Behind the Badge Read online

  *****

  Crockett stopped in the kitchen long enough to refill his coffee and grab a couple of cookies then walked down the slope with Dundee and took up position. About ten minutes later, Satin passed by at a stately pace, ignored him completely, and motored off down the lake. Grinning, he walked back to the house to get ready for work.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Work was hectic, if not hazardous. Crockett backed up the guys on three separate crashes, directing traffic around the events. The only injury was minor and didn’t require an ambulance. A small disagreement at The Dew Drop Inn resulted in one belligerent lady being banned from the place for life, a loss of small magnitude, and a dog bite that didn’t break the skin made mediation necessary between two neighbors at the rent controlled housing complex in Sutton.

  The following morning he got up relatively early, fed Nudge, Dundee, and the little ones in the pond, had a quick breakfast, and retrieved the boat, now sporting a fifteen horsepower motor with electric start and lift, from the dealership. Once again Satin assisted in putting it in the water and met him on the dock, this time with a can of gas. Crockett filled the fuel tank, consulted his owner’s manual for the correct procedures, and fired it up. With Satin grinning from the front seat, he backed the thing out, cruised slowly for a few moments to let the new engine warm up, then twisted the throttle on the tiller wide open. The lady in the bow whooped with joy as they approached a blinding twelve miles-per-hour before he had to shut it down because of stick-ups poking through the surface. They continued on, snaking through cover, accelerating on the occasional stretch of clear water, until Crockett noticed they’d actually arrived at what would be Stitch’s stretch of shoreline. Crockett beached the boat, and he and Satin struggled through weeds and brush up the slope to where the house would be.

  The dozer guy was dragging an immense roller around, flattening stones the size of baseballs into the clay, while the Bobcat guy brought crush and run over from the helo area and spread it over a rectangular space, marked on three sides by stakes and strings. They watched for a few minutes until the dozer guy shut down and walked over.

  “That about right for where you want the house?” he asked, nodding toward the rectangle.

  “Looks fine to me,” Crockett said.

  “Good. We’ll git another base layer put in today. Ernie’ll be out this afternoon with his backhoe and Ditch Witch to git the trenches run for the septic, water an’ power and start on the foundation. Weather looks good. We should be able to put in the forms tomorrow and pour on Wednesday. Everthing goes okay, we can top it off with the crush an’ run on Thursday an’ git it all rolled up. That garage building just sets on top and stakes in, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “An’ the storage building will be on skids?”

  “That’s right.”

  “We should be able to tidy up an’ be plumb done with everthing on Friday. I got a couple a fellers that’ll be out on Saturday to fence the septic lagoon. Before we go, we’ll cut ya a nice easy ramp down to the water over by the dam and rock it up for ya.”

  “I appreciate that,” Crockett said. “While the Ditch Witch is here, could you cut a trench for me from the house down to the water? I’ve got a little floating dock out there now, and I’d like to run power to it to make charging batteries a little simpler than carrying them up to the cabin.”

  “Got a boat, did ya?”

  “Uh, two actually. Little ones. We came over in one of them.”

  The dozer guy walked to the edge of the hill and peered toward the lake. “Would you look at that,” he said. “That there is just perfect for this place. I didn’t know they made pontoon boats that little.”

  “Small lake, small boat,” Crockett said.

  “That there is a crappie killer. A fella wouldn’t want anything bigger than that. Be a nice way to git back an’ forth to this place, too. Ain’t that sweet.”

  “Anyway,” Crockett went on, “that and a little electric pedal boat is why I need a trench to the dock.”

  “That ain’t nothin’,” the dozer guy said. “Ernie’s right handy. I’ll git him over to your place this afternoon with whatcha need. He’ll run yer trench, put in yer line, tie it into yer electric, an’ set ya up with a post an’ a weather-tight box right down by the water. It’ll look like somebody intended to do it.”

  Crockett grinned. “I appreciate it,” he said.

  “Doan you worry about a thing. When we’re through, you’ll be glad we was here.” He nodded at Satin. “M’am,” he said, and turned away, walking back to his dozer.

  *****

  That afternoon, as usual, Crockett met Dale Smoot at the diner. They discussed Crockett’s new watercraft, with Dale getting a kick out of the fact that Satin had her own boat. Crockett asked him to ride in the truck for a while. When they got out on the highway and headed east, Smoot cleared his throat.

  “All right, Crockett,” he said. “What are you up to?”

  “I got a feeling, Dale.”

  “Oh, hell.”

  “Something isn’t right about that new club up on Ninety-two.”

  “A feeling, huh?”

  “Yeah. I’m looking into it.”

  “With some a your friends that I don’t want to know what they’re doing?”

  Crockett smiled. “That’s them,” he said.

  “And what they’re doing they are doing in such a way as to not arouse suspicion in this particular area?”

  “Right again,” Crockett replied.

  “You’re not going to get my tit in a wringer are you?”

  “I hope not.”

  “I don’t need a mammogram, Crockett.”

  “I’m bringing in my friend, Stitch.”

  “That beat-to-shit hippie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I talked to him some at the diner after your wedding. He’s strange, but he ain’t stupid.”

  “Stitch is as capable as anybody I’ve ever known,” Crockett said.

  “What are you gonna do with him?”

  “He’s gonna become a regular patron of Buckles and Bows, I think.”

  Smoot smiled. “He’ll stand out like a giraffe in a herd of hogs.”

  “We’ll work on that,” Crockett said. “I want to get him a county commission.”

  “What?”

  “You can do that, can’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, I can do that. But I can’t just pass out commissions to every Tom, Dick, and Hippie that wants one, you know.”

  “You’ve gotta understand Stitch. If he goes in that place for me, especially if he’s officially a cop, he’s on a mission. Stitch takes missions very seriously. It helps his focus. I need him to be focused, Dale. So do you.”

  “Oh, Christ,” Smoot muttered, taking a notepad out of his shirt pocket. “All right,” he said. “But if this bites me in the ass, I’m damn sure gonna tear out a big chunk of yours. What’s his full name?”

  “Martin Carroll Winkler.”

  “No kidding?”

  “No kidding.”

  “This just gets better and better,” Smoot said. “I’ll get the commission put together, but I will not give him a badge, and I will keep the commission locked up in my desk. If he needs it, I’ll get it out. Otherwise, I don’t want him within ten feet of the godammed thing.”

  Crockett grinned. “Thanks, honey,” he said.

  “Honey, my ass. Take me back to the courthouse. You make me nervous.”

  *****

  When Crockett got up the next morning and walked out on the deck with his coffee, he noticed a ribbon of freshly turned earth running from under the east side of his deck, across the narrow side yard, and down toward he pond along the edge of the weedy area he didn’t mow. He followed it to the water and found a cedar post about waist high a few feet up the bank from the end of the dock. When he opened the shielded watertight cover on the front of the grey metal box that was mounted on that post, he discovered two 110 GFI outlets inside.


  Damn. He had power to the boats.

  *****

  It was an easy week. He stopped by Buckles and Bows two or three times, jawed with Phil, got coffee from Shelly, and let things coast. When he returned home on Thursday night, there was a Moto Guzzi parked next to the house, and a Stitch parked at his kitchen counter.

  “Dude!” Stitch said, getting to his feet. “Like, how the fuck are ya an’ shit?”

  “When did you get in?”

  “Ah, around seven. I loafed ridin’ out. Ol’ Satin showed me your dock an’ boats and stuff. Far out. I put my shit in the little crib. I got some stuff for ya from Clete, man. I’m beat, dude. I just been hangin’ on ‘til you got home. I need to go crash.”

  Crockett grinned. “Go crash,” he said. “We can catch up in the morning.”

  “Far out.” Stitch kissed Satin on the cheek, slapped Crockett on the arm, and headed out the door. Nudge followed him into the dark.

  *****

  When Crockett came downstairs the next morning he found Stitch puttering in the kitchen.

  “Mornin’, man,” Stitch said, pouring a cup of coffee. “Cream’s on the counter. The scones’ll be ready in about five.”

  “Scones?”

  “Yeah! I been hangin’ around Goody, dude. That ol’ cat can fuckin’ cook, ya know? I figure if I’m gonna be livin’ out here, man, I can’t just keep spongin’ offa you two dudes for meals an’ shit.”

  “Ah, okay,” Crockett said. “Scones?”

  “Sure. Peach and cinnamon. I, like, made ‘em myself, ya know?”

  *****

  Satin showed up just as the scones came out of the oven. She kissed Crockett on the lips, Stitch on the cheek, took a seat, and looked at the golden goodness before her on the counter.

  “Been spending time with Goody I see,” she said.

  Crockett took his coffee and a scone to the deck.

  *****

  Two hours later, Satin was working in her office while Stitch and Crockett sat in the living room.

  “So,” Stitch said, “you want me to infiltrate behind enema lines, huh?”

  Crockett smiled. “More or less. Very low key. You need to become a fixture at the place. Let everybody get used to you being there. Spend time at the bars. Get to know the bartenders. You know the drill.”

  “Sure. I got that stuff for you from Clete, man. I’ll get it after lunch or somethin’.”

  “Okay. You’re a cop now, Stitch.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a cop. Dale Smoot has a county commission in his office with your name on it.”

  “No shit?”

  “None. You won’t have a badge or anything.”

  “That’s cool. Be a dumbass to carry one anyway, man.”

  “True, but you’re legal.”

  “Far out. Deputy Stitch. Gotta nice ring to it, huh, Crockett?”

  “Lovely.”

  “Ah, can I, like, borrow your bride this afternoon, man?”

  “I guess. Ask her.”

  “I need a ride somewhere. I gotta get a truck, ya know.”

  “A truck?”

  “Yeah. I dig the Guzzi an’ shit, but I need somethin’ to drive. So I thought I’d get a truck.”

  “How you fixed for cash?”

  “No sweat. I just need a ride with a roof an’ shit. Maybe a heater for the winter.”

  Visions of thirty-year-old pickups with bald tires and rusty fenders danced behind Crockett’s eyes. “Okay. You and Satin going truck hunting.”

  “Naw,” Stitch replied. “She can just drop me off somewhere, man. I’ll take it from there.”

  Oh, lord.

  *****

  When Crockett got home that night a massive, four door, Ford F350 super cab pickup with an eight-foot bed crouched beside the guest house like an immense dark blue rhino.

  Damn! The next morning, he mentioned it.

  “Saw your truck last night, Stitch,” Crockett said, taking a seat and a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

  “Yeah. It’s a couple a years old. Got about twenty thousand on it. Some cat and his wife split up. She got the truck, and traded it for one a them go-fast Ford Muskrats, dude. Them real expensive fuckers like that monster depreciate at lightspeed. Didn’t tell the cat my dad owned a couple a dealerships when I was growin’ up. Ain’t a lotta demand for a truck that big. Got it for about twenty grand off list. With that big-ass diesel the gas mileage’ll be for shit, but that fucker’ll haul a house.”

  “It’s a helluva truck, Stitch.”

  “Every possible trick up it’s sleeve, dude. Even got heated seats, climate zones, a Ninety-seven speed transmission, power toilet paper roll, high speed muffler bearings. I named it Kong, man.”

  Crockett laughed. “Seems appropriate,” he said.

  “Satin said that you an’ her was goin’ out to that club tonight.”

  “I guess. She loves to dance. Every time a line dance starts, she hits the floor. Has a ball. We go over and eat there, too. Usually leave around seven.”

  “That’s cool. I’m gonna head into town a little later and pick up some shit. Then I think I’ll crash for a while and just hang out until you guys get, like, home, ya know?”

  *****

  Crockett mowed the yard and sprayed some weeds until the heat forced him inside. Around five he fired up the pontoon boat and motored over to the build site. The bank leading up to where the house would be had been re-done. It now had a shallow ten-foot wide ramp dozed into the hillside, covered in base rock and crush and run. He tied the boat off to a post set into the ground for that purpose, and walked up.

  Everything was ready.

  *****

  When they arrived at Buckles and Bows that evening the parking lot was jammed. Jackie waved them in and moved the traffic cone from the parking space near the fire lane. Phil met them just inside the door and escorted them to the reserved table, probably the only open table in the joint. They were the object of a certain amount of interest, no doubt because of the shooting, and it made both of them a little uneasy.

  “It’ll settle down in a while,” Crockett said. “Besides a purty gal like you oughter be used ta folks peekin’ atcha.”

  Shelly showed up. “Hi, guys. Big burgers, fries and Guinness, right?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Crockett said. “Satin?”

  “Yes, please. Medium rare.”

  “Got it,” Shelly said. “I’ll put your order at the top of the pile.”

  “Thanks, Shelly,” Crockett said. “You gonna be dancing tonight?”

  “Just for you, Officer,” she replied and scooted away.

  “There’s more to that kid than meets the eye,” Satin said.

  “Not a lot more,” Crockett grunted.

  Satin grinned. “Got lust in your heart, Jimmy?”

  “Pedophilia is not numbered among my many faults,” Crockett said.

  Satin’s return comment was muted by the sound system, and she was gone, once again with Clarence Carter in the middle of a massive line dance.

  *****

  A little after ten, as the band began playing a two-step, a voice from behind them spoke up. “Excuse me, M’am. If your fella wouldn’t mind, I’d be proud if you’d give me the pleasure of your company on the dance floor.”

  They turned to see Stitch looking down at them. He held out his hand. Smiling, Satin took it, and they moved to the floor.

  Crockett couldn’t control his grin as he watched the two of them gracefully two-stepping around the place. Stitch’s beard was neatly trimmed to less than an inch, and his hair was pulled back into a tight, foot-long braid. He was wearing a faux suede buckskin colored western shirt, boot-cut Levis, black Justins with a riding heel, a buckstitched belt with a reserved buckle, and a buff-colored Resistol ten X beaver, with a medium crown. He and Satin looked good together, gliding around the floor as if they’d done it for years. When the dance was over, Stitch returned her to the table, held Satin’s chair out for her, thank
ed her and Crockett, and disappeared back into the crowd. She and Crockett looked at each other.

  Satin shook her head. “Stitch,” she said. “Damn.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Satin and Crockett were drinking coffee in the swing the next morning when Stitch, cup in hand, came through the sliding glass doors. His hair was loose to well past his shoulders, and he was wearing the customary blue chambray shirt, blue jeans, and black work boots. He grinned at them and took a bow. Satin laughed.

  “Who are you, and what have you done with my dance partner?” she asked.

  “Kinda a nice club, man. Cute waitresses an’ shit. Pretty good band, chicks dancin’ in cages. This is a rough assignment, Crockett. I don’t know if I can fuckin’ take it, ya know?”

  “Yeah. You looked like you were suffering. Jesus, Stitch, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  “You shoulda seen your face when you looked at me, dude. Take my advice, man. Don’t play poker, ya know? You ain’t got the chops.”

  Crockett grinned. “So,” he said, “you got a plan?”

  “Thought I’d drop by there three or four times in the next five or six days. Let everybody get used to me an’ shit. Start openin’ up a little, spread some cash around for a week or two, then disappear for a few days. Out of town business, doncha see? Then do it all again. Get friendly with the bartenders. Get familiar with the bar flies. Pretty soon I’ll see somethin’, somebody’ll get curious, about who I am an’ what I do. Can’t hurry this kinda shit. It could take weeks, man. Maybe months. What a bummer. Music, booze an’ chicks, dude. Hope I don’t get all depressed an’ shit.”