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 68

Daryl and I met at UNC when we were studying criminology. I was about a year and a half ahead of him, but we were in some of the same classes together. That's where I learned that we shared time in the Navy as MP's. After that we were Marshals together and worked in cooperation on a number of cases. When I got the job here as chief the first person I thought of to be my second in command was Daryl. His fiancée is Lucy's best friend. They met at Lucy's parents' house where we're going for dinner tonight."

"So you're the chief of police."

"I am now, but I was recently appointed as acting county sheriff and Daryl is the next chief. He deserves it. Nobody works harder or has the confidence of the community more than Daryl." Our conversation ended then as Daryl and Jasmine walked in with her mother, brother, and sister. Pastor Michaels took control once the introductions were done. He showed Daryl and me where to stand and then he showed the two ushers where to place the various guests once they had come up the aisle. Finally, he dealt with Jasmine and her uncle—her father's brother—who would have the honor of walking her up the aisle. After the run-through we drove to what I jokingly referred to as Casa Bascomb with Anthony Michaels and his wife accompanying us.

Dinner went surprisingly well, beginning with drinks on the patio, reminding me of the first time Daryl and Jasmine met. Jonathan and Marylou met us at the door for the introductions. Mr. Evans was clearly impressed to learn that he and his family were being hosted by one of the wealthiest families in the state. Probably more important was the way that the Bascomb's greeted their black guests—the same way that they greeted their daughter and son-in-law.

Ingrid and Martha, the other member of Lucy's staff, had come to help with dinner and serving. I wasn't at all surprised at the meal—a buffet featuring huge slabs of prime rib cut and served by Ingrid, grilled brisket—one of my favorites—Southern fried chicken, and grilled shrimp en brochette—another favorite. I added a baked potato and an ear of fresh corn to my plate. Mr. Evans was just ahead of me on line and, judging by the big pile of food on his plate, he obviously approved. Turning to me he said, "This is some spread."

"Yeah, Jonathan and Marylou host a big party like this almost every Sunday afternoon. This is where Daryl and Jasmine first met."

"How do you know the Pastor?"

"I enlisted his help in integrating the police force more than a year ago then Daryl, Lucy, and I conducted tutoring classes in the church hall to prepare the candidates for the competitive exam. We had ten in the first class and they all passed both parts. They all have jobs on the force now. One of them is Anthony's niece. We didn't do quite as well with the second class, but we still added another six minorities which was a big step forward."

"All black?"

"No, we had two Hispanics in the first class and another in the second. Like many communities in the country, we have a growing Hispanic population so having some Spanish speaking officers is a big help. I speak some Spanish as does Daryl, but neither of us is fluent."

We had left the buffet and were walking slowly toward the tables. "I have to tell you that this is nothing like what I expected."

"I hope that's positive. I was surprised at my first time here, too. I brought my dog. He's a huge German Shepherd and Marylou was totally negative until Lucy told her how Max—that's my dog—had helped take down two armed robbers in the diner where Lucy was working. Well, she was mostly pretending and doing PR work for her family, but she was there and she was in as much danger as everyone else. Now she loves Max as much as Lucy does. Of course, her granddaughter has a lot to do with that." He laughed and we separated. I had just sat down when Marylou walked in with Max and Melody who were laughing as she rode once again on Max's back to Lucy's side.

I gave Melody some tiny pieces of brisket and prime rib and even a piece of the grilled shrimp which, to my surprise, she ate eagerly. The mood at the table was festive with my in-laws and Anthony Michaels and his wife in addition to Jasmine's mother and uncle. Of course, all of the women wanted to hold Melody and they did, but not without her guardian very close by. The party broke up around nine and we all headed home with Daryl's family driving to their motel about twenty miles away—the same motel that I couldn't reach in the horrific storm my first night in Bascomb's Landing.

The wedding was just as perfect as the rehearsal and dinner with clear sunny weather and a light breeze. It was standing room only in the tiny AME church as Jasmine joined Daryl in front of Pastor Michaels. Jasmine was a beautiful bride, but I couldn't take my eyes off my very pregnant wife. She caught me looking at her several times during the short ceremony, smiling broadly in response and mouthing, "I love you," before returning her attention to the ceremony. I produced the rings on time and was the first to applaud when they were announced as husband and wife.

The reception at Desmond's was grand. It was a gift from Jonathan and Marylou and typically, they spared no expense. The cocktail hour was fantastic with loads of hors d'oeuvres—extra large cold boiled shrimp, lobster salad, caviar and cheese on tiny triangles of rye bread, and a huge platter of fresh fruits and vegetables with ranch dipping sauce. There were prime liquors, not that Daryl or I or any of the other city police officers imbibed. We were always on call on weekends so we were always careful about drinking.

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