Lawmen of Rockabye County (Rockabye County Book Two)

by Edson, J. T.

  From all appearances, everything had been going exactly as the hairless man wanted!

  Aided by his amiable behavior and the drastic changes to his appearance, Christopher had been confident he could not be recognized!

  There was, however, one thing which medical science could not alter!

  The body odor!

  What was more, as had been the case the previous evening, excitement and anticipation was causing the aroma given off to be increased in its potency!

  Detecting the body odor of the man who had almost killed its master and itself, the big Rhodesian ridgeback had ruined all Christopher’s suppositions!

  Shock at the realization notwithstanding, the hairless man reacted swiftly!

  Thrusting the artificial appendage into the open mouth of the dog and feeling it gripped, Christopher swung his right arm. Slipping his real and fully operative hand from its covering, he caused Cousin Ian to plunge onwards through the still open door of the office. Relieved of that particular menace, he sent the hand flashing beneath his unbuttoned jacket to where a Colt Cobra .38 Special snub-nosed revolver reposed in a holster clipped inside the waist band of his trousers behind his back. It was a rig which was designed to permit a very rapid withdrawal of the weapon, and he had taught himself to utilize this quality with some competence.

  Seeing what was happening, the combat-trained reflexes of the sheriff directed him to respond by reaching for his belt-holstered revolver!

  Acting upon a similar impulsion, Brad commenced a different style of draw!

  While Christopher was undoubtedly good, he was in contention against a ‘sixteen dollar shooter’; a man who, wearing a different type of holster, was one of the very few capable of bringing out the weapon, firing and hitting a target at about twenty feet in marginally less than a quarter of a second.

  Nor did the Colt Government Model of 1911 automatic pistol being carried in the Hardy-Cooper spring shoulder holster, instead of a specially designed ‘combat’ rig on the belt, reduce the speed with which it could be produced to more than a fractional degree!

  Going into what was once called a ‘gunfighter’s crouch’, the left hand rising to pull open the side of his sports jacket, the blond giant sent the right flashing underneath it. Grasping the butt of the big automatic, he twisted it from the retaining springs of the holster. Turning the weapon forward—forefinger entering the trigger guard and thumb easing down the enlarged manual safety catch after the muzzle no longer pointed where he might be endangered by a premature discharge—the distance being acceptably short, he relied upon instinctive alignment instead of taking aim along the sights, and fired in a quarter of a second from the commencement of the draw. Twice more in very rapid succession the heavy automatic thundered, its cocking slide going back and forward to eject the spent cases and replace them with the next uppermost live round from the magazine.

  Hit in the chest by all three .45 caliber bullets with heads like a truncated cone, the triangular pattern they formed being less than two inches square in tribute to the exceptional ability of the big deputy, the hairless man was thrown backwards. Flying from his hand as he went, the snub-nosed revolver landed unfired by the connecting door to the office of the Watch Commander. Tripping over Cousin Ian as he entered the passage, he was dead before his body struck the floor.

  One thing was certain!

  Anthony ‘Crazy Doc’ Christopher would not have a third opportunity to escape from custody!

  ~*~

  ‘There was something about that hairless cuss which just didn’t sit right with me from the beginning,’ Deputy Sheriff Bradford Counter stated, looking more than a trifle ill-at-ease as he stood under the gaze of his partner, Sheriff Jack Tragg and First Deputy Angus ‘Mac’ McCall in the latter’s office half an hour after the shooting. ‘He was a touch too cool and obliging.’

  As was the case with every fatal shooting, in common with other law enforcement agencies throughout the Free World, the Sheriff’s Office was aware of the need to establish the facts of the incident ready to refute any accusations leveled by the ‘liberal’ organizations. Placed in charge of the investigation, McCall had had everything examined, the relevant details recorded on photographs and statements taken from Brad and Jack. Conducting a thorough inspection of the body, the medical examiner had announced its face and fingertips had been subjected to very competent plastic surgery. Further tests were to be carried out, the main purpose being to restore the original fingerprints and confirm the belief that the dead man was Anthony ‘Crazy Doc’ Christopher.

  With the preliminaries completed, McCall had invited the blond giant, the sheriff and Cord into his office for a discussion. As was always his way, he did not offer any of them chairs to sit upon and they talked standing up.

  ‘He struck me that way, too,’ the older deputy admitted. ‘Fact being, I was figuring on having him checked out all the way to the F.B.I., even before he started suggesting it should be done.’

  ‘I’m sorry I went over your head, Tom,’ Brad apologized. ‘But I couldn’t figure out any way to get you alone to talk it over. He struck me as being smart enough to get suspicious if he was up to something and would go dumb on us. That’s why I made the excuse to leave you and called the Sheriff. When I told him what I thought, he said for us to fetch “Blunkett” in and we’d see what he reckoned.’

  ‘He could have fooled me, the way he looked and was acting,’ Jack admitted, then indicated the big Rhodesian ridgeback lying in the corner of the Watch Commander’s office. ‘But he couldn’t fool that nose of Cousin Ian’s. You did good, Brad.’

  ‘Gracias, sir,’ the blond giant said quietly, but still looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Did you hear about the maiden walking along the street?’ Cord drawled. ‘She met this old bullfrog and it said, “Maiden, I’m not really a frog, I’m a prince who was turned into one by a wicked witch. If you pick me up and kiss me, I’ll turn back to being a prince and marry you”. Well sir, figuring she’d have it made should she do it, she picked up that old frog. But, just before she kissed him, she said, “Hey, hold hard a gol-darned minute. Are you good looking?” and the frog replied, “Lady, if you’d kiss a frog, you should worry about that!”’

  Joining in the laugh, a sensation of relief flooded through Brad. Until then, he had been worried over how his senior and vastly more experienced partner would regard him having taken it upon himself to contact the Sheriff. Aware of Cord’s predilection for expressing satisfaction with the actions of another by telling a joke, he knew no offense had been taken and that all was well between them.

  Case Three – Walt Haddon’s Mistake

  ‘There’s no call for envy, gentlemen,’ Deputy Sheriff Bradford Counter claimed, raising his arms until they were extended horizontally at shoulder height and, despite his well over two hundred pounds of splendidly developed physique, pivoting with almost the grace of a top grade professional fashion model displaying the latest creation from Paris, France. ‘Being among the best-dressed men around runs in my family and I can’t help looking just naturally handsome.’

  ‘Sure and isn’t that the living truth?’ conceded Deputy Sheriff Patrick Rafferty. ‘And won’t you be after looking out for yourself with such a partner at your side, Alice darling?’

  ‘Why that I will, Patrick, me darlin’,’ Woman Deputy Alice Fayde agreed, in a fair imitation of the Irish brogue of the big, burly and jovial looking peace officer. ‘But tis keeping meself true to you I’ll be.’

  The conversation was taking place at shortly after half past seven in the morning at the large, well illuminated, ventilated and air conditioned Deputies’ Squad Room of the Rockabye County Sheriff’s Office.

  On either side of the doorway giving access to the office of the Watch Commander was a large box in which, instead of being displayed on a wall rack, were stored the assault weapons for employment by the deputies. These were a mixture of submachine guns, riot guns and rifles with telescopic sights and there was an adequa
te supply of ammunition for them. In addition, each arms’ chest held a cased Federal No. 135 Emergency Kit, consisting of a 37mm Tear Gas Discharger and a variety of ‘chemical’ missiles to cope with different kinds of situation in which the criminals were beyond the reach of conventional firearms.

  Twelve desks—each equipped with a telephone, typewriter, wire ‘In’, ‘Out’, and ‘Pending’ trays and three chairs—formed two lines across the room. Along the wall facing the office of the Watch Commander stood a row of filing cabinets, the drawers labeled to indicate the nature of the contents. At the right side of the main entrance hung the Bulletin Board, with wanted posters, routine and special orders attached to it. As in the days of the Old West, although now lacking the somewhat chilling instruction ‘Dead or Alive’, the former were still circulated by law enforcement agencies for the information of their fellow peace officers.

  To the left of the double doors, above a small table upon which lay the open ‘Office Day Log’, was the ‘Duty Board’. It bore the names of the Watch Commanders, two female and sixteen male deputy sheriffs written under the Watch to which they respectively belonged. Each name was fitted with a removable board in a slot alongside it, the sides announcing whether the officer was on or off watch and allowing the number available to be seen at a glance. Over the door was the ‘hot shot’ speaker, the inter-office system by which the Bureau of Communications could relay important messages of general interest around the whole of the Department of Public Safety Building when necessary, instead of being compelled to waste time in passing them via individual telephone extensions.

  While his surroundings were not what might be expected by anyone whose opinions had been formed as a result of watching the good old style action-escapism-adventure Western movies, the attire worn by Brad most certainly fitted the conception with a notable exception!

  A low crowned, wide brimmed white Stetson hat, its polished black leather band embossed by silver conchas, sat at the back of the blond giant’s head. Rolled tightly, a scarlet silk bandana knotted about his throat trailed long ends over the front of an open necked buckskin shirt with fringes on the sleeves. His badge of office was pinned to the left side of a black leather vest. While no longer required to act as a repository for small items such as nails when working on foot around a ranch house, the legs of his blue Levi’s trousers had been turned up to form cuffs some three inches in depth. On his feet were yellowish khaki Tony Lama ‘Center Cut Ostrich’ boots of the traditional sharp toed, high heeled ‘cowboy’ style.

  However, Brad’s weapon was a kind never seen in the Old West. Nor had the type of rig in which it was carried. Attached to the right side of his black basket weave patterned Sam Browne waist belt, balancing the spare ammunition and handcuff pouches on the left, was a forward raked and skimpy Bianchi Cooper-Combat holster. Because of its small size, the Colt Government Model of 1911 automatic pistol was given added security from an Elden Carl ‘Safety Fly Off’ strap which was roughly pear shaped and had a long tang, permitting rapid removal in an emergency.

  Nor was Alice any less in keeping with the clothing worn by the blond giant.

  Tilted jauntily, the red head had on a silver gray Resistol Rancher 125 hat with a Luskey Roll crease. Although somewhat shorter, a multi colored silk bandana embellished a similar type of shirt. She too wore her badge upon her brown and white calfskin vest and her Levi’s pants were tucked into the legs of natural beige Larry, Mahan ‘Ladies’ Tall Top’ fashion boots. The garments were sufficiently tight fitting to display, without openly flaunting, her curvaceous body. Encircling her slender waist was a brown floral patterned Sam Browne belt with much the same equipment as that of Brad, except she carried her snub-nosed Colt Cobra .38 Special revolver in a rearwards tilted Bianchi Model 5 B ‘Thumb Snap’ holster which also offered security at no loss of accessibility.

  ‘What I want to know is,’ Deputy Sheriff Thomas Chu announced, glancing at four other Caucasian peace officers who were dressed in the fashion of the Old West. ‘Is how some folk catch all these peachy-keen assignments.’

  ‘We’d ask you to come with us,’ Alice replied. ‘But you don’t see all that many Oriental cowboys.’

  ‘That could be it,’ the Chinese peace officer admitted, grinning broadly. ‘Anyways those of us who aren’t going sure envy you.’

  ‘I know Uncle Tom did,’ the red head declared, also smiling. ‘In fact, he envied us so much he just couldn’t bear to stay around and watch us, so got himself sent out of town until we’re through.’

  ‘Tom Cord always finds there’s something needs doing out of town comes Frontier Week,’ Rafferty pointed out. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t take you along, Brad.’

  ‘He allowed it was only a one man chore taking him to Brownsville,’ the blond giant replied. ‘And, seeing how he out ranks me, I couldn’t argue.’

  ‘There’s some would say it’s a prettier partner you’re having, though,’ the Irish deputy declared. ‘And I’m one of them. Sure and I thought it was only us from the Emerald Isle as had all the luck.’

  ‘Which whatever we have has just run out,’ the blond giant commented, glancing to where First Deputy Angus “Mac” McCall was coming from the Watch Commander’s office. ‘I reckon we’d best be hitting the trail, pardner.’

  ‘We’ll head ’em off at the pass, amigo,’ Alice promised. ‘Let’s go.’

  Although the red head and the blond giant were currently working as a team, Mrs. Brenda Tragg had not achieved her desire to bring them together permanently. As Chu had said, Deputy Sheriff Thomas Cord was absent from Rockabye County on an assignment. The previous evening, Alice and Brad had accompanied Woman Deputy Joan Hilton and Deputy Sheriff Samuel Cuchilo of the other Watch during a check to ensure a visiting carnival was operating honestly. xxxv On their return, they had been informed that they would continue as partners during the remainder of Frontier Week. As they were assigned to cover the Gusher City Police Department Division known as Evans Hill, where the main part of the festivities were taking place, they were dressed in keeping with the spirit of the events being celebrated.

  ‘Make sure you check out the F.B.I.’s “Ten Most Wanted Men” list before you go,’ Rafferty advised, indicating the poster in the center of the board and made more prominent by there being a clear space left around it. ‘Working a Division like Evans Hill, you never know which of them you’ll come across.’

  ~*~

  Previously, crowds had always been of great benefit to Walter Haddon!

  At five foot nine inches, there was nothing spectacular nor likely to attract attention about Haddon’s physical development. His mousey-brown hair was neither too long nor too short and there was a regularity about his clean shaven face which, being neither sufficiently handsome nor ugly, would never warrant anybody taking a second glance at him unless he was doing something spectacular to make himself noticed. Nor could his features and skin pigmentation set him as in all probability belonging to one or another of the ethnic sub-divisions of the Caucasian species of Homo Sapien. Furthermore, except on those rare occasions when he donned a tuxedo, with all its accepted accoutrements, for formal wear—even then, he did not stand out in any way amongst others clad in the same fashion—he never seemed to be too well or too poorly dressed for his surroundings. The clothing he invariably selected would only set him apart from those about him in most exceptional circumstances.

  Therefore, while Haddon would be noticeable in a district occupied solely by blacks, Chinese, ‘Red’ Indians, Hispanics—whether of Mexican or Puerto-Rican origins—or long haired and weirdly clad white ‘hippies’, for example, he possessed a chameleon-like ability to merge into the average background which allowed him to pass through any area having a multi-racial population without his appearance arousing the slightest interest unless his behavior was out of the ordinary. Even in the latter case, his physical presence made so little impact that attempting to give a description of him a short while after the event was extremely difficu
lt and never sufficiently productive for a definite identification to be made from the information supplied.

  Haddon had found his qualities of ‘averageness’ allowed him to spend all of his life since adolescence as a criminal and, with only two comparatively minor lapses, evade the consequences of a career which had grown increasingly violent and vicious. Not for him the more subtle forms of illicit activity—such as the perpetration of confidence tricks, picking pockets, ‘cat’ burglary, opening safes by manipulating the locks with technical knowledge, the skilled use of high explosives, or the brute force of ripping apart the ‘box’ by some means or other—which required intelligence, planning and strategy. A ‘lone hand’, never attaching himself to a gang, or engaging upon any ‘caper’ of such magnitude it aroused the interest of the media, his specialty was armed robberies which never netted large sums of money. However, he carried these out with a frequency induced by a compulsion for gambling in which, as he was uninformed about the mathematics and methods of the games of chance he played, his rare lucky winning streaks were invariably wiped out when his fortunes changed, and the law of averages set in with resumed losses.

  That Haddon had attained the distinction of becoming listed amongst the ‘Ten Most Wanted Men’ by the Federal Bureau of Investigation did not, therefore, arise from his having acquired the status of a master criminal. Rather it had stemmed from the kind of error a more astute criminal in his particular line would have avoided like a plague. A store which he had held up in a small Kansas town, leaving the owner and two customers shot to death and the local ‘constable’ seriously wounded, had also been a post office. To compound his stupidity, or lack of care in selecting victims, he had caused a fire to start which gutted the building and destroyed all the mail therein. By doing so, he had committed a ‘federal’ rather than a municipal offense and this had caused him to come into the province of the excellent, efficient and, despite attempts at smearing its image by ‘liberal’ elements in the media since the late 1970’s, generally incorruptible law enforcement agency.