by Mark Tufo
He simply pointed down to their dirty shoes. “Boots.”
Both men nodded like idiots before sitting on the ground, tugging at their feet. Miller unlocked the door and they both slipped in the door.
“Mr. Miller, we got exactly what you want this time,” Roger said excitedly.
“Oh yes, sir! We sure did,” Casper added. “You’re gonna be proud.”
Miller leaned against his desk. “This couldn’t have waited? I was right in the middle of breakfast.”
Roger sniffed the air and looked at Casper. “Boy that smells good. I ain’t et in forever it seems…”
“Me neither,” Casper added, both hoping for an invitation to join him.
Miller would sooner invite a rattlesnake to eat with him than these two smelly meth-heads so he redirected their attentions, “You had something to show me?” he asked in a bored tone.
“Oh! Yeah. We do.” Roger pulled the bag from Casper’s grip again.
He laid the bag gingerly on the table and opened it. He reached inside and began pulling out items and laying them out one by one. Most were mere trinkets, metal buttons, belt buckles and the like; but the spurs were like new, then a two-gun gunslinger’s belt complete with old cartridges. Then Roger pulled out two antique Colt revolvers. They had a patina of age, but Miller could tell in a glance that they were real. He pushed himself away from his desk and slowly approached the table. Without touching the items, he looked them over carefully. The leather gunslinger’s belt was badly dried out and needed to be oiled in the worst way, but otherwise was in pristine condition. The spurs looked too good to be true. The pistols…could it be? Twin Colt Peacemakers?
Miller stepped back and stared at the two drug addicts and narrowed his gaze. “Where did you boys happen upon these things?”
“We dug ‘em up!” Casper spit out, nearly shaking out of his socks.
Roger shot Casper a dirty look then turned back to Miller. “He’s right, Mr. Miller. We did just that. We dug ‘em up right there at the ghost town.”
Miller cast an accusatory eye at both men. “In this condition?”
“Yes, sir,” Roger said. “It was the strangest grave I ever seen. Lined with rocks and had the biggest rock top I ever—”
“And I’m supposed to believe that you two just happened to stumble upon this grave overnight?” Miller crossed his arms over his chest.
The two men looked at each other and then nodded. “Yeah. We ran out of the other graves. This was all that was left,” Roger said.
“At the ghost town, anyway,” Casper added.
Miller inhaled deeply and nodded. “Okay, I see.”
He went back to his desk and leaned against it. He knew that regardless of where these two found their booty, this load would put him over the top in the contest with Ingram and that was all he really cared about at the moment. “How much for the whole lot, boys?”
Roger smiled really big and elbowed Casper. “Well, sir, Casper here was watching that TV show about pawn shops and they had a pistol like this one come in one time and they said it was worth nearly five thousand dollars.” Miller’s eyes widened considerably. “They give the feller twenty-five hunnerd for the one and we got two. So we figger five grand for the two and we’ll just give you the rest of it out of the goodness of our heart.” He smiled really big at the wealthy man.
Miller gave him a deadpan stare. Roger continued smiling until he realized that Miller wasn’t smiling back and it slowly faded. “Is that too much?”
“Are you serious?” Miller put on his best poker face. He knew that the weapons, in this condition were worth far more than the tweaker’s asking price, but there was no way he was going to play into their hand. “If you boys think you can get that kind of money, then I suggest you go and find this pawn shop on the TV, and hock your crap there.” He turned to go then added, “Oh, and when they ask you where you got your wares, be sure and tell them that you illegally trespassed on state-owned property, acted as grave robbers and stole these ill-gotten gains of yours. I’m sure that once they let you out of jail in say…what? Twenty years or so? They’ll probably give you bus fare to the nearest populated area.” He opened the door to his study. “Good day, gentlemen. Don’t forget your boots outside and please, lock the door on our way out.”
He stepped out of his office and was closing the door when Roger hollered to him, “Wait! Wait, Mr. Miller, hold on just a second now…five thousand was just a starting point.” His eyes gave away his desperation. “We are definitely open to negotiating.”
“Yeah, we can negotiate,” Casper added quickly.
Miller stood with his back to the two and fought away the urge to smile. He turned and slowly entered the room again. “You two do realize that, as a collector, I cannot display these items because you stole them, right?”
Roger looked at Casper and shrugged. “Yeah…I guess.”
“So they aren’t worth much to me. In fact, they aren’t worth much to hardly anyone because they are, in fact, STOLEN.”
“Yeah, but…you told us to go back out there and dig up stuff,” Casper whined. “Why would you say to do that if—” Roger elbowed him in the ribs and he grunted.
“So what’s this stuff worth to you, Mr. Miller?”
Jerrod looked it over again and sighed. He thumbed the Sheriff’s badge and tossed it lazily back on the table. He flicked around through the buttons and bric-a-brac. He held up a spur and nodded. “I might could show this in my case. They don’t have serial numbers and it’s actually of a quality worthy of showing.” He sighed theatrically. “Spurs like these, I can pick up LEGALLY for a few hundred dollars.” He saw Roger’s face drop and Casper’s face drained entirely of color.
“But, considering how much work you boys have done for me lately, I think I’m going to do something completely out of character.” He shook his head as he rubbed at his chin. “How about I give you boys a thousand dollars each for the whole lot? That buys your silence, too.” He turned a harsh eye toward the two of them. “Because receiving stolen property can be troublesome, if you catch my meaning. Maybe not as troublesome as actually being the one who did the stealing, but for a man in my position and standing in the community…”
“Oh, we understand completely, Mr. Miller,” Roger said, nodding.
“Yeah, we know how to keep our mouths shut. Don’t we, Rog?” Casper added.
Miller gave them both a hard look and then nodded. “Very well, then. You boys step outside, put your boots back on, and I’ll get you your money.” He turned to his desk then said, “Just leave that stuff there and I’ll go through it later.”
“Thank you, sir.” Roger tipped his hat as he turned to leave.
“Don’t mention it,” Jerrod replied. “And I mean that. Don’t ever mention it.”
*****
Scott Evans, Sheriff of Wood County Texas, sat at his desk and went over the nightly logs and reports. When he ran for office, he knew there would be administrative duties, but he had hoped to streamline the mountains of daily paperwork and make the department efficient enough that he could make more public appearances as an officer and not just a department head.
He reached for his cup of coffee and realized it was successfully buried under the numerous files, loose papers, and notes somewhere on his desk. He sighed heavily and shook his head. He had begged the County Commissioners to let him hire an administrative assistant just for this sort of crap. He wanted to be a peace officer, but he wanted to the HEAD Peace Officer for the county. ‘The Buck Stops Here’ kind of cop that took charge and got things done, not a paper pusher.
He rolled his chair back and stood up, picking up files and papers and stacks of reports, but couldn’t find his coffee cup. “Son of a…” he muttered. He looked at his office door and hollered, “Amber!”
The on-duty lead dispatcher stuck her head in, “Yeah, boss?”
“You busy?” Scott asked as he continued to shuffle papers.
“Naw. Things are quiet
at the moment. Whatcha need?” She popped her gum as she spoke. It was a habit that drove Scott nuts, but he put up with it because she had an uncanny way of being able to ‘know’ things before anybody else; almost like a built-in Doppler radar.
“I can’t find my coffee. I know I had it. I remember making it, but I think it’s lost under all…this!” He made an exaggerated motion toward his desk.
Amber smiled and shook her head at him, her twin ponytails swinging at him. “You left it sitting next to the coffee pot, boss.” She snapped her gum again. “It’s probably cold by now. Want me to freshen it for you?”
Scott stared at her open mouthed. He looked back at his desk then out his door by her radio station. He shook his head. There was absolutely no way she could have seen the coffee pot from where she worked. Maybe she got a cup and saw his sitting there?
“No, that’s okay,” he replied. “I need to stretch my legs and clear my head a little anyway.”
“Okay, boss.” She rattled back before she rolled back to her microphone and log books.
Scott sighed and looked back at the mess he faced. There had to be an easier way to reduce this. He went to the coffee mess and sure enough, there sat his coffee cup, still full. He poured it out and made a fresh one. He put two lumps of sugar and some fresh Half & Half in it and had just stirred it when Jon Foo approached him.
“Sheriff? Can you spare a moment?”
Scott looked up and nodded. He set his coffee cup down when he noted that Jon looked pretty concerned. “Sure, Jon. What seems to be the problem?”
Deputy Foo looked around and feared that speaking in the open may become problematic so he nodded to the interrogation room. “In private?”
Scott nodded and ushered him in and shut the door behind them. “So what’s on your mind, Jon? Everything go okay last night?”
Jon averted making eye contact a moment then finally squared his shoulders. “Am I being punished, sir? Or about to be fired?”
Scott gave him a puzzled look. “Come again?”
“For wrecking the Crown Vic? Or ruining the tires on the Expedition?”
“I’m still not following you,” Scott said. “What makes you think you’re being punished? Or fired for that matter.” He leaned against the heavy table and crossed his arms, settling in for the explanation.
“Sir, I was under the impression that nights was a no-man’s land for career advancement. I know I’ve had a couple of blunders, but—”
“Wait, whoa, who told you that working nights was a…what did you call it? No-man’s land for…what again?”
Jon flustered slightly. “Well, that’s what some of the others on days had said.”
“Ah.” Scott nodded. “Let me explain something to you, Jon.” He sat back on the table and gave the rookie officer an understanding look. “You need to clear your head of what some of these jokers tell you, okay? Unless you get it from me or Justin, you’re doing fine. There’s no real difference between days and nights other than more idiots think they can get away with shit at night, okay?”
Jon nodded, studying the older man, taking him at his word. “I moved you to nights for a number of reasons that I really thought you’d understand. One, Johnson’s wife is pregnant with their second child and he requested the transfer to days so I needed someone to cover his shift at night. You are single and I really thought you could use the experience of working nights. It’s not a punishment, but an opportunity for you to become a more well-rounded peace officer. You get an opportunity to work with a handful of seasoned veterans that most of the guys on day shift hardly ever see, much less hang with.” Scott got up off the table and placed a hand on the young deputy’s shoulder. “Now, you can look at it however you wish, but if I were you, I’d look at it as an opportunity to get in tight with some really good guys that have a LOT of experience under their belts. Get to know them, learn from them. Hell, see if you can ride around with them instead of being a lone wolf. You’ll learn more by another officer’s side than being out on your own chasing cattle that got out, or writing tickets or even working the oddball investigation now and then.”
Jon nodded, agreeing whole-heartedly with him. “I see what you’re saying, sir.”
“And for the love of Pete, son. Learn to relax a little. This isn’t the military. You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ all the time.” Scott smiled at him. “Do you have any idea why I selected your application out of all the others?”
“Because I’m Asian? You needed to add to that diversity thing?” he said, smiling.
“No. Try again,” Scott replied, stifling his grin.
“My history with the University Rifle and Pistol Team?” he asked cautiously?
“No, son. It was your attitude. You came across as a professional without seeming like an ass-kisser. That’s not easy.”
Jon beamed from within. “So I’m not being fired?”
Scott chuckled. “No, you’re not.” He stood to leave and opened the door. “Are we done?”
“I think so, sir…I mean, Sheriff.”
“Scott will do when we’re in private, kid.”
“Yes, sir.” Jon blanched. “Sorry, sir. Force of habit.”
“It’s okay. It’ll come.”
“Sir? Any suggestions who I might buddy up with? To ride along with, train with?”
Scott thought a moment and shrugged. “Jeff or Justin either one. They’re both good men. Cut from different cloth, but good officers.”
“Different cloth, sir?” Jon asked.
Scott smiled and patted his shoulder. “Give them both a chance, you’ll see what I mean.”
“Yes, sir.”
Scott walked out of the interrogation room and headed back to his office. He glared at the stack of paperwork and shook his head. It hadn’t magically finished itself while he was gone and he still was not looking forward to it.
Sitting down, he picked up the file on the top of the stack and opened it. This isn’t what I was working on. He shuffled the papers around and found the nightly reports and picked up where he left off. Reaching for his cup of coffee his hand came up empty.
Scott glanced around the desk and began lifting reports and files again. “Dammit,” he muttered. He looked out of his open door again. “Amber?”
“Yeah, boss?” she called back without wheeling over.
“Any idea where my coffee is?”
“You left it at the coffee mess, boss. Again.”
Scott dropped his head and sighed. “I hate days like this.”
“Just like every other day, boss,” Amber called out from behind her counter.
*****
“So, Rog, what are we gonna do with the money that Miller give us?” Casper asked.
Roger sat behind the wheel of his pickup, his eyes narrowed, his jaw ticking in anger as he thought about the deal they’d struck with Mr. Miller. In the back of his mind, he KNEW that Miller was bending them over, but he’d scared them both into taking what he’d offered. He punched the roof of his truck. “That rich fucker!” he yelled.
Casper jumped back and stared wide-eyed at his friend. “You talking about Mr. Miller, Roger?”
“Who else would I be talking about, you stupid tweaker?”
“I dunno,” he muttered. “Hell, just about anybody’s richer than us.”
The more Roger thought about the deal, the madder he got. “We ought to go back and kick his fat ass.” Roger threatened through gritted teeth.
“But, Roger…Mr. Miller ain’t fat.”
Roger turned on his partner and friend so fast that Casper jerked back away and smashed his own face against the truck window, bloodying his lip. “Ow, dammit, Roger, lookit what you made me do,” he lisped as blood dripped down his chin.
Roger smiled an evil smile as he imagined blood running down Miller’s face. “We need to get him back, Casper.”
“But why, Roger? He paid us just like he said. It’s good money. Think of all we could do with a grand each. Hell, we could g
o to the MOON with a grand each!”
Roger started the truck and threw it into gear. “Maybe you’re good with going to the moon, Casper. But I want the world.”
4
Jerrod Miller had finishing polishing up his latest acquisitions and was surprised at just how easily they had cleaned up. Whoever they had been buried with, they were very well preserved. The damned pistols looked like they could be fired as they were and they were still loaded. Not that he would trust cartridges that were 130 years old, but if he hadn’t known their age, he would have taken the weapon to the range and expected it to perform flawlessly. He pulled out his longhorn hide that he used for photographs and certain displays and laid it across the round table in the corner of his office.
He laid the gunslinger rig that he’d carefully oiled and restored back to usable condition in the center and placed the two Colt Peacemakers across the buckle in an ‘X’ formation, trying to create the perfect picture. Placing the sheriff’s badge perfectly in the picture and laying the cartridges that were in the gun belt just so…so that they appeared to have been tossed haphazardly, easier said than done and still get the perfect picture. He gingerly placed the other items all around the centerpiece of the crossed guns and placed the cleaned spurs stacked perfectly to the side to create the perfect photo.
He pulled out his cell phone and pushed the button for the camera. Aligning the little square and letting it auto-focus, he snapped a series of pictures before going through them and selecting the perfect one. He chuckled to himself as he sat in his leather chair behind his desk.
He punched up Ingram’s number and attached the picture with the message, “My newest additions. Looks like I win!” He looked at the clock on the wall and smiled. Unless Ingram could somehow pull a miracle out of his ass, the Earp pieces were HIS!
He punched the button on his phone and sent the message. Closing the phone he reclined in his chair and began to laugh to himself. He did a mental countdown in his head.
