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 13

The household staff served as waiters and waitresses, bringing boiled shrimp and little pieces of toast with brie and caviar, among other offerings. This was the most extravagant barbeque I'd ever been a part of. Several times someone dropped a canapé and jumped back expecting to see Max run over them to get a free snack. I hoped they weren't too disappointed because he completely ignored them. Lucy rewarded him by holding several fried scallops out for him to sample. He looked at me for approval then lapped his treat off Lucy's hand once I had nodded. She further rewarded him then with a hug that Max obviously enjoyed. His tail wagged wildly for several minutes while Lucy petted him and scratched his ears.

That was when a woman asked, "Isn't that a dangerous dog? I can't believe you would have anything to do with such a beast."

Lucy looked up and replied, "He can be dangerous, but I've seen kids play with him for an hour or more and I know he'd never hurt me." As if to prove her point Max licked Lucy's face as she grinned and laughed, hugging Max even tighter. I put an end to it by helping Lucy to her feet and telling Max to heel. It was time to eat.

Lucy and I went in to use the bathroom while Max stood guard. I washed Lucy's face then she reached up to give me a big wet kiss. "I knew you wouldn't take my parents' shit, Matt. They can be such jerks sometimes."

"They're parents; it's to be expected. Think I should tell your father that his bartender is stealing from him?"

"Huh? What? How?"

"Your father obviously buys excellent quality booze, but the bartender is substituting cheap stuff. I saw him pouring Ardbeg—a cheap scotch—into a bottle with a Johnny Walker Blue label. I'll bet he sells the good stuff to friends. I won't do anything now during dinner, but I think your dad and I will have to check it out once we're done."

"Damn, Matt, you're so smart." Then she kissed me again and we walked out, startling an elderly woman as we passed her en route to the patio for dinner. I held Lucy's chair for her then sat next to her, narrowly beating another man I'd seen talking with Mrs. Bascomb earlier. I wondered what that was about.

First course was a salad served family style with lots of tomatoes and green pepper in a vinaigrette dressing. I picked up the bowl, but rather than helping myself to a hearty portion I passed it to a woman to my right. I offered to toss it and serve her and she graciously accepted. Lucy introduced me and we had an interesting discussion about law enforcement. Mostly they wanted to know how I knew the two at the diner were robbers.

I explained that a lot of police work depended on one's ability to observe people. "For example, Bill, I noticed that you have a limp in your left leg. You try to hide it and you do a good job, but to someone who is a trained observer it's extremely obvious. I also noticed earlier, Jane, that you're left-handed, but you have trouble with your pinky, probably a problem with the nerves in your arm."

"What did you notice about me, Marshal?"

"Well, one of your shoes has a thicker sole and heel than the other. I suspect that you either had a birth defect or an injury that impacted the length of your left leg."

"My God! I think we have Sherlock Holmes at the table. You're absolutely right. I was in an automobile accident when I was six and my leg was broken in three places. It's now an inch shorter than the other. I doubt that anyone else ever noticed."

"Well, I'm married to Adam and it was more than a year before I noticed. You're quite extraordinary, Marshal. Or should we call you, Matt? I've heard some rumors you're going to be our new chief of police."

"I can't comment one way or another, May." I saw that Lucy was going to comment, but my hand on her leg told her not to say a word.

"I do have to say, Matt, that your dog is extremely well behaved. I wouldn't even know he was here if I didn't see him. Is it okay to pet him?"

"Not now--if you don't mind--and don't try unless I'm with you. I had to hold Lucy's hand the first time she got into my car. Max is extremely protective of me and now Lucy. Unlike me, he's always on duty." I received the salad bowl from Lucy and finally scooped a large portion into my bowl. It was as good as I had expected with fresh crisp vegetables and the dressing was just perfect in my opinion.

Dinner consisted of pulled pork and ribs along with a variety of fresh vegetables and baked potatoes. I noticed immediately that they had been cooked in salt. I'd always found that to be an excellent method because I enjoy eating the skin even more than the flesh of the tuber. I was also pleased to see a variety of barbeque sauces on the table. Lucy picked a mild sweet sauce, but I picked the hottest available. It was great on the tender pulled pork and even better on the baby back ribs. For my vegetables I took an ear of fresh corn and several grilled tomatoes.

Discussion continued during dinner and I found myself enjoying the company of the people at our table. Not surprisingly, Max sat behind Lucy, looking left and right to ensure our safety. Looking across the patio I noticed the man who had tried to usurp my seat engaged in a long whispering conversation with Lucy's mother. I had a feeling that there would be a confrontation with him before I took Lucy back to the trailer—oops, mobile home.

Dessert was ice cream, almost a tradition at barbeques my aunt and uncle held with homemade pie running a close second. I asked for chocolate and strawberry and received a scoop of each. Once I was done I excused myself and went to speak with Lucy's father. "May I have a word, Jonathan?"

"Of course, Matt," he replied, standing as he excused himself from the table. He had taken two steps away when I spoke next.

"I was wondering if you wanted to know that your bartender is stealing from you."

"How? There's no money involved, not even tips."

"That much is true, but I'm sure you buy top shelf liquors and he's pouring them into empty bottles and substituting cheap stuff. I'd bet he later sells the good stuff to friends at a discount. It's a good way to make a few hundred bucks on every job and it's hard to get caught."

"How did you catch him?"

"I've seen this scam before, but usually on a grander scale. Shall we take a look behind the bar? I think we'll find a bunch of empty bottles and a funnel or two in addition to the cheap stuff you're actually drinking." I signaled Max and he trotted to my side.

"Excuse us," I said to the bartender. "We just want to take a peek behind the bar."

"I don't think you should, sir. I doubt the homeowner would approve."

"Well," Jonathan began, "I'm the homeowner and the one who's paying you so I suggest you step aside."

The guy's nervousness gave him away and I thought he might try to run. "You can run, but do you really think you can outrun my dog? Keep in mind that he'll stop you by biting your leg first and then your neck. Right, Max?" His low, barely audible growl settled the issue.

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