesus, Stitch. That’s sounds awful simple.”

  “The shit that leads to a dude like this ain’t simple, man, but the need is. Just like any other addiction. You know, from cigarettes to a baby’s blanket, man. Physical and psychological get all wrapped up in each other; but when ya need it, you’ll dig through the trash for that butt or scream your lungs out for that blanket. Need is a whole lot bigger than just want, ya know?”

  “I guess. I sent Clete a couple of the autopsy pictures before I went to bed last night.”

  Stitch grinned. “Ya finally learned how to use ol’ Satin’s scanner?”

  “Yes, I finally learned how to use ol’ Satin’s scanner.”

  “Far out! A true man of the nineties! What’s next? Figurin’ out where the li
ght goes when ya close the fridge?”

  Crockett’s snappy retort was stalled by the ringing of his cell phone. Cletus.

  “Morning, Texas.”

  “Jesus Christ, Crockett! Here I am, coffee in hand, happy thoughts trippin’ through my tiny mind, and you send me pictures a some poor girl on a fuckin’ autopsy table. Ya coulda warned me!”

  “Stitch is here,” Crockett said. “I’m gonna put you on speaker.”

  “Hey, hippie.”

  “Clete! ‘Sup, dude?”

  “What’s up is whoever did this to that girl. Nothin’ I found on her would even put Carol Ann on the same planet as this guy. He is the worst of the best, boys, and that’s as straight as a Navajo goes to shit.”

  “Yeah,” Stitch said. “I told Crockett about a cat or two I heard about when I was in the ‘Nam.”

  “They’re out there,” Clete said. “This ol’ boy was probably trained by somebody involved in Jay-Sock.”

  “Jay-Sock?” Crockett asked.

  “Yeah. J.S.O.C. Joint Special Operations Command. Some of the people they use are way over the top. Make a Ranger look like a cub scout. Ya’ll remember back when they took out Osama Been Shithead?”

  “Sure.”

  “They said a Seal Team and support did the deed. No names, no rank, nothing else?”