Six Cut Kill

by David R Lewis

  “Yeah,” Crockett replied. “Protecting identities and stuff.”

  “Damn sure wasn’t no bunch a rookies that just come outa a BUDs class. Those were seasoned guys. SEAL Six. The best of the best. Probably been in the same unit for years. The guvmint admitted what they were but not who they were. Hell, son, their wives don’t even know.”

  “Yeah, I got that Clete.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, in an op like that one, you can damn sure bet that with those elite nasty bastards, maybe even there ahead of ‘em, was a guy, maybe two, that ol’ Stitch would probably call a ghost. Those fellers can hide in your underwear, Crockett, give ya a vasectomy, an’ be gone before ya finish your morning orange juice.”

  “Stitch said they were scary.”

  “Them ol’ boys would freak out a fuckin’ vampire, son. You put one a them fellers out in forty acres a woods and send in ten or twelve fine force recon troops to bring him out, an’ he’ll come out okay. All by himself while cleanin’ a bunch a blood off his knife. An’ speakin’ of knives, what you saw on the poor girl wasn’t the work a no K-Bar standard issue military pig sticker, son. These guys usually build their own. Carry two or three. One of ‘em to do just what you saw on the girl. Short, heavy, an’ quick, with a half-moon shaped blade probably. Good for both slashin’ and cuttin’ bone. Christ, Crockett! Did you look at that girl?”

  “All right, all right, Texican. I’m convinced. This is the baddest sonofabitch in any valley. The question remains, how do I find this guy?”

  “You love your wife, Crockett?” Clete asked.

  “Sure.”

  “You like that little cabin an’ that lake a yours?”

  “Get to the point, Clete.”

  “Then you don’t find him, son. You don’t even look for him. You turn your back on this mess and walk away. You manage to crowd somebody like he is, and they’ll break out the bagpipes for your Scottish ass. This ol’ boy could be hidin’ under your porch. Could be the next businessman that gits on a elevator with ya. Could run into ya at a fuckin’ Home Depot, godammit! I know that goes agin’ that Crockett self-image that you eat with your oatmeal ever mornin’, but your brand a toe stobbin’ macho could easy put you on a slab in the same shape as Carol Ann Presley. An’ you wouldn’t stand no more of a chance than she did.”

  Crockett smiled. “What are you trying to say, Texas?” he asked.

  “Oh, hell,” Clete muttered, and hung up.

  Stitch grinned at Crockett. “I was talkin’ to ol’ Satin this mornin’ before you got up and she took off for Wally-World. She said you guys, like, caught a bunch of fish yesterday.”

  “You changing the subject?”

  “Yeah. Did it work?”

  “Bluegill,” Crockett said. “They’re getting pretty big. Some of them were bigger than my hand.”

  “Must be those hybrid dudes, man. They’re supposed to grow fast, ya know? Mind if I fish?”

  “This your lake too, Stitch.”

  “Might be my lake too, man, but there wasn’t no fish on the deed. You’re the expert, dude.”

  “Sure. Fish away. Just mash the barbs on the hooks flat or snip ‘em off. That way it’s easy to unhook the fish. I’d like it if you just caught ‘em for fun and released the ones you get with as little trauma as possible. We don’t want any deaths if it can be helped. This fall we’ll have a fish fry. Right now, though, I’d like all of them to stay with the population we have.”

  “Far out. You know more about this kinda shit than I do. Always pays to listen to somebody that’s more informed than you are, huh Crockett? ‘Specially when it can be, like, a matter a life and death, dude. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Crockett stared at him for a moment. “I’ve never liked you,” he said.

  “Then you won’t mind if I split, huh?”

  “Where you going?”

  “I was drivin’ around yesterday, man, and I went by that old Buckles an’ Bows club. Gotta lot a shit goin’ on out there. Puttin’ in a mini race track an’ a pond an’ shit. Got a big sign up sayin’ it’s the future home a Kid Country. No children without adults, no adults without children. Figured I might find some, like, gainful fuckin’ employment, dude.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Thought maybe Mom or Dad might think takin’ little Junior or Sissy for a helo ride could be fun. Make a buck flyin’ the curtain climbers around.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Aren’t you still on Ivy’s payroll?”

  “Yeah, but I ain’t doin’ nothin’, man. I need to be like occupied a little. This retirement shit is cool an’ all, but unless I wanna take up golf again, I gotta find somethin’ to do now and then. Cat like me can’t smoke enough reefer anymore to just hang around all the time. Besides, you didn’t go back to bein’ a cop ‘cause you were broke, did ya, dude?”

  “I see what you mean,” Crockett said.

  Further conversation was stalled by the arrival of Satin, carrying several bags of swag. Crockett and Stitch joined in the labor and, in a couple of minutes, the kitchen was awash in goodies. Satin kissed Crockett on the cheek and beamed at him.

  “I’m going to work,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I love you Crockett, right down to the ground, but I gotta get out into the world a little. I didn’t wanna go back to waitressing at the café, so I took the long way home and drove by where Buckles and Bows used to be. Construction everywhere. I went in and talked to a woman named Charlene, who owns the place. You are looking at the new assistant office manager of Kid Country.”

  “What?”

  “Five ‘til ten, Wednesday through Sunday nights. Fifteen bucks an hour and all the pizza and root beer I can hold.”

  “Office manager?”

  “Assistant office manager. No bookkeeping or anything like that. Just the senior adult to stand around and keep an eye on things, watch over the staff, make sure stuff goes okay. Kinda like what I do here.”

  “When do you start?”

  “They plan on opening in two weeks. The little pond’ll be dug out and filled in a couple of days. Next week I’ll go in a few times and let Charlene show me the ropes, meet the kids working there, things like that. Play your cards right, I might even give you a free pass for miniature golf or score you a couple of complimentary hot laps on the cart track. You look a little stunned.”

  “I am. Yesterday I spent an hour or so with the guy who really owns that place. A few minutes ago, Stitch tells me he’s gonna try and get a job there, then you come home and announce you’ve already have a job at the joint. Jesus.”

  Satin turned to Stitch. “You, too?” she asked.

  “Yeah! I thought I’d drop by the crib an’ see if some helo rides for the crumb-crunchers and knee-grabbers might be a good idea. They give me a ell-zee, I give them a cut of the profits.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea! I just happen to know the assistant office manager. She’ll put in a good word for you.”

  Stitch grinned. “Far out,” he said.

  Satin thought for a beat. “Why wait?” she asked. “Let’s jump in the jeep and drive over. Charlene’s there now. I’ll introduce you, and we can pitch the idea to her.”

  “Ah, okay by me, man. I look okay? I ain’t applied for a gig in, like, thirty years, ya know?”

  Satin smiled. “You’re fine,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  Crockett watched them leave and looked at Dundee, where she lay by the steps. “What just happened?” he said.

  The dog wiggled the stub that was once her tail and grinned.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Crockett sat in the swing for a while longer, musing on recent events. All of a sudden, life had taken another turn. There was a dead girl with absolutely no way to trace her killer, a new kiddie club coming to where Buckles and Bows used to be, a new moneyed powerhouse living in the county that was possibly too curious, and his wife who had just hired Satin to work at the new kiddie club and w
ould probably take Stitch up on his offer to provide helicopter rides to the unsuspecting public. Like the typical bull in the pasture, Crockett the Taurus had his trails worn in just where he wanted them. Now, fences were being moved, property lines were being shifted, and the bull was going to have to change his old comfortable routes of travel a bit. Crockett knew the origin of his reaction to the abrupt change that had just occurred. He knew why he resented the shift in his little world. He knew the value of acceptance over expectation. He knew all that and saw it for exactly what is was. It didn’t make any difference. He was still pissed off.

  He fussed around the place for a while. Sprayed some weeds down by the dock, cleaned the filter in the hot tub, did up half a sink of dishes, and headed into town for a late breakfast or early lunch or something, with Dundee sitting in the passenger seat.

  He spotted Dale Smoot standing in front of the sheriff office as he rolled by, honked his horn, and headed for the café. Smoot ambled in shortly after Crockett took a seat in the rear booth.

  “You’re in town early,” the big man grunted as he eased into his customary spot.

  “Yeah.”

  Smoot peered at him. “What’s got your ruff up?” he asked.

  “Life.”

  “That’ll do it. You gonna work tonight?”

  “Weekend. Part of the deal. I’ll be back in around four. Anything I need to know about?”

  “Not much. I took two complaints on missing dogs this morning.”

  “Missing dogs?”

  “Yeah. Both of ‘em from over in Stonebrook Estates.”

  “Ah. Rich dogs.”

  “Country Club canines,” Smoot replied. “Both houses bordered the golf course, but they weren’t close together. One a them was a young golden retriever. The other a springer spaniel. Both of ‘em in fenced yards. Both of ‘em outside dogs.”

  “Dogs run off now and then.”

  “That’s true, but they usually don’t open the gate when they do.”

  “Open gates?”

  “One of ‘em. I figure somebody just forgot to close it.”

  “Probably. A springer and a golden retriever. Both kinda easy going dogs.”

  “Yep.”

  “Good natured.”

  “Yep.”

  “Anybody see them in the area?”

  “Not that I know of. The owners both said they called around. Maybe they’ll put up flyers.”

  “Tough to do in Stonebrook Estates,” Crockett said. “No phone poles.”

  Dale smiled. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said.

  “They even allow flyers in Stonebrook Estates?” Crockett asked.

  “Small ones.”

  “Three color?”

  “Yeah. Black and white is so tacky.”

  The two men grinned at each other for a beat before Crockett went on. “In the year or so I’ve been doing this job,” he said, “I don’t think I ever took a call over there.”

  “Probably not.”

  “I don’t believe I ever even drove through the joint. I always just passed by those big stone columns out by the road.”

  “Nice to have deputies that know their place,” Smoot said. “Police cars are pretty tacky, too, doncha think?”

  “They let you in, didn’t they?”

  Smoot shook his head. “No,” he said. “Two ladies came by the office for the reports. One a little after eight, another around nine-thirty.”

  “They came to you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Maybe further investigation is in order.”

  “Oh, hell,” Smoot said. “What are you gonna to do?”

  “Thought I might follow up on the reports.”

  “My mouth just went dry, goddammit. You’re pissed off about something, and now you’re gonna take it out on the rich folks.”

  “No, no, no,” Crockett replied. “I know big rich. Little rich just amuses me. Besides, I like dogs.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Reports down at the office?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Still a little early for lunch,” Crockett said, standing up. “Maybe I’ll pick up copies, go home, drop Dundee off, put on my almost uniform, and investigate the situation. Can’t have serial dog-napping go unchallenged. Not in my county.”

  “Brush your teeth, will ya?”

  “Anything for you, Dale.”

  “And wear deodorant.”

  “Certainly.”

  “And make sure your undies are clean.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And please put on kid gloves. Don’t piss these people off, okay? Be nice.”

  “Don’t try to shave the barber, Sheriff.”

  “Just don’t cut anybody’s throat,” Dale said, and watched Crockett walk away.

  It was a little before noon when Crockett drove between the stone columns in search of the Wheeler residence. He found it shortly thereafter, a relatively large, two and a half story home of mottled brick with the weeping mortar that was popular back in the ‘60’s. He parked the truck on a cobbled driveway and walked between beds of carefully manicured plants to the front door. He pushed the doorbell and heard a muted chime from inside the home. A few moments later the hobnailed oak door swung open and he encountered a rather short woman in her late fifties. She was slightly overweight and wearing an oversized white man-tailored shirt belted at the waist with a green sash, white linen Capri pants, green heels, way too much make up, seven or eight rings that flashed refracted light, and short hair the color of a freshly unearthed carrot. A wire-haired miniature fox terrier raged at him from beside her right ankle. She looked up at Crockett and spoke.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “Mrs. Wheeler?” Crockett inquired over the din of the dog.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Deputy Crockett, m’am. I believe your springer spaniel is missing?”

  The woman’s gazed darted from him to up and down the street. “Why, yes,” she replied, stepping back. “Won’t you come in?”

  “Thank you,” Crockett said, but failed in his attempt to enter. The terrier blocked his way with six-pound threats.

  “Don’t worry about Tinky,” Mrs. Wheeler went on. “He won’t bite.”

  Trying to ignore the dog, Crockett stepped over the threshold. At that moment, Tinky, the dog who wouldn’t bite, struck at Crockett’s left leg, just above the ankle, with the speed and determination of a king cobra. There was a distinct high-pitched snapping noise, and Tinky ran yelping from the room.

  “Oh my,” Mrs. Wheeler fluttered, “did he bite you?”

  “No, m’am,” Crockett said, stifling his grin. “You also have a Springer Spaniel, I believe?”

  “Would you care for some mineral water or tea, mister, uh…”

  “Crockett, m’am. And thank you, no.”

  “Crockett,” the woman repeated, as if committing something uncomfortable to memory. “Yes. Loki. He belongs to my husband, Maxwell.”

  “He’s an outside dog I believe. Is that correct, Mrs. Wheeler?”

  “Please call me Margene.”

  “Thank you, Margene. Loki stayed outside?”

  “Yes. He has a doghouse out there. He never comes in the house. Springers shed so. Tinky is the housedog. He doesn’t shed. He only goes outside under supervision. Just to tinkle and such.”

  “I see. Your yard is fenced?”

  “Six-foot board fencing. The thirteenth green is just outside. It’s a par three. The boards keep most of the balls out. Maxwell loves his riding mower. Before we got the board fencing up, there were usually some balls in the yard. He’d occasionally bounce one off the house. A mower like his can fling one of those balls with significant velocity. When he broke the sliding glass door the second time, something had to be done.”

  “I see,” Crockett replied. “Ah, is it possible that Loki just ran off, do you think?”

  “Oh, no. We’re very careful about such things. There are stringent leash laws in place here in Stonebrook.
I believe he was stolen.”

  “Have you ever heard of anything like this happening before?”

  “Not in the twelve years Maxwell and I have lived here, no. Of course, I can’t speak to what may have happened prior to that. I spoke with Maxwell this morning. He’s so distressed.”

  “He’s not home, I take it.”

  “He’s in Las Vegas at the moment.”

  “Have you seen any unusual vehicles or people in the area during the last few days?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t know,” the woman replied. “I spend so little time near the front of the house. In the rear yard I have my roses, you see.”

  “Do you know the other lady who has a missing dog?”

  “My, no! There’s another?”

  “Yes,” Crockett replied, consulting his reports. “A Mrs. Suzanne Squire, I believe.”

  “Oh. Her.”

  “It seems Mrs. Squire’s dog also went missing overnight.”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Margene sniffed.

  “I see. Very well. Thank you for your time. I’ll ask one or two of the deputies to patrol the area and keep a lookout for the dogs for the next few days.”

  “Will they be driving those police cars through the neighborhood?”

  “Anything is possible, m’am.”

  “Well, I suppose.”

  Crockett moved toward the door. “Could you give me directions to the Squire house, Margene?” he asked.

  “Just to the right and on down. They’re off the seventh fairway. The house is barely a two-story and the facade is some kind of wood, for goodness sakes.”

  Crockett let himself out as Mrs. Wheeler drifted off toward the rear of the home and grinned his way to the truck. When he sat behind the wheel, he noticed a spot of blood on his pant leg. He wiped at it and found something stuck in the material. Further investigation produced the tip of a tiny tooth embedded in the fibers.

  “Wrong leg, Tinky,” he said, and turned right out of the drive, looking for a house with a façade made from some kind of wood, for goodness sakes.

  The Squire house was easy to find. It was the only one he saw that was not only just two story, but that was not covered in stone or brick. He pulled in on an asphalt drive and de-trucked beside a planting of wildflowers surrounding a miniature Japanese maple. He was walking toward the door when a contralto voice spoke up to his right.