Shotgun Saturday Night dr-2

by Bill Crider

  Chapter 13

  Rhodes was not out for long, but when he came to he was in no position to do much. He was lying face down on the ground, his face pressed into the tangy-smelling leaf mold. He couldn’t move his arms, which were locked behind his back, held in place, he was sure, with his own handcuffs. It was embarrassing. His sore back was hurting more than ever, and the side of his head felt as if it had been caved in.

  “I say we kill him right here.” That was Nellie’s voice. “Just shoot him in the back of the head with his own pistol and toss him in the tank. They’ll find him if it ever dries up, if the turtles don’t eat him first.” Rhodes was beginning to develop a real dislike for Nellie.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Rapper said. “Someone knows he came here, and why he came here. If we kill a lawman, even one as sorry as this one, they’ll hunt us forever. We’d never get a minute’s rest.”

  Nellie laughed. “What we’ve done already ain’t enough? Who’s the idiot now? Look at him, trussed up like a pig.”

  “I hate to admit it, Nellie, but you may have a point,” Rapper said in the voice of a man who really did hate to admit that someone else might have a better thought than his own. “Well, let’s let him look at us when we do it. May as well get a little fun out of it.”

  Rhodes tensed himself. He didn’t think he had a chance, because he didn’t think he could move, but he wasn’t going to lie there and let Rapper shoot him, that was for sure.

  As Rapper’s steps approached, Rhodes lurched to his knees, then threw himself forward at what he hoped would be Rapper’s softly bulging midsection. He was off, but not too far, and he had managed to take Rapper by surprise. His head hit Rapper in the side and staggered him backward.

  Rhodes tried to gain his feet, but Nellie landed in the middle of his back. Rhodes rolled over, but that didn’t help. Now Nellie was beneath him, but he had a strong grip around Rhodes’s chest and was squeezing.

  Rhodes rolled over again. Now Nellie was on top. No advantage there, either, except that Rapper, who was now on his feet, couldn’t shoot for fear of hitting Nellie.

  “Get off him, Nellie!” Rapper screamed, the thin edge of dementia in his voice. “Get off, or I’ll shoot you too!”

  Nellie tried to get up and Rhodes followed along, running backward with Nellie, who was trying to get away. Rhodes dug his feet into the ground, driving backward as hard as he could. Nellie, caught up in the rush, went along.

  Things came to a sudden stop when they hit a tree. All the air went out of Nellie, and Rhodes tried to keep his balance.

  Rapper fired the pistol, but the shot went wild in the darkness. So did the second one.

  Rhodes tried to find cover. He got behind a tree trunk that wasn’t quite thick enough and tried to think of what to do next. Pain was shooting up and down his arms and pulsing in his head.

  A shot thudded into the tree trunk. Rapper was getting better in the dark, or luckier.

  Then suddenly, as if it were right on him, Rhodes heard the wail of a siren. Headlights flooded through the trees, and there was the flashing of a light bar.

  “Freeze, sucker!” It was Ruth Grady.

  Quite a few things happened then, and Rhodes never remembered if they happened in any particular order or if they all happened at once.

  No one froze. Rapper whirled around and fired two shots at the lights. Rhodes heard glass shatter. Ruth Grady began firing at the muzzle flashes. Nellie got up. Rhodes hit the dirt. There were more shots. Rhodes heard the motorcycles start and speed away.

  Then Ruth was kneeling by him. “Got the keys to these cuffs, Sheriff?”

  “Right pocket,” Rhodes said, rolling into a position where she could reach them. She took them off, and Rhodes rubbed his wrists as he sat up.

  “Too many trees,” Ruth said. “I don’t think I hit anybody. Should we go after them?”

  “Not much chance of catching them,” Rhodes said. “How many were there?”

  “Three. One in the tent.”

  “Thought there had to be another one.” Rhodes winced as the blood began to flow freely in his arms and hands once again, sending needles into his skin. “I’d like to say I had ‘em where I wanted ‘em, but you’d probably see right through that, wouldn’t you.”

  Ruth laughed. “Probably.”

  “How’d you happen to show up here, anyway?”

  “Hack called me, said you might need some backup.”

  “Hack’s beginning to exceed his authority,” Rhodes said. “All the same, I don’t think I’ll call him down for it this time.” He stood up. “How much damage to the car?”

  “Smashed a headlight, I think.”

  “I hope that’s all,” Rhodes said. “I’m beginning to feel like a one-man disaster area. Let’s get on back to town while I can still walk.”

  As they walked to the car, Rhodes saw that one of the low-beam lights was out. There didn’t seem to be much damage, otherwise. He got in and called Hack, telling him to send Buddy out to go over the tent and surrounding area. He didn’t think there’d be anything to find, but he didn’t want to pass up the chance.

  The next morning Rhodes was very stiff and very sore. Muscles that he hadn’t been aware of in the past now ached and throbbed. Muscles that he had been aware of hurt even more. He sat in his kitchen, drinking a Dr Pepper and thinking dark thoughts. Then he fed Speedo. He hadn’t stopped and bought any dog food the night before, so he opened a can of Vienna sausages.

  Speedo didn’t look too happy about it. “Look, dog, if it’s good enough for me, it’s good enough for you,” Rhodes said. Speedo nosed the lump of sausages around, then gave in and took the whole mass in one bite. He chewed around on it for a minute, swallowed, and then looked expectantly at Rhodes. “That’s it,” Rhodes said. “Behave yourself and I’ll get you something later. Go lie down somewhere.”

  Speedo didn’t move, so Rhodes went back into the house and got dressed.

  On the way to the jail, he stopped at Wal-Mart and bought a fifty-pound sack of Ol’ Roy dog food. “It’s the dry stuff from now on,” he said aloud as he dumped the sack into the back of the pickup with a dull thud. “No more gourmet meals.”

  Hack was waiting eagerly as Rhodes walked into the jail, with a look on his face not unlike the one Speedo had worn earlier.

  Rhodes didn’t say a word. We’ll see how he likes having to drag it out of me, Rhodes thought. Then he immediately relented.

  “What do you want to hear?” he asked.

  “About how you had ‘em buffaloed,” Hack said.

  “About how you had ‘em where you wanted ‘em.”

  “You’ve been talking to Ruth already,” Rhodes said.

  Hack laughed. “Ain’t that girl a scutter? How many shots she get off?”

  “I didn’t count,” Rhodes said honestly.

  “She’s a scutter,” Hack repeated, shaking his head in appreciation. “Why, I bet if she didn’t have to stop and help you up, she’d of rounded up the whole bunch.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Rhodes said. He laughed too, but not for the same reason as Hack. He was laughing because he figured Ruth’s role as “the new deputy” was over. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact there is,” Hack said. “Two guys want to talk to you. They went over to the motel to have breakfast, but they’ll be back pretty quick.”

  “What two guys?”

  “Well, they’re wearin’ navy blue suits and burgundy ties. They got on thin gold watches with gold bands. And they got white shirts and black shoes that lace up and tie.”

  “We all know what that means,” Rhodes said.

  “That’s right,” Hack said. “Either you got business with two bankers from Houston or the federal boys are in town.”

  “How much would you bet that they’re not bankers from Houston?” Rhodes asked.

  “Not a whole hell of a lot,” Hack said.

  “Me either. I guess they didn’t happen to mention what they wanted
?”

  “Sure they did. They wanted to talk to you.”

  “They probably need financial advice,” Rhodes said.

  “Probably,” Hack said. “You goin’ to talk to them?”

  Rhodes went over and sat in his chair that no longer squeaked. “I don’t expect I’ll have too much choice. How long have they been gone?”

  “Long enough to go through the Breakfast Special. They ought to be back before long.”

  “I can wait,” Rhodes said. “Did Buddy come up with anything last night?”

  “Got the tent and a couple of sleepin’ rolls. Not much else. Said he’d go back out today when he could see and take another look.”

  Rhodes didn’t think there would be anything. Rapper and Nellie probably traveled light. He thought about what had happened and what it meant. He didn’t have much doubt about who the third person was. It had to be Wyneva. And it had to have been the third person who hit him in the head. Wyneva again.

  Knowing who, or at least thinking that he knew who, didn’t help Rhodes much with the why. There was obviously something going on, and he even thought that he knew a little about it, but he was missing too much. Maybe when he questioned Jayse and the other man, he’d find out something that would fill in the missing spaces in his thinking. Or maybe the two men in the navy blue suits would help him out. He wasn’t betting too heavily on either pair, however.

  Two men were dead, and Rhodes himself had taken a considerable beating. He didn’t mind the latter too much, or he wouldn’t have minded if it had led to anything on the murders, but he wasn’t making enough progress. He began to get impatient for the blue suits to show up.

  He didn’t have to wait long. They came in the door of the jail, one behind the other, dressed exactly as Hack had described them. One was tall, nearly six feet, and the other was slightly taller, maybe six-two. They had short hair, and their eyes were alert. They said hello to Hack and shook hands with Rhodes.

  “How about that Breakfast Special?” Hack asked, as they sat in the hard wooden chairs.

  “I don’t think I ever saw so much eggs and sausage in one place,” the taller of the men said. His voice was deep and pleasant. He reached inside his jacket and took out his identification. “Roger Malvin,” he said. “DEA. The gentleman with me is Robert Cox.” His accent, obviously acquired in New York, sounded foreign in the jail.

  Cox showed his own ID. “Pleased to meet you, Sheriff,” he said. His accent was softer, nearer to Virginia than Malvin’s.

  “What can I do for you fellas?” Rhodes asked. He always felt his Texas drawl get broader and twangier when he talked to anyone from north of Oklahoma.

  “We understand that you have two prisoners in the hospital,” Malvin said. He was obviously the spokesman. “We would like for you to allow us to question them.”

  Rhodes looked over at Hack, who busied himself with some papers, probably blank, on the radio table. Sometimes Hack talked too much to strangers, even if he was sure they were federal agents. “What is it you want to talk to them about?”

  It was Malvin’s turn to look, and he looked at Cox, who shook his head slightly. “About a man named Buster Cullens,” he said.

  Rhodes thought for a second. He was willing to help the men out, but he wasn’t going to do it for nothing.

  “We could question them without your permission,” Malvin said. “We’re just trying to be cooperative.”

  Rhodes thought Malvin was being a little pushy. “I might have a guard on them,” he said. “He might not let you in.”

  “I could get a court order,” Malvin said, his voice no longer very pleasant.

  “Maybe,” Rhodes said. “Or maybe I know the judge better than you do.”

  “Just a minute,” Cox said mildly. “We don’t have to argue about this. Surely you realize the importance of a federal investigation, Sheriff.”

  “I surely do,” Rhodes said. “But I have my own priorities. These two men are involved in a murder. Maybe in two murders. I haven’t questioned them yet myself.”

  “Of course we would want you to be present during any interrogation,” Cox said.

  Then Rhodes caught on. I must be getting old, he thought, to let them pull the old Mutt and Jeff on me. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’ll let you go over to the hospital with me and be present at my interrogation. How’s that?”

  The men looked at one another.

  “There’s a catch, though,” Rhodes said before they could answer.

  “What’s the catch?” Malvin asked.

  “You tell me what you know about these men, why you want to talk to them, and what you know about Buster Cullens. All of it. Otherwise, you can forget it. Go back to Washington, or wherever it is you come from, and leave the small-town crimes to the small-town boys.”

  Cox laughed. “We didn’t mean to get you so upset, Sheriff. Maybe we’d better start over and see if we can’t get off on a better footing.”

  “That’s all right with me,” Rhodes said.

  “Good,” said Malvin, his voice pleasant once more. “You’re probably not going to like everything we have to say, however.”

  “I haven’t liked much of it so far, anyway,” Rhodes said. “So you might as well give me a try on the rest of it.”

  “Well, it’s this way,” Malvin said. “Cullens was one of ours.”

  Rhodes tried not to let his surprise show, but this was one thing he hadn’t taken into account. Then he realized that this was one of the things that he wasn’t supposed to like. And he didn’t. “You mean you sent a man into my county to do some sort of investigation and you didn’t tell me? That’s a little bit insulting.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be,” Cox said. “We were pretty sure we could trust you. Your record is as clean as any I’ve ever seen. But when it comes to dope, you never know who you can trust.”

  “I figured there was dope mixed up in this,” Rhodes said. “I’m just not sure how.”

  “That’s where we can help you out,” Cox said.

  “Yes,” Malvin said. “Have you ever flown over this county in a helicopter?”

  Rhodes was tempted to say that he flew around in helicopters all the time, but he restrained himself. “No,” he said.

  “Well, we have,” Malvin said. “You’d be surprised what you can see when you do. Later we may give you a little ride.”

  “We got started on this because of some information we picked up from informants in an investigation of Los Muertos,” Cox said. “We’ve learned a lot about them and their sources of dope.”

  “OK,” Rhodes said. “I know that Bert Ramsey had a lot of money that he shouldn’t have had. I’ve got some of it in my safe, and even more of it is tied up in television sets and microwaves. I just don’t see how he was involved with dope, either as a source or as a consumer.”

  “He was growing it,” Malvin said.

  Rhodes was surprised again. “Where?”

  “On his farm,” Cox said.

  Rhodes shook his head. “I’ve been there,” he said. “It’s right on the road. Anybody can see there’s nothing growing there except grass and a few weeds. Besides, it’s been too dry here to grow anything.”

  “That’s why you need a little helicopter ride,” Malvin said. “You know those woods on Ramsey’s place?”

  “Yes,” Rhodes said.

  “They aren’t woods,” Malvin said. “At least not much. Ramsey cleared them out. There’s a row or two of trees, but inside that row there’s a nice field of marijuana, irrigated out of a stock tank.”

  Rhodes knew that it must be true, but it was still hard to believe. “We’ll have to harvest that marijuana and burn it,” he said.

  “Of course,” Cox said. “But there’s another little matter, don’t forget. We’ve got a dead agent to account for.”

  “I think I might be able to help you on that one,” Rhodes said.

  Chapter 14

  Rhodes had never been in a helicopter before. What really am
azed him was the noise. Whenever Malvin had anything to say, he had to put his head right next to Rhodes’s ear and speak very loudly, almost in a shout. Cox had stayed behind. The pilot hadn’t been introduced.

  They had had to drive over to the next county to get the chopper, which was being looked after at the National Guard headquarters there. “It’s not that we didn’t trust you,” Cox said as they drove over in the navy blue car that matched the navy blue suits. “It’s just that we had to be sure. You know how it is. . you find a huge marijuana field growing in a man’s back yard, so to speak, and you have to wonder if he knows something about it.”

  “No,” Rhodes said, “I don’t know.” And it was the truth. Rhodes knew himself, knew that he would never have dreamed of cashing in on something like marijuana, knew that such a thing would have been impossible for him. And nearly anyone who knew him knew that about him. Of course, he would have thought that it would have been impossible for Bert Ramsey to grow and sell dope, too.

  “No hard feelings, I hope,” Cox said. “After Ramsey was killed and you started questioning Cullens, he was convinced you were straight.”

  “Sometimes it’s hard for us to trust anyone,” Malvin said from the back seat. “Sometimes we don’t even trust each other.”

  “Which brings us to Wyneva Greer,” Cox said. He steered the car along at exactly the legal limit. He even wore his seat belt and shoulder harness, as required by law.

  “How does that bring us to her?” Rhodes asked.

  “It’s a matter of trust,” Malvin said. “We sent Cullens up here not long after we made a flyover of the county. He had a good cover. We arranged for him to live in a house on land owned by someone supposed to be his cousin, and anyone checking with the cousin would get the same story. So what was he doing with Wyneva Greer? How come he’s dead?”

  “He was living with Wyneva, that’s for sure,” Rhodes said. “But that’s all that’s sure. Why he was living with her, whether it was his idea or hers, that’s something we’ll have to find out. When I walked into that house, Rapper and his goons were there, and one of them had an axe handle. We’ll know more about that when we hear what killed Cullens.”