Death Comes Calling (Ranger Book 3)

by Darrell Maloney

  “Go ahead, sir.”

  “What’s your present location?”

  “I’m outside city hall.”

  “Ten four. Report in after you finish your detail.”

  “Will do, sir. I’ll be there in half an hour or so.”

  Randy wasn’t sure why, exactly, the lieutenant would want to see him.

  But being called in to detachment headquarters was the Ranger equivalent to a kid being called to the principal’s office.

  It was almost never a good thing.

  Brandy had dropped the rest of the crew at the agricultural barn along with the wagon and had signed out three horses and gear. To fulfill the promise she’d made to Jacob and Kyle, the four of them rode into the downtown area to a nine story office building once part of a bank complex.

  The building later became the “Omni Tower,” renting office space to various local businesses. At about the same time such businesses started deserting the downtown area in droves, preferring more customer-friendly locations in strip malls around the city.

  The Omni Tower sat vacant for years and deteriorated to the point that city streets had to be closed off. It seemed the building was quite literally falling apart and dropping pieces onto the sidewalk below.

  City leaders finally rescued the building and moved their city hall into it.

  Now it was a nice place once again. But in the wake of the power outage and without working elevators or lights it was once again underutilized.

  City Hall, though, on the first two floors, was still going strong.

  Randy and Brandy took the farmers into the building just as Mayor Tom Haislett was headed out for the day.

  When hearing what the brothers were proposing, the mayor took off his coat, hung up his hat, and asked the men to have a seat and give him more details.

  Chapter 50

  Randy and Brandy, their job finished, were getting ready to trail the extra horses back to their home at the Texas Tech stables.

  “Go find out what your lieutenant wants,” Brandy told him. “I can get the extra horses back.”

  “Nope. I’m your escort. You see, the whole concept of this escort thing is I have to ride with you until I get you and those horses back home again.

  “Emphasis on you and the horses.”

  “Okay. Whatever.”

  Half an hour later Randy walked into the Mahon Federal Building in downtown Lubbock and climbed the stairs to the third floor.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Sit down, Randy,” Lt. Davis said. “I needed to talk to you because Ranger Wise isn’t so wise after all.”

  Randy tried but couldn’t stifle a smile.

  “Yes, sir. I’ve heard that same rumor. What did he do this time?”

  “He forgot prairie dogs still inhabit some of the vacant fields in the city. Went galloping across one this morning. Didn’t see the hole until his horse stepped into it and he went flying.”

  “Is the horse okay?”

  “Hairline fracture. The vet says it’ll heal. He won’t have to be put down, but he’s out of commission for awhile.”

  “How about Wise?”

  “I notice you asked about the horse first.”

  “I figured if Wise was dead or close to it I’d have heard about it by now.”

  “Don’t feel bad. I asked about the horse first myself.

  “Wise hit the ground and rolled a couple of times. He hurt his back. Not too bad, but like the horse he’ll be out of commission for a couple of weeks at least.”

  “And you want me to take over for him on the Cohen case?”

  “Exactly. It was your case to begin with, and I pulled you off because I thought you were too close to it. But now I feel I have no choice. Medley can’t do it on his own, and you’re already up to speed on everything. Want to go back in and help out?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Okay. Meet Medley at his place tomorrow at first light. Do you know where he lives?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “He’ll fill you in on the latest. You’re relieved from escort duty until the case is solved, but you’ll still have to make muster every fifth day.”

  “Yes sir. And Randy… I’m gonna trust you not to go galloping through fields looking for prairie dog holes to step in.”

  “I won’t. I’m smarter than that.”

  “Good boy.”

  “First light” was a relative term. Literally speaking, it meant when the sky started to lighten just before the dawn.

  Many people, though, interpreted it as being the moment the sun first broke the horizon.

  The problem was that a full forty five minutes to an hour separated those two events. So which interpretation was used usually depended on the interpreter and whether or not he was ready to roll out of bed.

  Randy used the literal meaning.

  That mean he had to roll out of bed at four a.m., not an easy task for a man who didn’t make it to bed until almost midnight.

  Still, he wouldn’t complain.

  He wasn’t the type.

  And even if he was, he was back on a case he felt he shouldn’t have been taken off of to begin with.

  The lieutenant was right in thinking he was very close to the case. Tom Cohen was his partner, after all.

  The feelings he’d had right after the shooting that he was somehow responsible were mostly gone now. But he still wished he had been there. There was a chance he’d have been shot dead right alongside his partner and friend.

  But there was also a chance he could have prevented Tom’s death.

  That chance was long gone.

  The east he could do for Tom’s legacy, and for the citizens of Lubbock, was to make sure his killer or killers never killed again.

  Navigating city streets at night was difficult. Especially when the sky was overcast and covered up the stars and the moon.

  But this was Randy’s home. He’d been navigating these streets since he was a youngster, allowed to roam far and wide on his Schwinn. He’d always been a responsible boy and his parents trusted him to stay out of trouble.

  And to stay out until dark, as long as he ate his dinner and did his homework.

  When he was twelve he and best friend Dennis Bryant accepted a dare to ride all the way to the edge of the city, take a photo next to the city limit sign, and then to make it back before sunset.

  Those were the days before camera phones or selfies, and they borrowed someone’s Canon to provide the evidence.

  They didn’t realize until they’d arrived at the destination the battery in the camera was deader than dead.

  That was a Thursday night, and Randy went to school exhausted the following day.

  The friend who’d issued the dare didn’t believe the two had made it. Not even Randy’s reputation as a straight shooter could convince him.

  So Randy and Dennis went home, ate their dinners, did their homework, and set out again on Friday afternoon.

  This time they took twenty seven photos at varying angles and distances.

  Just to be safe.

  The following day Randy slept until the early afternoon. His mother woke him up, thinking he was ill.

  He wasn’t ill, he was exhausted.

  Randy never forgot those days when he wandered freely about his home town. And navigating in the dark was much easier for him than for anyone else he knew.

  He made it to Ranger Medley’s house in south Lubbock just before the sky started to lighten.

  And he knocked on the door.

  Unfortunately, Ranger Medley was one who interpreted “first light” as the moment the sun peeked over the horizon.

  Chapter 51

  “Randy, what the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

  “Lt. Davis said first light,” Randy said with a smile.

  And sure enough, the night sky behind him was just a shade lighter than it was five minutes before.

  Medley was trying hard to force just one eye open. The
other one was pretty much glued shut.

  Randy stifled a laugh.

  “Boy. Women think they look bad first thing in the morning. But they’ve got nothing on you, my friend.”

  “Seriously, Randy. The sun won’t be up for another forty five minutes. Why are you here?”

  “We’ve got trail dust to eat. Miles to ride. Killers to capture. Go get dressed, and I’ll make us some coffee.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Move it, partner. You’ve got the rest of the day to ‘ugh.’”

  “Double ugh.”

  Randy walked past him and stumbled through the darkened house trying to find the kitchen.

  Medley could have given him directions but chose not to.

  Hearing Randy bump into a coffee table and say, “ouch” was joyful revenge for Randy waking him up.

  Medley returned to his bedroom and took a quick shower, then shaved by candle light.

  The shower was made much quicker because it was ice cold.

  It was bad enough now, before the weather turned cold, to stand beneath the cold water each morning. He shuddered to think what it would be like in the dead of winter, when outside temperatures hovered around freezing.

  Randy felt around the kitchen counter until he found the candle he knew just had to be there.

  He took the small Bic lighter from his pocket.

  Randy had never smoked and never had a need for such lighters until the blackout.

  Now the primary means of lighting one’s living space was decorative candles and lighters.

  Both were getting harder to harder to find.

  And no one knew what would replace them after they were all gone.

  He found the coffee pot on the counter and filled it half full of water.

  Then he went on the back porch and threw three charcoal briquettes onto Medley’s barbeque grill.

  Even in the semi-darkness Randy could tell these were the kind of briquettes that had been pretreated with lighter fluid.

  They had a slightly different, slightly greasy feel to them.

  And they were infinitely easier to light.

  Medley didn’t know what time to wake up in the morning.

  But at least he knew which charcoal to use.

  He pulled his lighter out a second time and lit the briquettes, then placed the coffee pot atop them.

  Medley walked up behind him and noted, rather sarcastically, “You’ll make somebody a good little housewife someday, Randy. Not me, but somebody. You can do the dusting and windows if you want.”

  “I’d guess that would be a major undertaking for a Neanderthal like you. Maybe it’s a good thing it’s too dark in here to see the two inches of dust on all your furniture.”

  “Hey. It’s no more than an inch and a half. I wish it was a bit higher so it would cover all the dead rats. It’s hard finding a girlfriend when there’s dead rats all over the house.”

  “No doubt. What do you use to dip your coffee grounds?”

  “Hold on. I’ll get it.”

  He came back out a minute later with what once was a white athletic sock. Now it was a giant coffee bag. The toe was filled with half a cup full Folger’s. The other end was tied in a knot to keep the grounds from falling out.

  The toe of the once-white sock was stained black.

  Randy took it between two fingers and held it out in front of him as though it were one of the dead rats Medley had jokingly talked about.

  He turned up his nose and asked, “How many times have you dipped this sock, partner?”

  “Ever since the blackout began. Why?”

  “Holy cow, dude. At least tell me it was a new cock when you started.”

  “New? No. But I washed it not long before the power went out.”

  “Do you have any more coffee? And maybe a roll of paper towels?”

  “Yeah. Somewhere.”

  He went back inside the house. Randy could hear him rusting around in the semi-darkness. He returned just as the water in the coffee pot started to boil.

  “Watch and learn, my friend. Watch and learn.”

  Randy tore off a square from the roll of paper towels and folded it several times.

  When he was finished the paper contained a pocket, into which he measured out about a tablespoon of dried coffee.

  Then he folded it again until the pocket was sealed.

  When he was finished he held in his hand a homemade coffee bag.

  “Remember this. One tablespoon equals about six cups. More if you like it weak. Less if you like it very strong.

  “Once it starts to get weak, toss it and make another one.

  “You got any cups?

  “Hold on.”

  He came back with a single cup.

  It hadn’t been washed since 1975.

  “Is that the only one you got?”

  “Yeah. But I’m a good host. You can use it first. I’ll wait until you’re done.”

  Randy had been hoping for a good cup of fresh coffee to start his day.

  But it wasn’t meant to be.

  “That’s okay, partner. I think I’d rather have a bottle of water anyway. You got any that’s still sealed?”

  “Yeah. There’s half a case in the fridge.”

  “Why the fridge? It’s no colder there than in the rest of the house.”

  “I know. But that way I know where it is and don’t have to go looking for it in the dark.”

  Randy couldn’t argue with his friend’s logic.

  It wouldn’t have done any good anyway.

  Chapter 52

  “Okay, partner. First of all, how’s Wise?”

  The two were on horseback now, slowly riding down Vicksburg Avenue.

  “He’s okay. The big dummy is lucky he didn’t cripple the horse. If we’d had to put a good mount down because of his carelessness I probably would have put Wise down too.”

  “You’re a saint of a man, Medley. One of the most compassionate I’ve ever met.”

  “he’s okay. He hurt his back. Doc put him on bed rest for two weeks and gave him some ibuprofen.”

  “Ibuprofen? For a back injury?”

  “It’s all he had. He said the druggies broke into the hospital pharmacy a week ago and stole all the good stuff. I guess it’s better than nothing.”

  “I’m glad I’m not in Wise’s shoes.”

  “Hey, the worst part of it is, he won’t be in on the arrest whenever we catch this Joey guy.”

  “Tell me about Joey. How’d you find his name?”

  “Witness. Said he knew him. First name only, though. He guessed at the last name and gave us several possibles, but none of them crossed to our jail database.

  “Of course, it’s possible he’s never been arrested in the county, but not likely. Our witness says he’s been a doper for a very long time, and all dopers are arrested eventually.”

  “So, did he confess to our witness?”

  “No. But he was on Tom Cohen’s horse. Asked the witness if he’d seen a drug dealer named Shiloh.

  “We talked to Shiloh, who said Joey was overdue to pick up a fix. We set up surveillance hoping to nab him, but he never showed.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “I don’t know. Shiloh might have been playing us, but I don’t think so. He knows the sooner we catch the guy the sooner we’ll let him go back to doing business.

  “He could have tipped Joey off, but I doubt that too. For the same reason.”

  “So what’s next?”

  “We’ve got the name of his girlfriend. Rachel. No last name. No surprise there.

  “Anyway, Rachel prostitutes herself at the corner of 50th and Slide. We were gonna go see her yesterday, and Wise went and got himself hurt. So it’s on our agenda for today instead.”

  “Shiloh says yes. But when’s the last time you met a junkie who didn’t have at least a Plan B in case his regular connection got busted?”

  “Not a one. So I guess Rachel’s our best bet.”

 
; “Right now I fear she’s our only bet.”

  When Vicksburg Avenue connected with 50th Street the pair headed west to Slide Road.

  There, just as promised, was a strung-out junkie of twenty two who looked more like forty.

  They could tell even before they asked what her drug of choice was.

  Crystal meth.

  She exhibited the classic tell-tale signs. She was rail thin, her face was covered with sores and she couldn’t stop twitching.

  Several of her teeth were gone.

  If asked how long she’d been awake, she’d probably take great pride in telling them how many days.

  Tweakers wear their exhaustion like a badge of honor, as though staying up for five or six nights at a time is a great feat. That somehow they’ve found a way to conquer mother nature.

  Anyone who hadn’t rotted their brain half away would have identified the mounted men in cowboy hats as law enforcement officers by the time they were within a quarter mile of them.

  Not Rachel. Her mind was simply too far gone.

  These days she cared about one thing and one thing only: getting poison to pump into her veins.

  And she didn’t care to what means she had to go to get there.

  “Hey, how about you guys? Y’all want a date?”

  Medley said, “I’ll tell you what, Rachel. I’ll take that date, and I’ll pay you three times what your normal rate is, if you can tell me what month this is.”

  She didn’t even notice this complete stranger knew her name. And she seemed confused by the simple question.

  Confused enough to want to start over again.

  “Month? Huh? You want a date, mister?”

  Medley climbed down off his pony and tied him to a traffic light pole. Randy followed suit.

  Medley turned to Randy and asked, “You got anything of value, partner?”

  Randy dug into his pocket and pulled out a silver 1922 Peace dollar.

  The serrated edge had been mostly scraped off a week before when he stumbled across an enterprising entrepreneur selling rabbit jerky. Randy could have shot his own rabbit; made his own jerky. But it was the first sign he’d seen of the world finally staring to normalize and he wanted to do his part to encourage it.

  He’d watched as the salesman shaved a bit of silver from Randy’s last silver dollar, then traded him a sandwich bag full of jerky for the shavings.