Lawmen of Rockabye County (Rockabye County Book Two)

by Edson, J. T.

  ‘Of course,’ the Sheriff replied, opening the door of the Buick. ‘And I’ll need to know all you can tell me about the layout of your house.’

  A feeling of deep respect welled through the businessman!

  Lacey knew the decision to participate had not been reached through a desire to grab any glory which might accrue from a successful rescue attempt!

  Nor was it made out of a morbid wish to face danger! Although he had not expressed the point, Jack Tragg knew his responsibility to those under his command!

  A lesser man would have explained why he was taking the risk, rather than endangering the life of a subordinate, but such was not the way of the Sheriff of Rockabye County!

  Chapter Three – I Can’t Promise That I Can

  ‘My wife’s been bugging me about taking more exercise,’ remarked Patrolman Joseph Garrity, standing among the trees at the foot of the steep slope and looking upwards. ‘She reckons I’m putting on weight since I’ve been riding a black and white instead of walking a beat.’

  ‘Wives are like that,’ Jack Tragg sympathized with a grin. ‘Well, I’d say you’re going to have plenty of exercise before we get through.’

  ‘That’s for sure,’ the burly black harness bull confirmed wryly, running a big hand across his bare head. ‘Thing being, I reckon I’d be a whole heap happier was I to have taken up jogging.’

  ‘It’s too late to change your mind now,’ the Sheriff of Rockabye County warned. ‘Let’s go before that crapper from the Mirror arrives.’

  On rejoining the assembled peace officers, after having obtained a very thorough description of the building in which the hostages were being held, and having received from its owner an item which might prove of the greatest value, Jack had quickly explained how he intended to handle the situation. As had been the case with Oliver Lacey, probably even more so, the men of the Gusher City Police Department had understood and appreciated his unspoken motivation. With one exception, they had also wondered who would be the second participant in the far from safe scheme. Before Captain Henry Bellamy could volunteer in his capacity of senior municipal officer present and therefore under a similar obligation to that of the Sheriff, Garrity had stepped forward, glancing to where the ambulance was about to carry away Patrolman Herman Klinger—whose wound was serious, but not definitely terminal—and asked if he could go.

  ‘Do you think you can cut it as a peace officer and not just a feller looking to take revenge for a good friend?’ Jack had inquired, wanting to have the Gusher City South Watch Commander co-coordinating matters of Route 228.

  ‘Well no, sir, I can’t promise that I can,’ the black patrolman confessed without any attempt at evasion. ‘Hermie and me have been together for too many watches, and tight ones, to let me treat it like a stranger was shot. But I’d feel a whole heap easier in my mind if I could go back and tell him—and our wives—that I’d helped bring those two hairy bastards in.’

  ‘If you’d given me a straight out, “yes”, I’d be calling for a volunteer,’ Jack had asserted frankly. ‘As it is, providing Captain Bellamy doesn’t object, I’ll be pleased to have you along.’

  ‘I’ve known Joe ever since he was a rookie,’ the Watch Commander had stated, after having studied his subordinate for a moment. ‘And I can’t think of a better man to have backing you, Jack.’

  ‘Then that’s all settled,’ the Sheriff had decided. ‘All right, Joe, this’s how we’ll try to play it.’

  There had not been time for any too lengthy a discussion. Shortly after Jack had given his consent for Garrity to accompany him, the senior of the deputy sheriffs carrying out ‘Operation Gob-Stopper’ had radioed a warning that they had run out of excuses for delaying the reporter from the Gusher City Mirror and an equally ‘liberal’ female newscaster from the local television network was also on her way with a two-man crew. Wanting to avoid them discovering he was already on the scene, the Sheriff had given orders for his Buick sedan to be taken along the road and concealed on the turn off below where it might be seen and arouse the suspicions of the fugitives. Then, having completed the arrangements as far as was possible, he and Garrity had set off together.

  ‘Richard Cleverly, Edward Gierek!’ Detective David Bulpin called over the “Super Hailer” megaphone. Waiting for a few seconds without receiving any reply, he continued to carry out his instructions. ‘Mr. Lacey has told us what you want from us, but there’s nobody down here with the authority to deal with you. We’ve notified the Sheriff and Chief of Police Hagen, but you’ll have to wait it out until one or the other arrives.’

  Having turned their backs on Route 228 while the names of the fugitives were being called, the Sheriff and Garrity delayed no longer in commencing their ascent. They went carefully, testing every hand- and foothold on the steep incline before trusting their respective full weight upon its support. The reasons for the precautions were threefold. Firstly ascending the slope in the darkness would be far from easy and to lose one’s footing could result in an injury. Then, even if it did not injure them, the commotion might be heard by the fugitives. And finally it could alert the ‘liberals’ from the media that action was being taken to rescue the hostages.

  Shortly after the message ended, one of the men in the building answered. Although they could hear his voice, it lacked the volume offered by the megaphone and neither Jack nor the patrolman could make out what was being said. Nor, the going being rendered even more strenuous by the need to avoid making any more noise than was absolutely inescapable, did they offer to discuss what the response from above might have been.

  Despite being aware that his companion was in far better physical shape than had been intimated while they were standing at the edge of the road, the sheriff accepted they would not be able to complete the grueling climb in a single, continuous ascent. Therefore, after they had crossed the narrow access road and reached the point at which the incline became a nearly sheer cliff, they stopped to rest for a while before commencing the most difficult part of the climb.

  From their position, the two peace officers could see the house clearly. It was something over a hundred yards to their right and on the same level. Except for the section of the cliff face over which they would have to make their final approach, the whole area was brilliantly illuminated by the spotlights. Even in the glow of the full moon, this formed a darkish strip in contrast with the glare above and below it. However, they concluded the sight was not fully reassuring as they could still make out various details of the near vertical surface in the darkened area. Each appreciated that, if one or other of the fugitives should glance out of any window on the west side of the building, they were unlikely to escape being noticed.

  ‘How do you feel now, Joe?’ the Sheriff inquired, sotto voce.

  ‘Like I shouldn’t never have gone against the habits of a lifetime by saying I’d volunteer for something,’ Garrity replied, just as quietly. ‘I slipped back there and tore a knee out of my pants.’

  ‘Hard luck,’ Jack drawled, glancing to make sure the patrolman had not also sustained an injury to his leg. ‘Anyways, you can always put in a claim for a replacement due to damage caused in the line of duty and the “Money-Grubbers” might let it through.’

  ‘I noticed how you said, “might” and not “will”,’ the black patrolman commented with a grin, being aware of the thoroughness with which the Bureau of Accounts examined every claim for expenses. Then, throwing a quick look at the hole in the right leg of his dark blue uniform trousers, he gave a shrug and went on, ‘Oh well, happen I do much more of this kind of healthy exercise, they soon wouldn’t have fitted me anyway.’

  ‘I’d sooner not be doing any of this kind of healthy exercise even the once,’ the Sheriff stated. ‘You know something, Joe?’

  ‘Depends what, sir.’

  ‘Now we’re up close, that goddamned cliff doesn’t look any easier to move across than it did from down below.’

  ‘I was wondering whether you would notice that
. Although, was I asked, I’d be inclined to say it looks even harder now we’re up here.’

  ‘I hope that wasn’t intended as a pun?’ Jack asked, having continued to survey the situation whilst the conversation was taking place. Then, becoming more serious, he surmised, ‘It’ll take us way too long to go up and start moving along the face from here. We’ll have to chance doing it from nearer to the house. According to Lacey, the bedrooms are on this side and, seeing there’s only the two of them, with any luck they won’t be keeping a watch from there.’

  Advancing with great caution and constantly scanning the windows of the building for any suggestion that they were being observed, the Sheriff and the patrolman were about forty yards closer before they again came to a halt. This was not caused by the discovery, or possibility, that they had been detected. Instead, at that point, they noticed a rift in the face which appeared to go right to the top of the cliff. As there was otherwise a slightly overhanging ridge along the top, they concluded they had found the one spot at which they might most easily be able to reach the summit. It would, they also realized, be considerably more easy and safe to walk the remaining distance along the top than at ground level, or by sidling to their destination across the face of the cliff.

  On being reached, not without the expenditure of considerable exertion to attain the position as quickly yet silently as possibly, the peace officers found the rift was no more than four feet wide and about thirty-four inches deep. Nevertheless, it presented complete shelter and protection from being seen by the occupants of the building. As the area was beyond the glare thrown by the spotlights, it also reduced the chance of anybody on Route 228 noticing them.

  Unfortunately, the satisfactory state of affairs did not last!

  ‘God damn it, Joe,’ Jack growled, halting after having crawled upwards for some fifteen feet, with his companion following him. ‘I thought things were going just a mite too god-damned easily. You can’t see it from below, but the son-of-a-bitch peters out just before we pass that dad-blasted overhang.’

  ‘There’s some who reckon life’s no fun without a challenge,’ Garrity gritted, having been just as convinced as the Sheriff that they could reach the top by the present means. ‘But I’m not one of them!’

  ‘Or me!’ Jack seconded.

  At that moment, one of the fugitives started yelling! On this occasion, Jack and Garrity had no difficulty in hearing the message!

  ‘It’s been over half an hour, you “mother-something” Fascist pigs! You’ve got just five more minutes before we waste one of these god-damned Chicano tail-peddlers and toss her down there to prove we’re not bluffing!’ Although neither of the radicals realized it, the derogatory way in which the speaker referred to the hostages had been a serious error in tactics!

  ~*~

  Having finally been allowed to pass through the roadblock maintaining ‘Operation Gob-Stopper’, the reporter from the Gusher City Mirror and the female television newscaster were delayed even further before reaching their destination. Acting upon the instructions of the Senior Deputy Sheriff, a couple of Highway Patrol officers on motorcycles—who had been on the way to offer assistance at the incident—had stopped them when they exceeded the speed limit of fifty-five miles per. hour in an attempt to make up for the lost time. Having the kind of nature which resented having its wishes thwarted in the slightest degree, neither was feeling at his or her most amiable when they arrived. However, being of a cautious mould, the newspaperman delayed leaving his car so as to allow the woman to take the lead in lodging the complaints.

  Watching the tall, almost painfully slim, newscaster leap from the front seat of the small truck with her fairly good-looking face and demeanor redolent of self-righteous indignation, Captain Bellamy remembered something Brenda Tragg had said about her after watching one of her virulent tirades against the local law enforcement agencies. ‘Except that she’s nowhere nearly so superlatively brilliant and intelligent as they are always shown to be, she might be a clone of those middle class “liberal”, “Women’s Lib” stereotypes who play the noble Public Defender in practically every television “cop” show.’ He considered the description to be apt. Dressed in a severely masculine fashion, as was mandatory except for the inevitable scene when bedded down with a ‘hero’ of similar political persuasions, her brunette hair was long and straight.

  ‘All right!’ Faith Robertus snarled, stalking forward and thrusting her face very close to that of the Watch Commander. ‘What the “something” hell is coming off?’

  ‘Coming off, ma’am?’ Bellamy asked blandly, controlling his natural revulsion at hearing profanity from a person whose educational standards ought to have rendered the need for it unnecessary.

  ‘You know what I mean!’ the newscaster stated, with truth as she suspected. ‘Why the “something” were we stopped getting here?’

  ‘Stopped, ma’am?’ Bellamy queried. ‘Seems to me like you’re here.’

  ‘Delayed, then!’ Faith corrected, her voice rising and its Mid-West accent becoming more pronounced.

  ‘Just you?’ Bellamy asked, seeming to grow calmer as the wrath of the newscaster increased.

  ‘Y—Well no,’ Faith admitted, making the revision with obvious reluctance. ‘The deputies were stopping everybody, but they wouldn’t let me go through.’

  ‘You mean they wouldn’t let you go through ahead of the folks who were there already and waiting?’

  ‘I showed them my press card—!’ the newscaster asserted, in a manner suggesting such a document invested superior rights and privileges upon the bearer.

  ‘And I reckon they’d’ve been right pleased to honor it, ma’am,’ the Watch Commander interrupted, with such sincerity he might have been speaking the truth on oath. ‘Trouble being, those good taxpaying folks ahead of-you mightn’t’ve taken kindly to you being passed through before them. It could even have struck them as favoritism.’

  ‘That’s not all!’ Faith claimed, her sallow cheeks reddening, but the suggestion of her being suspected of receiving favors from the hated “pigs” was sufficient to prevent her continuing her first line of complaint. ‘Those “mother-some—” made me and my men each read and tell them we understood what was meant by the “disclaimer” they insisted we all sign before they would let us pass.’

  ‘That’s standard procedure, as laid down by the County Commissioners, ma’am,’ Bellamy replied and, despite his best efforts, he could not restrain just a trace of satisfaction from coming into his otherwise impersonal tone. ‘We have to be real sure folks know what’s coming down and don’t lay the blame on us should they or their vehicle get shot up as they pass. It’s bad public relations for us otherwise, if they should be.’

  ‘What’s happening here?’ the newscaster asked, so hurriedly it was obvious she had no desire to go further into the matter under discussion.

  There was a good reason for the reticence being shown by the young woman. She was to blame for that aspect of the delay.

  Some time earlier, after a man had had his car riddled by bullets—fortunately, none of which hit him—while passing a point where police were attempting to dislodge the two criminals shooting from a warehouse, Faith had persuaded him to sue the G.C.P.D. Although he had lost the case when he had admitted ignoring warnings of the danger, the Department of Public Safety had taken precautions against a repetition. At the instigation of Jack Tragg, whenever similar situations arose, people approaching the area were informed of the situation and, if they decided to go on, were required to sign a ‘disclaimer’ statement absolving the authorities of all responsibility for any injury or damage which might occur.

  Not only had the newscaster failed in her attempt to humiliate and discredit the municipal law enforcement agency, she had inadvertently paved the way for her delayed arrival at the scene of the present incident and in the circumstances she could hardly complain.

  ‘One of our House’s black and whites chased a couple of “suspects” from the scene of a d
ouble killing Bellamy began.

  ‘Had they done the killings?’ Faith challenged.

  ‘Well now, I can’t give a definite affirmatory to that,’ the Watch Commander confessed, in a judicial fashion which only just avoided blatant sarcasm. ‘But the Morenos were killed with a heavy caliber automatic pistol and an Armalite carbine, both of which the “suspects” are armed with. We won’t know for sure whether it was them or not until F.I.L. xiii have run a comparison check on bullets from their weapons and those used to kill the Morenos.’

  ‘Morenos?’

  ‘They were the victims and as nice a middle-aged couple of Hispanics as I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.’

  ‘Hispanics?’ the newscaster repeated and her voice had lost some of its suggestion of sympathy for the ‘suspects’.

  ‘Sure,’ Bellamy confirmed, satisfied that the conversation was going the way he wanted. ‘And there’s no way they could have done anything to justify the “suspects” shooting them. I’ve tried to get Papa Moreno to keep a gun on hand, but he wouldn’t.’

  ‘Those god-damned yoyos claim they’re a couple of radical “freedom fighters” and are asking to be flown out of the country to somewhere they’ll be safe from the F.B.I.,’ Oliver Lacey announced, walking forward from where he had been listening to what was said. Ignoring the furious glare directed his way by Bellamy, he went on, ‘There’s one thing I can’t figure out, though. If they are what they claim, why would they ask to be flown to San Salvador?’

  ‘San Salvador?’ Faith asked. ‘But that’s in—!’

  ‘El Salvador,’ said the businessman, completing the unfinished sentence. ‘I know they said Cuba when they called the Mirror and your studio, but as soon as they hung up one of them told the other to yell down and ask for a flight to San Salvador.’

  ‘But why would they want to go there!’ the newscaster demanded, being aware that—although left wing ‘freedom fighters’ were operating a terrorist campaign there—the Government of El Salvador would not offer sanctuary to the ‘suspects’ if they were of such political persuasions.