Six Cut Kill Read online

  “Cheese it,” the voice said. “Da cops.”

  He looked to his right to see a woman, not yet forty. She was nearly his height with long dark hair in a ponytail, wearing flip-flops, jean shorts, a yellow t-shirt, a broad-brimmed straw hat, a wide grin, and a startling figure. She squinted at him.

  “You know anything about complicated carpentry?” she asked.

  “I taught Noah everything he needed.”

  “You can stay,” she said. “C’mon back.”

  Crockett watched her disappear toward the rear of the house and set off in pursuit. He found her frowning at a partially assembled Adirondack chair near the edge of a fieldstone patio.

  She looked at him.

  “You tell any of my neighbors I bought this thing at Wally-World, and I’ll have your badge,” she said, sticking out a hand. “Suzanne Squire. Call me Sooze.”

  “Deputy Friendly Goodman,” Crockett said. “Call me Crockett.”

  “Okay, Crockett. You here about Spud?”

  “That your dog?”

  “Yep. Still mostly a pup. Not even a year old. Found the gate closed but unlatched and no Spud when I got up this morning.”

  “He was an outside dog?”

  “In good weather.”

  “Seen any unusual vehicles or people in the area?”

  “No big black limos, no Russian mafia, no guys in striped t-shirts and masks, nothing.”

  Crockett grinned.

  “I know,” Sooze went on, brushing some errant hair back behind her ear, “I’m a smartass. I was worse before the therapy.”

  “Really?” Crockett asked. “Who was your therapist?”

  “Groucho Marx.”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard,” Crockett said.

  “That’s good, Crockett,” Sooze went on. “You’re pretty quick for an old guy. What are you doing carrying a gun and such at your age?”

  “Youth isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  Sooze smiled. “In your case, that may be right. You didn’t answer my question. Why the badge and gun?”

  “Just waiting for Andy to give me my own bullet. What about you, Thelma Lou? What brings you to the big city?”

  “Money. My husband has a significant amount. It was him or the Peace Corps. Took me almost three seconds to make up my mind.”

  “Some decisions are tough,” Crockett said.

  She pointed to Crockett’s left. “I’m ready for a break,” she said. “Grab me a hard lemonade outa that cooler will ya? Get one for yourself. We’ll kick back, and you can tell me your life story while I attempt to resurrect your youth.”

  Crockett opened the cooler, extracted one bottle, and handed it to her.

  “You not drinking?” she asked.

  “No booze on duty. No kick back either.”

  Sooze grinned. “Why Dudley,” she said, “mercy me, you are a straight arrow. You the tough guy I heard about? The one that shot some people and did that big bust at that club.”

  “My evil twin,” Crockett said.

  “Oh! You have his number? I’d like to get in touch with him. Invite him over for a hard lemonade. A man like that might want to find the fountain of youth.”

  Crockett smiled. “Let’s get back to the dog,” he said. “You believe he was stolen?”

  “Sure.”

  “Your husband around?”

  “Hardly ever.”

  “Okay. Well, nice to have met you, Sooze. I gotta be going.”

  “So soon?”

  “Oh yeah,” Crockett replied, looking at the chain link fence surrounding the yard. “I’m really sorry,” he said.

  Sooze shrugged. “Just a dog.”

  Crockett shook his head. “I was talking about your husband,” he said.

  Crockett returned to town around one-thirty and went back to the café for their Saturday open-faced roast beef special. Dale was already in the booth.

  “Your girls called,” he said.

  “What?”

  “The two objects of your investigation. They both called the office.”

  “Oh, hell.”

  “The Squire woman who, I might add, I met this morning and could easily qualify as a dish–”

  “A dish?” Crockett said. “You mean a hot tomato? The bee’s knees perhaps? Cool down, daddy ‘for ya blow your top.”

  “Shut up, Crockett.”

  “Shutting up, sir.”

  “The Squire woman commented that you were very official and polite, and requested that you send your evil twin over tonight after work.”

  “Can’t,” Crockett replied. “He’s in Vegas with Margene Wheeler’s husband.”

  “I wonder what all this might mean?” Smoot said.

  “It means that I declined to have a hard lemonade or two and a kick back with Suzanne Squire for the afternoon.”

  “That was an option?”

  “She thought it was.”

  “You escaped with your virtue I assume?”

  “By the hair on my chinny-chin-chin.”

  “And the Wheeler woman also said you were very official and polite, and that she was sorry Finky tried…”

  “Tinky,” Crockett said.

  “What?”

  “Tinky. Her dog’s name is Tinky.”

  “She was sorry Tinky tried to bite you. She was taking him to the vet this afternoon because he seemed to have broken a tooth.”

  Crockett grinned. “Little shit came at my leg like a shark,” he said. “Bit the wrong one. Strap steel. Left part of his tooth in my pant leg with a little blood. His.”

  “Seems to me,” Smoot said, “that your pants were more or less an issue at both locations.”

  “And yet, I remain pure.”

  “What a man,” Smoot snorted, and reached for his coffee.

  “But I did take your advice,” Crockett said.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yep. I did have on clean underwear.”

  “Alas,” Dale said. “For naught.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Satin was bustling around in the kitchen, wiping counters down and such, when Crockett came downstairs the next morning. He kissed her hello and sat.

  “Whatcha up to, love?” he asked.

  “Just finished cleaning out the fridge, got stuff in the dryer, and I’ve got time to make up some chicken bar-b-que so you can have sandwiches or something for lunch or dinner.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. I start work at noon today. Gotta get familiar with the kids who’ll be there, learn all the procedures, find out where everything is, and get comfortable with the place. You know. It’ll be an early day, though. I should be home by seven, eight at the latest.”

  “Ah, yes. Gainful employment.”

  “You’re not gonna give me shit about this, are you?”

  Crockett smiled. “Not me,” he said. “I started it. I don’t have to work, either. When’s the joint open?”

  “Tuesday, a week from tomorrow. I’ll work Wednesday through Sunday.”

  “Oh, fine! There go our weekends!”

  “You fight crime on weekends.”

  “Oh fine! There go my weekends!”

  Satin smiled. “Life do get tedious, don’t it?” she asked.

  “Summer is nearly upon us. Doubtless I’ll be working more, too. Guess we just won’t see each other ‘til fall.”

  “Guess not.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  Satin rounded the counter. “We’ll just have to take advantage of the time we have,” she said, advancing on him.

  “You don’t have to waste any of it making me something to eat,” Crockett said. “I’m perfectly capable of putting peanut butter on crackers, you know.”

  “You make the bed, Crockett?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Maybe we should go check.”

  Crockett grinned. “I suspect an ulterior motive,” he said.

  Satin took his hand and led him toward the stairs. “You
trained investigators are so suspicious,” she said.

  Two hours later, Crockett was puttering around the kitchen, building a ham sandwich while Nudge lay on the counter and watched. Dundee, ever the opportunist, sat by the fridge and wagged what one might laughingly call a tail. Crockett ate the sandwich standing up at the counter, then tossed Dundee a Frito and gave Nudge a strip of leftover ham. While the dog munched happily away, the piece of ham just disappeared. Crockett looked at the cat.

  “You really should chew your food,” he said. “Digestion begins in the mouth, you know.”

  Nudge lashed his tail and regarded Crockett with a baleful stare.

  “Whatever. Just don’t come crying to me when you can’t get the Pepto bottle open. Not my fault you don’t have thumbs.”

  Dundee crossed to the sliding door and boofed at the cat, asking him to go outside. Nudge eased down onto one of the stools, dropped to the floor, and limped away toward the living room. Crockett let the dog out. Dundee flopped on the deck and stared toward the pond.

  Nudge was slowing down. Crockett had no real idea how old the cat was, but probably in his mid-teens or more. Not that he wasn’t healthy. He got regular checkups, a good diet and all that, but his age, his immense size, and the horrible arrow wound he’d suffered from the Boggs Brothers on the night of Crockett and Satin’s first date had all combined to cut down on his mobility in the last couple of years. His adventures in the wild with Dundee were just too much for him on a daily basis, anymore. Crockett had cut his food back with the decline in activity to keep his weight closer to thirty pounds; and he was doing well, just not as well as Dundee had become accustomed to. Her partner had pulled away a bit, and it vexed her. With Satin’s new job and Crockett’s inevitable increase in warm-weather cop shop responsibilities, both of them would be gone more. Maybe Dundee needed a pal. He opened the sliding door, and the dog raised her head to look at him.

  “Truck,” he said. Dundee vanished.

  Crockett grabbed his wallet, cell phone, keys, cap, and shades, and went out the back door. Dundee was waiting for him on the driver’s side of the Ram.

  Thirty minutes later, Crockett drove up the hill to Dundee’s place of birth and pulled into the driveway at Carter’s Kennels. Sharon Carter, an attractive woman who reminded Crockett a bit of Mazy Watkins, stepped around the corner of the house, waved, and started in his direction. Crockett de-trucked and let Dundee out. When she spotted Sharon, Dundee issued a high-pitched yip and bolted in her direction. Sharon ignored the dog until Dundee settled down, then knelt and began slowly stroking her. Dundee flopped to her side and grinned.

  “A tearful reunion, no doubt,” Crockett said.

  Sharon squinted up at him through the glare of the sun. “She’s done well. You take good care of your animals.”

  “Try to. I don’t want them to turn on me.”

  “What’s this white stripe across her withers?”

  “Arrow wound. Couple a fellas shot her.”

  “I hear it was the Boggs brothers.”

  “It was.”

  “Couple of wastes of oxygen,” Sharon said. “I hear they’re in prison.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “I hear you put ‘em there.”

  “What big ears you have.”

  Sharon smiled and stood up. “I hear they shot your cat, too.”

  “Tore him up pretty good. He mostly recovered. Actually, that’s why I’m here.”

  “For a cat?”

  “For another dog. He and Dundee are great pals, but ol’ Nudge doesn’t get around as well as he used to. Dundee needs a friend.”

  “No doubt about that,” Sharon agreed. “More than most anything, a dog needs other dogs. Whatcha want?”

  “Whatcha got?”

  “Well, since I already unloaded one a my rejects on you, how ‘bout another one?”

  “You got another cross-bred?”

  “Nope. This one’s a full Blue Heeler. Big and muscled now, and he’s only about six months old. Might go sixty pounds or better when he gets all his growth. That’s pretty big for a Cattledog. If I needed a stud, I’d keep him.”

  Crockett grinned. “Your needs are your business. I don’t wanna get personal. I’m a married man.”

  Sharon matched his grin. “I heard that, too. She settle you down at all?”

  “Scares the hell outa me. Won’t let me out after dark.”

  “I hear you do some of your best work after dark.”

  “You hear a lot, doncha?”

  “I hear the mayor doesn’t like you and that the county’s some better since Smoot took you on. I also hear that you’re one tough sonofagun.”

  “Just a rumor I started to instill fear in the peasants. Seems to be working.”

  “This pup could be your match.”

  “If he’s such a good dog, how come you still got him?”

  “Only got one eye.”

  “What?”

  “Got his left eye poked out somehow when he was only about three weeks old. Maybe one of his littermates got him or his momma stepped on him, who knows? Most folks don’t want what they think is a crippled dog. Some faint hearts can’t even look at him.”

  “It bother him?”

  “He doesn’t know he’s lost an eye. Keeps his head on a swivel. Don’t miss more than any other dog. Less than most.”

  “Let’s see him.”

  “You stay here,” Sharon said. “I’ll introduce him to your dog first, then I’ll bring him around to meet you.”

  “Okay.”

  “C’mon, Dundee,” she said, and headed for the kennels at the rear of the house. Dundee bounced up and followed her.

  In about five minutes, Sharon returned alone.

  “My dog defect?” Crockett asked.

  “They’re getting to know each other. Your dog is convincing the male that he’s young and she’s the dominant one. It’s working. She’s already nailed him a time or two.”

  “She bit him?”

  “Dominance bites. More of a punch with teeth than a true bite. They’ll work it out. She’ll show him the rules. When he comes to see you, ignore him. Don’t touch him, don’t talk to him, and don’t even look at him. If there’s something you need to do, I’ll tell you. He’s a strong-willed pup. Gonna be a good dog, but you can’t let him get the jump on you. You’ll have be dominant over him from the very beginning.”

  “I can’t even pet him?”

  “Not when you first meet, and then only as a reward when he does something good.”

  “What’s good?”

  “Like when he approaches you in a calm manner. If you let him know that you’re dominant and he must be submissive from the start and you are consistent, he’ll accept it and you will, too.” She looked past Crockett. “Here they come. Treat your Dundee like you always do. But, don’t pay any attention to him. He’ll sniff you. The nose knows. Just be calm and confident. He’ll get the message.”

  Crockett turned to see Dundee loping in their direction with a Blue Heeler two-thirds her size giving chase. She slammed on the brakes, and the pup blundered into her. Dundee whirled and struck the side of his neck with her open mouth. The pup instantly backed up and turned his face away.

  “Avoidance,” Sharon said. “That’s good. He’s submitting to her. See how his tail is level, and his head is low. No challenge there. She’ll handle him.”

  “You can tell all that just from his posture?”

  “Just gotta know what to look for. Call your dog to you.”

  “Dundee,” Crockett said. “To me, please.”

  Dundee instantly broke off with the male and trotted over.

  “Have a seat,” Crockett went on, and her bottom hit the dirt. The male approached and circled Crockett. Dundee never took her eyes off him. Crockett didn’t look at him at all.

  “Good,” Sharon said. “Now squat down so he can sniff you. No look, no talk, no touch.”

  For the next few moments the dog circled, sniffing Croc
kett from time to time, then finally laid down by Sharon.

  “How we doing?” Crockett asked.

  “Fine. Stand up and call him to you. As long as he stays quiet, you can pet him.”

  Crockett did, and the dog calmly approached. He stroked the pup’s head and chest for a moment.

  “He’s still a little tense,” Sharon said. “Give him a light back rub. He’ll like it.”

  Crockett did as he was told and, in less than a minute, the dog was laying on his side, his eye nearly closed from the sun.

  Sharon grinned. “Great,” she said. “Submission. Keep rubbing him, I’ll be right back.” She turned away toward the house.

  Crockett was petting both dogs when she returned with two leashes. “Snap ‘em up,” she said. “Walk ‘em both down to the road and back a couple of times. If either one of ‘em pulls, snap the leash sideways and relax it. Do not ever pull against a pull unless it’s a very unusual event. You’re the boss. A good boss stays calm and expects everybody to do as he asks. That’s your mindset.”

  For the next fifteen minutes Crockett walked the dogs to the road and back several times. As he approached the house on his last hike, Sharon spoke up.

  “Put ‘em both in the truck and bring me the leashes.”

  Crockett opened the back door on the Ram and both dogs clambered inside. He removed their leashes, shut the door, and walked to where Sharon stood.

  “There ya go,” she said. “You got another dog. Get ‘em some kinda treat on your way home and feed each of them by hand. Don’t let ‘em fuss over the food. You’re the boss. If you act like it and know things will be fine, they probably will.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Dogs have instincts. If you use them to your advantage, there’s not much to controlling your pack. You’ve done a great job with Dundee so I know he’ll be fine. Hell, you even say please.”

  Crockett smiled. “It pays to be polite,” he said. “How much for the dog?”

  “Two hundred, I guess. With the vet work and food, that’s about what I got in him.”