by John Foxjohn
The waitress came by with coffee and took their orders. Beth ordered blueberry pancakes, and David ordered a short stack with pork sausage. He poured coffee without cream or sugar. He wanted to know if she had a badge, but didn’t want to offend her. Toying with the thought for aq moment, he decided on a direct approach. When he interviewed at the school, he figured she’d see through the question, anyway. “You don’t have a badge?”
“Noooo, and don’t want one.”
Her statement didn’t surprise him. He tilted his head. “Why not?”
“I know about all the women who chase after the police in this town. I’ve heard how they leave their names and phone numbers on your windshields at the police stations. When and if I go out with someone, I’ll do it because I like him, respect him, and want to be with him, and he has to have the same feelings for me. I’ll never go out with a man because he can give me a badge to get me out of trouble. I don’t need a man to get me out of trouble. I can do that for myself.”
She looked David straight in the eye while she talked. Darn, she’s sexy.
The waitress interrupted the conversation with their food, and David poured maple syrup on his pancakes. Beth put a tiny dollop on hers, took a bite, chewed for a long moment, and swallowed. “Why do they call you Dick Tracy?”
David stopped in mid-swallow, blushing. He wondered if she knew everything about him. He remembered their interview, and he’d thought at the time, she’d recognized his name, but brushed it off. He took a swallow to stall for time, and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I’m not sure. Something the newspaper made up, I guess.”
“I’ve heard people say you’re the best detective in this city.”
David pursed his lips. “Beth, I’m just an average homicide detective. Things get blown up from reality.”
They spent a long time talking after finishing their food, and the waitress brought them another coffee carafe. When she brought the bill, David grabbed the check without asking. Beth insisted on paying her part, but David didn’t concede. As time passed, the waitress kept hovering over the table and they both got the hint.
Beth smiled, glanced at her watch and raised her eyebrows. “I need to go. I’ve papers to grade, and it’s getting late.”
He looked at his watch, and it surprised him that they’d talked for almost two hours. He’d never sat and just talked to a woman for any length of time. He stood. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you,” and he meant it.
Beth brushed her hair back with her fingertips. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you, too.”
Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a pen and paper and wrote her name and phone number. “If you want to talk again, give me a call.”
David smoothed his hair. She meant it and wanted to see him again. He already had her name and phone number, and he planned on calling her. He smiled. “I think I’ll do that.” He was on cloud nine when she didn’t contradict him.
She turned, but stopped. “I haven’t known you long, but one thing I’ve figured out. You aren’t just an average anything. A sly grin twitched the corners of her mouth as she turned to leave.
He watched her leave and wasn’t a bit ashamed when she turned to see him looking at her rear.
***
Attached to a Winchester .270 bolt-action rifle, a scope with an eye peering through focused on David Mason’s smiling face a hundred yards away.
With the stock pressed against his cheek, the shooter locked the butt into his shoulder pocket, aligned the crosshairs between his prey’s eyes, took a deep breath, and let it half out.
He squeezed the trigger. The butt slammed against his shoulder, startling him, a good sign he’d squeezed the trigger right. His father had taught him if a shooter pulled the trigger properly, he’d be surprised when the gun fired.
He rode the rifle’s recoil down to look through the scope at the target, and a smile broke out on his face. Perfect shot.
He’d driven far into the woods believing no one would wander by or hear his shooting, and brought a vise to calibrate the scope. Before shooting, he’d put the gun in the vise, closed it in, crossed two pieces of thread, and taped them to the barrel’s end. When he removed the bolt from the gun, he looked through the open bore at the target he’d set up, and aligned the cross-shaped threads between Mason’s eyes. He tightened the vice and re-inserted the bolt.
He attached the scope to the gun, looked through it, and moved the elevation and windage knobs on the scope to coordinate with the barrel.
His blood thudded in his veins watching his target’s smile.
When a grasshopper lit on his shoulder, he raised his hand and caught him. “You’re safe as long as you don’t grin at me like Mason.” He threw the grasshopper away and focused on Mason’s picture. Center mass, he told himself. Don’t aim for the head when you shoot for real. Put the bullet center mass of Mason’s heart. Patience. He’d waited this long. He caressed the gun’s metal.
Chapter 7
In a lounge chair on her deck, Beth Porter enjoyed the warm breeze and aroma of gardenias growing close by as she graded papers. She’d taught fifth grade math for five years. It had to be the most difficult subject to teach in school, although it wouldn’t be bad if she could get some parental support.
With the red pen poised in her hand, she wondered what to do with the boy whose paper she graded. He didn’t try. He’d put down any answer without working the problem. He wasn’t a bad kid, and everyone liked him, especially the girls. The way his black hair fell over his forehead reminded her of Detective Mason.
Her phone jarred her thoughts. She ran inside, answering breathlessly, hoping David had called her. “Hello.”
“Hi Beth, it’s Sheree.”
Her spirits sank. She should’ve known he wouldn’t call her. His type never does. She wasn’t easy, and she’d have no appeal to him. Besides, she didn’t want him to call her. “Oh—Hello, Sheree.”
“You don’t sound too excited to hear me. Were you expecting someone else?”
“No. Not at all. How are you?”
Sheree Fairland and Beth had first met in junior high and became best friends. Their friendship carried over into adult life. With similar appearances, except for hair color, they got along well, despite different personalities.
Sheree chased men like a hound hunted rabbits. With her looks, she had no trouble catching them, either. Beth had been on two dates in the last year, both disasters. Her first, a total jerk, couldn’t stop telling her how lucky she was going out with him. He had hinted at other things, but she shot him down in a hurry. He’d called her a few days later, and she shocked his ego to the core when she told him she didn’t think they were right for each other.
Her second, a coach at a junior high, insisted they go to bed first, before going out, which turned into the shortest date in history. He’d arrived to pick her up, made his proposition on the threshold when she answered, and three seconds later, he left when she slammed the door in his face. She wondered for about half a second why she couldn’t meet a decent man, but thought about where she spent her time. Most teachers were female, and the few male teachers on campus were already married.
Sheree insisted they go out and have a drink and told Beth to meet her at the Panda, a nice club off Interstate 10, not far from both their apartments. Stepping into the bar, Beth spotted Sheree at a table with two men standing and talking to her. Sheree shooed them off when Beth approached. They hugged and Sheree told her how bad she felt about Beth’s mother.
“Thank you,” Beth said.
“Have they caught the killer yet?”
Beth shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. If they have, they haven’t told me.”
“Who’s the investigator?”
“Detective Mason.”
“Whooee. David Mason. You lucked out.”
Beth frowned. “Why?”
“Darling, you got the best investigator and from what I hear, a stud to boot.”
“You know I don�
��t care if he’s a stud or not.” He did look like a stud, though. A shiver ran through her. But, in the interview, he’d acted like the coach from the three-second date.
Sheree looked at her with her head cocked. “Beth, have you gone out with Mason?”
“No.”
Sheree raised her eyebrows. “You’re holding back on me.”
“Sheree, we haven’t gone out on a date, or anything else. Furthermore, I have no intention of going out with the biggest playboy in Texas.”
As she washed dishes later that night, her hands glided along the plate she’d washed for ten minutes. Her mind drifted to a certain detective. She had sworn she wouldn’t get involved with a cop, but he wouldn’t leave her thoughts.
She’d trusted two men in her lifetime, her father and her ex-husband. Her father had never given her a reason not to trust him, but had warned her about men and their intentions. She’d married and found out she couldn’t trust her husband. Somewhere along the line, she’d lost trust in all men. David Mason’s reputation indicated she couldn’t trust him, either.
He had the prettiest blue eyes and the longest lashes she had ever seen on a man. Not great looking, but a sexual aura seemed to surround him.
Thinking about him made her tingle all over. No man had ever made her respond this way, and she didn’t understand why he did. He carried himself with confidence. It wasn’t what he’d said, but the way he walked and stood. She had heard people talk about his arrogance, but after talking to him, she didn’t believe this was true. People mistook his confidence for arrogance.
She had also heard about all the women who flocked to him, but hadn’t believed the rumors until she sat and talked to him. Now, she understood why women swarmed around him. She had more self-control than most women did, and if he could do this to her, without even trying, she could imagine what other women were doing with him. Her face burned thinking about being in bed with him. She needed a cold shower.
***
Two months had passed since the Harris murder, and this worried David. He had no suspects and didn’t know where to turn. The longer a murder case lasted without a viable witness, evidence, or a suspect, the less chance of solving it. People’s memories fade, evidence that could have sat waiting, disappeared. He didn’t want the person who murdered Beth’s mother.
David and Henry had closed several cases in the two months, domestic disputes where they had suspects. These were the easy ones. Patrol made the arrests before the detectives arrived, and David and Henry did the paperwork.
As they sat at Henry’s desk, discussing the Harris murder, Lieutenant Spinks popped in.
“Shouldn’t you two be working?”
Henry looked up at him. “We are working, LT.”
“What’re you working on?”
David, rifling through the murder book, didn’t bother to look up. “Harris case.”
Spinks put his hands on his hips. “How’s it coming?”
“Not good.”
Henry, serious for a change, told David he needed to leave the Harris one. It was cold and getting colder. If it was a random, they might look for years and never find out who did it. When David didn’t respond, Spinks put his two-cent worth in, telling David he needed to concentrate on the ones he could solve. Their files were full of unsolved homicides.
David nodded and agreed, but this one differed for him. He didn’t know if he could make them understand. He’d walked from a case before, but he was not walking from this one. He’d find the person who killed that old lady.
Henry’s phone rang, interrupting his thoughts.
“Detective Carrington. Yes, Peggy, he’s sitting right here. Do you want to talk to him? OK. Bye, Peggy.”
“Inspector Patterson wants us in his office,” Henry said.
“See ya’ll later,” Spinks said.
Henry put on a lopsided grin. “Uh—lieutenant, Patterson wants you too.”
“Me? I haven’t done anything.”
David stood, straightening his clothes. He believed Spinks hadn’t done anything. As they strode to the fourth floor, David marveled at the spotless building and the fresh-smelling carpets. Walls lined with pictures revealed the past chiefs from Houston. One day his picture would hang on the wall. Officers laughed at his goals and called him chief, even Henry, at times. He didn’t care. He’d show them what a short person could do. He shook his head. “This is a long way from the third precinct,” he said to himself.
“I forgot you transferred here from the third,” Henry said.
David cocked his head. “What?”
Henry raised one eyebrow. “You said, ‘This is a long way from the third precinct.’”
“Oh,” David laughed. “I thought I was thinking to myself.”
“You keep that up and they’ll lock you in the padded room,” Henry said.
Spinks cut in. “I remember. Inspector Patterson came from the third and brought you here with him.”
“Yep,” Henry said, “you two have been together for a while.”
“Five years,” David replied. “The inspector somehow finagled and got me assigned to the third from the police academy.” He’d always wondered why.
They marched into Inspector Patterson’s office like soldiers summoned to the commanding officer. Patterson sat behind a cluttered desk, going over reports. David didn’t know how the inspector stayed closed in his office all the time. Closed in would drive him crazy.
“Grab a chair,” Patterson said. “David, I need your badge.”
His eyes widened. “Huh—What?” He hadn’t done anything to get suspended or fired. He frowned. “My badge.”
With a stern expression, the inspector snapped, “Yes, your badge.”
David sank into his chair. This wasn’t like the inspector. He’d never suspend someone without talking to him, first, and he’d do it in private. Reaching down, he unclipped his badge from his belt, and laid it and his identification on the desk. He glanced at Henry, but his partner shrugged, and the expression on his face seemed to say, “You’re on your own.”
He glanced at Spinks, who smiled. Crap, this can’t be good. He hates me and nothing that makes him happy, will make me happy.
“You won’t need this badge, David.”
Confused, David ran his hand through his hair. “Why not, sir?”
Patterson reached into his desk drawer and brought out a gold one. “You won’t need this one because you’ve been promoted to detective sergeant.”
Like a popped balloon, all David’s air whooshed out. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been. He wondered if it would violate a law to shoot a smiling inspector. The board would have to rule it a justified killing. He became happier when the smirk on Spinks’ face evaporated like water in a desert. He didn’t figure he’d shoot Patterson. It was worth it to see Spinks’ expression.
Henry and David decided to go get a drink when they got off to celebrate the promotion. Henry told David he had to buy since he made the big bucks, now.
Henry slurred his speech, “Where’re we going to go?”
“Let’s go to the Pig Sty.”
Henry called his wife and told her he’d be late. As they ambled to David’s Fiat, he teased Henry, “I noticed you didn’t tell Patty why you’d be late.”
“I don’t have to tell her. I’m the man of the house,” Henry said, hitching up his pants and puffing out his chest.
David laughed. “Yeah, right, and you have her permission to say so.”
“I couldn’t tell her I intended to go to a bar with you,” Henry said when they pulled out. “Why?”
“She’d have thrown a fit. She doesn’t trust you around women.”
David laughed. “She’s a smart woman. I don’t trust me around women.”
“You aren’t going to pick up some old scag in here and leave me stranded, are you?”
David gave his partner one of his you-got-to-be-kidding looks. “I’ll have you know, I don’t go out with scags.”
&nb
sp; Henry shook his head. “David, you don’t go out with anyone. You pick them up and take them to your apartment. That’s not going out. It’s going in.”
“I’m pickier than that.”
“You have two qualifications for women.”
David smiled. “You think you know me. What are they?”
“First, they have to be breathing.”
He laughed. “Always a plus.”
“Second, they have to be able to count to three, but not in the correct order.”
A cocky grin plastered across David’s face. “You have me all wrong. They have to be able to count to ten in the right order.”
Henry raised his eyebrows and turned his head. “Are you telling me Cindy could count to ten?”
“Hmm, she may be able to. I never checked. She had other, better, qualities.”
Darkness and cigarette smoke blinded David and Henry when they inched their way into the bar, and heavy odors from stale beer and cheap perfume overwhelmed their nostrils. David shook his head, wondering why he came to this place. But he knew the answer. Here, where all the patrons were cops, he didn’t have to worry about anyone finding out who he was. No one here would hit him up to get out of trouble or fix a ticket.
David and Henry turned when a voice boomed behind them. “Hey everyone, this establishment has been graced with the presence of the great David Mason.”
David thrust his hand out to meet the man bearing down on them from the dark. He would know his voice in an avalanche. “Look what the dog’s drug in and the cats wouldn’t have,” David told Henry.
Tall and bulky, Ronny, like everyone else, contrasted David’s diminutive height. His dark skin and jet black hair gave David’s best friend a mysterious appearance, but his easy manner and his ability to engage in an intelligent conversation on any subject without seeming to be a know-it-all drew people to him. They shook hands.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Ronny said. He smiled. “Gail has a friend she wants you to meet.”
David dropped his head and shook it. Not another one. Between Patty Carrington and Gail Hemes, they were going to have him meeting every single female in town. Stop to think about it, the last one Gail tried to set him up with was from San Antonio. He corrected his estimate to the entire state. “I visited the third a couple of days ago, but you weren’t in,” David said. “Hey, I want you to meet my partner, Henry Carrington.”
