Six Cut Kill

by David R Lewis

Stitch matched his grin and headed into the kitchen. The room relaxed.

  Clete and Stitch put stuff away after dinner while Crockett made coffee and Satin wiped down the counters and stove. Montero watched and smiled at her.

  “You got these guys takin’ care a shit around here, doncha?” Montero said.

  “The initial training period can be a little difficult,” Satin said, “but once you establish dominance and get order in the pack, it’s worth the effort.”

  “You are forbidden to have any contact with my wife,” Montero said, “but I’d appreciate it if you could spend a few days with my kids. I’ll buy the whip.”

  Satin smiled. “Jack Bryant is in Charleston,” she said. “He should go from there to Seattle and be back here in about a week. Maybe a little more.”

  “I’ll take you up in the helo for recon tomorrow,” Stitch said. “Give you a good look at the terrain.”

  “A no-knock warrant for the warehouse, grounds, home, and pertinent outbuildings was issued from the county earlier today,” Crockett said.

  “We got a feller in the Missouri State drug an’ crime bunch we’ve worked with before,” Clete added. “He can probably git troops if we need ‘em. We’ll go see him in a day or two. The local Feebs are under the command of a shithead name a Kleffner. You’ll wanna bypass that idiot if you can.”

  “Bryant’s wife, Charlene, knows you’re here,” Satin said. “She’s ready whenever you’d like to talk to her.”

  “Dale Smoot is the county sheriff,” Crockett said. “Good man. We’ll have breakfast with him in the morning.”

  Montero looked over the group. “Holy shit,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you,” Dale Smoot said, shaking hands with Montero and taking a seat. They were at a table in The Corner Café in Liberty around nine the next morning.

  “From what I been told,” Montero said, “you guys have got a helluva thing here.”

  “Way over our heads,” Dale said. “I know when to yell for help. Glad you could make it. I’m just a little county sheriff with a few deputies who have never even seen shit this deep, much less stepped in it. I don’t give a damn about who gets the credit. I don’t give a damn about who does the work, and I don’t give a damn about who gives the orders. I do give a damn about gettin’ this mess taken care of, and I do give a damn about my guys. As far as I’m concerned, this is your bag of shit. Let me know what you need from me. I’ll do my best to see that you get it.”

  A waitress brought menus and coffee. Crockett and Smoot declined the menus and both ordered biscuits and gravy with a side of sausage.

  “What the hell,” Montero said. “When in Rome.”

  She smiled, poured coffee, and departed. Montero stared at his cup for a minute before he looked up.

  “Lemme see,” he said. “You guys are gonna have to gimme a break here. I’ve never been involved in this kinda situation before. I believe this is called full and complete cooperation from local authorities. I’ve heard of this type of event happening, but I’ve just never actually seen it myself.”

  Smoot smiled. “Welcome to a perfect world,” he said.

  “I’m the new kid on the block,” Montero went on. “Whatdaya think we’re gonna need to get this done?”

  Crockett caught Dale’s nod and spoke up. “According to Charlene,” he said, “Bryant plans to add security to the warehouse, but he hasn’t done it yet. There are some sort of alarms at his front gate and driveway. To secure the warehouse we’re gonna have to go in from the rear of the place, on foot. We can do that from the area of the new horse barn without getting in sight of the house until we’ve reached the objective. If it were me, I have two teams. One to approach from the rear and get in position, then one from the front to take the gate and, essentially, rush the house. Leave a few from the warehouse team to keep it secure and send the balance to the rear of the home. The place would be basically surrounded.”

  “He got security guys on hand?”

  “Just two that we know of. One is house security. He shouldn’t be any trouble. The other, a guy named Clark, is his personal bodyguard. Clark is the one we have for the killings.”

  “I wanna see the reports on those,” Montero said.

  “I got ‘em,” Crockett went on. “Clark is the most serious concern. Stitch has run into his type before. He’s scared of him. Anybody that scares Stitch, makes me wet my pants. From what I’ve been told, Clark is one of the few that could take out a platoon by himself. He’s among the most dangerous people on the planet. Stitch calls him a ghost. Smoke in the wind.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  The breakfasts arrived. Montero looked at the platter before him.

  “Oh, hell,” he said. “What have I done?”

  Clete was sitting at the snack bar talking with Stitch when Crockett and Montero arrived back at the house.

  “Bout time,” he said. “We gotta git on the road.”

  “To where?” Crockett asked.

  “Jeff City an’ the DDCC. Pelmore awaits. I talked to him a hour or so ago. He’s expectin’ us.”

  “Where an’ who?” Montero asked.

  “The Highway Patrol Division of Drug an’ Crime Control,” Clete said. “We worked with ‘em before. The guy we’re gonna see is named Pelmore. He’s a Sergeant that’s second in command. We got lucky. His boss, a squirrely little shithead named Riley, is on vacation. Won’t be back for two weeks. With luck, we can git this done before he sticks his shiny little nose in. Load up, boys. Pelmore wants us there before two.”

  They walked into the building around one-fifteen. Pelmore was standing in the lobby. He waited until they came to him.

  “Well, lookee here,” he said, eyeballing the group. “We got LaVerne, we got Shirley, we got Veronica and,” he eyeballed Montero, “that would make you Betty. I’m Pelmore. That’s Lieutenant Pelmore to you unfortunates who have not enjoyed my company for some time. What can I do for you ladies?”

  “We’re fixin’ to make you look good again, Loot,” Clete said.

  “You sayin’ I ain’t pretty enough, Shirley?” Pelmore asked.

  “Always room for improvement, sir,” Clete said.

  Pelmore grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon back to my office, girls,” he said,

  “and you can draw upon my vast experience in law enforcement, doncha see.”

  Stitch grinned. “Oo-rah,” he said.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  The meeting with Pelmore didn’t break up until nearly five. Satin had chili ready when the boys lumbered back into the house around seven. It had been a long day. There was a lack of conversation until the meal was over.

  “You think Pelmore really grasps what we’ve got to deal with on that Clark feller?” Clete asked, scooping up the last bits of soggy crackers in the bottom of his bowl.

  “Fucker should,” Stitch said. “He was in the service. Did time in the sand before he, like, got shot up. If ya been there, it’s fuckin’ impossible not to be scared a somebody like this dude, man. Leaps tall buildings in a single goddam bound, ya know?”

  Montero spoke up. “If we get twenty macho troopers in this, it ain’t gonna be easy getting’ them to understand what this fuckin’ guy really is. Most a those boys are brainwashed into believin’ they are somebody. It’s just one guy. How bad can he be? That kinda attitude an’ bada-bing! Fahgedaboudit.”

  “Pelmore knows,” Crockett said. “He’ll bring the best he’s got. Isn’t there some kind state SWAT bunch or something?”

  “Usually,” Clete said. “We hit that place at three in the mornin’ with all we got, an’ maybe we git lucky. Maybe not. The point is, there ain’t gonna be nobody there that ain’t aware of possible consequences. Comes with the badge.”

  “Yeah, well me an’ the badge are outa here,” Montero said, standing up. “My Italian ass is beat.”

  “You wanna get some recon tomorrow, man?” Stitch asked.

  “Sure. Nice t
o get a look at what I’m gonna be steppin’ in.”

  “Far out. I’ll meet ya on the deck at oh-dark-thirty. We get airborne early, we’ll get shadows. Better for fuckin’ terrain awareness. Go out again around noon, man. Better for route placement an’ shit, ya know?”

  “I do now,” Montero said. “Jesus.”

  “Far out. I’ll, like, bring a camera.”

  Satin was whipping up waffle batter, and Crockett was making coffee the next morning when Stitch and Montero, in the company of Bada-bing and Bada-boom, showed up on the deck and came inside.

  “How’d it go?” Crockett asked.

  “Trick,” Stitch said. “Got some good Intel. ‘Ol Montero here ain’t no better in a helo than you are, man.”

  Montero lurched across the room and eased down into Crockett’s recliner, leveling it out and closing his eyes.

  “Cat is stone fucked up,” Stitch went on. “Terra ain’t very fuckin’ firma right now, ya know?”

  Satin grinned at Crockett and poured some batter onto the waffle iron as Clete entered the room, finger combing his hair. He noticed Montero where he lay with an arm thrown over his face.

  “What’s the matter with him?” he asked.

  “Crockett’s disease,” Stitch said. “Italian Stallion, my ass.”

  Montero was much better two hours later when Charlene showed up. She and he moved into the living area and talked for a while, and she sketched a floorplan of the house, including approximate dimensions. A little before noon, Stitch and the Italian Stallion, now fortified with two hits of Crockett’s Dramamine, departed for the second round of recon. Charlene accepted a cup of coffee and sat at the snack bar.

  “When is all this going to happen?” she asked.

  “Ideally,” Crockett replied, “if you know exactly when he’s coming home, on the first night of his return, around three in the morning. He’ll be tired from travel and less alert and aware.”

  “What do I do when it starts?”

  “The warrant is a no knock. That means the cops don’t have to announce their presence or ask for entry. They’ll just take down a door and come in. You stay in your room and be as calm as you can. Everybody will be briefed that there is a non-combatant female on site. You’ll be arrested and taken out. That is for show only. You’ll be kept safe and released after action.”

  “I’ll be handcuffed?”

  “Absolutely. Nothing too good for you, sweetheart.”

  Charlene grinned. “What if I like it?”

  Crockett chuckled. “Then you may find a whole new side of your personality to explore.”

  Satin snorted and Cletus laughed.

  “What’s for lunch?” he asked.

  “Hell, I don’t know,” Satin said. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  “Anybody hungry but me?” Clete went on.

  “I could eat,” Charlene said.

  “Well, little missy,” Clete drawled, “Why doan you an’ me find someplace to put on the feedbag an’ let the ol’ folks here have a little time to theyselves?”

  “Sounds purty good to me, Cletus,” Charlene replied. “Is the team hitched up?”

  Two minutes later they were out the door. Satin looked at Crockett and bumped her eyebrows.

  “Stop that,” Crockett said.

  Montero, while not exactly chipper, was in much better shape after his second recon flight than he had been after the first. Stitch took the drawing Charlene had done and his camera and joined Satin in her office. Montero sat at the snack bar and looked at Crockett.

  “You given any thought to personnel displacement?” he asked.

  “A little. It’s really up to Pelmore.”

  “And if it was up to you?”

  “I’d take four county deputies, nine state troopers, and Clete and me in from the back. I’d leave the four deputies up at the warehouse area to secure its perimeter. I’d take the remaining nine troopers and approach the rear of the house, putting two troopers at each side door, and deploy the rest of us behind the home. When we were in place you, Pelmore, and the other troopers could bust the gate and come in from the front for the no knock and cover the apartment above the garage to get the blond security guy, uh, Preston. I don’t believe you’ll have any real trouble with him or with Bryant. Clark is another matter. He’s the reason I want security on the warehouse and seven of us behind the residence. Charlene will have to get busted just like everybody else, at least until everyone is separated and taken away. Satin still has an apartment in Hartrick. She can stay there for a while if necessary.”

  Stitch came walking up from the rear of the house.

  “What about Clark?” Montero asked.

  “He’ll boogie, dude,” Stitch said. “He may be a ghost, but he ain’t indestructible. He ain’t gonna take on twenty or more guys just ‘cause he got the opportunity. Cats like him pick their battles, man. That’s just one of the reasons he’s so good. He takes calculated chances and eliminate the stupid ones, ya know?”

  “Well sure,” Montero said, “but he’s gonna be out in the middle a nowhere. What are his options?”

  “You can bet your ass,” Stitch went on, “that he’s got two or three stashes around that place. Money, ID, passports, whatever he needs to disappear. He gets through the lines an’ to one a them spots, that fucker’ll be gone. He plays percentages. Ain’t no percentage in takin’ all them troops on. Especially not loyalty to Bryant. Them kinda cats ain’t got much loyalty to anybody but number one, dude.”

  “You got a lot of respect for him, doncha?” Montero said.

  “I got no respect for that fucker at all, man, but I got a lot for what he can do. Ya don’t have to respect a King Cobra, but you fuckin’ better respect his potential.”

  Montero smiled. “Gotcha,” he said.

  “Fuckin’ A, Feeb,” Stitch replied.

  During the next few days, the group and Pelmore had two more meetings. Montero left for three days and returned after having successfully convinced his superiors to allow the action to proceed with the resources on hand. Dale Smoot was included in the staging of the bust and agreed to the use of four of his deputies. Charlene provided the day of Bryant’s return, and the pieces were put in place. On the afternoon of the day in question, Satin brought Danni home to stay overnight at the cabin, and three unmarked vans and two unmarked cars from the State of Missouri arrived at the Super 8 Motel in Richmond. Crockett and company headed that way around four o’clock in his truck, followed by two Hart County cars containing Dale Smoot and four of his guys, Charlie Rogers, Arkie Bennet, Gordon Mills, and John Cleaver. In the only meeting room of the motel, briefings were held, diagrams drawn, assignments made, pizza consumed, positions adjusted, questions asked and answered, weapons checked, and adrenalin levels increased.

  At midnight, Dale Smoot contacted Hart County emergency services and requested the two county ambulances be manned and brought to alert, while Crockett, Clete, and Stitch, followed by the deputies and a contingent of troopers, departed for the new stable. They would be given an hour’s head start before the main force deployed.

  It was an easy forty-five minute march under a quarter moon to the warehouse. The four deputies and Stitch were left to secure that area, and Crockett and Clete led the remaining troopers to within fifty yards of the rear of the house then took position amid several walnut trees on a slight slope behind the patio and pool. The rear of the home was dimly lighted from a halide lamp on the rear of the garage. Crockett keyed his radio.

  “Pelmore?” he whispered.

  “Go.”

  “In position. No lights, no movement.”

  “Four. Hold. Less than five.”

  “Copy.”

  Crockett held up five fingers and there was slight movement from behind him as the men settled in to wait. No one spoke, no one moved, and time, distorted by the upcoming business, stretched on. The wait was so encompassing that, when the radio finally did crackle to life, he flinched.

  “Cr
ockett?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Takin’ the gate now. Go, go, go!”

  Crockett pumped his fist overhead three times as he heard the distant clatter of metal, and the group deployed, running around the pool and spreading out behind the building with two men moving to each side to cover the exits. He and Clete hustled to the center of the rear of the home, took cover behind the huge bar-b-que grill, and heard the sounds of shouts and crashes from the front.

  Lights flickered from inside the dark structure, and all was quiet for a moment. Then, from the left side of the house came a crash followed by a scream, a shot, and an abbreviated yell. Several more shouts followed and four or five gunshots. Crockett and Clete were on the run.

  Bryant and Preston were both taken without incident. Clark vanished, leaving behind one trooper with a badly lacerated left bicep and right thigh, and another with a severe chest wound and collapsed lung, in spite of his body armor. By dawn, inventory had started on the contents of the warehouse, the troops had departed, FBI forensics was on the way, and Bryant and Preston were in the Hart County Jail awaiting transport. Charlene was stashed in Satin’s apartment, and the two wounded troopers were in stable condition at the hospital in Liberty.

  By noon, it was discovered that Danni’s pickup truck was missing, Pelmore had delivered a statement to the press from the Hart County Courthouse citing the actions of his brave officers, the vital involvement of the Hart County Sheriff’s Department, the condition of the two wounded, the seizure of a massive amount of illegal weaponry with possible ties to terrorism; and, as in the past, the dedication of Hart County Deputy David Crockett, without whom, none of this crippling blow to bad guys would have happened. Crockett, Clete, and Charlene watched the whole thing on television from Satin’s apartment.

  “My hero,” Clete said.