Cahill

I could hear the din from the bar as I exited my SUV and I was still almost a block away. What a shame! I knew from long experience that would change as soon as my foot crossed the threshold. I tend to have that effect on people. I’m six feet six inches tall and I weigh an even 250 pounds—all of it broad shouldered muscle. My Body Mass Index at my last physical was less than four percent. My light brown hair is styled exactly the way it’s been for the past fifteen years—ever since I first joined the Navy. Sure enough, no sooner had I taken my first step into the bar than the noise died. When I turned left and stepped up to the bar the people there couldn’t back away fast enough. I took a stool in the middle of the empty space and sat down, waiting for the bartender to approach. “I’m not looking for any trouble.” “Good…neither am I. Give me a ginger ale.” He reached under the bar for a glass and some ice. Twenty seconds later he slid the glass in my direction. I pulled a fiver from my pocket and dropped it on the bar. He ignored it and walked away to draw a few beers and pour some wine. It looked to me like this was a pretty cheap crowd. Checking up and down the bar all I could see were longnecks and drafts. I reached into the lower left pocket of my cargo pants. Like almost everything else I was wearing they were a true deep navy blue. My heavy shoes were black as was my wide belt. My belt said as much about me as the bold white lettering across my chest. Just below the American flag over my heart were the letters that were my life—U. S. MARSHAL. On my right hip was my nickel plated .44 Magnum Colt Python, just behind two speed loaders in addition to the twenty-four rounds on the belt. On my left hip was my ASP Talon baton—every bit as deadly a weapon in my hands as the revolver. A pouch at the back of my right hip held my stainless steel handcuffs and its partner on the opposite side held my radio—my link to my backup team. I placed the photo flat on the bar as the bartender returned to me. “I’ll have another,” I said in a loud voice, continuing so I wouldn’t be overheard. “Don’t pick it up and don’t make a production of looking at it. I’ve been told that he comes here a lot. Is he here tonight? If he is and he escapes because you’ve given me away I’ll see to it that you’re arrested for obstruction of justice.” He gulped a few times but did as he was told, nodding slightly in response. I continued almost at a whisper. “If my nose is pointing to twelve o’clock, my right ear to three, the back of my head to six, and my left ear to nine, tell me where he is. Again, don’t point or do anything obvious and we’ll be fine.” He pretended to wipe the bar as he whispered, “About 4:30 with his back to you.” I picked up the reflection in the mirror then asked, “Red shirt with black and white stripes, looking away from me?” He nodded again. Now, in my normal tone of voice I asked, “Where’s the men’s room?”

Fredrick_Udele · Fantasie

Zu wenig Bewertungen

69 Chs

CHAPTER 12

I was clean shaven with a double dose of anti-perspirant in my pits and a new shirt with my wheat-colored linen slacks. I wore my shirt out so I could tuck my CZ into a holster in the small of my back. I had brushed Max before showering so the two of us looked really spiffy when we walked to my Explorer.

"Lucy, I have a feeling that you don't drive an old clunker like you told me that first rainy night."

"Umm…no, I don't. I have a Mercedes AMG convertible. It was in the shop that day and I had a loaner I didn't know anything about. I really was stranded there. Sorry; I won't fib to you ever again. I promise." She put her hand in mine and squeezed. Somehow, over the past ten days Lucy had become much better looking—either that or she was taking much better care of herself.

Lucy gave me directions and I turned left onto a private road that I had passed several times during my explorations. It was long and winding, more than a mile in length and we'd gone more than halfway before we saw a house off to the right and roughly a hundred feet from the street—Lucy's house. It was big—no, it was imposing—with a huge front lawn that looked to be perfect for lawn bowling or tennis. It was perfectly flat and level and I couldn't find even a single weed as I slowly drove past.

"How big is that house, Lucy?"

"Well, it has a big living room, a bigger family room, library, and dining room in addition to an eat-in kitchen. There are two powder rooms—one in the front of the house and one at the rear and there's a big screened porch in the back that leads to a broad patio and pool. Upstairs there are six bedrooms and five full baths. I also have a three-car garage."

"And working in the diner?"

"Um…I don't really do anything much there other than say hello and talk to friends of my family."

I laughed. That explained a lot—like why she could skip out on work whenever she wanted, not that I was complaining. A minute later I drove up a long brick driveway that turned into a broad curve in front of the house. It was even bigger than Lucy's. She showed me where to park then I opened the doors for her and Max. He walked in at heel to Lucy's left.

We were in a big vestibule—big enough to hold a grand piano where we were greeted by an older black man in a black suit and tie. I assumed correctly that he was the butler. "Samuel, this is Marshal Cahill and this is his dog, Max."

"Welcome, Marshal, Miss Lucille. Your parents are on the patio, Miss." He stepped aside and left us to greet another couple. Lucy took my hand and led Max and me to the rear of the house. I could have picked out her father even without Lucy as my guide. He was holding court and smugly stating his views on some hot controversy to the avid audience. He was tall with silver hair and he was wearing one of those shirts that are made to be worn untucked. Mine wasn't tucked in either, but that was to hide my pistol.

Lucy led me over to meet her father. "Daddy, this is Marshal Matt Cahill. Matt, my father, Jonathan Bascomb." We shook hands and he tried to squeeze my hand—an obvious attempt at dominance, but a failed one. Anyone else, I might have broken the bones in his hand, but I'd be asking this man an important question later so I wanted to stay on his good side.

"I always appreciate a firm handshake, Sir; a pleasure to meet you."

"I've heard good things about you, Marshal. I especially appreciate the way you apprehended those criminals Friday afternoon and I assume this is your dog. Max, isn't it?"

"Yes, this is Max, but don't try to pet him unless I give him the okay."

"Really? Is he that dangerous?"

"He can be and he will if he sees someone threatening either Lucy or me."

"Lucy? I think you mean Lucille."

"I've always called her Lucy and she has never objected. When she does I'll call her something else…whatever she wants."

"It sounds like you plan on sticking around, Marshal."

I had to laugh. "I've heard you have an excellent network of informants so I'm sure you know that I've been offered the position of chief of police. I'm also sure you know that the official appointment will be Tuesday evening, so—yes—I am thinking of sticking around, probably for a long time. Meanwhile, why don't you call me Matt?"

Now it was his turn to chuckle. "I like a man who's direct, Matt. Come with me and I'll introduce you to Lucille's mother." I walked with him to a group of women and, again, I was sure which one was his wife before the introduction. She looked almost identical to Lucy, except a trifle heavier.

"My dear," my future father-in-law began, "I'd like you to meet Matt Cahill…Marshal Cahill and this huge beast is his dog, Max."

"I'm surprised, Mr. Cahill, that you would bring an animal to such a gathering," she said indignantly.

"I also took him into the diner all week and it was because of him that we apprehended two armed robbers and ensured the safety of almost forty people, including your daughter. Besides, Lucy told me to bring him."

"Lucy? Lucy? Why would you take such liberties with my daughter?" I was serious on the outside, but inside I was laughing my ass off. I wondered what she would think of the liberties I had actually taken with Lucy.

"I have always called her Lucy, Mrs. Bascomb, and not only has she never objected, but she encouraged the familiarity."

I might have continued, but Lucy stepped between us to intervene. "Really, Mother—what a stupid thing to argue about. Matt is right. I encouraged him to call me Lucy and I told him to bring Max. I think you'll find him better behaved than many of your other guests. However, we'll leave if you would prefer."

"Well…I wouldn't want you to leave, darling."

"Matt brought me so I'll be leaving with him." From the expression on her mother's face I gathered that she wasn't accustomed to having Lucy—or anyone else—speak that way to her. Fortunately, her father intervened to say that we were welcome and that he hoped we would enjoy our afternoon. Lucy took my hand and walked me to the bar.

I ordered a Coke with a lot of ice and Lucy asked for an iced tea. She then spoke quietly to the bartender who left, returning a minute later with a large bowl of water for Max. I placed it at the edge of the patio where it wouldn't be in anyone's way. Then Lucy took my hand again and we mingled, speaking with several members of the city council and a few folks I recognized from the diner. Apparently, my appointment as chief of police was an open secret. The council had met in what is known as an "executive session" which is supposed to be private and confidential. Executive session is usually reserved for personnel and legal issues or negotiations with labor unions, few of which exist in the southern states.

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