Six Cut Kill

by David R Lewis

  “Or more.”

  “Thinkin’ about drivin’ down tonight, actually. I could use your porch and some single malt.”

  “Come ahead.”

  “Thanks, pard. See ya for breakfast,” Clete said, and disconnected.

  Crockett lit another Sherman and stared into the dark as it burned away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Satin found Crockett still sitting on the deck about six the next morning. He broke the news to her, and they embraced for a time. Her usual ten-minute shower lasted nearly a half an hour, and she hustled out, reciting a list of what she had to do that day, dealing with the loss in her way. Cletus arrived a little before nine. He hugged Crockett at the door and took a seat at the snack bar. Crockett retrieved a scrambled egg mixture from the fridge to warm up, poured Clete some coffee, and sat across from him. Clete looked into his eyes.

  “Damn, son,” he said.

  “No shit,” Crockett replied

  Cletus removed a slightly rumpled envelope from his jacket pocket and passed it over. Written on it was one word. David.

  “From her,” Clete said. “She left one for you, one for me, and one for the hippie. Does he know?”

  “I called him about twenty minutes ago. He’ll be over in a little bit,” Crockett replied, opening the heavy linen envelope. He unfolded the single sheet within and began to read.

  My Dearest Crockett,

  In my long life I was never blessed with children. In truth, I did not morn that fact but used it as motivation to concentrate my energies in what I believed to be more constructive ways. Then the death of a young woman I dearly loved plunged you into my life. The joy you brought to her, the sacrifices you made in her name, and the horrible injuries you withstood and conquered in bringing her justice endeared you to me as no other. I celebrated your life every day of my own; and, now that mine is through, I’d like to think that celebration continues still. I believe I did not have a child because I had yet to find you. I could never have wished for a son more compassionate and caring, more brave and fearless, more dedicated and giving, or more ruthless and implacable than you, sir. Therefore, I claimed you as my own, and you never gave me a moment’s regret. I salute you and I love you, David. And as you read this inadequate missive, I await you among the stars.

  Ivy

  “Damn,” Crockett said, and began to cry.

  Twenty minutes later he joined Cletus on the deck with fresh coffee and eased himself onto the swing. Clete smiled at him.

  “End of a era, pard.”

  “You got that right.”

  “Ivy’d been divestin’ herself of a lot of interests in the past two or three years. She knew her kidneys was gonna git her. God, that woman was tough. Where most a us woulda just give up, she kept on strokin’. You gave her a helluva boost, Crockett. Then ol’ Goody come along and made her last years a lot happier than they would have been without him. I doan speck he’ll hang around much longer. He told me the truth. The ol’ boy is ninety-four.”

  “Who’s in charge of all of Ivy’s interests? You?”

  “Yeah. Ain’t that a bitch? Not like I’m gonna have to run around like a wild man or nothin’. All of her companies are independent. But, they’ll all report to me either directly or through the security service she maintained.”

  “Security service?”

  “Hell, Crockett! Ivy had her own fleet a cops keepin’ an eye on everthing. And her own cadre a spooks keepin’ an eye on them. Her interests were massive. I speck her net worth was well in excess of seven or eight billion dollars. A course, only a small amount of that is liquid, but even a small amount of that much is a shitload.”

  “Christ! I knew she was rich, but I had no idea.”

  “If she was to invite the President to lunch, that sumbitch would bring the wine and the tablecloth.”

  “And now that falls to you?”

  “Lord, no. There’s some big strings I could pull and shit like that. I know a lot of secrets and can dig up a lot of skeletons if I need to, but ain’t nobody got the personal power she had. As the mess gets sold off or absorbed, most a what influence remains will fade away. Damn shame. Ol’ Ivy kept a lot of big business and several governments, includin’ ours, on the straight and narrow now and then.”

  “If she had her own little army and all that influence, why the hell did she need me in the first place?”

  “Whatdaya mean?”

  “When Rachael was killed. Ivy knew who did it. Knew where he was, knew how to get to him. Why not just pick up the phone and make a call? Bam. No more Morrison. Why the hell did she need me?”

  Clete smiled. “She didn’t,” he said. “You needed her. You needed someone to offer you motivation to get involved, settle the whole thing, and put it away. Nothin’ wrong with revenge when it comes with the right reason. Ivy didn’t do that for Rachael. She did that for you. That’s why she took it so hard when you got hurt, lost your leg, and was laid up in that coma. Felt like it was her fault. I had a helluva time with her there for a while. But it all worked out, huh?”

  “Damn, Clete.”

  “She played her game on a real big board, son. Even I don’t know how big.”

  The conversation was interrupted by Stitch walking around the edge of the deck. He and Clete greeted each other with a hug.

  “Ol’ Ivy hung it up, huh, man?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s cool. It was, like, time, ya know? She was real sick, dude. Needed a break. She was one far out ol’ chick, man. Best there ever was. Sure took care a my moldy ass. Fuck. Dirt nap. Shit.”

  Clete produced another envelope and handed it to Stitch.

  “Like, what’s this?”

  “Ivy wanted you to have it in the event of her death.”

  Stitch looked at the envelope for a moment. “Wow,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

  Clete and Crockett watched as he left the deck and wandered off into the woods.

  Hash browns and scrambled eggs were about ready when the hippie returned. He slid onto a stool and accepted a cup of coffee from Cletus.

  “Crockett says there ain’t no funeral or nothin’?”

  Clete shook his head. “Her body is already gone to one a her labs for kidney research.”

  Stitch smiled. “That kinda says it all, dude,” he said. “Most folks with a tenth a what she had would want a horse drawn hearse goin’ right down the middle a Wall Street or somethin’ while ever big wig on the planet stood around and lamented. Make that bullshit they put Kennedy’s corpse through look like a cakewalk. But not ol’ Ivy, man. Too much class for that kinda shit. Way cool. Left on her own terms. Far fuckin’ out, ya know? Whatta chick.”

  Clete grinned. “You gotta way a gettin’ to the point, hippie,” he said.

  “I loved her, man,” Stitch replied.

  Crockett held up his coffee cup. “To Ivy,” he said.

  Three cups were raised. Three smiles were sad.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Significant progress was made during the next few months. Autumn was cooperative in the heartland and the dog facility was finished before heavy winter settled in. The horse barn was up prior to December’s cold, and the interior finished by the end of January. Thanks to Stitch and his helo, Danni was on site for a few days every two weeks to make sure her mother was doing everything correctly. Satin handled working for her daughter well, often proud and sometimes surprised at Danni’s understanding and commitment to the project. Cletus came and went several times and, to the satisfaction of all, accepted Crockett’s offer of land and lake with construction to start on his place at the west end of the pond as weather would allow in the spring. Charlene flitted about, beaming at everyone and expressing her confidence in them and the undertaking. Crockett watched it all from a distance, enjoying his wife’s enthusiasm and the prospect of having the group all in one spot when the dust cleared. In moments of reflection he marveled at how, over the past few years, fate had given him something he’d nev
er really had before. A family. He was more than pleased at his patriarchal feelings and well aware of the subtext of concern for the common welfare that came with them. He continued to tote the badge and carry the gun, but looked forward to the summer’s county election, Dale Smoot’s retirement, and the end of his commitment to law enforcement. He was sitting at the kitchen snack bar one blustery morning in mid-January, watching wet snow accumulate on the edge of the deck, when Cletus came in the side door, stomping his feet on the entryway rug.

  “Son!”

  “Morning, Texican. Fresh coffee in the pot.”

  Clete divested himself of his jacket, poured a cup, and settled in. “Talked to my ol’ daddy yesterday,” he said. “They got their new place in.”

  “New place?”

  Clete smiled. “I put ‘em in a new modular house. The old place was fallin’ down around their ears. I been tryin’ to git that done for quite a spell, but Dad always resisted what he called somethin’ for nothin’. Mom sat on him pretty hard after his last birthday and he gave in. Eighteen hundred square feet, triple pane windows, hardwood floors, all the fixin’s. He’s bitchin’ about it, but he likes it well enough. Crotchety ol’ toad. Says he’s got ten head of horses ready to go. I talked to the hippie. Thought he and I might head out that way and bring back a half dozen. Git this show on the road. Everthing’s in place out at the stable, even a thirty horsepower diesel Kubota tractor and wagon for cleanin’ out the stalls and such. Think you and Stitch could take care of ‘em ‘til Danni gits here permanently?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time I shoveled shit.”

  “Daddy says they’re all good broke geldings, stall steady an’ easy to be around. Satin told me a while back that you promised Danni her own horse if she kept her nose to the grindstone. That right?”

  Crockett grinned. “What did you do?” he asked.

  “I told my daddy. He got to lookin’. Says he’s got a little mare that’s real likely. Filly actually, just comin’ four. Fourteen-two line back dun. Real typey. Says she’s willin’ and sweet. Good size for Danni. He’s been workin’ her a little. Got a nice trot, soft to the reins, light footed, and ain’t never had no bit in her mouth. Works on a bozal. Says if she was a little bigger, he’d keep her himself.”

  “What do you think?”

  Clete smiled. “I think he’d lie his ass off to anybody on the planet but me. He’s a horse trader for chrissakes! That’s the most untrustworthy bunch on the globe. But if he says the filly is likely, she’s good, son, and that there is it. She’s full quarter, but ain’t papered. Take twenty-five hundred for her. She’s vetted out and sound. He’s got an old three-quarter rigged Price McLaughlin that fits her good. He had it re-fleeced just last year. Fifteen for it.”

  “Price McLaughlin is a helluva saddle,” Crockett replied. “Probably forty-years-old or better. Young mare like that, she and Danni could grow into each other.”

  “Yessir.”

  “I kinda hate to buy someone else a horse, but if your dad says she’s good…done. Four grand. Bring her home.”

  Clete grinned. “I’ll git him to throw in a nice headstall and some good cotton reins, a blanket or two, and stuff. She’ll come outfitted.”

  “Suits me. Thanks, Texas.”

  Clete gulped down the last of his coffee. “Gotta go, son,” he said. “Headin’ over to Stitch’s place. We wanna git there by this evenin’. Be back with some stock late tomorrow.”

  Crockett finished his coffee after Clete left and went upstairs to change clothes. Good thing he had the day off.

  He was in a stall of the new barn, slashing his way into an immense paper bag of peanut hulls as Donk looked on, when Satin showed up.

  “Hey, cowboy,” she said. “I saw Clete and Stitch a little while ago when they took Charlene’s truck and trailer.”

  “M’am,” Crockett replied, as the bag split open and deposited a mound of hulls around his feet and legs. “Just gittin’ ready fer the new stock, little missey. Purty young thang like yew shouldn’t be out in the cold like this. Yew could ketch yer death a the epazootic. It took my Aunt Bertha back in the winter a seventy-one. She was a missionary up among them heathen Ogallala Sioux. ”

  Satin grinned at him. “You are a deeply twisted man.”

  “Not nearly as twisted as I will be by the time I get six stalls done,” Crockett replied, dragging the half full bag of hulls out of the stall.

  “Need some help?”

  “Ah, yeah. Need a water bucket in each of those heated racks under the spigots, a feed bucket in each of the cradles, and a couple of bales of hay to flake out into the feeders. Kick that big assed bag of hulls out of the trailer and take the tractor. Hay is out in the back shed, the black rubber water and feed buckets are in the tack room. We got a manure spreader?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Gonna need one come spring.”

  “I thought with your experience spreading shit, I’d leave that up to you,” Satin replied.

  “That’s bullshit,” Crockett said. “This’ll be horseshit.”

  Satin smiled and shook her head. “I love you, Crockett,” she said.

  “Who could blame you?” he replied, and began spreading the hulls.

  By two o’clock, six stalls were a foot deep with peanut hulls and stocked with water and hay, and Crockett and Satin were sitting in folding chairs and drinking coffee in the sixty-degree office.

  “Guys are coming day after tomorrow to install the two radiant heaters over the wash rack,” she said. “The Purina people sent us a bunch of certificates for free Omoline we can turn in at the farm store in Liberty. Thought I’d pick up ten or fifteen bags this afternoon so they’ll be here when the horses arrive.”

  “You know about Danni’s mare?” Crockett asked.

  Satin nodded. “Clete talked to me about it last night.”

  “Again, I’m the last to know?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “You gonna call the tack people about the saddles and stuff?”

  “Did that this morning.”

  “I see. How ‘bout the sand and loam for the indoor arena?”

  “Trucks should be here day after tomorrow.”

  “How ‘bout replacing these folding chairs?”

  “Couch, two armchairs, a refrigerator, and a desk and chair will be here tomorrow morning.”

  “Saddle racks for the tack room?”

  “With the saddles and tack. A week to ten days.”

  Crockett sneered. “You’re just little Miss Efficient, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I guess I’m just here to spread hulls and shovel shit.”

  “I could use you getting the Omoline. Big strong man like you can be a real help loading bags and stuff. Lunch at Steak & Shake is on me.”

  “Oh, hell.”

  “You know what they say,” Satin went on, getting to her feet. “If women don’t find you handsome, they should at least find you handy.”

  Stifling his grin, Crockett followed Satin to the truck, Donk bouncing along beside him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Danni relocated earlier than was expected. She took up residence in her on-site mobile home the first week in March after deciding it was okay to leave Lucy with her Aunt Velvet to finish out her first year of preschool. Danni was thrilled with the dun, riding the mare for errands around the place and transportation to and from the dog kennels every morning.

  By the third week of March, twelve horses were in place, including Charlene’s horse, Pokey. The kennels had nineteen rescues in residence. Danni was wonderful with the dogs, gaining their confidence and trust with daily visits and play time for those in shape to enjoy the contact. She worked a deal with Luke Thomas, the same vet that fixed Dundee and Nudge after the Boggs brothers had wounded them. Danni worked alongside Dr. Thomas when he treated the dogs for injuries and illness, tended to routine shots and neutering, and gave as much time as necessary to rehabilitation of
the sadly neglected and mistreated animals. Satin tended to the business of running the business, Crockett helped with the feeding and care of both the horses and the dogs, and Cletus literally did get back in the saddle, occasionally working some of the riding stock when his rather busy schedule allowed.

  Crockett was in the barn one cold and cloudy morning, forking horse-hockey out of a stall into their new, very old, John Deere manure spreader as Clete fussed with a blue roan gelding in the arena, trying to get the animal to back up on command. The Texican took a break, secured the horse to one of the wash rack crossties, and ambled over.

  “Doin’ a helluva job there, pard,” he said. “I seen some shit-shovelers in my time but, by God, you are right at the top of the pile.”

  Crockett brandished his pitchfork. “I’m armed,” he said.

  Clete grinned. “You’ve lost a little weight. Workin’ out here is good for ya. You ridin’?”

  Crockett shook his head. “I got graphite and glue holding my hip and low back together, not to mention part of my forehead and eye socket. I choose not to push my luck.”

  “Don’t stop ya from gittin’ on a motorcycle.”

  “Motorcycles don’t run through walls, trying to get away from a candy bar wrapper blowing in the wind.”

  “I’m trying to put a back on that roan over here,” Clete went on as if Crockett hadn’t spoken, “but I can’t get to him regular. Could use some help. Need to get things ready for warm weather. Charlene said she wanted the joint up and running by May first.”

  Crockett’s reply was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.

  “Crockett.”

  “Ness.”

  Crockett’s diaphragm fluttered. “No,” he said.

  “Yep. A kid out in Lawrence, Kansas. Probably a student. Somebody found him in an alley around five this morning. Cut to shit. Gotta be the same doer.”