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 18

I was back in the booth with Lucy and Max when a man in a white outfit and apron approached. After saying hello to "Miss Lucille" he introduced himself to me. "I'm Nick Petrose, Mr. Cahill. I'm the owner here. Thanks for speaking up. It's the first time I've ever gotten a penny out of that bum. Unfortunately, I can't throw him out because of his father's influence."

"Well, that might change soon. What I'd like you to do is keep a record of what he orders, but doesn't pay for. You can use one of the order sheets and a tape from the cash register stapled together. Have the waitress sign and date them. I believe I can make a good case for theft of services. That's a misdemeanor for small amounts, but if it gets over a thousand dollars it will be a felony. Just hold onto them until I ask. Can you do that?"

"I sure as hell can, Mr. Cahill. I think a lot of us are thrilled that you're going to be chief of police here. Haynes and a few others have gotten away with too much for too long." The conversation would have continued had our breakfast not been delivered a moment later. We attacked our omelets—bacon and cheese for me and a western for Lucy, complete with three pancakes, each.

I was going to drop Lucy off with her mom and then they were on their way into Memphis to shop for a wedding dress. I had learned that they were Methodists and that the church would be available whenever they wanted it. I guess that's what happens when you build the church and contribute thousands every year. I had no idea what was available for a reception, but I was sure that it would have to be big. Jonathan Bascomb had hundreds of business associates as well as a fairly large family according to Lucy. I even had a few relatives and friends I wanted to invite.

I was also driving to Memphis, but going separately because I had semi-official business to conduct and I had no idea how long it would take. My only concern was to be back in Bascomb's Creek by 5:30 so we could go out for dinner before a brief executive session with the City Council prior to their official meeting.

Max and I arrived in Memphis just before ten and I stopped at a gas station to ask for directions to police headquarters. The attendant took one look at me in my uniform and another at Max before stuttering out an explanation I was barely able to follow. I did find the building, but only after asking for directions again. I parked in the restricted lot, placing a placard saying –U.S. MARSHAL on the top line and OFFICIAL BUSINESS on the bottom. Locking the doors, I led Max up the steps and through the entrance.

Of course, I was challenged immediately by an officer at the information desk. "You can't bring that animal in here, Marshal."

"Okay, if you can get him to leave that'll be fine." He was barely out from behind the desk when Max growled and bared his fangs. The sergeant was back behind the desk in a flash.

"Just tell me how to get to Paul McCormick's office."

"Do you have an appointment? I don't see you on my list."

"Don't worry about that. Paul will see me. I saved his life twice when he was a Marshal, besides—it's official business." He pointed me to the elevator and I got off at the fifth floor, turning right and walking through the double glass doors.

I was met by a receptionist and I could see that the door to Paul's office was open so I said in an extremely loud voice, "Tell that big jerk Paul McCormick to get off his fat butt and get you women some pastries to go with your coffee."

As I expected, Paul came to his door and laughed. "I'll have you know that I took the entire group out for lunch just last week. Jeez, but you're even uglier than you were the last time I saw you. C'mon in, Matt. Hi there, Max." Max loved Paul from the days when we were partners so he jumped the little railing and ran to be petted by Paul. I shook his hand and we hugged then he escorted us into the office.

"It might be a good idea to close the door, Paul." I spoke again once we had privacy. I explained about the Bascomb family barbeque and the theft I had uncovered.

"That's pretty high society up that way, Matt. How'd you ever wrangle an invitation to something like that?"

"I proposed to their daughter and she accepted."

A huge grin came to my buddy's face. "You lucky S-O-B, you. Even here in Memphis the Bascombs are big time. They are one of the biggest businesses in the state. How on earth did you manage that?"

"Basically, I got lost in the rain about two weeks ago and she opened the diner where she was to give me a snack and a Coke. Then she took me to a mobile home so I'd have a place to stay. I wound up sleeping in the same bed with her, but nothing happened. I thought at the time that she was the owner of the diner, nothing more. A couple of days later I told her that I really liked her, but it was too soon to say it was love. Then a couple of days after that I realized that I was wrong. I was in love with her and, better still, she told me that she was in love with me. That's when I found out who she was, but that's not why I came to see you. I'll be appointed as Chief of Police there tonight and I have a problem I'm going to need some help with. I'm hoping you can point me in the right direction."

I explained about the theft of liquor and the bartender's comments. "I've also seen this cop eat food at a coffee shop and leave without paying. My guess is that it comes to a couple hundred bucks a month, at least. I have a feeling that's just the tip of the iceberg. If there's drugs involved I want it shut down and I want those responsible in prison."

"You could go to the County Attorney, but I think the State Attorney here in Memphis would be a better choice." I agreed and five minutes later we had a lunch date with Julia Adams of the State Attorney's staff. "She's the best criminal prosecutor on the staff. You'll see. Other than that, what do you see as their biggest problems?"

"Well…to begin with almost half the town is black and guess how many black officers I'll have?"

"None?"

"That's what they have now, but after tonight there will be one. We're hiring Daryl Evans as a lieutenant. I need someone I know I can trust."

"Good choice; I was thinking about him for the department here."

"I'm also setting up the same performance standards as the Marshal's Service. Lucy is on the City Council and she's cleared the way. I anticipate that we'll be looking for at least eight new officers…maybe more and I know where to find a lot of them."

"Good thinking; sounds like you're going to hit the ground running." We laughed and then laid our plans for our meeting at lunch. That went very well. Julia Adams was a woman in her late forties and I could tell from her questions and responses to mine that she was tough as nails. She had some great ideas, beginning with a thorough interrogation of the bartender Perkins and from that perhaps a search of his dorm room to find the drugs he claimed his roommate had there. If the search was successful she would try to flip the roommate and possibly others. She had told me that I had made her day. She was looking forward to a big case and one about police corruption would be one of the biggest. Lucy had given me additional food for thought. Jeremy Haynes at age 31 still lived with his parents. Did that mean that his father knew about his allegedly illegal activities or was actually involved? I had a feeling we'd know in a month or less.

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