Behind the Badge Page 11

  “Morning everybody! Have a good night? What’s for breakfast?”

  Satin and Clete nearly fell, Crockett’s groan wafted in from the living room, and Stitch, considering the situation, made a totally reasonable request.

  “Somebody, like, shoot that chick, ya know?”

  *****

  It was a slow morning. The four basket cases sat at the snack bar, leaned on the counter for support, and consumed two pots of coffee as Danni clanked around in the process of preparing bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns.

  “It’s not fair,” Satin said. “She’s got my genes. How come I’m disabled and she’s ready to climb mountains?”

  “Youth,” Clete said. “Once again wasted on a young’un.”

  “Fuck,” Stitch said, his chin slipping off his hand from where it had been propped on his palm. “I ain’t used ta this shit, ya know? Up at Ivy’s, ol’ Goody an’ me might drink a shot a scotch now an’ then, or maybe some, like, sherry or somethin’. Tequila an’ mescal, man? Un-fucking-heard of. Wow. Think I’ll go out on the deck, smoke one, an’ sober up. Jesus.”

  “Breakfast in about twenty minutes, hippie,” Danni said.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Stitch grunted from the doorway. “I’ll be ready.”

  Crockett watched Stitch flop down in the swing and hunch over, fumbling with something in his lap. “What the hell,” he said, and lurched outside. The glare from the early morning sun was horrible.

  “That shit help?” he asked, his head pounding in rhythm to the lights flashing behind his eyes.

  Stitch peered up at him. “Helps me, dude. You never smoked?”

  “Once or twice when I was a kid. Never seemed to accomplish anything.”

  “Ditch weed, man,” Stitch said, finishing a final twist and lick. He struck a match and lighted the reefer, talking tiny inhalations as the flame caught. A pungent odor wafted in Crockett’s direction. “Here,” Stitch said, extending the object of his affliction in Crockett’s direction. “You ain’t used to this shit, man. It’s fuckin’ treacherous. Premo, ya know? Take a little hit, inhale, and hold it in your lungs. Just a little hit, dude, or your socks’ll come out your nose. Whatever you do, man, don’t freakin’ cough.”

  Gingerly, Crockett did as directed. His throat nearly closed from the acrid assault, but he didn’t cough and held the smoke in as required. Satin appeared beside him.

  “Gimme that,” she said.

  Crockett leaned on the railing and looked down toward the pond until the joint reappeared before his face. He took another hit then, a little larger than his first, and nearly coughed, forcing control and fighting against the onslaught. Just as he was beginning to realize how beautiful the distant water was as it flickered up through threes that were considerably greener than he remembered, Clete materialized next to him.

  “When in Rome,” the Texican said.

  In what may or may not have been a few moments, Danni appeared in their midst. “Breakfast is ready,” she said.

  Crockett and the rest ambled inside. The scent of the bacon and eggs was nearly overwhelming as Danni passed each one of them a plate. Crockett accepted his and stared at it for a moment, enjoying the interplay of color and texture. The succulent yellow-gold on white of the eggs, the festive chips of red and green peppers in the O’Brien hashbrowns, the rich and earthy misaligned strips of meat in the bacon, and the sheen of the butter melted onto the pitted surface of the toast were all so clear to him. Quite lovely, actually.

  Danni looked at the group and giggled.

  “I better make some more,” she said. “You guys are totally messed up.”

  *****

  Crockett woke up in his recliner about one that afternoon. Memories of the morning were pretty fuzzy, except that he’d enjoyed the best breakfast he’d ever had in his entire life. Probably the biggest, too. He felt much better.

  *****

  Satin and Danni departed for the apartment in Hartrick around three with Clete, promising to return soon, in their wake. Crockett got off his butt and walked down to the lake accompanied by Dundee, Nudge, and Stitch.

  “This is way cool, dude,” Stitch said, skipping a rock across the water. “I’d love livin’ someplace like this.”

  “Why don’t you?” Crockett asked.

  Stitch thought for a moment. “I dunno, man. Never really thought about it.”

  “Think about it,” Crockett went on. “I know you feel obligated to Ivy right now, and there’s nothing wrong with that. She’s an amazing woman. Very generous and loving. But you’re place there isn’t going to last forever, Stitch. Then what?”

  “Fuck. Who knows?”

  “Maybe I do. Satin and I haven’t discussed it, but I’m sure I can speak for her. I’ve got a hundred and sixty acres here. We could put you a cabin or something back on the other side of the lake. You’d have total privacy, your own road and drive, even a completely different address. We’d be glad to deed forty acres or so to you. It’d be yours. Wouldn’t cost you a cent. This place is totally paid for.”

  “Oh, wow, Crockett! I doan wanna take your land, dude.”

  “You wouldn’t be taking anything. I only got as much as I did because it was available at the time, and because it was enough acreage to keep people out. Always room for friends. We could even clear space for a helo pad if you wanted one.”

  “That is some generous shit, man. I love you guys, ya know. You an’ me an’ Clete, man, we been in country, dude. Dusted off in the nick a time an’ shit. Ol’ Satin hung in there like a champ, too. That means a lot to a cat like me.”

  “I know it does.” Crockett smiled. “Me, too.”

  “The truth is, I ain’t got nothin’ to really do at Ivy’s, except hang out. I mean, she keeps the Bell there, but she don’t never need me to fly her no place. Clete has been liquidatin’ most a her shit anyway. The chick is worth, like, boo-coo billions, man. She keeps me around ‘cause I helped out on some shit, an’ she don’t want me squeakin’ by like I was when you cats found me out in L.A. Now that Goody’s shackin’ there, she’s got the companionship she’s missed for so long. Them two are really cute. An’ she’s got the staff and Cletus. Ol’ Clete’ll tuck her ass in for the big sleep, man, whenever that comes. He ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  “Something to think about, Stitch. Always a place for you here.”

  “Well, I ain’t gittin’ no younger, dude.”

  “None of us are.”

  “I could have a cave kinda like yours, couldn’t I?”

  “You bet. The company that built mine has models from half that size to as big as you can imagine.”

  “Naw. Some little crib, man. Someplace to crash. I am a motherfucker of simple needs, ya know? Couple a rooms an’ a john. I don’t take up much space. By the lake?”

  “Right by it.”

  Stitch brightened. “Wow. I could, like, have a fuckin’ garden, man! Grow beans, an’ onions, an’ tomatoes, an’ herbs an’ shit. Maybe even a little herb an’ shit. Ha!”

  Crockett grinned. “You could do that.”

  Stitch looked at the water and pondered things for a moment before turning back. “Ah, we alone out here, man?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “’Cause I don’t wanna offend your sensibilities, dude.”

  “My sensibilities?”

  “Yeah. I’m gonna hug ya, Crockett,” Stitch said.

  And did.

  *****

  Cletus arrived back at the cabin around six that evening. Stitch wasted no time.

  “Hey, man,” he said, less than thirty seconds after Clete came through the door. “You think ol’ Ivy would freak out or somethin’ if I said I wanted to take off an’ come live out here with Satin an’ Crockett?”

  Clete laughed. “Son,” he said, “I believe Ivy would hand you a helicopter, a big pile of money, and say go ahead on. Just come back and visit now an’ then.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Oh, wow,” Stitc
h said. “Far out.”

  *****

  The next day at noon, everybody was dressed and ready to leave. Clete was in his best suit, as was Crockett. Stitch had on a new pair of jeans, his freshly polished boots, a freshly laundered blue chambray shirt, and his lambskin Levi jacket.

  “We’ll take my car,” Clete said.

  “I better take the truck,” Crockett replied, continuing the living room pacing he’d been involved in since a little after eleven. “Satin and I’ll need some transportation.”

  Clete shot him a look. “We’ll take my car,” he said.

  “Okay, okay. You got the rings?”

  “Yes, I got the damn rings. Same as the last three times you asked me.”

  Stitch grinned. “You’re startin’ to freak, Crockett. You ain’t gonna go incontinent or nothin’ are ya, dude?”

  *****

  They made it to the short ceremony in time. Satin, her hair pulled up in back with a dangling curl in front of each ear and more makeup than Crockett had ever seen her wear, was lovely in a medium green wispy kind of frock that was sedate and sexy at the same time. Everything went well. Stitch was obviously pleased to give the bride away, and Clete delivered the rings exactly on cue.

  When they exited the building, Crockett was surprised to see a slightly stretched black Lincoln Limo idling at the foot of the stairs. Abandoning all hope, Crockett followed Satin inside the car as the chauffer held the door. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Got me,” Satin said.

  The car took a side street, went a block or two, turned again, went another block or two, repeated the performance a few times, and finally pulled into three parking spaces in front of the café. At the direction of the chauffer, Satin and Crockett went inside.

  Clete, Stitch, Danni, Dale Smoot, and over half the county and city cops were waiting for them. The Doobie Brothers “South City Midnight Lady” played on a boom box, crepe paper adorned the light fixtures, and a German chocolate cake about the size of a toaster oven sat on the counter. The celebration began.

  After cheap champagne, the meatloaf special for twenty, various ribald and frightening toasts, and the cutting of the cake, Dale Smoot brought out a beautifully wrapped package, topped with a card signed by all participants including some that couldn’t make it, and presented it to the happy couple. Inside, Satin was choked up to find an obviously heavily used Black and Decker blender with a cracked carafe and a badly frayed cord.

  “We took up a collection,” Smoot said. “Every new married couple needs a useless appliance or two.”

  As the festivities were winding down, Danni approached Crockett, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him on the cheek. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “Would it be okay if I called you Dad?”

  Instantly, Crockett had tears in his eyes. One overflowed and trickled down his face as he looked at her. “Aw, sweetheart,” he said, “I was afraid you’d never ask.”

  Satin caught them, hanging on to each other in a corner. Smiling, she walked over.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Just giving my daughter a hug,” Crockett replied.

  Satin looked at Danni. “Told ya,” she said.

  *****

  The limo delivered them to the cabin, Danni and Stitch drove out an hour or so later and stayed in the guest shack, and Clete spent the night in town at Satin’s old apartment. It was, after all, their wedding night.

  CHAPTER TEN

  A week or so after the wedding Satin, waking up hungry, came downstairs to find Crockett sitting at the snack bar, studying some drawings scattered on the countertop. She kissed his cheek.

  “How come you’re not in bed?” she asked. “It’s nearly two.”

  “Whadaya think of this,” he said, shoving a drawing in front of her.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a design from the company that built this place. They call it a Kentucky Cabin. All on one floor with a regular peaked roofline and a shed roof extension off the front over a ten by thirty-two foot porch. Seven hundred and sixty-eight square feet inside. Living room, galley kitchen, nice-size bedroom, bath with a big tub and shower, walk-in closet, and a small mud room at the back door.”

  Satin poured a cup of coffee and tried to focus. “You moving?” she asked.

  “It’s for Stitch,” Crockett said. “Gas or wood fireplace in the corner, engineered wood floors, sided in metal that’s shaped like logs, with a steel roof that looks like shake shingles. Do the inside in board and batten rough cedar and put up a twelve by sixteen storage shed and a two-car garage that both match the cabin. HVAC on a pad by the back door. Put a drive in on the ridge where I first met the Boggs brothers. There’s enough high ground back there for everything. His cabin would be about a hundred feet upslope from the lake. We could even give him a helo pad if he wanted one. Take out some trees and haul in a bunch of gravel.”

  Satin furrowed her brow and peered at the sketch. “It’s cute,” she said. “Nice size for him, but is this what he’d want?”

  “This is Stitch,” Crockett said. “Christ, he stays in a storage barn at Ivy’s, and she’s got nearly twenty thousand square feet in the house! Stitch doesn’t know what he wants. He was living against the back wall of a Quonset hut when I met him. If we don’t set this up, he’ll be sleeping in an old septic tank.”

  “A man of small desire,” she said. “You’re probably right. Stitch would be the last one to take charge of anything like this. When they asked him what he wanted, he’d say something like, ‘I dunno, man. Someplace to sleep and hang out an’ shit, ya know?’”

  “My point,” Crockett said.

  “Point taken,” Satin replied.

  “Good. I’ll contact the company about the cabin, get a hold of the dozer guy, the foundation contractor, the power company and stuff, and call Lyle Higgenbotham and get started on setting up a deed on some acreage and a home to Martin Carroll Winkler.”

  “How long will it take to build it?”

  “Once the foundation, utilities, septic and stuff are in, only a day or two after it arrives.”

  “After it arrives?””

  “Yeah. They don’t build it here, they build it at their plant. They truck it here.”

  “Truck it?”

  “Yep. Or tow it. It’s a modular home. They set it on the foundation, attach the porch, seal it up, and go away. Two days, max. If everything goes well, Stitch could be here in just a month or two.”

  “That might be nice,” Satin said. “Could be good to have another man around in case you wear out.”

  *****

  Buckles and Bows, the nightclub up by Ninety-two and Gillman Road opened on July 1st. Crockett parked on Ninety-two a couple of hundred yards to the east and watched the place through binoculars. By nine p.m. there were at least two hundred cars and trucks in the lot. The spacious parking area was gravel, well-lighted, and had a security guard in a blue uniform on constant patrol. The diner section remained roughly half full throughout the evening, people and vehicles came and went, country music occasionally wafted his way on the humid breeze, and copy-cat cowboys with backseat cowgirls were in excessive supply. The radio was quiet. Around eleven, Charlie Rogers, also known as Hart-five, eased his car in next to Crockett’s truck and looked up at him.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Drunks oughta start drifting out pretty soon,” Crockett said. “The joint opened at seven. They’ve had plenty of time to drink and get restless. No point in getting extreme. Not much traffic on the road. Unless somebody is seriously fucked up, use your own judgment. Most of the people who drive out of there are gonna be over the legal limit. Hart-six out yet?”

  “Should be,” Charlie replied. “Mills said he’d be on the street by eleven.”

  Crockett picked up his mic.

  “Hart-two to Hart-six?”

  “You got him, Two. Go ahead.”

  “Where are you
?”

  “Three or four miles south of Ninety-two on Gillman, northbound.”

  “Ten-four. Pick a spot a little way west. Five’ll be there to brief you.”

  “’Four. Enroute.”

  “Keep a lid on it, Charlie. Cut ‘em some slack. One bust for DUI and that’s gonna tie up at least one guy, maybe two, for an hour or more. We don’t have the manpower to get froggy, and I don’t want this place to think we’re picking on them. Just another club, just another night. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great. I’ll give ‘em a drive-through now and then. Keep ‘em as honest as I can. Unless somebody’s in the bag, careless and imprudent will work and not take anybody off the street.”

  “Fine by me,” Charlie said. “I’ll go jaw with Six a while then set up back this way.”

  Crockett followed Charlie onto Ninety-two and motored to the club. He turned into the parking lot, pulled the truck over into a fire lane, and picked up the mic again.

  “Two, HQ,” he said.

  “Go ahead, Two”

  “I’ll be out of the truck for a little while in the Buckles and Bow’s parking lot. Just looking around.”

  “Ten four, Two. Five?”

  “Five and Six are close, Headquarters.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Smiling, Crockett got out of the truck, locked it, hung his badge on the outside of his pocket, and began to stroll toward the back of the lot.

  “Sir! Sir!” came a voice from behind him. “Sorry, you can’t park there. You’ll have to move your truck.”