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 · Fantasia

Classificações insuficientes

69 Chs

CHAPTER 3

I had just taken my seat and removed the parka when I asked, "Okay, where do we go?" She pointed me to the left—the direction I was headed in when I stopped for my snack. The heavy rain forced me to go slowly through the dark streets. I did see a sign that said "Welcome to Bascomb's Landing—Population 27,606. I could barely see the large puddle Lucy had warned me about. "Any idea how deep this is going to be?"

"Last big storm it was about seven inches…too much for my car." I drove slowly, barely creating a wave as we passed through. Once on the other side she directed me through a series of turns until we turned off in front of a single-wide mobile home that looked like it had seen better days. Lucy must have read my mind because she immediately told me that it was much nicer in the daylight. Once I was dressed again for the weather I stepped out, opening the back door for Max. He followed Lucy to the door while I retrieved my bag from the back, slinging my two gun bags over my shoulder and grabbing Max's bowls and a ten-pound bag of dog chow in my one free hand. I joined Lucy and Max less than a minute later.

Lucy considerately brought out an old bath sheet that I used to dry Max then I put out a bowl of water and a full bowl of food. He sat motionless despite his hunger until I released him to eat.

"Wow, he sure is well trained."

"Yeah, I've had him since he was three months old. I was an MP in the Navy and I was involved in training several dogs there. Technically, Max belongs to the Marshals Service, but I'm the only person he'll really obey. If something were to happen to me Max would have to be put down. He's too big and too strong to adapt to another handler."

Lucille looked at my two cases and asked, "Are those guns?"

"Yeah, the red one is a Winchester 12-gauge pump-action shotgun and—yes—it is loaded. The black one is an M-16 military rifle with a scope in case I have to be a sniper on a case. The last case where I used it was a bank robbery gone bad. Three robbers held twelve hostages until we figured out how to get to them. I never leave them in the car overnight for several reasons."

"I guess you don't want them stolen."

"That's one of the reasons. The other is that on occasion I've needed them during the night. I was in a motel in Mobile a few years ago when Max woke me. I heard a ruckus in the parking lot. It was late—almost 3:00 in the morning when I heard shots from an automatic rifle. It's illegal for citizens to own fully automatic weapons so I was pretty sure it was some kind of criminal activity. I used the shotgun then, taking out three men who turned out to be members of a big Mexican drug cartel. Of course, I was shot in the process." I pulled up the left sleeve on my shirt to show where the bullet had entered my bicep, commenting that it could have been much worse. Lucy reached forward to touch the slight circular indentation in my skin.

Max finished eating and drinking and walked to the door to be put out. "Don't you need to put a leash on him?"

"No, I don't even have one. He'll be back in five minutes or less. Why don't you tell me where we are while we wait?"

"This is Bascomb's Landing, a small city in western Tennessee. I've lived here all my life. We were watching the Weather Channel in the diner and they said that I-40 was closed due to flooding. There are some low areas east of Memphis that are sometimes subject to flash flooding. Is that why you're here?"

"Yeah, I was supposed to follow some detours, but it was all I could do to watch the road, let alone signs."

"That figures. Hardly any strangers come here…no reason to. We're pretty much off the beaten path here. Anyway, my folks met in the local high school and they still live here in an old house in the center of town. Dad sort of retired two years ago…or was it two and a half? Doesn't matter; he's retired and the diner is mine. It really is a good place to live. There's hardly any crime although we have had a rash of armed robberies of some stores, mostly convenience stores, over the last three months—two men in raincoats with a shotgun and some kind of rifle. I hope that's not a sign of the future. I love the city and just outside there are plenty of undeveloped wild areas where I like to hike and camp out. There's some good fishing, too—small mouth bass and even trout in some of the streams."

I had taken a good look at Lucy while she was speaking. Nobody would call her a ravishing beauty, but she had a pleasant wholesome appearance—tall and thin with smallish breasts and narrow hips. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and it looked like she had incredible skin with only an occasional freckle. I thought that, with a little makeup and the right clothes, she'd look good—not great, but pretty good. More important than that—she had a positive upbeat personality, something that was a real asset in the restaurant business.

"What's your story, Matt?"

"I'm told I was born in Brooklyn and that I lived with my parents in Nassau County, Long Island, but my parents took a long weekend to a resort in the Catskills in upstate New York when I was three. There was a fire and they were both killed because the sprinkler system didn't work and they got trapped on the third floor. I was staying with friends at the time and I didn't understand why my parents didn't come back for me until my Uncle Chuck came to take me to live with him and my Aunt Nell. So I grew up with them in Wilmington, North Carolina. I went to the same high school as Michael Jordan, except that he was more than fifteen years ahead of me. I still live in the area in Carolina Beach.

"My uncle sued the hotel on my behalf and eventually they settled out of court for $950,000. To my uncle's credit he invested the money and never spent a cent until he turned it over to me when I turned twenty-one.

"I played high school football and put the shot and threw the discus on the track team and I was a decent student, but rather than college I joined the Navy once I graduated choosing the military police once I had completed basic training. I served for four years then attended UNC—North Carolina—earning my Bachelors in Criminal Justice in three years before joining the Marshals Service. I've been with them for the past ten years. I'm working toward a Masters in Criminology online. I should have it in another six months…a year at most. I usually work on the courses at night except when I'm on a big case like the one I just finished.

"Five years ago I was given the opportunity to train a dog, something I'd done in the Navy. Max is the result of that training. He's the best partner I've ever had. I just closed out an investigation involving a team of brutal rapists who tortured and murdered young women they kidnapped. I had one under control when I whistled for Max. He ran in from the car and kept the second suspect on the floor while I cuffed mine."

"How'd he get out of the car?"

"It's equipped with a panic bar like you'd see in a building and the door is spring-loaded so it also closes automatically. All I needed was someone to open the bar's front door. Speaking of doors…." I opened the door and let Max in, drying him again, saying good night to Lucy and brushing my teeth in the kitchen sink before lying down on the couch. It was small and not very comfortable. I was trying to get into a tolerable position when Lucy returned in a robe.

"I'm sorry, Matt. I should have realized that the couch would be too small for you. Come and sleep in the bed with me. I think I can trust you. Come on." She reached down to pull me up, holding my hand while she led me to the bedroom. It held a queen-sized bed and I saw immediately that the right side had been turned down, I assumed to accommodate Lucy. After thanking her I started to climb into the opposite. I stopped when Lucy began to laugh.

"What?"

"Do you always sleep in your clothes?"

Um…no; I usually sleep in my boxers."

"Well, why don't you take everything else off? Don't worry--I'm not going to rape you." Then she laughed again and rolled over facing away from me. I stripped off my tee and my shoes and socks before dropping my cargo pants to the floor. A few seconds later I pulled my Colt from the holster, placing it on the floor where I could reach it easily if necessary. Max came to me for our nightly ritual of petting and ear-scratching before he walked to the foot of the bed and lay down to sleep.

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