Earl took a bar rag from his back pocket and wiped at a wet circle on the table but said nothing.
“And as you remember,” Lester continued, “you and I had a similar conversation on this very topic not all that long ago. Do you recall that Earl?”
Again, Redman could only nod.
“A line from the movie Cool Hand Luke comes to mind, ‘What we have here is a failure to communicate.’ one of my favorites.”
“Strother Martin to Paul Newman,” Billy Ray said. I love that movie.”
“It’s a classic all right,” Lester agreed. “Old Earl here will soon have plenty of time to watch it and other movies at home, once he pays his fine and gets out of jail that is.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute here,” Earl replied with sudden animation. “Jail? Just because a couple of boys got a beer or two when I was super busy and didn’t check ‘em? Jail? A fine? Sheriff, you’ll put me out of business. If I go to jail this place will go under. Sides that, I got no money to pay a fine. I’m barely keeping my head above water as it is.”
“Billy Ray, do you feel bad that this place might have to close up and the kids in this county wouldn’t have a place to get drunk out of their juvenile minds and drive down our roads, killing themselves as well as other law-abidin’ folks in Cimarron County? I don’t know about you Deputy, but the idea of throwin’ a padlock on this place gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside.
Billy Ray shook his head with fake concern. “I don’t see any other solution Sheriff. Anything less would be dereliction of duty, also un-American.”
By now Earl was squirming in his chair, his eyes going from one lawman to the other in a silent plea for mercy.
Lester leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “Unless, that is, you Mr. Redman, could give us a list of everyone that was in this stinking bar last Thursday night. If that list were complete and factual, maybe, just maybe, we could work something out.”
“You got it, Sheriff,” Earl said eagerly. Everybody, yes I think I can remember everybody that was here. Wait, I’ll get a pad from behind the bar. I’ll write ‘em down for you, every name. That won’t be a problem.”
“I have my own notebook.” Lester pulled the pen from his shirt and a small spiral pad from a back pocket. “Start talking, but first I want to know if the girl was here, Melissa Parker.”
“Okay, yeah, there was a girl. Long brown hair, kind of pretty?”
“That would be her.”
“But I didn’t serve her,” Earl added quickly. “She came in here and used that phone over there and walked right back out again, honest to gawd, Sheriff.”
“All right Earl, you’re off to a good start. Now, did you see where the girl went?”
“Not exactly.”
“What the hell does ‘not exactly’ mean? Don’t be messing with me Earl.”
“I mean I didn’t exactly see her after that, but I did hear her, or some female, laughing out there on the patio. See, I’m not exactly sure it was her. Could have been anybody, one of the regulars maybe.”
Lester shook his head in exasperation. “Billy Ray, go on out to our vehicle and get that lock and chain we brought along. Earl wants to play games.”
“No games, no games. I’m just saying, I didn’t see the girl after she went through the door.”
“How long did you hear laughing from outside, from this female, the one you didn’t see.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Could have been an hour…or two.”
“Okay, I’ll get back to the girl in a minute. Now, tell me about the other customers.”
Earl scratched the back of his balding head and closed his eyes as if that would jar his memory.
“Well there was J.O. of course, he’s here almost every night. The two Mexicans, the ones you saw yesterday, they’re regulars even though they can’t speak a lick of English, they do like their beer. There were a couple of guys riding motorcycles, never seen them before. I just remember hearing a rumble when they drove up. Sounded like a Harley.
Lester interrupted, “What did those two look like?”
“Oh, I don’t know, just guys. No gang names on their jackets. One of them was wearing some kind of army coat if I recall.
“Long hair? Beards?
“I don’t think so.”
“Go on.”
“I’m pretty sure that weird guy from down the road was in here, the one that lives in the middle of a junk pile?”
Lester and Billy Ray exchanged looks. Earl was describing the place that had failed to investigate yesterday morning.
“He’s an odd duck. Keeps to himself, never talks to anyone. Most times he comes in, has a few beers, watches a little TV, and leaves. Other times, if a game is on, he might stay for three or four hours. Never causes any trouble though.”
“You know his name?” Billy Ray asked.
“Never asked, never told me. People want to come in here for a quiet drink or two and keep to themselves, that’s okay by me.”
“Who else?”
“Uh, Mr. Silvers and his wife, I think they came by for a beer, ‘bout eight I think, didn’t stay long.”
“Earl,” Lester said with an audible sigh, “I’m mainly interested in who was here at the time Melissa Parker made that phone call and while that female was sitting out there on your patio.”
“Sure, sure, let me think.” Earl went into his eyes closed meditation act again.
“Out with it Earl,” Lester snapped. “I’m losing my patience with you. Were there any underage drinkers in here that night?”
Earl dropped his head. “Well, there was a couple boys came by. Must have been around 10:30, might have been 11:00, not really sure, but it was shortly after that girl went out the door.”
The reference to the front door reminded Billy Ray to keep one eye in that direction in case J.O. should decide to make an encore appearance.
“I know there was two of them,” Earl said while he chewed on his lower lip “as they both stood around for a minute acting like they didn’t know if they were gonna stay or not, like they were checking to see who all was here. One of them turned around and went back outside and the other one ordered drinks.”
“How many drinks?” Lester asked.
“It might have been three.”
“Might have been? What kind of drinks, beer?”
“Tequila, straight shots.”
“Good God, Earl.”
Earl shook his head. “I know, I know,” he mumbled.
“So who were the boys, did you know them?” Billy Ray asked, an edge on his voice.
“No, but one of them was wearing a jacket, what I’d call a letter jacket. You know, like a letter you earn in sports? Had leather sleeves with a big B, orange, if I recall.”
“Okay, anybody else.”
“They’re might have been some others Sheriff, probably were, I don’t know, not sure if I remember everybody on one particular night. But if I think of anyone, I’ll get in touch. I promise. See, I’m cooperating here. I want to work with you.”
Lester said nothing but continued to glare at the bartender, waiting.
After a moment, Earl looked at Billy Ray and said. “Oh yeah, your buddy, that loudmouth Jason Woods, he was here. Now that I think on it, he was the one wearing the army jacket. He almost got into it with J.O. over something. That boy has a temper.”
Lester turned to stare at his fellow lawman. Billy Ray shrugged.
“And just how did you know he was a friend of mine?” Billy Ray asked.
“It was when he and J.O. were having an argument. J.O. made some kind of threat—I didn’t hear exactly what—but Woods countered that he had a buddy that worked for the Sheriff, and if J.O. gave him any shit, he’d have him thrown in jail.
“Great,” Billy Ray sighed and rolled his eyes.
“I don’t think he was afraid of J.O., more like he just didn’t want to be bothered with him.”
Lester spoke up, “What time did Woods leave?”
<
br /> “I have no idea. These people don’t punch a time clock Sheriff. You expect me to keep track of when everybody comes and goes?”
“Woods come here often?”
“Well, he’s not exactly a regular, but I see him now and then.”
“How often is now and then?”
Earl rolled his eyes. “Once every couple weeks maybe, maybe less, maybe more. Like I say, I don’t keep a damn log. But with him, I’d probably remember. That fellow is hard to ignore.”
“He is that,” Billy Ray admitted.
Lester stood. “I’m shutting you down, Earl.”
“What? Why?” Earl’s eyes went wide. “I answered all your questions.”
“You broke the law, Earl. You served some minors, some kids, and kids often show poor judgment, especially when they get liquored up. That’s why we have laws for that. And right now, we got a young girl that’s missing. She was last seen at your bar. We don’t know yet what happened to her, but I got a hunch it was your alcohol Earl, booze that you sold her, that played a part in this. I’m posting a notice on your front door first thing in the morning.”
“For how long?” Earl moaned.
Lester was already on his way to the door, boots clumping. It was easy to imagine the jingle of spurs. It was Matt Dillon in Gunsmoke, leaving the bar after clearing out the bad guys. Law and order restored.
The Sheriff hesitated and turned back. “Long enough for you to think about what you’ve done. Long enough for you to realize I mean business here, Earl. I don’t make idle threats. But mostly long enough for me to get over being pissed off.”
The rain had stopped. An occasional flash of lighting in the east and stars to the west, signaled that the storm was over for Cimarron County, at least for this night. Puddles had gathered in the dips and depressions of the parking lot, the only cars being Billy Ray’s Camaro and Earl’s old and dented Chevy Impala. J.O. Mecham’s pickup was no where in sight, and neither was J.O.
*****
Two splish-splash miles down the road, neither man had spoken. Billy Ray broke the silence.
“I thought that went well.”
Nothing in reply.
With no moon and a blacktop road soaking up the headlights, Billy Ray had to concentrate on his driving. There were no shoulders on the narrow highway. One wheel off the surface on wet mushy ground could make for some dicey moments.
A voice from the passenger side. “Damn it all! I don’t think we’re any closer to finding Melissa now than we were yesterday morning. That stupid Earl, selling tequila to those kids. Hell, he knew what was going on out there on his so called patio.” Lester practically spit out the word patio. “No telling how many people came and went that he doesn’t remember or won’t own up to rememberin’. One thing though, we got some people to talk to now.”
Billy Ray remained silent, letting the Sheriff think it through.
“We definitely need to talk to the guy in the junker house. We’ll do that in the mornin’.”
“We?” Billy Ray interjected. “You got a toad in your pocket? What’s this we stuff? I’m off work tomorrow, just like I was supposed to be off today.”
“Oh hush. You know you want to find that girl as bad as I do. Surely you’re not still thinking it’s a simple runaway are you?”
“Well…I guess not.”
“Sides, what else you got to do? Ride that scooter of yours up and down the hills? Risk breaking your fool neck?”
“Um, how about live a life? There are other things in this world besides law enforcement you know.”
“Like what?” Lester said and turned to the driver.
Silence.
“See, there ain’t anything else that counts. Son, this is what you do when you want to make a difference. Now, I ain’t saying that an old country sheriff can change the world, but by gawd, when folks need some help with things they’re not prepared to handle, you can step up to the plate, do a job that not every Tom, Dick, and Harry can do. Now they might not appreciate it or even thank you, but still, you know you’ve done the right thing, made their life a little safer or eased their worries. Sometimes it might not be nothin’ more than finding a cow that broke through a fence but other times, like now, it’s up to me and you Billy Ray, to find Melissa. Simple fact is, we still don’t have enough proof to convince the State boys that we have a kidnapping…or worse. We have to stay on this Billy Ray. How can you take a day off when there’s a chance that girl is being held somewhere, and you know as well as I that the longer it stretches out, the colder the trail gets? Memories fade, people leave; we saw that today with the Mexicans over at the Sanchez house. We can’t let up until we find her or she shows up safe and sound somewhere. Now, do I have your help or are you gonna keep whining about not being paid?”
Chastised, the deputy said nothing, knowing the Sheriff had a point. It was true, he was whining and bitchin’. Pay or no pay, there were times when things just needed doin’.
“I’m in Sheriff, for as long as it takes. Thing is, I think we’re gonna find her. Somebody at that bar last Thursday night saw something, or knows something, or it could be that one of them took her.”
Lester stared out the passenger window, seeing nothing but the Camaro’s headlights bouncing off the fence posts, then softly asked, “What about Jason Woods? You think he might know anything?”
Billy Ray’s head spun sideways. “You’re not saying you think he had anything to do with this are you? Jason might have a wild streak but he’s damn sure no kidnapper or killer of young girls. Why would you even ask such a thing?”
“Not accusing the young man of anything. Just wondering if he bothered to mention he’d been in the Pirate’s Den the night before you two went to the football game.”
“Bothered to? I’m not liking your tone here Sheriff,” Billy Ray said, his anger rising. “Fact is, I don’t believe I told him we had a kidnapping at all. I was still thinking we were dealing with a girl that got mad at her folks and took off, nothing more. I doubt if I so much as mentioned it. Jason is my best friend damn it, he saved my life. To think he would be involved with her disappearance in any way is pure horseshit. Forget about it.”
“I had to ask,” Lester said to the window.
The blazing headlights topped a rise in the road and came up behind the Camaro high and fast, the blinding beams bouncing off the rear view mirror. Billy Ray squinted against the sudden brightness.
“What the hell?”
It was apparently some kind of small truck, probably a pickup—the position of the headlights elevated like they were—that was coming up on them at a high rate of speed. The gap between the Camaro and the two-eyed beast closed rapidly. Billy Ray checked his speed—right on the limit. But the truck didn’t pass despite an open highway. Instead, it pulled to within six feet of the Camaro’s backend and stayed there. Billy Ray sped up but only a little, still mindful of the road conditions.
Lester watched through his side mirror as the truck weaved, left, right, but never completely into the passing lane.
“Patience, Billy Ray. You have it, he doesn’t. He’ll pass shortly. Keep your speed normal. Don’t let him force you into doing something stupid or dangerous.”
But the bully didn’t pass. Billy Ray let off the gas, dropping his speed to under 50. The truck kept its position, uphill and down, around the curves, glued to the Camaro’s butt.
“Let me try something,” Lester said, as he unpinned the gold badge from his shirt. “We’ll let him know who he’s dealin’ with.”
The sheriff swiveled in his seat and held the badge facing the back window, directly in the beam of the headlights. As close as the driver was, there would be no mistaking the iconic symbol of the law. A quarter of a mile flashed by with Lester casually waving the badge back and forth but the truck stayed where it was and at times, moved even closer until Lester was sure that a collision was imminent. Now the driver mashed the horn, honk, honk, honk, then a continuous blast, so loud it sounded as if an
18-wheeler was in the backseat. HOOONNNK. Then the lights, flashing from high beam to low and back to high, over and over; the arrogance maddening.
“I’m stopping,” Billy Ray said. “He’ll have to stop with us or go around. I hope he stops. I’d like to bloody his nose and then ticket this asshole.”
Lester thought about that.
“Just slow it down a little more, 30 or less. I don’t want some civilian coming up on us on a dark night like this with us stopped in the road and no shoulder. Be asking for a smashup. If you come to a side road or a pull out area, take it. Then we’ll deal with him.”
Lester’s plan was reasonable enough but as it turned out, he never got the chance to try it. The pickup made its move. Swinging to the outside as if to pass, it took a position with the nose of the truck alongside Billy Ray’s left rear wheel and suddenly jerked to the right. There was a crunch of metal. The rear end of the Camaro lost traction and swerved right. The pickup weaved but stayed solidly on the road and then hit the brakes as if to get a better view of the Chevy’s spinout. On a dry pavement, Billy Ray might have handled it, but after the rain had mixed with the surface oil and grime from the hundreds of vehicles that had passed before it, he had no chance. The Camaro almost did a complete circle, something Billy Ray actually hoped for, but the vehicle came up about 90 degrees short, the momentum pushing them backward, off the road, and into the rain-filled bar ditch. The pickup flashed by, motor wound tight, leaving the Camaro helpless in the mud.
“You okay, Sheriff?” Billy Ray asked as he fumbled with the seat belt.
“Yeah, I think so. Did you get a look at the truck when it went by?”
“No, it was past me before I could get my wits together. You?”
“I’m not sure, but it looked one hell of a lot like that beater that J.O. Mecham drives.”
“No shit? You think that crazy bastard would run us down like that?”
“Like you said, a crazy bastard.”
“How could he pull off a maneuver like that, drunk as he was?”
“J.O. is a professional drunk,” Lester offered by way of explaination.
“But how did he know it was us in this car?”
Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel Page 18
