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 · ファンタジー

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69 Chs

CHAPTER 66

Jonathan, Marylou, and Lucy just looked at me for a few seconds before breaking out in raucous laughter. Lucy stepped forward to hug and kiss me as she told me, "Matt, you worry too much. I think that Daryl can take over as Chief and just leave any campaigning to us. Did you realize that Johnson ran unopposed the last four times? You're even more likely to be unopposed, especially with Daddy's support."

"Well…you and I can talk about it later." And we did—after dinner with the in-laws, after time to play with my daughter and "her" beast, and after making incredible love with my even more incredible wife.

We were in bed with Lucy's head on my chest when I asked her about the offer. "It's a great opportunity and I think that most of us in the city would be disappointed if you didn't take it, especially since there is such a capable person to replace you. I want you to take the job, if you want it, that is."

"I'll take a personal day next week to go up there and check everything out. I'd like to see their budget and how they're staffed. I think I'll tour the jail, too." Lucy must have approved because she moved up to kiss me before lying down and snuggling into my body, her growing belly pressing into my groin.

>>>>>>

I called for an appointment to visit the Sheriff's office, conveniently placed adjacent to the County Jail, which was also under the Sheriff's control. Max and I walked in and were immediately greeted by one of the sergeants. "Welcome, Chief Cahill. I'm Sgt. Mike Burns and I'll gladly serve as your tour guide this morning. Please feel free to ask me anything, Chief."

"Thanks for the greeting, but please call me Matt. How many deputies do you have and how are they scheduled?"

"We have thirty-six men on patrol every shift. They work twelve hour shifts four days a week and then they have three days off so they change the start day of their next shift. There are always eight detectives on duty every shift and we have two teams of crime scene investigators on each shift. The medical examiner also reports to the sheriff. In the jail we have fifty guards/deputies every shift with about three hundred prisoners. All told there are four hundred and twenty-six deputies, including the headquarters personnel. There are twelve sergeants and two remaining lieutenants. We have seven secretaries and a dozen account clerks who work day shift five days a week. That's what they told me on Payroll this morning."

"Know anything about the budget?"

"Not a thing, Chief…er, I mean, Matt. Why don't we start in the business office where they have all of that information?" He led us down the hallway and we turned into a large open-space office with eight women working. There were signs on each desk—Purchasing and Accounts Payable, Benefits, Payroll, Budget, and Maintenance. There were two offices at the rear of the large room where the directors of maintenance and the business office were stationed. I spent about fifteen minutes speaking with the directors and another fifteen with the clerks. They seemed to enjoy their work and they told me how they had developed a backup system so each knew another job so they could cover in time of vacation or illness. The business office was impressive.

From there we walked upstairs to the second floor where the detectives, CSI's, and ranking officers—captains and lieutenants—had their offices. I noticed that most of these offices were empty. When I asked, Sgt. Burns was very forthcoming with his answer. "I assume you know that most of the top officers were big supporters of the sheriff. Not only supporters, but they also aided and abetted if you catch my drift. They were given the option of resigning or being charged so we're short seven of the top officers—one colonel, three captains, and three lieutenants. That leaves us a bit short handed at the moment, but—on the positive side you'll get the chance to pick much of your own team."

"I guess there's no secret why I'm here, then."

"No, and most of us are hoping that you'll take the job. We all know what you did in Bascomb's Landing. Is it true that you're married to Miss Lucille?"

"Yeah, it is so I guess I have a little pull, but that doesn't mean shit when you're on the job." He smiled and nodded his head in agreement. We spent almost three hours reviewing the law enforcement part of the office before we walked to the cafeteria for lunch. I noticed that nobody complained about Max accompanying me.

The kitchen was shared between the Sheriff's Office and the Jail so that was an area of concern until Burns explained the safeguards that were in place. After lunch we moved to the Jail, leaving our weapons in a locker before stepping inside. I may have left my pistol in the locker, but I still had my most important weapon at my side.

I made a point of speaking with a number of the guards, but also with several inmates. For the most part they felt they were fairly treated, but not surprisingly they all felt the food could be better. I had an answer to that, don't commit crimes if you want good food, but I remained silent. We returned to the headquarters and I went to meet with the woman who would be my secretary. For this meeting I told Sgt. Burns returns to his duties. I wanted this conversation to be confidential.

"I'm Matt Cahill," I began by introducing myself.

"I'm the Sheriff's confidential secretary, but I'll tell you whatever you want to know provided you don't go anywhere with the information." I nodded my agreement and she led me into the office before closing the door. "I'm Janet Stoddard, but please call me Janet."

"Okay, Janet, let me begin by telling you my impressions of your former boss. I thought he was a decent lawman, but from what I could see he seemed to be too involved with the politics of the job."

"You're absolutely right. He spent more time politicking than he did on his real job. In that regard he let the ranking officers handle all of the supervisory and investigative responsibilities. I think that's how he got himself into trouble although many of the senior officers also got caught up in politics. That's why most of them are no longer here. None of them had the backbone to stand up to the sheriff and tell him that what he was doing was wrong."

"Well, that's just about the direct opposite of me. I know nothing about running for office and that's the way I plan to keep it. I'll leave the politics to my wife and her father. Tell me about the remaining lieutenants and sergeants. Are they good, bad, in the middle?" That's how we spent the next hour—in honest discourse about the personnel. I felt much better about the position when I walked back to my car for the short trip home.

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